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But that moment of reflection is broken by an unexpected event. The sky itself seems to revolt against him. Thunder rumbles angrily, an atmospheric expression of rage that rivaled that of Hades. Lightning dances across the vast expanse, painting it in streaks of furious white.
Hades’s head snaps up to the tumultuous heavens. “If the fates won't protect my children, I will! I warned you all!” His shout is deafening, infused with a divine fury that threatens to tear the very fabric of the world apart. Another bolt of lightning descends, this one striking dangerously close to him, setting a hut aflame.
The sight of the burning hut brings him back to his present surroundings. His eyes now rest on the wolf once more. With an unnatural speed, Hades is upon the creature. The beast barely has time to register the god's approach before it is slain, its blood staining Hades’s hands a dark crimson.
“She may not fear the reaper,” Hades growls, voice dripping with venom, “but she shall fear my reaper wolves. And reap they will.”
The very ground trembles with his anger. The sky mirrors his rage with relentless lightning and thunder. It feels as though the universe is bending to his will, resonating with his emotions.
The village plunges into chaos. Screams pierce the night. Men, women, and children try to flee, their figures silhouetted against the fiery backdrop of their burning homes. Hades moves through them like a shadow, every touch, every glance spelling doom.
I can barely breathe, watching the horror unfold. Each life is snuffed out, a story ended, a dream shattered. The sheer magnitude of his wrath is incomprehensible.
Then, as the last scream echoes into silence, Hades stands amidst the devastation. The only sound is the crackling of the flames, consuming what remained of the village.
At his feet lay the wreckage of what had once been a thriving village. The charred remains of huts and homes are scattered as far as the eye can see, and everywhere he looks, he sees death and destruction. He is in the midst of his own personal vision of hell.
And yet, amidst all this chaos and carnage, a single thought returns to him: This could have been prevented, if she had just heard him out. Gave him a chance to explain.
Hades, standing amidst the devastation, looks around at the lifeless bodies that litter the village grounds. The air is thick with the scent of blood and fire, and the night is only broken by the distant wailing of those who have been badly injured and teetering on the veil between life and death. The air turns heavy with the scent of burnt flesh and hellfire, death and decay.
He kneels, placing a hand on the ground, feeling the very life force of the earth pulse beneath his fingers. With a deep breath, Hades starts channeling his divine power. The ground vibrates in response, and a dark, ethereal mist rises, enveloping the village.
Drawing upon the souls of those he'd just slain, Hades weaves a spell, older than time itself. It is a forbidden ritual that taps into the very essence of life and death. He channels the anguish, the fear, and the raw primal instincts of the dead villagers, using their very essence as the foundation for his creation.
His creation takes the form of mist, looking as if it has been formed by all the stars in the universe, and yet, it is as thick as smoke and inky black. It’s as if a force of gravity has taken over, moving through the village and absorbing something dark and unknown from all the corpses scattered around.
As soon as it makes contact with the bodies, the essence sinks into them. The people, all of them, lay motionless as the darkness creeps towards their bodies.
At first, they are still, utterly still. And then, their bodies begin to shake. They look, for a brief moment, as if they are puppets controlled by an invisible hand.
The dark mist takes shape, solidifying into the forms of massive wolves. Their fur, as black as the night, shimmers with an otherworldly glow. Their eyes, a haunting shade of silver, bore the torment of the souls that now inhabit them. These are not ordinary wolves; they are larger, more muscular, and radiate an aura of menace and power. Each soul is transformed, stripped of its humanity, and reforged into a beast that will serve Hades’s will.
Hades then imbues them with a piece of his essence, granting them abilities beyond any mortal creature. These creatures are faster, stronger, and their senses are heightened to supernatural levels. Their very presence would instill terror in the hearts of men, and their howls would be the messenger of the doom to come.
But more importantly, they are unflinchingly loyal servants to Hades. With a mere thought, he can command them to hunt, to kill, or to protect. They are an extension of his will, creatures born from death and bound to serve the god of the underworld, or so he believes.
As the last of the reaper wolves takes form, Hades stands, admiring his creation. They circle him, their muzzles low, acknowledging their master. With a satisfied nod, Hades knows that he has created the perfect instruments of revenge. The reaper wolves are born and with them, a new era of terror is set to begin.
His voice reverberates with authority, echoing across the lake and through the trees, dark and powerful. And with this power, the souls of the dead rise.
They are no longer human; the human side to them was merely a shell, the humanity stripped away as they became something else entirely. A spark of life has been breathed back into their corpses, and the reaper wolves circle, snarling. Hades watches with a sense of satisfaction as his army takes shape before him. These creatures will be his loyal subjects, bound by the essence of death and destruction.
The reaper wolves are unlike anything the mortal realm had ever seen before. With speed and agility that surpassed that of any animal, they moved through the shadows with an uncanny grace. They are fierce predators, their teeth sharp as knives, and their claws deadly weapons.
Hades watches as his creatures move, their silhouettes disappearing into the darkness. He knows that the village will never recover from this night, that he had brought about a level of destruction that would echo through the centuries. But he does not care; his goal is not to be merciful or kind.
Hades is a God, and he exists to hand out punishment to those who dare cross him. Celeste has made a grave mistake in crossing him, and now she will pay the ultimate price.
ChapterSeventy-Eight
As the reaper wolves move through the village, their howls echoing across the countryside. Hades smiles with satisfaction. His wrath has been unleashed, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it.
The God of the Underworld looks over his new army with satisfaction. “Reap they will,” he whispers, sealing the fate of many more to come.
I blink, trying to shake off the lingering dread. The Mnemosyne's waters pull me back, but the images, the screams, and the birth of the reaper wolves will forever be etched in my memory. And so will the sight of what they become as the vision moves to the invasion of Celeste's Village.
Darkness hangs in the air as the newly created reaper wolves following Hades's unspoken command, race towards the distant glow of Celeste's village. From where I stand in the vision, the winds carry a foreboding sense of danger.
