Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 52: The Schism of Olympus (Part 12)

The entrance to Tartarus was not a door in the literal sense of the word, but rather like an open wound in the world.

A primal tear in the fabric of the world, where the light did not extinguish itself... but twisted in on itself, as if afraid to look at what lay beyond.

Hermes was floating above this crack, his staff in his hand, in no hurry for the moment. The layer of dark mist brushed against him as if trying to remind him that he did not belong there.

"Great. A place worse than Hera’s last family reunion. Sometimes I hate being the messenger."

The god sighed, raised his caduceus, and turned it once. The air trembled with a sharp whistle, and the vortex opened.

The atmosphere changed, and as the god began to feel gravity shifting, he interpreted it as the perfect moment to descend.

And Hermes descended.

Few had ever set foot in Tartarus without chains. And none who had done so had ever wanted to return—well, the reasons for this would be clear to Hermes.

He advanced between fractured slopes of black rock, where time did not pass but accumulated, like forgotten dust. The echoes were lies. The shadows, memories.

And in the background, behind cyclopean columns of molten stone, they waited.

Oceanus was the first to raise his head. His face seemed marked by centuries, or rather millennia, of confinement, but his eyes were the same: ancient, patient, and mocking.

"Zeus sends his little messenger dog to the end of the world?" he said with a crooked smile. "Or did you come of your own free will, you little sandal thief?"

"What can I say? I was bored up there." Hermes shrugged. ’Besides, I needed to talk to the ’ancient wisdom’. You are the only ones available who haven’t turned into statues, gone mad, or... Kronos."

A murmur ran through those present. Atlas was hunched over his knees, though he no longer carried the sky. Coeus, his head shrouded in a perpetual aura of racing thoughts, watched him as if he could dissect him with his gaze. Hyperion, silent, barely breathed. Crius twisted his chained wrists, as if still warming up his tendons for battle.

And Tia, the Titaness, looked at him with an arched eyebrow, amused.

"So it happened again," she murmured. "Another war is beginning, isn’t it? And Olympus has trembled again, much like it did so many cycles ago, yet so different. How predictable time is sometimes."

"It’s a good family tradition," Hermes replied, smiling. ’Every generation needs its own Theomachy, doesn’t it?"

Atlas let out a deep, hollow laugh. ’So it’s official? That’s what they’re calling the new war?"

Hermes crossed his arms. "It doesn’t have a name yet. But if you want to help, you could at least make sure it’s spelled right in the history books."

"And I suppose your beloved father is offering freedom in exchange for our help," said Oceanus, his voice like an underground stream. ’Old trick."

"He offers limited freedom,’ corrected Hermes. "Surveillance, of course. Custody. But also influence. A place—albeit small—on the board that is about to be set up. Many of the new gods don’t even know how to walk in the world. You have the experience, the knowledge... and most importantly, the resentment."

"And Kronos?" asked Coeus, raising a mist-shrouded hand. "Will they betray us again if we let him out?"

"I’m not here to speak for him," Hermes said coldly. "Kronos stays where he is. What I’m offering is an alliance between you and Olympus, under certain conditions. My father needs your power, your advice, your participation... in exchange for getting out of this rotten crack."

"And if we don’t accept?" Hyperion finally said, his voice like rusty metal. "Do we just stand by and watch you destroy the world without us?"

Hermes smiled, but there was no humor in his eyes.

"If you don’t accept, when the day comes, you won’t be able to help watching everything collapse... even yourselves. Because this time it’s not just a fight for the sky. If you cooperate, you will earn the right to exist as more than forgotten myths."

Tía lifted her chin. "You’re playing with fire, messenger. Does your father’s serpent think we’re chess pieces he can move around as he pleases?"

"No," said Hermes. "I’m sure he thinks you’re pieces that haven’t moved in too long. He’s just offering you a move. You can take it or stay static, just as you’ve done for the last few thousand years."

A silence fell. Not a heavy silence, but a measured one.

Finally, Atlas looked up and spoke.

"We want guarantees. We want to see that this isn’t just a desperate move by Zeus. We’re tired of betrayal. If there are no guarantees that we’ll get out of this hellhole, then we won’t cooperate, and we’ll set the terms."

"Then write down the conditions," said Hermes, with a slight gesture. "I will take them to Olympus myself. And if Zeus does not accept them... well. You can always change your mind and join the other side. There is one thing that never changes in divine wars: there is always a new master willing to release chains."

