Chapter One Hundred Eleven: I Should Have Kneeled

  The mist parted like something alive, curling away to reveal the ferry cutting through the water with eerie precision. It moved without a sound, no splash, no creak, as though the Styx itself wanted no record of its passage. The boat was small, almost frail-looking, its planks dark and warped, like they’d been dredged up from some long-forgotten shipwreck. Yet it moved with an inevitability that made Jace’s skin crawl.

  His shoes crunched against the rocky shore as he stepped closer, watching the ferry glide to a stop, before stepping in.

  The figure at the helm was little more than a shadow—a hooded outline against the fog. Its skeletal hands gripped the oar with practiced ease, each movement precise, deliberate, and indifferent. The hood turned ever so slightly in Jace’s direction, clearly waiting for payment.

  Pulling up his sleeve, Jace showed the Mark of Hades inked into his skin. The tattoo shimmered to life, glowing silver in the gloom, casting pale streaks of light that danced across the Ferryman’s unmoving frame. It wasn’t just a mark—it was his coin, his ticket, his frequent-flyer pass to the underworld’s exclusive club of the damned.

  The shadow moved his hood ever so slightly. Not a nod, barely even an acknowledgment, and started rowing into the darkness.

  “So… found out they call you Chiron. Chiron the Ferryman, huh?” There was a long and awkward silence. “Nah, doesn’t fit. You’re still more of a Joe in my book… or perhaps… Bob. Yeah, Bob.” Jace nodded, as if making an executive decision. “My guy. My dude. How’s the eternal grind treating you these days?”

  The Ferryman didn’t answer. He never did. Just rowed.

  The ferry cut through the Styx with the silence of a predator in dark waters. Its gliding was almost hypnotic. Jace sprawled on his favorite spot—a part of the bench that was marginally less likely to give him tetanus.

  “Always the strong, silent type,” he continued, leaning forward, elbows on knees like they were old pals at a dive bar. “I respect that about you. And you know what? I’ve been thinking. You’re a workhorse, Bob. The backbone of the underworld. No breaks, no sick days.”

  The silence stretched. Bob’s hood didn’t even twitch.

  “I mean, look at you. Centuries—no, millennia—of ferrying poor bastards across a literal death river, and what do you get? Spooky vibes and maybe a dental plan if you’re lucky. Not even a gold watch at the end of it. You ever think about unionizing? Getting some time off? A little vacation in the Elysian Fields, maybe? Picture it: you, a hammock, and a mai tai with one of those little umbrellas. That’s the dream, Bob.”

  The boat dipped as it hit a ripple, the movement barely noticeable, but Jace was certain it was Bob’s version of rolling his eyes.

  “See? Even the river agrees with me,” Jace teased, tapping his temple. “I’ve got ideas, Bob. Big ideas.”

  A long pause stretched between them, heavy as the mist curling around the ferry. This was the part he hated—the silence. No matter how many times he made the trip, the Styx still got under his skin. The water wasn’t just black; it was a black that felt alive, like it was watching, waiting.

  He leaned back on the bench, trying to shake off the unease. Silence might have been Bob’s thing, but Jace wasn’t built for it. He’d rather face a hydra than let the quiet creep in.

  “Alright, Bob,” he said.

  Bob’s hood didn’t move. The oar dipped into the water, smooth and steady, the sound slicing through the stillness like a clock ticking down.

  “Why don’t skeletons fight each other?”

  Nothing.

  “They don’t have the guts.” He punctuated it with finger guns, his grin widening.

  The water lapped at the ferry in what Jace could’ve sworn was an audible groan.

  “Tough room,” Jace said, leaning back again. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a million of ’em.”

  He could almost sense the relief radiating from Bob as the shore came into view, the dark outline of jagged rocks breaking through the mist. The ferry eased to a stop with the grace of a creature settling into its lair. Jace stood, stretching lazily.

  “Well, Bob, as always, it’s been an absolute delight,” he said, stepping onto the creaking planks of the dock. He shot the Ferryman a two-fingered salute. “Five stars. Would recommend. You’re a treasure, buddy.”

  He turned, ready to stride off into the gloom, when a voice stopped him cold. Low and gravelly, it scraped the air like nails dragged across coffin wood.

  “You get two. Talk too much.”

  Jace froze mid-step, his head whipping around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Bob sat unmoving, the hood concealing whatever passed for a face, the oar steady in his skeletal grip.

  “You—“ Jace pointed an incredulous finger, caught somewhere between shock and laughter. “Did you just—? Bob! You son of a—”

  But the mist was already closing in around the ferry, dragging Bob and his impossible sass into its hungry gray. Jace stood there for a long moment, stunned, before a laugh burst out of him, wild and unrestrained.

  “Two stars,” he muttered, shaking his head as he started walking. “Unbelievable.”

  Hades’ chamber stood as if carved from the essence of night itself. The ceiling soared into vanishing blackness. Walls rippled faintly with the shimmer of dying stars, the constellations caught in their final sighs, tiny glimmers of reverence for their ruler.

  At the center of the chamber, Hades stood—a figure of daunting grace. His robes flowed in restless waves of liquid umbra, the fabric shifting like ink spilled into water. His presence pressed against the senses, his angular face a study in measured power. Eyes that seemed to hold the first secret of creation met Jace’s with an unrelenting pressure—a balance of humor, curiosity, and a threat so sharp it seemed to hum in the air.

