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Chapter - 10: All-Blood
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My eyes didn't leave the "spear" for even a second, still suspended in midair above the now-cold anvil.
It didn't vibrate, didn't move, yet to me it felt real—almost tangible, I could say. It was as if it had just taken its first breath, as if it had been born in that exact moment.
I stared at it in silence. Its shape was that of a bident. And, to be honest, it wasn't what I expected at all when I first thought about forging a weapon for myself.
From the beginning, I had always imagined myself wielding a spear, just like the one Achilles carried in all his heroic deeds. Truth be told, I had spent so much time with him that, in a way, I had taken him as a role model—not only to grow as a warrior, but also as a person.
But maybe even I didn't truly know what I wanted.
What I desired and what I actually needed were two very different things. And honestly, I wasn't sure if this new symbol of power before me understood it better than I did.
There was, however, one detail that kept tormenting me, leaving me confused: why that shape? I knew and could handle many weapons, and yet my choice—or perhaps my instinct—had fallen upon a bident.
It was true, the bident was the quintessential symbol of my father. But beyond that symbolic connection, I had never felt that the bond carried any real weight for me.
And yet… it felt familiar. Too familiar. I tried to dig into my memory, but it was like sinking my hands into mud: everything was blurry, everything slipped away.
After all, I didn't remember most of my past life, so maybe it was pointless to look for answers in memories that were no longer there. Still, that strange sense of déjà vu wouldn't leave me.
So I decided to let it go, at least for now, and think about it later. "So?" I said, breaking the silence with a crooked smile. "Am I going to find a naked woman when I touch this thing?"
It was obviously a joke. A way to lighten the tension that had built up after the intense forging. That thought had hit me suddenly, reminding me of some anime I used to watch in my old life.
One, in particular, came to mind: Seirei Tsukai no Blade Dance. In that story, weapons took human form. Est, Restia—female spirits with physical appearances. I remember some scenes being really funny others turned out to be quite intense.
But beneath the joke, I was really just buying time. The truth was, I was nervous about touching such an important weapon. Deep down, I still wasn't sure I was worthy of holding a symbol of power like that.
It would take time to overcome my inferiority complex. After years of watching the rest of my family accomplish grand feats while I could only observe and keep training… that feeling of inadequacy wouldn't just disappear overnight.
My father's eyes—the eyes of the Lord of the Underworld—gleamed for an instant, clearly amused. "Would you be disappointed?" he asked.
"Not really," I answered with a half-laugh. And it wasn't a lie. I had never seen myself as particularly lustful. Sure, with this new body I still hadn't experienced the pleasure of being with a woman, and I doubted it would happen anytime soon.
Naturally, I could have asked one of the handmaidens, or even one of the Grim Reapers, if I had been the kind of young master you'd see in some cultivation story.
But I wasn't.
I would never use my power or position to get something like that.
And honestly?
My personal strength came before my dick.
I turned my gaze back to the bident. It felt like it was calling me—not with words, but with something deeper, something that touched my soul direct, an invisible thread.
A heartbeat.
Almost without realizing it, I raised my hand, palm facing it.
My fingers trembled slightly, but it wasn't out of fear. It was the adrenaline—the excitement running through my veins, impossible to contain. My heart was pounding, and every fiber of my body seemed to stretch toward that moment, full of expectation.
As if I were about to touch something I had always been searching for. I felt that invisible thread tighten between us. The bident moved. And in an instant, it was in my hand.
To be precise, I wasn't the one who reached out and grabbed it. It moved toward me—naturally, effortlessly—as if it recognized me without hesitation, as its rightful master.
There was no need for words, no effort or force: it simply happened, as if it had always been destined to.
The metal was warm, but it didn't burn. It was like touching living skin. Like resting your fingers on someone's chest and feeling their heartbeat underneath.
I felt it recognize me.
And I recognized it.
Behind me, I heard my father's voice—almost a whisper: "Such an immediate connection with a freshly forged symbol... Not even I, nor Zeus, ever achieved something like that."
I didn't say anything. Not because I didn't want to—but because I couldn't. Words escaped me. I was completely immersed in the moment, as if nothing else held meaning.
I took a step forward, gripping the weapon in my left hand. The handle fit perfectly in my palm, and as I noticed that, a smile began to form on my face.
"Good weight," I said, rotating it slowly. "Incredibly well-balanced. It almost scares me to joke around with a weapon like this." I had to admit.
And yet, I kept moving it. First slowly, then faster. The air hissed around me, and with each motion, it felt more and more natural.
It was as if the bident already knew what I wanted to do—even before I thought it. It moved with me, for me, without hesitation. It wasn't just a weapon.Calling it that would've been reductive—it was a part of me, almost an extension of my own body.
I smiled, unable to hold it back. For the first time, I felt like I had found something that truly completed me. Something that filled a void I hadn't even known existed.And the strangest part was that I couldn't even explain that feeling with simple words.
