The Sacred Fire refined Suren's body, forming an indestructible foundation—a secret art reserved for the gods.
The Twelve Olympians alone possessed this ritual and could test their chosen heroes with the Sacred Fire. Those who endured emerged with bodies invincible in this god-ruled era of Greece, surpassing even Achilles' invulnerability from the River Styx.
Yet, even the Sacred Fire varied in power, and the supreme source of this flame belonged to none other than the highest goddess, Hestia.
As long as Hestia was present, as long as that flame—symbolic of Olympus—still burned within him, no injury was beyond healing!
The Sacred Fire filled all Olympus, reaching every corner—save for one place.
Tartarus.
There, the remnants of the White Titans' avatars—the Gigantes—were imprisoned.
Thus, it was the one forbidden domain even the Olympians dared not breach.
Theoretically, at least. Yet for Suren, theory held no limits. He alone among the Greeks would willingly sacrifice himself for others, even if it meant entering the depths of despair.
…
Within Hera's temple, three goddesses sat together, yet unlike the other gods, they did not watch Suren with growing curiosity or mere anticipation.
Their focus remained on the toll this trial was taking on Suren's body. Could he endure such relentless pressure?
Though Athena and the other goddesses had witnessed Suren's resilience time and again, their hearts still grew uneasy watching him face such danger.
Hera and Athena hovered near Hestia, with Athena anxiously asking, "Hestia, how is Suren faring?"
Before Hestia sat a basin of fire, the weak flame within flickering, struggling to hold on—a tenacity beyond ordinary flames, persisting against all odds, wavering yet steady for an entire day and night.
Above the flame, the image of Suren's struggle against the Clashing Rocks flickered, showing his torn and bloodied form, skin shredded and body pushed to extremes. Blood, enough to drain countless men dry, poured from his wounds—yet somehow, he clung to life, his will undiminished.
Hera couldn't help but ask, "Hestia, can't you heal Suren's body?"
Despite this being her umpteenth time asking, Athena, too, cast a hopeful glance at Hestia.
But Hestia, with her steady gaze, shook her head once more. "No."
"If I interfered and healed him now, it would disrupt the delicate balance keeping his body intact. Any foreign force would create a chain reaction too volatile to predict."
"At best, Suren would be left paralyzed beyond help; in all likelihood, his body would collapse, ending in his death."
For reasons unknown, Suren's body continued to suffer injuries, reaching the brink each time—only to draw new strength from some deep well within his spirit, somehow pushing forward.
It was as if his will was defying death itself, resisting the pull of the Underworld.
"My love for Suren is no less than yours or Athena's. It's precisely because I care that I won't risk this. All my simulations and predictions confirm that I must not intervene."
Hestia's usual timid expression transformed into one of unwavering determination. As she spoke, her golden eyes never left the Sacred Flame before her, focused entirely on Suren's wellbeing, even as he continued to strain against the rocks.
While all others watched Suren's shoulders bear the weight of destiny, Hestia alone kept vigil over his body's strength.
"Please, slow down… just a little, my dear friend, my only friend, Suren… don't push yourself so hard…"
"No, you must go on. Hestia will forever stand beside you."
Hestia's golden eyes closely monitored the flame's every flicker, ready to react at a moment's notice.
Athena, meanwhile, sat ungracefully on the floor, staring at Suren with eyes overflowing with admiration, nearly swelling with something even stronger.
"My cherished hero, the hero blessed by Athena, heaven-sent champion of Greece…"
"Suren, bearing my hopes, this trial cannot defeat you. I know you'll prevail, won't you?"
…
Orpheus's poetic musings, however, were private—known to no one among the gods, much less to Suren, who fought and bled while Orpheus scribbled like a devoted admirer.
Right now, Suren could think of only one thing—
Push forward. Just a little farther, a bit more… just a bit further…
He didn't know how long this struggle had lasted, but suddenly, Suren felt a lightness wash over him. The two massive rocks ahead of him slowly sank into the sea.
As the Clashing Rocks finally receded beneath the waves, a wave of exhaustion unlike anything he'd ever felt struck him. The mighty hero, unable to stand any longer, fell from the sky.
His vision darkened, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
Atalanta, who had been watching him without rest for a day and night, saw it happen and shouted, "Suren's fallen! Someone help him!"
Hearing this, the Boreads—Zetes and Calais—snapped to attention. Their hawk-like eyes fixed on Suren's position as they spread their wings and soared, catching him midair.
The Boreads immediately noticed how light he was, almost as if he weighed nothing at all—certainly not what one would expect of a grown man.
And he felt icy, far colder than any living person should be.
Finally, their hands, slippery with the blood coating his body, became sticky from his many wounds—the dreadful rips and gashes that had come from his efforts to push the rocks.
Suren's entire body was soaked in blood, presenting a horrific sight. The Boreads barely knew where to touch him without worsening his injuries.
The Argonauts heard Atalanta's cry and scrambled up from below deck.
While Suren had carved their path through the sea, the Argonauts had been rowing tirelessly, hoping to lighten his burden even a little.
Atalanta was the first to reach Suren, but the instant her hand touched him, her face turned ashen.
She couldn't feel a heartbeat.
His body lay still—eerily so, devoid of any hint of life.
Only a chief god could survive the Clashing Rocks.
No one had ever said what happened if a mortal attempted the passage alone.
Atalanta now understood: even a hero as powerful and valiant as Suren, even one who had forged a path for all of Greece, had ultimately perished from sheer exhaustion.
Though his mighty form had resisted breaking apart, his blood had drained away entirely. Even divine intervention might not restore him. His journey's end—was it to be the Underworld?
"No! There's still a way! Suren's story won't end here!"
Orpheus, the loyal poet, shouted, "If we can just break through the Underworld, Suren can return to us!"
"But how could a spirit, bereft of a body, defy Hades, the lord of the Underworld?"
Tears streaming down his face, Jason knelt before Suren's body, sobbing. "I believe it… if one of us died, Suren would shatter the Underworld to bring us back."
"But now, we all still live, and it's only Suren whose soul has fallen into Hades' realm."
"The Underworld's rivers—there are four that thread through the domains to Hades' city."
"For any soul to reach the heart of Hades' realm, they must first cross the River of Pain and Grief, Acheron. Then comes the River of Woe and Sorrow, Cocytus; the River of Fire, Pyriphlegethon, divides the Underworld…"
"Then, there's the River of Forgetfulness, Lethe, before finally reaching the Styx—the River of Fury and Unbreakable Oaths."
"Each river drains thought and memory from a soul until it's stripped bare of all memory and will, cleansed of all but the faintest awareness of its past deeds."
Jason recited the legend of the Underworld, his jaw set. "And without the coins to pay the ferryman, Suren's soul will drown in Acheron, becoming one with its waters."
Atalanta, her face twisted with grief, could barely contain herself, while Peleus, beside her, asked, "Jason, is the River Styx truly so terrible? I heard that bathing in its waters grants a body impervious to harm."
"That's for the living!" Jason roared, "If a living soul can even reach the Styx, the river's strength is the least of their worries. Do you understand, Peleus?"
For a mortal to come into contact with Underworld's rivers was impossible; only the gods, who traversed all realms freely, could bring back such treasures.
"I'm going to Hades to save Suren."
Atalanta took a steadying breath, reaching for Suren's weapon Eques and the Aurum Altissimum, but found them immovable—heavy as mountains.
The divine artifacts wouldn't respond; only Suren could wield them.
Boom—
A warm flame suddenly ignited upon Suren's body. It was not a consuming fire, but gentle—like the comforting smoke rising from a hearth.
Jason wiped his eyes, speaking tiredly, "I… I miss home. My father, my mother. Was it a mistake to leave? To chase after the damned Golden Fleece?"
As the Sacred Fire enveloped Suren, his body began to mend, though his soul remained absent—an empty shell.
In that moment, everyone knew: the gods still watched over them.
