[Third person POV]

Markus glanced nervously around the towering, ominous structure that loomed around him. The castle walls were carved from dark stone that seemed to drink in what little light there was, while eerie, green ghostly flames flickered atop ancient torches lining the corridor.

The air was cold—unnaturally so—and the entire atmosphere was oppressive, heavy with a silent tension that made Markus’s skin crawl. Every step echoed through the vast hall, the sound of their boots against the floor the only noise in the otherwise deathly silent fortress.

A shiver crawled down Markus’s spine, and despite himself, he summoned his twin sickles into his hands with a quiet shimmer of magical steel. He gripped them tightly, his knuckles turning white, holding them in a defensive stance as he kept his eyes scanning every dark corner.

Ahead of him, Lucian came to a halt and turned slightly, one eyebrow raised in mild surprise. “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

Markus hesitated, lowering his gaze slightly as if ashamed. “I… feel safer with my weapon in hand,” he admitted, his voice quiet.

Lucian exhaled slowly through his nose, a faint sigh escaping his lips. “As much as I understand that instinct,” he said, “what you’re doing could easily be seen as disrespectful. You’re walking through a god’s castle with your weapons drawn. Think about what kind of message that sends.”

Markus froze mid-step, his eyes widening in alarm. Realization crashed down on him. He quickly dismissed the sickles with a flick of his wrists, the weapons vanishing into thin air. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Lucian raised a hand to stop him, his voice calm and understanding. “It’s fine. Really. I get it. But just be careful, alright? My father’s pretty laid-back… but the other gods? Not so much.”

Markus nodded quickly, swallowing down his nerves as they resumed walking. The tension in his shoulders remained, but he did his best to appear composed.

As they continued down the long, shadow-filled corridor, Lucian glanced over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He casually extended his hand toward Markus and smirked. “Want me to hold your hand?”

Markus flushed, clicking his tongue in annoyance and swatting the hand away. “Shut up,” he muttered, glaring at Lucian with no real malice.

Lucian chuckled, the sound echoing lightly through the corridor. They walked a few more steps before he felt something tug at the edge of his shirt. He glanced down and noticed Markus subtly pinching the fabric, holding on like a child afraid of getting lost.

Lucian’s eyes softened slightly. He didn’t say anything, didn’t tease him. Instead, he smiled to himself and kept walking. ‘I keep forgetting he’s still just a kid sometimes…’

They reached the massive double doors of the throne room—towering, ornate things carved with scenes of battle, judgment, and the underworld. Without warning, Lucian suddenly threw his arms wide and bellowed, “FATHER! YOUR SON DEMANDS AN AUDIENCE!”

Markus practically jumped out of his skin, heart leaping into his throat.

A loud voice thundered back from within. “LUCIAN STOP YELLING EVERYTIME YOU’RE BY THE DOOR, I TOLDED YOU THIS A MILLION TIMES ALREADY!!”

As the heavy doors creaked open, Lucian stepped through, Markus trailing close behind, now releasing his grip on Lucian’s shirt and glancing around awkwardly.

“But how else am I supposed to announce my majestic arrival and make sure you’re paying attention?” Lucian replied smoothly, strolling into the grand chamber like he owned the place.

A grumble echoed from the throne as Hades, Lord of the Underworld, glared at his son. “You damn well know I’m always aware of where you are the moment you step into my domain, you annoying little gremlin.”

Markus kept his head low as they approached the base of the grand stairs leading to the thrones. Lucian, ever the showman, offered a respectful bow toward everyone present—Hades, Persephone, and of course, Medea his mother. Then, as his eyes landed on Persephone, his entire demeanor shifted into flirtatious charm.

“Step-mother,” he said, voice honeyed and expression radiant, “though you are the goddess of spring, your beauty burns brighter than even the height of summer.”

Persephone’s cheeks flushed slightly as she giggled, placing a hand on her face. “Oh Lucian, you little sweet-talker,” she said fondly.

Before the moment could last, Hades silently crossed one leg over the other, slipped off a sandal, and hurled it with uncanny precision. The footwear smacked Lucian square in the forehead with a loud whap.

“OW—WHAT THE HELL!?” Lucian cried out, staggering backward and clutching his forehead as he crumpled dramatically to the floor. It felt as if the sandal had split his head wide open.

Hades stood, pointing a finger at his son like an accusing specter. “I told you a hundred times—stop flirting with my wife! I know you’re only doing it to piss me off!”

Then his glare shifted to Persephone. “And you! Stop encouraging him! You spoil him too much, and now look at the monster you’ve created!”

Persephone giggled again, covering her mouth daintily. “But he’s just so entertaining! You never know what he’s going to say next.”

Lucian sat up, still rubbing his forehead with teary eyes. “This is child abuse! I’m pretty sure I have a bump now thanks to you!”

He pulled his hand away with a wince, and sure enough, a red bump was beginning to swell on his forehead, glaringly visible against his pale skin.

Hades just rolled his eyes. “You’ll live.”

Hades cleared his throat, regaining the regal and commanding presence befitting the Lord of the Underworld. He turned his gaze toward Markus, his expression softening slightly.

“Markus,” he said warmly, “how have you been?”

Markus gave a respectful bow to everyone present—Hades, Persephone, and the attendants—before responding, “I’ve been well, Lord Hades. And you?”

“I was doing perfectly fine,” Hades muttered with a dramatic sigh, casting a sidelong glance at Lucian, “until that walking headache beside you decided to disrupt my peace.”