I lifted the bident upward, in a spontaneous, almost instinctive gesture. The faint, flickering light reflected along the crimson edges of the metal, tracing glowing lines along the twin prongs.
And I couldn't do anything but stare at it in awe. I must've looked like a child who had just received the gift of his dreams—eyes wide with wonder, hands trembling with emotion.
And to be honest… that wasn't so far from the truth.
"It's too soon to be satisfied, my prince," said a deep voice behind me.
I turned.
It was Lykos, the master blacksmith, his face marked with soot and the strain of his work, yet his eyes still burned as fiercely as his creations. "The forging is not yet complete," he added seriously.
"What do you mean?" I asked, gripping the weapon tighter in my hands.
His voice was rough, coarse—like stone scraping against metal. "One thing is still missing. Every weapon born of fire and blood demands a name. Until it receives one, it remains incomplete. Without a name, even the mightiest blade is just a cold piece of metal."
My father nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the weapon in my hands. "Names hold power," he said with a serious tone. "They're not just words. They give form, identity, and destiny to what they name. Choose wisely."
He paused for a moment, then added with a hint of sternness—or perhaps it was fatherly concern: "And try not to do something stupid. A wrong name can bind a weapon to a path you'll never be able to change."
Everyone was watching me.
A name?
I looked at the bident clenched in my hand. It was a symbol of power, of strength, of my entire existence as a deity. And precisely because of that, it deserved a worthy name—something that could represent it in every possible way.
There was only one problem: I'm terrible with names. Seriously, I really suck.The first thing that came to mind, looking at it, was that it looked like a gigantic fork.
Yes. A fork.
I know, pretty depressing as a name.
Obviously, I would never actually pick something like that. Not just because it was ridiculous, but also because this weapon would stay with me for eternity. A companion and witness to every battle, every choice, every drop of blood spilled.
And then there was another important detail: this name would be known.Tied to every future deed of mine, to every legend I would write with my own hands and blood.
So yeah, calling it "Hellfork" really wasn't an option—though I have to admit the idea almost made me laugh, since from what I remembered, in mythology it was often used as a tool of punishment by devils.
"Mmh…" I murmured. The weapon trembled slightly, almost annoyed.I raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I'm just kidding. I'd never actually call you that, relax."
Thankfully, it calmed down immediately.
Well, apparently I was holding a bold weapon. Not only did it have no problem showing its displeasure, but it also seemed quite arrogant—as if it were allowing me to wield it, and not the other way around.
Still, jokes aside, my father was right: names have power. And I needed all the power I could get, especially considering how far behind I still was compared to the other gods of my Pantheon.
That's when something came back to me. A blurred image, a memory fragment from my past life. I finally remembered where I had seen a weapon similar to mine before.
To be more precise—in an old comic from my previous life. Where the main character was Carnage, the insane red symbiote and classic enemy of Venom and Spider-Man.
I remembered that in that particular comic, Carnage was seeking his path toward divinity, determined to become the next god-slayer. To do that, he chose to forge his own personal version of the Necrosword.
A bident called...
All-Blood.
I don't think he'll mind if I borrow the idea, right? I mean, seriously—it's not like I'll somehow end up in the Marvel Universe, right? That world was way too high in danger and equally high in power levels for my taste.
But if somehow, in some weird twist of fate, I do end up there, I'll offer him a little gift. A small token—just to say, "thanks for the inspiration." Not that it's likely… or remotely possible.
Although, knowing his character, I doubt he'd take it well. Actually, he'd probably try to kill me before I could even start a civilized conversation with him.
Well that'd still be a good way to break the ice. Or at least that's what Achilles used to say. "If you can't talk to them, fight. It's easier to understand each other afterward."His method was simple and direct—just like you'd expect from a warrior like him.
And, to be honest, I liked it a lot.
I raised my eyes to the bident. "Παναἷμος…" I whispered. The name came naturally, as if it had been destined for me to choose it. The Greek letters slid from my lips effortlessly, heavy with meaning.
My father watched me silently, then raised an eyebrow. "All-Blood?" he translated, with a faint tone of curiosity in his voice.
I nodded, tightening my grip on the weapon. "Yes. All blood. That's the name I've chosen for my symbol of power." The weapon trembled again—but unlike before, it was much lighter this time, as if the name was to its liking to my great amusement.
And then it happened.
The air shifted.
It grew warmer, denser—almost alive.
Then, an earthquake erupted beneath my feet, violent and sudden, as if the entire dimension could no longer contain what was happening.
Not just around me.
Everywhere.
Across the entire Underworld.
The walls of the forge groaned furiously, and huge chunks of stone broke off from the ceiling, crashing to the ground with a deafening roar.
Everything was breaking.
The forge, the floor, even the air itself seemed to buckle under the pressure of that immense force.
It wasn't just an earthquake.
It was as if the entire structure of the Underworld was responding to something greater—something no one could control.
And that something… was me?
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