Chapter 8: House of Hades

“Few tales are told of Hades, whose very name inspires fear and penitence, reminding us of the inevitable fate which we all share. I, however, mean to tell you such a tale. Listen carefully.”

— Narrator/Homer (as voiced by Logan Cunningham), Hades (2020). Written by Greg Kasavin. Developed and published by Supergiant Games. Originally released September 17, 2020. © 2020 Supergiant Games. All rights reserved.

He could feel the power coursing through him. The might of the Underworld was burning through his veins, coursing from the smallest parts of his extremities to his heart and back out again. Even as he stood in the land of the living, Hades could feel his immense endowment of strength waning. To be away from the Underworld slowly stole away the power that was rightfully his.

Regardless of what was leaving him instant by instant, he was starting to understand, without a shadow or sliver of a doubt, that If he were to battle with Zeus at that exact moment, Hades would be victorious.

However the simplest truth of this contradictory result informed him of another facet of life. Olympus was not to be his ... at least not at the moment.

His power came from the Underworld, so he would need to return to preserve his might. For the moment, that meant he was not meant to be upon Olympus. His duty, rights, responsibilities, and objectives were meant for the Chthonic Realm.

Only, then and there and at that precise moment, he did not mind, for a man found truth in himself when he knew where he was meant to be. His place in existence was solidified in a manner that allowed him to understand the singularity of all of reality better than that of Zeus or Poseidon.

He was the King of the Underworld. To be its greatest champion as he reigned was the right path, so he would walk that road until such time as to not know what else to do.

With this firm grasp of his new self, Hades stepped forward to confront the specter of Ouranos,

Father Sky let out a derisive laugh. His momentarily dread of this newcomer had dissipated. After all, he was able to recognize this being. He had the measure of this lesser being.

What could have changed in a day that this ‘Hades’ could best him? He was the last Primordial, born of the ichor of Gaia and Chaos. He was the Progenitor’s last true creation. He was meant to rule, and only through his own folly had he ruined such a possibility.

To speak and stand unchallenged were his rights. He had learned the lessons, and he was humbled. He was mere hours from completing his heart’s desire, so when he spoke next, his voice echoed with ancient power and a promise for tomorrow.

“You shall return me to the Underworld?” he declared, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I have already defeated Nyx, and as I recall, I have bested you before.”

Hades remained undeterred by simple words spoken. His gaze never wavered away from his grandfather. Family did not matter, nor that of love, not even friendship would have stalled Hades, for this was for honor.

“I am not the same god you defeated before,” he asserted.

He meant every word because each word was a second away from his Realm. He would need to return to replenish his strength. Surely ambrosia could restore him as it would other gods, but for him, after the pomegranate, his full recovery would only occur in the Land of the Dead.

Sensing the change in Hades, Ouranos paused. He knew that the words were not just blind bravado from the young god before him. Ouranos did not want to fight anymore, not when he was so close to his return to the living. In just an hour or two more, he would be fully revived.

These details, coupled with the surety that Hades had in himself, had him second guessing another battle. Nyx may not have done much of any damage to him, but this was a gamble. Wisdom told Ouranos that certainties were better than any game of chance.

“We need not be enemies,” he said, almost pleading. “I recognize that you are my grandson. In the name of family, allow me to leave, and I will never bother you, Zeus, or Olympus ever again.”

Though a part of him yearned to heed his grandfather’s plea, Hades knew that duty and responsibility bound him.

“WereI were King on Olympus, I might be willing to turn a blind eye and allow you to go,” Hades said carefully.

Ouranos looked hopeful to the words because it meant the battle that was imminent might not come to pass, but Hades’ tone in his next sentence destroyed all of that hope.

“But I am not King on Olympus,” Hades proclaimed succinctly. “I am King of the Underworld.” With a solemn shake of his head, he responded, “A King must never allow his charges to slip free and spread disaster.”

The words hung heavy in the air as a silent acknowledgment of the inevitable clash that lay ahead. There were the final words that Hades would say on the subject. He meant what he said and said what he meant.

This was the conviction of the grandson that Ouranos was only just coming to understand. In so many ways, he saw his failures in the young god. By comparison, Hades was a far better choice for King of Mount Olympus than that of Cronos or Ouranos.

The Sky Primordial wished with all his heart that he might have been able to be the ally of this Chthonic King rather than his enemy. In Hades, there was a future of order rather than discord. Harmony would not follow Hades, but a simple alignment by this Underworld King’s expectation would come.

With a resigned sigh, Ouranos locked eyes with Hades. The young god was about seven feet in height. Even in his more manageable height, Ouranos was nearly ten feet in height. The reach advantage might have been his if not for the weapons at his grandson’s disposal.

Perhaps, he should have treated his Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires children better. They might have made Ouranos a weapon capable of defending himself.

The tension between the two combatants mounted. Clearly, their differences could only be settled through battle to determine the fate of both the living and the dead.

Ouranos unleashed his power upon Hades as he had against Nyx. The sky crackled with raw energy, and gusts of wind howled around them. Bolts of lightning streaked across the heavens, illuminating the battlefield with their fierce intensity.

Hades, nimble and quick-witted in his newfound power, dodged each onslaught with calculated precision. He used no more strength of speed than was necessary for the task. For all of his newfound perspective, and distracted by the many powers of the Primordial, Hades was unable to stop Ouranos’ fist from connecting with his face with a resounding impact.

For a moment, there was a flicker of surprise in Ouranos’ eyes as he beheld his grandson, expecting to see the effects of his powerful blow knocking the god down. However, to his astonishment, Hades stood his ground before the Primordial. Unyielding and undaunted were the only words to capture Hades’ determined efforts in that moment.

The only evidence of Ouranos’ exertions was a faint smudge on Hades’ left cheek.

In that moment of stunned silence, Hades met Ouranos’ gaze with a steady stare. This alone might have caused the Last Primordial to flinch back an eighth of an inch. The Underworld King’s lips curled into a faint smile as he uttered the words that would signal the turning of the tide.

“My turn.”

Ouranos flinched at the words. When he saw the smile on Hades’ face, he recoiled. He paused to try and harness his power to unleash a relentless barrage of attacks upon Hades.

For all of the Primordial’s might, Hades did not allow the once-king to harm him. With a swift motion, Hades, with his black bident gleaming in hand, surged forward.

He drove the sharp dual pronged tip of his bident deep into Ouranos’ shoulder with a forceful thrust. A pained cry echoed through the air as Ouranos howled. The Primordial recoiled from the strike. The blow would have pinned him to the mountain if Ouranos had not stood his ground. That did not stop the searing sensation from his shoulder as ghostly ichor oozed from the wound.

For a fleeting moment, fear flickered in Ouranos’ eyes as he realized the true extent of Hades’ newfound power. How had his grandson found such reserves? He was nowhere near as strong when Ouranos had taught him his lesson. The gap of time was minute. How?!

What was more worrying was that despite his spectral form, he could feel the searing pain of the wound as he would a real wound. How potent was Hades and his weapon?

Desperate to escape the relentless onslaught, Ouranos turned to flee. His ghostly form shimmered as he sought to retreat into the shadows of the mountains of Greece.

With a cautiously keen eye, he watched his grandfather’s retreat. Hades did not allow his condemnation of his grandfather to interfere with what he was meant to do. He held his hand out, and the bident withdrew itself from Ouranos’ ghostly body before returning to Hades. After stabbing the butt of the Bident into the ground, he withdrew his adamantine hooks and lashed out to ensnare his elusive foe.