I gave him no time to think. The spear sliced through the air and severed his right arm. The scythe fell from his fingers and, upon touching the waters of the Styx, immediately reverted to its original form an oar.
I stepped forward, pointing the spear at his throat.
"You have one choice: speak, or vanish," I said.
Charon trembled. There was no trace left of his former grandeur only a creature consumed by fear.
"It... it wasn't me!" he rasped. "It was Hecate and Hades! Their plot they want to rule Olympus! I was only following orders! I... I had no part in it!"
"Where did you get Aphrodite's elixir?" I asked.
"Hecate received it as a debt repaid," Charon blurted. "Aphrodite sought her aid centuries ago. That's how she earned the elixir."
I sensed no lie but there were omissions. He was hiding something. And even so, his words could not be trusted.
"You must understand: there are always consequences when gods die," I said. "You knew that. How did you plan to stop what would follow?"
Charon fell silent. Far too long.
I jerked the spear. It pierced his leg, and by my will, filled his dead body with pain.
"AAARGH! S-stop!" he screamed. "I'll tell you! We... we wanted to hasten the fall of Olympus! When the gods are gone, the throne will be vacant. Then we will take their place. I would replace Hades, and he he would rule Olympus itself!"
His words were twisted a half-truth.
"And what of the mortals?" I asked.
Charon raised his head. His voice faltered, but then he spoke:
"Mortals... are merely collateral. Their lives are worthless, fleeting. Another generation will rise to replace them."
He fell silent again, noticing my gaze, and quickly added:
"You promised not to kill me. If your word means anything keep it!"
I slowly raised the spear. Panic flickered in Charon's eyes. He realized I truly might do it.
"I will keep my word," I replied. But my voice brought him no relief.
Grabbing the rags on his chest, I lifted him like an empty shell. Summoning the power of the lantern, I focused its light into my palms and drove the blazing flame into his abdomen.
Charon thrashed, trying to break free, but I held him firm. His eyes dimmed, then faded completely. I sealed his essence inside the lantern a prison forged by my will. The idea came suddenly, as I remembered Talos, the bronze sentinel of Crete. Now Charon had become the same. His soul was bound within, his body a lifeless golem.
I steered the boat toward the ship and soon returned to the deck.
With heavy steps I approached the helm, wrapped Charon's body in chains, and secured him tightly. He would now serve his purpose eternally, powerless to change anything. The souls of the dead would still be ferried across the Styx. The river would always have its guardian.
Descending from the prow, I stepped onto the slick rocks and, bracing my hands against the hull, began to push the ship. It barely moved. My body trembled with betrayal, my breath ragged, muscles straining I pushed with all my strength. But something was wrong.
Why am I so weak?
*
Attributes:
Strength: 9
Dexterity: 7
Endurance: 9
Intelligence: 18
Charisma: 17
Defense: 22
Debuff:
COOLDOWN — You bathed in the rivers of the Styx. Here, souls undergo purification, and part of your life force has been drained. Physical attributes reduced by 70%.
Duration: ? Remains active until exiting the Underworld.
*
Why had my strength faded so drastically? I stared into the dark waters of the Styx and closed my eyes. A memory surfaced a fleeting moment when my body had brimmed with power. I had felt it again, if only for a heartbeat. That strength surged through my muscles, just enough to push the ship forward.
But the moment I stepped aboard, that power vanished. My attributes returned to their weakened state. At least it's temporary… until I escape this place.
I turned back to Charon. The lantern ignited in my hand, casting a pale light that pierced the gloom. The ship stirred and began to move. It was time to visit the king of this grim realm. I had to uncover the truth.
Charon's words meant nothing to me. Hades was a mystery elusive, veiled in shadow. I could easily believe that the god of the dead might seek escape from the Underworld and claim Olympus for himself. After all, history knows more than one tale of his conspiracies against Zeus. I had learned my lesson never take any story at face value.
The ship carved through the waters, and soon, land appeared on the horizon. As we reached the dock, the gangplank lowered not by rope or chain, but as though it were alive. One by one, the souls disembarked, drifting down the path toward judgment.
Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus the three Judges of the Dead. It was they who weighed souls and chose their fate.
Only four roads branched out from here:
The Fields of Asphodel — for those whose lives were neither noble nor wicked. Ordinary souls wandered there for eternity.
Elysium — the paradise of heroes and the righteous. Most Spartans found their rest there.
Tartarus — a chasm of torment, home to the wicked, the Titans, and the cursed.
The Isles of the Blessed — the highest form of Elysium, granted only to those who had lived virtuously across multiple lifetimes.
Deeds and thoughts alike determined one's destination. The Judges could not be bribed, fooled, or threatened. They were eternal and just.
Three great stone statues towered where the four paths converged. Behind each one stood a gate. Only after judgment did a soul pass through and until the moment the gate opened, no one knew which path awaited them.
I stepped forward, uncertain of the way ahead.
Then the first statue Minos spoke:
"You are Damocles. Born in Sparta. You fought for your home. Lived as a true Spartan. Blood stains your hands. Countless lives rest upon your conscience."
Next came the voice of Rhadamanthus calmer, yet no less powerful:
"A hero. You stood against your enemies. You protected. You were ready to die for what was right."
And lastly, Aeacus passed his judgment:
"You are no longer one who can be judged."
Then all three fell silent.
The platform beneath me slowly began to rise.As I reached the upper level, a path stretched out before me, leading to a palace built from rough stone. It was grim and austere, as if the Underworld itself had taken form.
[image]
I stepped onto the trail and approached the palace. A woman awaited me at the entrance. She wore minimal clothing. Her long black hair flowed freely, and her eyes glowed faintly with an otherworldly light. Tattoos marked her stomach, and two swords hung at her waist.
[image]
"Hades is expecting you," she said.
"Who are you?" I asked, though I felt I had seen her somewhere before.
"Erinys. And we've met many times before," she replied.
For a moment, I saw the eye of the raven—the one that had watched me so often. I paused briefly, considering my next move. Meanwhile, she turned and began walking toward the open gates.
"So, you're in league with Charon," I said, readying myself for battle.
"Will you strike me here? In the back?" she said, not looking back.
"Don't think anything will save you. If you're plotting something, I will find out," I warned.
"I was merely doing my duty, witnessing your death. I was sent to track the souls who escaped the Underworld. You've simply made my task easier," Erinys said calmly.
We passed through a wide corridor, its walls lined with paintings and ominous statues. Rarely did a hint of beauty pierce the oppressive design.
Then we entered a vast chamber—one that resembled a throne room, though it was nearly empty. The only object of real significance was the throne itself. It was carved from a single piece of black stone.
Upon it sat Hades, cloaked in a light black mantle that barely covered his body. In one hand, he held a bident. His thick, dark hair just touched his shoulders, and his beard, the same hue, was carelessly groomed.
[image]