"You did well, buddy. Now rest up," Cyrus growled.
"Useless monsters. They are all useless," Kronos' voice echoed from behind the door.
From the gap between the two massive doors, Kael could see Kronos' glowing eyes glaring at him in rage.
The shadowy layer that covered him began to slowly peel away, revealing Kael. The Helm of Darkness faded away like smoke. Reborn. His new form was revealed.
He stood slightly taller now, his frame lean yet powerful. His shoulders had broadened, his posture effortless yet commanding. He didn't need to try—his presence alone exuded dominance, an unshakable, godlike aura that bent the world around him.
He slowly walked toward Kronos' scythe. As he neared it, Kronos' voice echoed once again.
"I will make sure I take away everything you hold dear."
But Kael ignored him, which only made him angrier.
"You dare ignore me, child?"
Kael picked up Kronos' abandoned weapon, his fingers tightening around the scythe's shaft. Without hesitation, he pressed his own sword against it—devouring it whole. Shadows coiled and writhed around the scythe, swallowing its form, reshaping it, with crimson-red veins running along the edge of the blade. It no longer belonged to Kronos. It was his now.
Without hesitation, Kael walked toward the gate.
A final prayer to his father.
"I'll come visit you again, Father."
A deep laughter echoed through the void. Kronos.
"How bold. How foolish." The Titan's voice slithered through the air, thick with malice. "You think you have won? Arrogant child. I am time itself. You cannot cage what is inevitable."
"Shut up."
The shadows around Kael shook, but his expression remained calm.
Then, he pointed his sword toward the gate and calmly said, "I'll just have to kill you again."
Then—Kronos' laughter erupted, twisted and venomous.
"Enjoy your stolen moments of power, Kael Voss. When I am free, I will take everything from you. Your throne. Your blood. Your very existence."
Kael exhaled.
"I'll be waiting."
He walked away toward the exit, Kronos' voice slowly fading behind him. The shadows under him started to swirl. Slowly, they started to rise up, lifting him upward—out of Tartarus.
Briareus, the Hundred-Handed Guardian, was waiting for him.
"You have returned. Now, do you know the answer to the riddle?"
"Two shall enter the realm of the dead, but only one shall rise. The old fades, the new takes hold. A legacy passed—a fate foretold. What am I?" he asked.
"A god," Kael replied.
"The answer is successor, but god works too. Well done, new ruler of the Underworld."
Kael ignored his comment and, with a calm voice, said, "Take me to the palace."
He sat on Briareus' shoulder, his legs crossed as they leaped through the Underworld. He was quiet, not wanting to think or talk about what had happened. They crossed the sandy land and the River Styx easily. They were moving fast.
Then, he felt it.
The weight of the Underworld pressing down on him.
He didn't know how to face his mother.
He didn't know what to tell her.
The closer he got to the palace, the faster his heart beat, anxiety slowly taking over.
Nothing would be the same.
They stopped at the palace doors.
His heart was pounding.
Because he saw her waiting.
Persephone stood at the entrance of the palace.
Still. Silent. Watching.
Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen, dark circles formed beneath her eyes, like she had been crying, sleepless. Her breath was uneven.
Briareus put him down, his mind drowning in the raw, unbearable weight pressing against his chest.
As he walked through the gate, the undead army stood in perfect formation on both sides. All their eyes were focused on him.
And then—one by one—they bowed.
Welcoming their new king.
Step by step.
And then—
He collapsed onto his knees.
Not gracefully. Not in control.
"I am sorry, Mother. I failed."
She walked toward him, then lowered herself, meeting his eyes.
He crashed into her, his fingers hurting from holding on to her robe so tightly, his entire body starting to shake as he broke apart.
Before he knew it, he started to cry out loud.
It wasn't small.
It wasn't controlled.
It was raw. Ugly. Violent.
He buried his face onto her shoulder, unable to look at her, his breath coming in sharp and uneven.
"It's okay, Kael," her voice was gentle. "You did what you had to."
"I killed him," his voice was a whisper now. "With my own hands."
She held him tighter, her fingers running through his hair. "No, Kael. He made that choice on his own. He did it for a reason."
Kael didn't understand this feeling.
Why did it hurt so much?
He had never met him.
He had never known him.
But he had lost him.
And it felt like his soul had been ripped apart.
"Why?" His voice was a broken whisper. "Why am I feeling this?"
Persephone didn't answer right away.
She just held him tighter.
Kael pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his body shaking even more now.
"Why does it hurt?" He gasped. "I never knew him. I never met him. Then why does it feel like—like something inside me just—"
He tightened his jaw so hard he thought his teeth would break.
"Why did this happen? I tried my best." His voice was soft.
"Why, Mother?"
Kael could feel Persephone's fingers shaking as she brushed his hair back.
"Because it was the prophecy."
"If you knew the prophecy, why not try to change it?" he cried out.
"Because when you try to prevent prophecy, things become unpredictable. Hades tried, but it only made it worse."
The words shattered something deep inside him.
Kael swallowed hard, his chest tightening even more.
Then—it hit him.
"You knew." His voice was barely a whisper, raw and accusing. "You knew he would never come back."
Persephone flinched.
Her lips parted, but she didn't say anything.
She had never expected him to return.
She had never allowed herself to hope.
She had known—this entire time.
A bitter laugh tore from his throat, painful. "You knew, didn't you?"
Her hands trembled as they cupped his face.
Her silence was his answer.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
She had known.
And she had watched him go after Hades anyway.
Because there was never a way to stop it.
Because this was always how it was going to end.
Kael wanted to scream.
He wanted to tear something apart.
But all he could do was grip her robes tighter and press his forehead against her shoulder, trying to breathe through all the pain. The guilt.
The Underworld knelt before him.
But inside him—
The storm was building.
He clenched his jaw, his hands shaking.
He screamed.
The Underworld shattered.
The ground split apart.
The air trembled.
The world bowed.