The bloody chaos of the upper world does not end at death. It pours into the Underworld in a relentless, wailing tide of souls.
The realm is swollen, choked with the newly dead. The orderly queues of souls have dissolved into a desperate, confused press of spirits stretching from the banks of the Styx to the distant horizons of Asphodel. Underworld soldiers, vastly outnumbered, can only form struggling cordons, their shouts lost in the harsh, chaotic mixture of cries, wails, and expressions of grief.
Charon's ship makes continuous, grim voyages, each return trip ejecting another large number of souls onto the overcrowded dock. Many clutch no obol, adding panic and disorder to the suffocating press at the riverbank.
In the Judgement Hall, the crisis manifests as pure, grinding volume. A line with no visible end snakes through the vast chamber. Before Hades and Hecate, mountains of scrolls and soul-ledgers teeter on their desks, threatening to avalanche.
They work with inhuman speed, their voices a steady, rhythmic decree cutting through the murmur.
"Sinner. Fourth torment, cycle of ten."
"Virtuous. Two hundred days in Elysium."
A soul is judged,a scroll stamped, and the next is dragged forward before the echo fades.
Three soldiers finally break through the crowd and kneel before the dais, their armor scuffed, faces etched with exhaustion. Hades's amethyst gaze flicks to them. The judgement pauses.
"Speak."
"My Lord, Asphodel is at capacity. The neutral souls spill into the walkways, causing disputes."
"The punishment halls are full.We have sinners chained in the overflow corridors."
"Lord Charon sends word:the bank is in riot. Too many arrive without coin, and the clerks are overwhelmed."
Hades's hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose. His eyes close. 'The chasm stampede ties down most of my legions. The surface is a butcher's yard. And now my own realm's machinery seizes…' A rare flicker of exasperation passes behind his eyelids.
"My Lord… may I suggest a solution?"
Hades opens his eyes.Judora stands before a towering stack of ledgers, her own face smudged with dust, holding a thick, open tome.
He gives a single, curt nod.
"We have two core problems: less space and less working hands," she says, speaking quickly but clearly. "We can punish Sinners by assigning them to labor works. Through it they will build their own new prisons and other buildings like libraries and others which contribute greatly in development. We loan the un-coined souls an obol as debt, to be repaid through labor on the public works—expanding the docks, reinforcing the riverbanks. And…" she points to a passage in her book, "…for the virtuous and neutral, we can offer a position in our army. Not just residence, but service. Become Soldiers, clerks, builders of the Underworld. It solves the labor crisis and strengthens your domain permanently."
The soldiers stare, their tired eyes widening. Hecate, without looking up from her scroll, allows a faint, proud smile to touch her lips.
Hades considers. 'Hmm…impressive suggestion was elegant, turning a crisis of consumption into an engine of construction. It addresses the immediate chaos and secures long-term stability. Efficient.'
"An impressive idea Judora,"he acknowledges. A snap of his fingers summons a black paper and a stylus with golden ink. He writes, the script burning itself into the page. The finished decree levitates and fuses into the great Codex of the Underworld with a sound like a slamming vault.
His voice, amplified by his kingship, then rings through every corner of his realm, heard by every shade and citizen: "Hear this decree. Any soul of virtuous or neutral alignment may now petition to join the service of the Underworld. In exchange for eternal year service, they shall be reborn as daimons. The terms of labor-for-debt for the indigent, and punitive labor for sinners, are hereby instated."
He waves a hand. From the shadows a large, intricate lamp materialises, which he lights with a spark from his own fingertip. A calm, steady twilight flame burns within. He floats it to the lead soldier.
"The Twilight Lamp.It will catalyze the evolution of willing souls. Erect it in the main training ground. Implement the new policies without delay."
The soldiers bow as one. "By your will, My Lord!" They retreat, the lamp's light carving a path of awed silence through the crowded hall.
Another snap. A heavy, ornate key of infernal gold appears before Judora. "Warehouse 511 and all contents within are now under your ownership. For practical solutions."
Judora's eyes become vast, shining disks. She snatches the key, clutching it to her chest. "Lord Hades, you are the wisest, most generous, most magnificent of all—!"
"Your ownership," Hades interrupts, his voice dropping to a deadpan chill, "is depends on your first clearing the backlog of soul-ledgers on your desk. Fail to meet the quota, and the key will be reclaimed."
The ecstasy on Judora's face freezes, then shatters. Color drains from her cheeks. Her shoulders slump as if bearing the weight of the sky itself. She turns and trudges back to her station, a pillar of ledgers waiting like a prison wall.
"Sinner. Light punishment, quarry labor," Hades declares, returning to the endless queue.
Before the next soul can step forward, a gust of chilling air sweeps the hall. Thanatos lands silently upon the dais, kneeling, his great wings folding.
Both Hades and Hecate stop. The ambient noise of the hall seems to hush. Thanatos states, "My lord! Balance is completely disrupt."
"Explain," Hades commands.
"A distortion in the patterns of death, My Lord," Thanatos intones, his voice like a grave closing. "My soul book shows souls perishing decades, even centuries, ahead of their allotted time. Furthermore, thousands of mortal souls existence completely vanished like they never ever exist. The life force… consumed at the source. I advise a deep investigation. This is a wound in the natural order. If this ignored then it may turn to wound that never can be healed."
Hades's eyes narrow. He leans back, his fingers steepled. He closes his eyes, not in weariness, but to focus. He reaches for his most clandestine power, the divinity of Secrets.