As if to emphasize Hades’s point, Lucian—standing in front of Medea, who was doting over him—looked up and stuck out his tongue at his father. Medea gently kissed the bump on his forehead, clearly enabling him as Lucian played up the dramatics.

Hades ignored the childish display with expert precision, choosing instead to focus on Markus. His tone became formal yet kind, the weight of his words measured and deliberate. “As Lord of this realm, I extend to you an official welcome, Markus. The gates of the Underworld will forever be open to you. As Lucian no doubt told you when you first arrived… this is your home. And I hope, with time, you’ll come to see it as such.”

Markus smiled softly, touched by the gesture. He bowed once more, his tone grateful. “Thank you, Lord Hades. You honor me. Though I’ll admit it might take some getting used to… it’s comforting to know I’m truly welcome here.”

Persephone stepped forward with a motherly warmth in her voice. “If you ever find yourself in need of anything during your stay, please don’t hesitate to ask, dear.”

Markus nodded politely. “Thank you, Lady Persephone. That means a lot.”

But then, the warmth in his expression faded, replaced by a more serious, resolute look. He stood tall, shoulders squared.

“However,” he continued, “I came here today with a purpose. I wish to speak with my father. Not metaphorically—not in dreams or fragments—I want to meet him, face-to-face… today.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Hades and Persephone shared a glance—an exchange that carried a look of silent understanding. They had anticipated this day, had spoken about it in hushed tones, wondering when Markus would demand an audience with his father. But even by their timeless standards, it had arrived sooner than expected.

Hades slowly nodded. “Very well… I’ll contact him.”

Reaching into the folds of his dark, shadowy toga, Hades rummaged for a moment before pulling out—of all things—a modern black smartphone. He tapped the screen a few times, the faint glow of the device oddly out of place against the gothic gloom of the Underworld.

Lucian and Markus both blinked in disbelief, their expressions frozen in silent astonishment.

“…What?” Hades asked flatly, noticing their stares.

Lucian was the first to speak. “Don’t act like casually whipping out a smartphone from your toga is the most normal thing in the world.”

Markus nodded in agreement, unable to hide his disbelief.

Rolling his eyes, Hades gestured dismissively. “I’ll have you know his father carries around a tablet. He uses it to manage the souls he’s meant to collect. This is how I contact him. I don’t just scream into a pit of fire like a savage.”

With swift fingers, Hades finished his message and tucked the phone back into his robes. “He’ll be here shortly.”

Lucian stood there, utterly deadpan. “You have no idea how weird that was. That felt… viscerally wrong. Please don’t ever do that again”

Before Hades could retort, there was a sudden knock on the grand chamber doors, followed by a smooth, echoing voice—majestic, deep, and otherworldly.

“Lord Hades… you summoned me?”

Markus froze, every muscle in his body tensing. That voice—it pierced through his chest and gripped his heart. He stared at the door, unmoving, barely breathing.

“Yes,” Hades said calmly, turning his gaze toward Markus. “Come in, Thanatos. There’s someone here who wishes to meet you.”

The doors creaked open, and through them stepped a tall, imposing figure. Thanatos—Death incarnate. His presence was ethereal, his robes trailing like mist behind him, his eyes glowing softly. Large black wings arched behind him, and each of his steps was silent, graceful, yet filled with undeniable weight.

“And just who,” Thanatos said with a quiet chuckle, “would go out of their way… to seek Death?”

He bowed to Hades and Persephone respectfully before turning his attention to the younger figures in the room.

His eyes landed on Markus.

Time stood still.

For the briefest of moments, they simply stared at one another. Then—whoosh—both Markus’s and Thanatos’s wings flared open, their matching feathers stretching wide, shadows dancing across the floor.

Thanatos’s expression darkened. His voice, once smooth, dropped into something far deeper and colder.

“Markus…” he said, his tone laced with warning, “you shouldn’t be here. Why… why are you here?”

Markus clenched his fists, his teeth grinding together as rage swelled in his chest. His aura surged upward, rising like a storm around him as he stepped forward.

“That’s really the first thing you say to me?” Markus shouted, his voice rising with every word. “No greeting? No ‘hello’? No ‘Who are you’? Just ‘Why are you here’? Seriously?!”

Thanatos’s eyes narrowed, but before he could speak, Markus leapt into the air, his wings beating furiously.

“Fine! You want to know why I’m here?!” Markus roared, drawing back his fist. “I’ll show you!”

With a yell, he launched forward and punched Thanatos square across the jaw. The force of the blow made the god of death stumble back, eyes wide in disbelief as he held his cheek.

Markus hovered in the air, his wings spread wide, his body glowing with power and emotion. “I hope you enjoyed my introduction… Father,” he spat, venom dripping from the word.

On the sidelines, Lucian grinning like a madman, clearly happy to have witnessed the spectacle. A shadow tendril floated beside him, holding his phone in place as it recorded the scene. He bit his lower lip, trying not to scream in celebration, and repeatedly fist-pumped the air, mouthing yes! yes! yes!

SMACK!

A hand struck the back of Lucian’s head. Medea, standing behind him with a piercing glare, had clearly had enough. Lucian rubbed the sore spot and looked at her with confused eyes—only to see her sharp gaze warning him to behave.

He gave her a sheepish grin, his hands raised in surrender, the phone-tendril slowly retracting.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep