The God of Underworld

Chapter 349 48

The moment Azathoth slammed the cosmic book shut, the sound was not a bang, but a terrifying, absolute silence.

It was the sound of a heart stopping; the sound of a clock's gears grinding to a halt.

Then, at that exact moment, all of creation, the ten universes, the millions of stars, the swirling nebulae of the Hyperverse, all of them froze in a stasis of non-existence.

The vibrant purple of the Underworld and the golden radiance of the Empyrean were bleached into a static, grey photograph.

Hades stood at the center of this collapsing reality, his face a mask of regal agony as he groaned while the "Ink" of his existence began to peel away.

First his clothes dissolved into thin, pencil-like sketches; then his skin turned to translucent parchment.

His tall, divine form vanished, shrinking and fading until eventually, only a small fragmented soul, containing all his powers, remained.

It was a tiny, pulsing spark of violet-white light, suspended in the vast, yawning dark of the dark realm of Azathoth.

Azathoth brought its thousands of eyes closer to the spark, the shifting static of its body vibrating with a sickening, high-pitched glee.

"So... this is the power that gained the interest of the Author," it whispered, its million mouths overlapping in a wet, chattering chorus. "A tiny, flickering candle in a forest of shadows."

The Primordial Chaos grinned, all its mouth and teeth forming a jagged, impossible tear across its shifting form...before it broke out laughing, and the sound of it was like glass breaking in a vacuum. "Now, it is mine!"

Then, with a sudden, violent motion, Azathoth opened its central maw and devoured the fragmented soul of Hades.

Instantly, the creature's form exploded, no, not exploded but morphed. Now it was no longer just a manifestation of boredom and forgetfulness, but it now began to pulse with a terrifying, stolen majesty.

Violent purple lightning arced through its static-filled body, and the "Definition" of the Ten Worlds began to coat its obsidian hide.

It felt power beyond its imagination coursing through its entire being—the weight of Law, the gravity of Death, and the absolute sovereignty of the Anchor.

It laughed, a roar that caused the discarded books of this dark realm to ignite and burn with purple fire.

"Now, with his power, I shall kill the Author, and become the one True God!" it declared, its voice now carrying the resonance of a Supreme Deity.

For aeons, Azathoth had been the janitor of the multiverse, a mindless tool used by the Creator to clean up discarded works and erase failed drafts.

It had no story of its own, no power, and no legacy.

It had long since been dissatisfied with the status quo, and that resentment had festered into a hunger for divinity.

But it knew that no matter what, it had no chance of ever going against the author, it had no chance of ever going against its creator.

But now, with its newfound power, it would surely defy the Creator, break the pen of the Author, and ascend as the new supreme being of all that was, is, and ever would be!

It turned its massive, shifting bulk around, intending to reach the inner sanctum of the Library where the Author resided as it prepared to strike the final blow against the one who had written it into a role of servitude.

But at that moment, it felt something.

A tiny, microscopic itch, or perhaps a pinprick of heat in its cold, entropic gut.

No matter what it is, it felt it.

And slowly, it turned around, its eyes scanning the spot where Hades had been erased.

There, in the absolute center of the void, a small, flickering flame appeared.

It was no larger than a candle's light, yet it didn't flicker with the cold, emptiness of the Void.

"What!? What is that!?" Azathoth roared, its stolen power fluctuating wildly.

Just then, Hades' voice echoed through the dark realm, but didn't come from the flame; it came from the very space, the books, and even from within Azathoth's own chest.

"You think killing me is enough for me to die? Don't make me laugh. Just because I'm killed, doesn't mean I'll die."

At that very moment, as the voice died down, the flame suddenly burst into a pillar of transcendent, violet-white fire.

The heat was so intense it forced the empowered Azathoth to retreat, its conceptual flesh hissing as it touched the light.

The flame danced with an intelligent, rhythmic grace, weaving itself back into the fabric of reality as it grew, expanded, and eventually reformed, transforming into another [Hades].

