Chapter 330: A Bargain with Hades
The gates of the Underworld did not open for the living.
They opened for no god uninvited.
And yet... when Poseidon arrived, the obsidian doors shuddered on their hinges, the veins of molten iron running through them hissing as if chilled by the cold weight of his presence.
The Styx parted at his feet, its black waters quivering like a wounded beast. Shades of the damned recoiled, whispering in tongues that carried no sound—only dread. Their eyeless sockets followed him as he descended, his trident gleaming faintly, carrying with it the scent of salt that did not belong in this land of dust.
Beyond the gates, the cavernous throne hall of Hades stretched endlessly. The ceiling disappeared into shadows that shifted as though alive, while rivers of molten gold and flame wound through the cracks of the onyx floor. Upon the throne of bone and shadow sat Hades himself, the King of the Dead, a crown of obsidian coiled with writhing serpents upon his head.
His eyes, voids darker than death, narrowed when he saw the visitor.
"Poseidon." His voice was a growl that echoed like a collapsing crypt. "Your arrogance carries you far. Why stand before my throne unbidden? Have you come to rob the dead as you rob the seas?"
Poseidon did not bow. His presence filled the chamber like an invading tide.
"I have not come to steal, brother," he said, his voice a deep surge. "I have come to bargain."
The word hissed through the throne hall. Shades froze. The three-headed hound, Cerberus, stirred from his shadowed corner, growling low, his eyes glowing with balefire.
Hades leaned forward on his throne, one skeletal hand clutching the armrest. "Bargain? The seas rise. The cities drown. The mortal realm trembles beneath your hand. And you come to me to... bargain?"
Poseidon’s eyes flashed like storms over an endless ocean. "Yes. For your pitchfork—the Scepter of Subjugation. A relic older than Olympus itself. You know its power. You know why I ask for it."
The chamber groaned with silence. Even the flames of the Phlegethon guttered low.
Hades’s laugh was long and bitter. "You come into my house, into the vault of the dead, and you ask for that? Do you know what you’re asking, Poseidon? That pitchfork does not control flame, nor earth, nor wave. It commands the very souls of the damned. With it, I keep the Underworld bound. Without it, the dead would rise."
"I know," Poseidon said evenly. "That is why I want it."
Cerberus barked once, the sound so sharp that spirits shattered into ash.
Hades’s gaze turned cold, deadly. "And why should I give it to you? What do you offer me in return that could outweigh dominion of the Underworld itself?"
Poseidon stepped closer. The rivers hissed at his approach, steam rising where salt met sulfur. His trident struck the stone with a resonant clang that echoed through eternity.
"I offer you what Olympus never has, and never will." His voice deepened, thrumming with power. "Freedom."
Hades tilted his head, but his hand flexed subtly on his throne’s armrest. Poseidon had his attention.
"Explain."
Poseidon spread his arms, the motion as vast as waves pulling back before a cataclysmic surge. "For ages, you have sat here in shadows, chained by your duty. Olympus feasts above, while mortals whisper prayers to Zeus and Aphrodite, to Hera and Athena. And you? You rule the forgotten, the feared, the shunned. You hold dominion, yes, but never devotion. They fear you, but they do not worship you. They bury their dead, then curse your name."
A shadow crossed Hades’s face. The serpents of his crown hissed.
Poseidon pressed further, his voice low, dangerous. "But what if it were different? What if, for the first time, the dead did not belong only to you? What if life itself could be yours to command? I can drown Olympus. I can topple their thrones. And when the world kneels, Hades will no longer be just a keeper of shadows. You will be the god of flesh and blood again, walking among mortals who pray to you, not hide from you."
Hades’s fingers curled into the bone of his throne until it cracked. The words sank deep, striking at the wound no god dared speak of—the truth of his exile.
Poseidon stepped closer, his tone shifting from storm to temptation. "Lend me your pitchfork, and I will break the gates between life and death. No soul will leave this world without your hand to guide it. Together, we will end Olympus. Together, we will reign not as rulers of fragments—sky, sea, or death—but as kings of the whole."
The flames roared higher, shadows clawing the walls. The entire Underworld trembled at the weight of his words.
Hades rose slowly from his throne, the air thickening as if the very concept of death leaned forward to listen. His presence darkened the chamber until even Poseidon’s sea-born glow seemed pale.
"You would give me dominion over the living," Hades said slowly. "And in return... you would take dominion over the dead."
Poseidon’s lips curled in a faint smile. "No. I would share it."
The silence was unbearable. Even the shades dared not move.
Finally, Hades descended the throne steps, his robes trailing whispers of forgotten screams. He stood eye to eye with Poseidon, darkness meeting storm.
"You tempt me, brother. And I do not easily bend." His eyes narrowed. "But if I give you my pitchfork, how do I know you will not use it to chain even me?"
Poseidon leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Because, Hades, if I wished to chain you, I would not ask. I would take."
For a long moment, neither god moved. The air between them felt like the edge of a blade.
Then, slowly—so slowly that the entire Underworld seemed to exhale—Hades let out a dark chuckle. "Very well, Poseidon. I will consider your bargain. But know this: if you betray me, I will not rest until I tear the flesh from your bones, storm or no storm."
Poseidon’s smile was thin, sharp, inevitable. "Then we are agreed."
Hades raised a skeletal hand. From the depths of shadow, the Pitchfork of the Dead emerged, black metal dripping spectral fire. Its three prongs screamed faintly with the voices of the damned. The chamber grew colder, darker, as it hovered between them.
"Take it," Hades said, his voice both curse and blessing. "And let us see whether the world drowns in sea or in shadow."
Poseidon reached out and closed his hand around the weapon. The pitchfork sang in his grasp, the cries of the Underworld harmonizing with the roar of the sea. For a moment, it seemed as though both realms bowed together.
And in that moment, Poseidon’s storm broke the chains of destiny.