Images flash behind his eyelids: not souls, but life-force, ripped screaming from mortal bodies not by blade or sickness, but by a vast, ancient hunger. A familiar, dreaded signature of pure consumption.
A single name escapes his tight lips. "…Morvud."
Hecate and Thanatos both stiffen. Thanatos shakes his head. "It cannot be. Thetis's bindings were eternal."
"Nothing eternal cannot be unmade," Hecate counters, her voice sharp. "Only guarded. Someone has broken the seals. Deliberately."
Hades's mind, still extended through his Secret divinity, searches for the hand that turned the key. He finds… nothing. A void. A perfect absence of information. His eyes snap open, genuine astonishment flashing within them. 'Impossible. Secret divinity itself can't able to find single clue. How?'
He turns to a messenger shade. "Summon Julie and Druvak. Immediately."
The shade vanishes.
Hades leans back, eyes closed. To any observer, he appears utterly relaxed, almost detached but his perception roams across the world, watching everything.
'A sudden rebellion against the deities.Attacks on the lesser gods. The abrupt ignition of wars between nations. Morvud's release.
None of this is simple.None of it is possible unless someone is moving from within the shadows.'
'But what would they gain from such chaos?' Then his thoughts halt, clicking into place. '…Distraction.'
'While the world's attention is fixed on these blatant calamities, something else—something far more important—is unfolding unseen, beyond the gaze of gods and mortals alike.'
And that realization makes even Hades frown.
Julie and Druvak arrive, they kneel still clad in armor streaked with the ichor of chasm-beasts, breathing heavily from their rushed return.
"You called us, Lord Hades?" Druvak asks.
Hades open his eyes and leaned forward "A mission," Hades states. A scroll shoots from his desk into Julie's hand. "The Devourer, Morvud, walks the earth again. You will find him. You will destroy him. Your combined abilities are the best counter to his nature." His tone turns to ice. "And you will find the one who freed him. Bring them to me. I would… converse with a being who can hide from my sight."
Julie and Druvak bow, their earlier fatigue replaced by focused intensity. "It will be done."
---
The journey out of the Underworld is a journey through a clogged artery. The banks of the Styx are a solid mass of confused souls. Julie and Druvak have to cloak themselves in demonic energy and fly, weaving through tunnels that are themselves packed with the dead flowing sluggishly downward.
When they finally emerge onto the surface, the assault is not of danger, but of sensation. Light. After the warm dim light of the Nether sun of the Underworld, the full, brutal glare of the sun is a physical blow. They stagger, throwing arms over their watering eyes, and stumble into the shade of a gnarled olive tree at the cavern's mouth.
"Hah…I am tired," Julie gasps, slumping against the rough bark, sliding down to sit. The familiar, forgotten smells of dry earth, sun-warmed stone, and distant pine wash over her, overwhelming and serene.
Druvak sinks down beside her, methodically checking his gear. "We rest until the sun softens. We move at first twilight."
Julie offers no argument. Her head has already lolled back, a deep, instant sleep claiming her. Druvak watches the dappled light play across the ground. 'It has been an age since I felt true sunlight, heard the buzz of insects, smelled life that wasn't moss or fungus.' A deep, quiet nostalgia aches in his chest—memories of a different self, a different power, under this same sky. He shakes his head, a grim smile appearing over his skull. 'Hah…No use to remember those past days'. He lets his own eyes close, the strange peace of the living world a temporary blanket.
As the sun begins to bleed its color into the western hills, Julie awakes. She unrolls Hades's scroll. A map of the mortal realms is etched upon it, one location circled in ominous black ink. A notation below reads: Last known binding site of Morvud. Epicenter of anomalous life-force consumption. Proceed with extreme prejudice.
Druvak places two fingers to his lips and blows a sharp, silent whistle.
From a point in the air before him, a vortex of pale green, ghostly flame swirls into being. Within its heart, the form of a powerful horse solidifies—a spectral steed with eyes of cool ember and a mane of drifting smoke. It stamps one insubstantial hoof, which rings with surprising solidity.
Neigh!
Druvak mounts in one fluid motion,gently running a hand down the steed's neck. Julie swings up behind him, securing her grip.
"To the marked place, old friend," Druvak whispers.
The spectral horse rears and shoots forward.It does not run so much as flow over the terrain, passing through thickets like mist, leaping gullies in impossible arcs, its pace eating the leagues. The world becomes a blur of twilight hues.
In a handful of hours, they arrive.
The change is immediate. They stand at the edge of a vast, silent ruin. No crickets chirp. No rodents scurry. The very grass is gray and brittle. Looking up, Julie sees a flock of birds alter their course a mile out, veering sharply around an invisible boundary in the sky.
"Nothing lives here," she murmurs. "Nothing even comes near."
Druvak dismounts,his hand resting on his sword hilt. "Then we are in the right place." He turns to his steed, rubbing its spectral cheek. "Thanks friend. Now, you go and rest well."
The horse nudges his hand, then dissolves into a shower of green sparks that wink out on the dead air.
Before them lies the entrance: a jagged maw in the earth, darker than the surrounding night, from which a dry, cold draft exhales, carrying a scent like old bones and stale copper.
Druvak nods to Julie, and together they approach the threshold.
Unseen, from within a pool of unnatural shadow that clings to a rock, Zaegarus observes. His smile is a gash of white in the darkness. He watches the two formidable generals prepare to descend into his parlor.
"The honored guests have arrived," he whispers to the hungry dark. "Time to welcome our guest."