The Titans looked at each other. It was not a look of brotherhood, or even of agreement... it was a sign that something had changed.

Hermes turned and began to walk away, satisfied.

’And there goes the first piece to fall.’

Behind him, in the darkness, Oceanus murmured:

"What do you think? Will Kronos’ offspring have learned his lesson? Or will he inevitably fail to maintain his power? Just as it has been since the beginning of time?"

Tia laughed softly. "I don’t know. But it will be fun to watch him try."

But before they could decide, and before Hermes could do anything, he heard a presence suddenly appear near him.

The echo of footsteps had barely begun to dissipate between the twisted walls of Tartarus when the air suddenly froze. Not in temperature, but in essence.

Everything stopped. The shadows of the Titans ceased to move. Even Tartarus, so accustomed to pain and confinement, seemed to hold its breath.

And then he appeared.

From the void between worlds, shrouded in a robe as black as despair, Hades emerged.

His figure was not as grand as Zeus’s nor as tempestuous as Poseidon’s. He didn’t need it. Hades brought with him an older authority. Not because he ruled over lightning or the tides, but because of something much simpler: because nothing escapes death.

His eyes flashed like smoldering embers when he saw the messenger.

"So it was true," he said, his voice sounding like a tomb opening. "I felt a snake enter my kingdom, and it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together."

Hermes stopped immediately, his expression a grimace that failed to be a smile.

"Ah, perfect. The head of human resources is down on the production floor.

"My lord of the Underworld," he said, in an almost ceremonial tone. "Always a pleasure, although I confess I did not expect such a... personal visit."

Hades descended slowly through the air until he was a few feet away from the winged god.

His eyes scanned the chains that still bound the Titans, and his face tightened with barely contained contempt.

"Have you come to negotiate with the Titans?" he spat, the word laden with centuries of hatred. ’Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think you could sneak into my kingdom as if it were an abandoned house?"

"It was not a hostile incursion,’ Hermes replied cautiously. "It was diplomacy. An option. Zeus knows he cannot win this war alone and—"

"And so you decide to release the very monsters he himself imprisoned?" Hades roared. His voice made the ground shake and the cracked columns of Tartarus creak like dry bones. "And you do so without consulting the Lord of the Underworld, in whose domain they are imprisoned?"

"You’re getting ahead of yourself—"

"Silence!"

Hermes fell silent. Even he knew when it was unwise to mock.

Hades took a step toward him.

"The secret deal with Demeter to bring Persephone back wasn’t enough, was it? No, no. Now you decide to tamper with the locks on my prison to bring back these... remnants of a world that no longer exists and that almost destroyed us all."

"Hey, hey, hey," said Hermes, trying to defuse the situation, ’don’t get me wrong, Hades, this was a political decision, not a personal one,’ he muttered.

Hades looked at him with a mixture of pity and fury.

"Everything is personal, Hermes. Especially when your brothers play with the keys to your home and the names of your dead."

The silence became unbearable. Even the Titans, who had been laughing just minutes ago, were tense. Auntie lowered her gaze. Ocean clicked his tongue, uncomfortable.

And then, in a lower, almost icy voice, Hades said:

"So let me make this clear, Messenger of the Gods. Either you leave the Underworld right now... or you will never leave. Ever."

Hermes swallowed hard. It was strange for him to feel fear; it almost never happened. But he knew that Hades... Hades didn’t lie. He never had. If he said he wouldn’t leave, it meant that Tartarus would close behind him forever. Or that Hades himself would take care of Thanatos’s work and add another inhabitant to the Underworld.

"That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m not going to risk my neck for a fucking meeting I didn’t even want to attend."

Hermes raised his hands slowly. "All right, all right, I’ll leave. There will be no more contact without your approval, and I won’t release anyone. I’m just taking a message to Olympus, nothing more. But keep in mind that Zeus won’t like this one bit."

Hades watched him for a few more seconds, as if assessing whether he wanted immediate punishment. But then he took a step back.

"Good. I’m glad to hear that. Someone has to set limits on my younger brother. He’s always been too spoiled for his own good."

Hermes turned and began to leave.

"And Hermes..." added Hades, without turning around. "Tell Zeus... that if he ever sets foot in my kingdom again without permission, I won’t care what army he has behind him. This time, I’ll drag him down to Tartarus myself and chain him up next to his father."

Hermes didn’t reply, but he did quicken his pace.

And for the first time in many centuries, he looked in a hurry.

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