"No, absolutely not!" Atalanta snapped back to herself, seizing Jason's collar with fierce resolve. "From now on, even if it means losing every last piece of yourself, you will bring back the Golden Fleece. Suren risked everything for your journey; you have only one goal now—to seize that Golden Fleece!"
The Dioscuri twins looked to each other, and one of them said, "Then let's wait here for Suren to return. If the chief gods haven't abandoned him, neither will we. We won't set sail without our comrade."
---
"Is this... the Underworld?"
Suren stomped on the hard black stone beneath him, then glanced upward, but saw only endless, consuming darkness above.
This was the abyss that cloaked the Underworld.
"Well, so I'm dead, huh?"
He scratched his head, surprisingly unfazed by the reality of his own death. This was, after all, the Age of Gods, where death held a different meaning than in modern times. People now equate death with a complete stop, the final dissolution of thought. But in the Age of Gods, it was seen as something else entirely.
Death here was simply... a new beginning.
"But unfortunately, I'm not ready for that kind of start." Suren shook his head. There were still matters he had to attend to in the mortal world—what was the point of starting over in the Underworld?
"Deceased one, I am your ferryman."
As Suren pondered how to beat this Underworld "revival match," a shadowy figure appeared before him.
"...."
Collecting his thoughts, Suren sized up the "person" before him and eventually asked, "I'm curious... there are so many dead souls here, why did you choose to ferry just me?"
Greece was vast in the Age of Gods, and people were abundant. There were naturally many souls who died at the same time.
As the final destination for all deceased souls, the Underworld certainly wouldn't have just Suren alone.
"Because you're different from the others, hero," the ferryman murmured, his voice otherworldly. "Before death, all beings are equal."
"But some are more equal than others, aren't they?"
"I knew it," Suren shrugged. "All you gods have a problem. People say life and death are the greatest equalizers, that the line is drawn the moment we're born. But even after death, it's hardly fair."
"Fairness, if it exists here, would be on the verge of disappearing."
"Interesting perspective." The ferryman smirked. He always had patience for nobles and heroes, especially ones who appeared wealthy.
"Then, hero, what is your answer? My small boat can take you directly to the Capital of the Underworld, where you may seek an audience with Lord Hades. Perhaps... you could even return to the mortal realm?"
This was, of course, a lie.
Once a soul entered the Underworld, returning to the mortal realm was practically impossible.
Theoretically, one could return if permitted by Hades or by crossing through the garden of Persephone, the Queen of the Underworld. Yet, to this day, only the living who ventured into the Underworld to rescue someone ever returned. The dead? Never. Hades made no exceptions.
It was precisely because of Hades' strict self-discipline and the unyielding rigidity of the Underworld that he earned Zeus's approval as the King of the Underworld, the revered elder of the gods.
Suren chuckled, unfazed by the bait Charon dangled before him. He patted his empty pockets with a sigh. "Ferryman, your plan's fallen through. I'm as broke as can be—nothing to pay you with."
"...?" Charon's face twisted in confusion. After a brief silence, he sneered, "Fine, then. May your soul drift forever in the River Acheron, doomed to endure the suffering of Greece eternally."
The ferryman and his boat disappeared just as abruptly as they had come, and Suren hadn't even noticed when he left.
"Tch." Suren clicked his tongue, muttering, "Losing my body is such a hassle—I can even feel the wind... "
"Attempting to conquer the Underworld's revival match as a dead man—guess I'm the first to try this since the Age of Gods."
With that, he stepped into the river.
So, without a ferryman... how are we supposed to...
Forget it; I, Suren, will cross all five of the Underworld rivers myself!
Yes, four main rivers, but there's actually a fifth that most people never see—the River Styx, the river of oaths, the keeper of wrath.
Among humans, the name Styx may not be famous, but in the realm of gods, it was revered.
This river ruled over the "Oath" of the Age of Gods.
For humans, breaking an oath meant Styx would pull their soul into the depths at the moment of death. And should a god break an oath, they would be punished by the river's waters, losing their divine power and becoming an exiled mortal.
Suren, having lost his physical body, initially believed he'd lost all "senses"—the usual perception of pain, taste, smell, and touch.
Yet now, as a soul, he distinctly felt suffering, anguish, sorrow, regret, and despair…
An overwhelming flood of pain and despair, the collective grievances of all Greece seemed to gather here.
This was the River Acheron, the River of Pain, bearing the final vestiges of yearning and emotion from the deceased.
Just stepping foot here, Suren quickly understood why so many souls lingered on the riverbanks, unwilling to cross without Charon.
They could never traverse this river, thick with the collective suffering of Greece.
Caught in the agonizing tides, they'd be dragged down to the lowest depths of the river, forever trapped, their essence merging with Acheron, never to escape.
The murmur of the dead echoed around him with each step in the waters of Acheron, bearing their final cries of pain and resentment. Few people ever passed away peacefully; most met untimely deaths.
Even those who died naturally reminisced about life, never longing for death.
Let alone those murdered—their final grievances were loud, varied, and persistent. War, unsurprisingly, claimed the most lives. Even without the interference of Ares, humans were the species most prone to killing each other.
Next came those who had been murdered by their significant others, both men and women, for countless reasons…
"Never thought Greece would have such a high rate of crimes of passion. No wonder some nobles disdain women and prefer male companions, going so far as to cultivate lovers of the same gender."
The truth was simple: a noble's wife could inherit, and if he died, his widow could marry her lover, taking all of his wealth.
No one was born inclined towards the same gender; Greek nobles cultivated this tradition only because of the fierce Greek women.
Yet, amid this cacophony, Suren's perspective shifted. He honed his spirit through pain, and as his soul was battered by countless lives, countless sensations, he grasped a new understanding: This... is the Sixth Sense, beyond the five senses of the body.
With the emergence of his sixth sense, Suren's spirit grew calmer, and his strength began to return.
"Ah, of course, this is the Age of Gods—where miracles can happen!"
Suren finally understood—his body could never restrain his will; it was his belonging, not his essence.
"Heart above matter, the way of the extraordinary!"
"As long as the flame of hope burns within me, as long as my soul endures, I will never lose my power!"
Suren even felt that if he were still in the mortal realm, he could fully restore his body with the strength of his spirit, like a 3D printer, reconstructing himself.
When he returned to his senses, the river around him had become clearer, the murky waters and anguished spirits dissipating into the air.
"Too bad. Greece has no reincarnation." Suren gazed at the fading souls. After a pause, he murmured, "Perhaps, one day, I can help establish a cycle of reincarnation for the Underworld."
This was hardly Suren's first lofty vow. While he hadn't sworn 48 great vows like the Buddha, he was steadily accumulating an impressive list.
Just as the heroes of the Argo often muttered amongst themselves, Suren was the sort of man whose heart was filled with compassion that transcended his era, with a moral conviction that even gods couldn't match.
Anything he couldn't stand, he'd change. Anything he loathed, he'd seek to correct, even if it meant facing the world as his enemy.
Suren continued through the River of Pain, each step freeing a nearby soul from suffering, allowing it to dissolve from its anguish.
At first, it was subtle, but soon enough, more and more "river water" began surging toward him, souls viewing him as a savior. Since he could help, Suren did, extending his hand to all who needed it.
He absorbed their most unrelenting suffering into his own spirit. Each encounter with a grieving soul was an opportunity to experience their life and hardships.
But the weight of it all was enough to lose himself—too much suffering led to confusion, and confusion could make one lose their way.
And the river was vast, too vast. At this rate, even if Suren's soul were worn away to nothing, he wouldn't save even a fraction of the souls in the River of Pain.
He had to change; he had to find a way.
So, in the trials of the river, Suren evolved his spiritual powers further. He flattened "time," reducing a person's lifetime of suffering to a second, a flicker, a heartbeat...
This newfound clarity helped him cast away distractions, treating each external assault as a fleeting thought.
