Hades stood at the edge of the abyss, the Underworld stretching before him—vast, endless, and untamed. It was a realm of raw, formless darkness, where the souls of the dead drifted aimlessly, caught between nothingness and eternity.
But this was no longer a realm of chaos. It was his.
He had defeated Erebus. He had taken the Underworld as his own. Now, he would shape it.
Hades closed his eyes and reached out—not with his hands, but with his will. The darkness trembled, sensing its new master. The Underworld did not resist. It was as if it had been waiting for him all along.
With a mere thought, the abyss shifted. The drifting souls, once weightless and lost, suddenly had direction. The first rivers began to take form, their waters black and cold, winding through the landscape like veins through a body. The dead, drawn by an invisible pull, began to gather.
Then, the land itself changed. Jagged cliffs rose from the depths, ancient mountains formed in an instant, and the very air thickened, solidifying into a world separate from both Olympus and the mortal realm.
The Underworld was no longer just a void. It was a kingdom.
A throne of obsidian emerged from the darkness, rising high above the newly formed land. It was not gilded like Zeus' throne, nor did it shine with the radiance of Olympus. It was cold, unyielding—a throne meant for a king who ruled the dead.
Hades ascended its steps, his movements slow, deliberate. He did not hesitate. He did not falter. This was his place.
And when he finally sat, the Underworld shuddered in recognition.
The souls of the dead turned their empty gazes toward him, and for the first time, there was order.
The Lord of the Underworld had taken his throne.
And his reign had just begun.
This sets up Hades' rule and the beginning of his absolute authority over the dead.