Chapter 22: The Eve of Olympus
Damon stood amidst the dying embers of his hellfire, chest heaving with exertion as he looked down at the defeated Zagreus. The throne room was thick with silence, broken only by the faint crackle of lingering flames. The air felt heavy, charged with the weight of what had just transpired. The gods stared at Damon, their expressions a mix of awe, disbelief, and intrigue.
Hades, seated on his obsidian throne, finally spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Damon, approach."
As Damon walked forward, he felt the weight of the gods' gazes upon him. Their scrutiny was palpable, a mix of silent judgments and burning curiosity. Persephone's eyes blazed with hatred, while Nyx watched with a serene, almost proud expression. Thanatos and Melinoe stood impassively, their thoughts unreadable behind masks of divine indifference.
"I won't accept this!" Persephone yelled, stepping forward. Her voice echoed off the cavernous walls, filled with fury and disbelief. "A mere mortal cannot possess such power. He cheated."
The queen's words caused the other gods to murmur among themselves, a ripple of uncertainty spreading through the divine gathering.
However, Nyx stepped forward, her presence seeming to dim the very light around her. "It is not for us to say what powers our children will inherit," the goddess of darkness said, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of warning. "Some are mere mortals, while others are blessed with powers even gods do not possess."
"You... You did this, didn't you?" Persephone accused, her gaze boring into Nyx's fathomless dark eyes.
"If Tartarus has seen fit to bestow its hellfire upon Damon, that is no mere feat that anyone could force," Hades suddenly interjected, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to Persephone, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Besides, Zagreus is still very much alive, as you know, dear wife. If anything, his trip to Tartarus will do him some good."
Damon's eyes widened at this revelation. He hadn't killed Zagreus? The realization both relieved and confused him. Could one really kill a god?
Persephone bit her lip, frustration evident in every line of her body. Without another word, she turned her back on Hades and the others, storming out of the throne room in a rustle of silks and shadows.
Hades chose to ignore her dramatic exit, instead turning his full attention back to Damon. "You have proven yourself, my son," he declared, his voice resonating with pride that Damon had never heard before. "But your journey is far from complete. The Tournament of the Gods will take place in a few days. You must rest and prepare."
Damon nodded, understanding the gravity of his father's words. "I will be ready, Father." The weight of expectation settled on his shoulders, heavy but not unwelcome.
Hades rose from his throne, a rare smile playing on his lips. "Good. Rest, and when the time comes, we will travel to Olympus together."
As the gathering dispersed, Damon found himself alone with his thoughts. The enormity of what he had accomplished—and what still lay ahead—threatened to overwhelm him.
The next few days provided Damon with much-needed respite. He found a quiet, secluded part of the Underworld where he could rest and reflect. The weight of his journey so far pressed heavily on his mind, a constant companion in his moments of solitude.
He spent hours sitting by the banks of the River Styx, watching the souls of the departed drift by like spectral leaves on a dark current. The air was thick with the whispers of the dead, a cacophony of regrets and unfinished business. Yet Damon found a strange kind of solace in their presence. Here, away from the constant struggles and battles, he could think clearly.
His mind wandered back to his time in Tartarus. The horrors he had faced there still haunted him—the searing pain, the crushing despair, the moments when he had been certain that death was upon him. But with those memories came a newfound appreciation for his own strength. He had discovered reserves of power and determination he never knew he possessed.
The memory of his first defeat at Zagreus' hands still stung, a reminder of how far he had come and how far he still had to go. It fueled his determination, pushing him to grow stronger, to be better.
Nyx often visited him during these moments of reflection, her presence a soothing balm to his troubled mind. Her wisdom and guidance had been instrumental in his survival of Tartarus, and Damon felt a deep gratitude towards the primordial goddess.
"Thank you, Nyx," Damon said one evening as they stood together, watching the River Styx flow endlessly by. "If not for your aid, I would never have made it out of there."
Nyx smiled, a gentle curve of her lips that seemed to soften the shadows around them. "It was simply not your fate to end there, Damon." She turned, preparing to leave, but paused. "Remember," she said, her voice soft yet commanding, "the gods will test you in ways you cannot imagine. Stay focused and trust in your abilities."
As she vanished into the shadows, Damon nodded, absorbing her words. "I will not fail," he whispered to the empty air.
During the day, Damon trained with relentless determination. He honed his swordsmanship, his blade singing through the air as he practiced forms and techniques. He worked on controlling his shadow abilities, pushing himself to manipulate larger areas and maintain his control for longer periods.
But it was the hellfire that demanded most of his attention. This new power was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. Damon spent hours trying to summon and control the otherworldly flames, learning their nuances and quirks. Sometimes the fire responded eagerly to his call, leaping from his hands with fervent intensity. Other times, it was sluggish and resistant, barely a flicker at his fingertips.
The inconsistency frustrated Damon, but he refused to give up. He knew that mastering this power could be the key to his success in the tournament.
In between his physical training, Damon meditated, strengthening his resolve and sharpening his mind. He knew that the tournament would push him to his limits, both physically and mentally, and he needed to be prepared on all fronts.
As he trained, Damon also took time to reflect on his system, the mysterious power that had been with him since the beginning of this journey. He used the souls he had collected to boost and strengthen his abilities, feeling himself grow stronger with each passing day. Yet questions lingered in his mind. How had he come to inherit such a power? Did the other demigods have similar gifts?
Despite the intense preparation, Damon allowed himself moments of quiet introspection. He thought of his mother, her warm smile and gentle hands a stark contrast to the harsh world he now inhabited. He wondered about the life he had left behind, the simple existence that now seemed like a distant dream. And he contemplated the future that awaited him—a future filled with divine politics, godly powers, and responsibilities he was only beginning to understand.
The burden of his heritage weighed heavily on his shoulders, but it also gave him purpose. He was no longer just Damon, the ordinary boy from a small town. He was Damon, son of Hades, wielder of hellfire, and contender in the Tournament of the Gods.
Finally, the day arrived for Damon and Hades to depart for Mount Olympus. Damon found himself standing in the throne room of the Underworld, surrounded by the other gods who had come to bid him farewell. Their expressions ranged from encouragement to skepticism, but all eyes were on him. All except Persephone, who was notably absent, her bitterness over Zagreus' defeat still evident in her refusal to attend.
The large steel doors of the throne room swung open, and Hades strode in. His presence commanded attention, the very shadows seeming to bow in his wake. "The time has come, Damon," the Lord of the Underworld announced, an almost excited expression on his usually stoic face. "The tournament nears."
Damon nodded, a mix of anticipation and anxiety churning in his gut. This was the moment he had been preparing for, the culmination of all his trials and training.
With a click of his fingers, Hades summoned a dark portal, the shadows of the Underworld coalescing into a swirling vortex. He turned to face Damon, his expression unreadable. "Come, my son. Let us depart."
Taking a deep breath, Damon stepped forward. As he approached the portal, he cast one last look around the throne room, at the realm that had been both his prison and his training ground. Then, with a nod to his father, he stepped into the shadows.
The journey through the portal was disorienting, a moment of absolute darkness followed by a burst of blinding light. Damon blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to find himself standing beside Hades at the gates of Olympus.
The sight before him was breathtaking. Towering golden gates shimmered in the sunlight, their surface etched with intricate designs depicting the glory of the gods. Beyond the gates, Damon could see glimpses of a city that defied mortal imagination—buildings of polished marble and gold, streets paved with precious stones, and gardens bursting with flowers of unearthly beauty.
The air itself felt different here, charged with divine energy that made Damon's skin tingle. He took a deep breath, tasting ambrosia and nectar on his tongue.
"Are you ready?" Hades asked, looking down at his son.
Damon squared his shoulders, pushing down his awe and trepidation. "Yes," he replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart.
With those words, they stepped through the gates, entering the divine realm of Olympus. The splendor of the golden city was overwhelming, but Damon kept his focus. He knew that his true test awaited him, and he couldn't afford to be distracted by the wonders around him.
As they made their way through the city, Damon couldn't help but notice the reactions of the minor gods and nature spirits they passed. Whispers followed in their wake, a mix of awe and fear at the rare sight of the Lord of the Underworld walking among them.
They approached the great palace at the top of the mountain, its marble columns stretching impossibly high into the sky. As Damon and Hades entered, they found themselves in a vast hall filled with gods and demigods. The assembled crowd fell silent at their arrival, shock and surprise evident on their faces.
"Is that Hades and his son?" someone whispered, the words carrying clearly in the hushed room.
"I thought the Underworld had no place here," another murmured, a note of disdain in their voice.
Damon ignored the whispers, his eyes fixed on the center of the hall where Zeus, the king of the gods, stood. The imposing figure of Zeus radiated authority and power, just as it had done the last time Damon had seen him. Yet now, standing in the heart of Olympus, Zeus seemed even more magnificent, his very presence making the air crackle with energy.
"By my beard!" Zeus boomed, his voice filling the hall. "If it isn't my brother himself!" The king of the gods placed his goblet of wine down and strode towards them, his steps making the floor tremble slightly.
"How long has it been, brother?" Zeus said, clapping a hand on Hades' shoulder with a broad smile.
"A few thousand years, give or take," Hades replied dryly, not seeming as enthused about the reunion as his brother.
"Yes, well, nothing like one of these tournaments to bring the family together," Zeus declared with a mighty laugh that shook the pillars.
The king of the gods then turned his attention to Damon, his electric blue eyes seeming to peer into the young demigod's very soul. "I see you have returned, young one," Zeus observed, his voice a low rumble. "Stronger than before, too, I see."
Damon wasn't sure how to respond to the scrutiny of the most powerful god in existence. He bowed his head respectfully, acutely aware of the attention of every being in the hall. "Thank you, Lord Zeus," he managed to say, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.
Hades scoffed at his son's manners but didn't intervene.
"Damon," Zeus said, his tone making it clear it wasn't a request, "go and join the other demigods. Your father and I have some catching up to do."
With a nod from Hades, Damon bowed once more before turning to leave the two brothers to their reunion. As he walked away, he could feel the weight of countless divine gazes upon him, each one assessing, judging, wondering about the son of Hades who dared to walk among them.
Damon made his way towards where the other demigods had gathered, their faces a mix of familiar and new. He could feel their curiosity and wariness as he approached. Among them, he spotted two familiar faces—Naia, the daughter of Poseidon, and Brick, the son of Ares. Despite the tension in the air, Damon felt a spark of relief at seeing his former companions.
Naia approached first, her sea-green eyes sparkling with surprise and delight. "Damon!" she exclaimed, embracing him warmly. "I can't believe you're here. We thought..." She trailed off, leaving the grim possibility unspoken.
"It's good to see you too, Naia," Damon replied, smiling genuinely for the first time since arriving on Olympus. "It's been quite a journey."
Brick followed, his towering frame and intense gaze unmistakable. "Damon," he said with a nod, his voice gruff yet tinged with respect. "Didn't think you'd make it out of the Underworld in one piece. Glad to see I was wrong."
"So am I," Damon admitted, taking a moment to really look at his friends. They had changed since he last saw them, both carrying themselves with a new confidence. He could sense that they had grown stronger, just as he had. "You both look like you've been through your own trials."
"Nothing compared to the Underworld, I'd wager," Naia said, her eyes bright with curiosity. "You have to tell us what it was like."
Before Damon could respond, a new voice cut through their reunion. "So, you made it out of the Underworld after all?"
A man stepped forward, tall and muscular with a commanding presence. His piercing electric blue eyes and golden hair marked him clearly as a son of Zeus. Damon recognized him from their brief encounter during the first trial.
"Damon, wasn't it?" the man asked, stopping barely a foot away from Damon, looking down at him with an evaluating gaze.
"Yes," Damon replied, meeting the man's stare without flinching. "And you are?"
"Thalios," he said, his tone carrying a hint of superiority. "Son of Zeus."
Thalios' gaze swept over their small group, lingering on Naia. "A son of Hades... and a daughter of Poseidon..." he mused aloud. "I do hope you don't disappoint me."
His words carried a clear challenge, and Damon felt Brick tense beside him.
"I don't know if you've realized yet," Thalios continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "but not all of those who passed the first trial are still here." His words sent a chill down Damon's spine as he scanned the gathered demigods, realizing that Thalios was right. Some faces he remembered from the first trial were notably absent.
"The weak have no place here in the realm of the gods," Thalios said with a smirk. "Do try not to disappoint." With that, he turned his back on them, clearly considering the conversation over.
