The Underworld was never just a land of the dead. It was a kingdom—one as vast and sprawling as Olympus itself. Seven regions, each controlled by an ancient god, a ruler of their own domain.
And at the center of it all, my father.
Hades kept the balance. He ruled over them, held the throne, ensured that no one entity ever gained too much power. For centuries, there was order. No god dared to rise above the others. No war threatened to break the fragile truce.
But my father is dead.
And now, they want the throne.
Because ruling the Underworld isn't just about power—it's about control. Control over the Gates of Death. Control over the souls that pass through them.
And those who controls the gates?
Controls everything.
That's why I was here. That's why my mother was in danger. That's why war was inevitable.
I stepped into the palace halls, and I felt them before I saw them.
The air shifted. Grew colder. Heavier. Seven divine presences pressed down on the walls, seeping into the very foundation of the palace.
They were here.
The Lords of the Underworld
The balcony doors were open, the figures standing in the moonlight like statues carved from shadow and divinity. Each of them radiated power—ancient, suffocating, undeniable.
Thanatos, the God of Peaceful Death, stood at the front, clad in armor as dark as the void. Hypnos, his twin brother, looked unimpressed, already half-lost in a waking dream. Makaria, the Goddess of Blessed Souls, leaned against the railing, her smirk lazy but sharp. The others—Erebus, god of primordial darkness, Nyx, the goddess of night, and Melinoë, the queen of restless spirits—watched in silence.
These were the ones who had kept the balance.
And now, they wanted to break it.
My mother stood at the center, still and composed, but I saw the tension in her frame. Without my father, her power was fractured. The Underworld had always been ruled by two. Now, she stood alone.
And they knew it.
Thanatos was the first to move. His voice carried the weight of inevitability.
"Hades is gone. The Underworld needs a ruler."
I stepped forward, my eyes locked onto his. "It already has one."
Hypnos barely lifted his gaze. "You?" His golden eyes flickered. "You're just a child."
Makaria hummed. "A throne means nothing without power to hold it."
Nyx was silent. Then, quietly, she said, "A king without followers is just a boy in a chair."
Thanatos moved then, his presence like a gathering storm. The air shifted, warping under the sheer force of his power.
"You wear the crown," he said, voice smooth, measured. "But what makes you think you deserve it?"
Shadows stirred.
The palace trembled.
The weight of the abyss poured through the floor, crawling up my legs, coiling around my arms, wrapping around my body like living ink. The temperature dropped, the air thickened. The darkness was alive.
Then—
The Helm of Darkness formed over my face.
A helmet made of pure night. A crown that swallowed the light itself.
And suddenly, I was not Kael Voss.
I was the King of the Underworld.
Silence.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Even the gods—the ones who had ruled these lands for eons—felt the shift. The weight of something old, something they could not ignore.
I met Thanatos' gaze through the darkness. "You question my right to the throne?" My voice was not my own. It carried the weight of the realm itself.
For the first time, they hesitated.
Even Thanatos. Even Erebus. Even Makaria.
They felt it.
The power. The authority. The truth that I was not my father.
I was something else.
Thanatos was the first to recover. He exhaled, slow and even, before stepping forward.
"You wear the helm," he said. "But you do not hold the kingdom."
His form began to shift.
The golden armor cracked. Shadows twisted around his body, warping his presence, distorting his voice. It grew darker.
"Even your father feared me," he said.
And then, something inside him changed.
A deeper voice seeped into his words. A hunger beneath them. A thing older than Thanatos himself.
"Little king," the voice murmured, stretching and breaking against the walls. "Don't get cocky just because your father gave you a crown."
The ground shuddered. The palace walls groaned.
And still, I did not move.
Thanatos smiled. It was not a kind thing.
"A king without followers…" he mused, his voice low. "Is just a man in a chair."
Shadows curled tighter around my fingers.
"You think I care about a chair?"
The words came effortlessly, spoken not as a question, but as a fact.
Thanatos stilled.
I stepped forward.
"You think I rule for power?" I continued, my voice slow, deliberate. The shadows pulsed with every syllable. "You think I play at being a king because I want it?"
The ground beneath me darkened.
"I rule because I am the Underworld."
Thanatos' eyes flickered.
The palace trembled.
And then—
They rose.
One by one, the Seven Deadly Sins emerged from the abyss.
Pride. Wrath. Envy. Greed. Sloth. Lust. Gluttony.
My generals. My monsters. My shadows.
They stood behind me.
Waiting.
Watching.
Hungry.
I met Thanatos' gaze, my voice calm. Absolute.
"You will kneel."
Silence.
A beat.
Then I smiled.
"Or I will tear the authority from your corpse."
The gods did not move.
They did not speak.
But they felt it.
The shift. The reality. The truth that I was not my father.
I was not a god.
I was something they could not control.
I turned. Shadows swirled at my feet, coiling and twisting like a living storm.
"You have two weeks."
The words rippled through the palace, crawling through every crack, every bone, every shadowed corner.
"Two weeks to swear fealty."
I let the weight of my power settle. Let them feel it.
And then, finally—
I smiled.
"Do not test me."