He stood there, even more magnificent than before, his robes reconstructed from the very shadows of the void.

He stared at the shocked Azathoth, then at his hands as he felt it at that moment; the prayers of Mary Madeleine on the surface, the beliefs of Herios and his army, the unwavering love of Hera, Nyx, Hecate, and Aphrodite, and the loyalty of Odin and the other gods.

All those who existed in the ten realms had put their lives on his shoulders, and their faith acted as a conceptual anchor, keeping him in existence even when the the Primordial Chaps itself had tried to delete him.

"This is impossible!" Azathoth shrieked, its form beginning to tremble. "I devoured you! I have your power! I felt your soul dissolve!"

Hades smiled, a cold, knowing expression that made the glowing books of the realm dim. "What you have is a mere fragment of myself. A lure. Something I can still control."

"What? Control? I am the one who devoured you! How can you control it?!"

Hades ignored the creature's panic and just extended his arms forward, his fingers tracing the invisible lines of the Law that governed all things, then, he clenched his fist, and the entire void groaned.

"Power of Law," Hades intoned, his voice the sound of a final judgment. "I now declare: Chaos shall cease, and Order shall reign."

At that moment, Azathoth began to convulse, its body, which had been a chaotic storm of static, began to violently "Order" itself.

Its limbs were pulled into rigid, painful geometries; its million eyes were forced to blink in a singular, agonizing rhythm.

It screamed in a pain that was not physical, but existential.

"You are a being of chaos," Hades said, stepping forward through the void. "And chaos, no matter how great, will always give way for order. That is the natural law. That is the truth of the universe."

This was the truth that Hades himself had realized during his life across infinite timelines.

Back then, using a certain theory as a basis stating that if you give a monkey a typewriter and infinite time, the random, messy chaos will eventually, inevitably produce Shakespeare level story.

At that moment, he understood, Chaos is merely the raw material that eventually finds its way into the structure of Order.

"You became greedy," Hades said, his eyes burning with a terrifying, regal purple. "Something like my power shouldn't even have affected you in your natural state. But you integrated a part of me into yourself. You took the Law into the heart of Chaos, making you extremely vulnerable to my powers. You gave yourself a spine, Azathoth. Now, I shall break it."

"No! No! I refuse to accept this!" Azathoth roared as its body started disintegrating into black dust. "Hades! I despise you! I was so close! So close! Why do you stop me!? Do you want to continue living in a world ruled by that thing!? By an Author who sees us as toys?!"

Hades stared at the dying monster calmly, his presence filling the vacuum. "Absolutely not. I have no love for the status quo. But I also don't want to live in a world ruled by you—a mindless void that only knows how to erase."

He took a step forward, his hand reaching out toward the collapsing storm of static. "That's why... I will devour you, and be the one to replace that being myself."

"You! You!" Azathoth's roar was a mixture of terror and realization.

Dark shadows began to burst out of Azathoth's body—not the grey static of boredom, but the refined, liquid darkness of the Underworld.

The power Azathoth had stolen began to "Home," fusing back with Hades and dragging the monster's own essence along with it.

"AAAAAAHHHH! I'M NOT RECONCILED! IT SHOULD'VE BEEN ME!" Azathoth roared one last time, its many eyes weeping ink as it watched its gargantuan body disintegrate into shadows.

It was being unmade by the very Order it had tried to usurp.

The fragments of the Primordial Chaos God were sucked into Hades' outstretched palm, vanishing into his soul like water into a desert.

The chattering mouths, the grey static, and the thousand eyes were silenced, absorbed into the Anchor.

Until eventually, the Great Abomination was no more.

Hades stood alone in the center of the silent Library, his aura now shimmering with a dark, primordial weight that felt older than the Author's first draft.

He looked up toward the zenith of the void, toward the unseen desk of the Creator.

The Janitor was dead.

The King had the keys.

And now, it was time to speak with the Writer.