"Why, you—" Brick growled, raising a fist. The son of Ares had never been one to back down from a fight.
But before he could move, Thalios spoke without turning. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." His words were accompanied by a crackle of electricity in his eyes, a clear warning of the power he wielded.
"That's enough," Naia interjected, her voice firm. She placed a calming hand on Brick's arm. "There will be plenty of time for fighting soon enough. Save it for the tournament."
Thalios glanced back at her words, a smile playing on his lips. "If you say so," he replied, slicking back his golden hair as he walked away.
"That bastard thinks he's so cool," Brick muttered, his fists still clenched. "I'm going to crush him with my hammer, just you wait and see!"
But Damon barely heard him. His eyes were fixed on Thalios' retreating form, a sense of unease settling in his gut. He could sense a powerful aura of danger around the son of Zeus, a palpable threat that set his nerves on edge.
"We should be careful with him," Damon said quietly, his words causing both Naia and Brick to look at him in surprise. "He's... something else."
The mood around them grew tense, the reality of the tournament and its high stakes suddenly very present. They were no longer just friends reuniting, but competitors in a divine contest where failure could mean more than just losing.
"You've changed, Damon," Naia observed, her sea-green eyes searching his face. "What happened to you down there?"
Damon was quiet for a moment, considering how to answer. How could he explain the horrors of Tartarus, the despair and pain he had endured? How could he describe the moment when hellfire had first erupted from his hands, or the strange sense of kinship he had felt with the darkness of the Underworld?
"I... learned a lot about myself," he finally said. "About who I am, and what I'm capable of."
Brick nodded, understanding in his eyes. "We all did, I think. These trials... they change you."
"But enough about that," Naia interjected, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "We should catch up properly before the tournament begins. Who knows when we'll get another chance?"
As they found a quieter corner to talk, Damon felt a mix of emotions. Joy at reuniting with his friends, anxiety about the upcoming tournament, wariness of competitors like Thalios, and an underlying current of determination. He had come too far to falter now.
Their conversation flowed easily, catching up on their respective journeys and trials. Naia spoke of vast underwater kingdoms and battles with sea monsters, while Brick regaled them with tales of his conquests in various divine arenas. Damon shared what he could of his time in the Underworld, carefully omitting the more horrific details.
As they talked, other demigods occasionally approached, some friendly, others wary. Damon noticed the varied reactions to his presence – curiosity, fear, respect, and in some cases, poorly concealed hostility. It seemed his status as the son of Hades, combined with his mysterious time in the Underworld, had made him something of a controversial figure.
As the day wore on, the excitement and tension in the air grew palpable. Gods and demigods alike buzzed with anticipation for the tournament to come. Damon could feel the weight of expectation on his shoulders, not just from his father and the other gods, but from himself as well. He had overcome so much to get here; failure was not an option.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across Olympus, Zeus's voice boomed across the gathering, silencing all conversation.
"Welcome, gods and demigods, to the Tournament of the Gods!" His voice resonated with power, commanding the attention of every being present. "Tomorrow, you will face challenges that will test your strength, your wit, and your very essence. Some of you will triumph. Others will fall. But all of you will have the opportunity to prove your worth in the eyes of the divine."
A cheer went up from the assembled crowd, a mix of excitement and nervous energy. Damon exchanged glances with Naia and Brick, seeing his own determination reflected in their eyes.
"Rest well tonight," Zeus continued, "for tomorrow, the games begin!"
With those words, the gathering began to disperse, gods and demigods alike retiring to prepare for the trials ahead. As Damon bid goodnight to his friends, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face to face with Hades.
"Come, my son," Hades said, his voice low. "We have much to discuss before tomorrow."
As Damon followed his father away from the crowd, he couldn't shake the feeling that this tournament would be a turning point in his life. Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever rivals he would face, he knew one thing for certain: he was ready to prove himself, not just as a son of Hades, but as Damon – the demigod who had faced the depths of Tartarus and emerged stronger.
The Tournament of the Gods loomed before him, a test that would push him to his limits and beyond. But as Damon looked out over the glittering expanse of Olympus, the hellfire smouldering within him and the shadows dancing at his fingertips, he felt a surge of confidence.
Let the games begin.