Now, the River of Pain held no threat to Suren—nor any value in training him.
Yet he continued to ferry others.
"If the ferryman won't help you, then I will."
Who knew how much time had passed. Suren's sense of time dissolved into eternity. He could feel that if he took one more step forward, he could perceive the world's future—the fate of humankind.
"So now, I'm some goddess's warrior, huh?" Suren smirked, testing his strength with a swing of his fist, though it lacked the godlike might to shatter the heavens or the speed to split atoms.
His power lay in his spiritual force, even within the Underworld, strong enough to affect reality.
In this condensed eternal moment, Suren soon purified all anguished souls in Acheron, clearing the waters for the first time in centuries.
The river gleamed for only a moment before new suffering and regrets stirred within it.
An unending cycle—as long as Greece existed, as long as souls held onto this world with remorse, Acheron would remain an eternal river of pain.
Suren paused. Now on the riverbank, he had no intention of returning.
The ferryman appeared once again, Charon standing by his small boat. Seeing Suren, who'd crossed the first river, he grinned. "Hero, you see the true horror of the Underworld now, don't you?"
"It'll wear down your zeal, numb your spirit... what you strove to do in one moment becomes meaningless the next."
"Hero, in light of this, will you continue to cross these rivers?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Suren took one last look at the River of Pain and replied, "At least the people I'm helping care."
"You gods are always obsessed with glory, with grand legends... can't a person act simply because they want to?"
"Pointless? I don't see it that way."
No, Suren didn't consider it pointless; instead, he believed every action was meaningful, nothing was wasted.
He left not because his efforts were wasted, but because he realized the flaw in his approach. This only cleansed the river temporarily but did nothing to save the souls.
After the River of Pain was the River of Lamentation, formed from the tears of punished souls, bearing their sins.
Suren diverted the flames of the Fire River to carve a new passage forward.
The River of Forgetfulness was only a small tributary, so Suren didn't linger, arriving quickly at the entrance to the Capital of the Underworld.
Guarding the gate was a massive, three-headed dog, with a tail that spewed venom.
No doubt, this peculiar creature was the offspring of Typhon.
The three-headed hound of Hades, Cerberus, lay dozing on the ground. Seeing someone cross three rivers to reach the Underworld's capital, it snapped awake, gazing at Suren.
Suren examined the dog: the middle head was drowsy, the left head drooling, and the right head's eyes gleamed with a fierce hunger.
Cerberus made no move to attack, simply observing Suren.
All it needed was an offering of honeycakes, and it would be satisfied.
Hence, in the Age of Gods and after, the Greeks always buried their dead with a coin and honeycakes—the former to pay the ferryman, the latter to appease Cerberus.
Suren considered his options, then raised his fist. "I don't have honeycakes... will this do?"
The left head's eyes widened, the right head growled eagerly, but only the middle head glanced at him before turning away, lifting its tail to gesture past it, hinting that he should "mean it" and keep going.
"A diligent worker, aren't you, Underworld pup?" Suren smirked. If he didn't "hit" the dog, Cerberus would fail Hades' orders.
Since Cerberus was giving him a break, Suren reciprocated, kicking it aside, without dragging it out like Heracles.
After these formalities, Suren finally stepped through the gates of the Capital of the Underworld.
It was time to face the resurrection match in earnest.
Suren clenched his fist, ready for a bout with Hades.
Yet, as he looked up, he was struck dumb. "Wait… what the…?"
"Is this still the Underworld? Where have I ended up?"
Before him lay a garden of blooming flowers, a verdant spring paradise of unknown flora filling the space.
Though the Underworld was eternally dark, it seemed the goddess of spring had graced this garden.
Suren had overlooked one thing—the Underworld was ruled jointly by Hades and Persephone.
And Persephone had quite the reputation for her… fondness for handsome men.
---
T/N: resurrection match you say...? (reference to Restart, Spider-Man!)
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you spot any mistakes or inconsistencies!
Posture and water check!
If you wish to support me or read ahead here's a link! [patreon.com/WiseTL]