  Curled beside the throne, Cerberus slumbered. The three-headed beast was a mass of black fur and primal muscle, each head resting at a different angle and flopped over the other, their rhythmic breathing stirring faint wisps of ash and shadow from the ground. Even in sleep, the creature radiated menace, a reminder that the Underworld’s gates were never unguarded.

  Leaning against the throne, Persephone was a study in contradictions. Her hair, a cascade of wild wheat and untamed sunlight, framed a face that radiated life so vibrant it felt almost blinding in this place of death. But beneath the golden beauty was a quiet, sharp edge—darkness woven into the lines of her expression, a reminder of her dominion in this shadowed world. One hand rested lightly on the throne’s back, her nails tracing idle patterns into the armrest, her posture the perfect blend of poise and danger.

  “Jace,” Hades said, his voice rich and smooth, like molten honey poured over thunder. He leaned casually against his obsidian throne, one boot resting on the edge of a dais. “Kid, how in the Underworld are ya?” His tone carried the burden of ancient mountains but was delivered with the easy charm of someone who’d long since stopped taking themselves too seriously.

  Jace took a hesitant step forward, his boots scuffing against the cool stone floor.

  “Hanging in there,” Jace replied, shrugging. “Not dead yet.”

  “Atta boy.” Hades grinned, his teeth flashing white against his shadowed face. “Not dead yet. Love that for you.” He gave a distracted wave of his hand, as if dismissing the thought before his eyes flicked back to Jace. “So, what’s the deal? You come down here to raid my fridge, or is there something I can do for you?”

  Jace’s shadow rippled and stretched unnaturally with each step, spilling across the marble floor in distorted shapes that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. When he stopped, he inclined his head—a shallow, instinctive bow, more reflex than reverence.

  “You summoned me,” he said, his voice measured and steady. Yet beneath the surface, it thrummed with tension, like a string pulled to the edge of breaking.

  “Right, yes. That I did.” Hades’ reply was casual, almost too casual, as if he were testing the waters with every word.

  Jace’s gaze flicked to Persephone. She met it and gave the slightest nod, but her eyes spoke louder than words. This is a risk.

  The glance she exchanged with Hades hinted at something unspoken, an agreement fraught with uncertainty. Whatever game they were playing, Hades was keeping his cards far too close to his chest.

  Hades nodded, a subtle dip of his chin. His hand, pale as the moonlight that never reached this realm, gestured for Jace to approach. “Tomorrow, the Winter Games await you,” he said, his tone unhurried but inescapable, as if each word was etched in the bedrock of reality itself.

  Jace hesitated but took another step forward. The flickering light from the braziers danced across his face, painting him in fleeting half-light. The air thickened as Hades spoke again, the chamber seeming to lean in, devouring the sound of his words.

  “The Games are more than sport,” Hades continued, his words slow and deliberate. “They are belief made flesh, power given form. Every swing of the sword, every drop of blood feeds the divine. It binds us, Jace—gods and mortals alike.”

  “Could you maybe dial down the poetry a notch?” Jace said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t get much sleep, and I’m not sure I’ve got the bandwidth for it right now.”

  He thought he might have caught the faintest smile ghost across Persephone’s lips, but if it had been, it vanished just as quickly, leaving her expression unreadable.

  “Plain terms—facing the Tower is a big deal. Amongst the gods, the higher our patrons go, the more prestige shines upon us,” he said, the words soft yet ironclad.

  “So, in essence, this is a pep talk. ‘Don’t muff it up, kid. All eyes are on you.’ That sort of thing?” Jace’s tone carried dry humor, but his posture betrayed a flicker of doubt.

  “In the most basic sense, sure,” Hades said in a low rumble. “But do you truly understand what it means to be Chosen, young prince of Roandia?”

  Jace straightened under the power of that question, his reply steady but uncertain. “It means we struck a deal, at the start of my term here. You would be my patron, and I’d serve under your banner.”

  Persephone’s lips curved in a faint smile as she listened, this time not hiding it, her golden hair catching the dim, flickering light. Hades, however, frowned, his sharp features etched with something between disappointment and amusement.

  “Yes, yes, that’s quite true,” Hades said, his tone almost dismissive. “But what does it mean to be Chosen? Are you familiar with how gods grow in power? From where our strength derives?”

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  Jace hesitated, turning the question over in his mind. “I… don’t know,” he admitted finally.

  Hades leaned forward, his pale fingers steepling beneath his chin. “From you, Jason. And others like you. From our followers, our worshippers. Power flows to us through belief, action, and acknowledgment. When you strike down an enemy of the Underworld, when you free a soul, it is a form of tribute. You and all of my followers add up to my power.”

  “I thought I was your only Chosen,” Jace said, confusion knitting his brow.

  Hades laughed then, a low, rolling sound that carried more shadow than mirth. “Oh, boy, you are my only Chosen. That much is true. But I have followers—thousands upon thousands of them. Do not mistake being Chosen for being singular.”

  The room seemed to darken as Hades’ voice gained substance. “A follower can be anyone who offers a prayer, makes a sacrifice, fights under a banner, or even acts in alignment with a domain. Work for freedom, and you empower the gods of freedom. Obsess over science, and you pour power into the gods and goddesses of discovery. Every act, every belief, every small devotion feeds the gods. Unaligned individuals—those without a patron—scatter their energy like seeds in the wind, shared among the deities of a domain. Fight for a soul’s right to move on, and you step into my domain—mine and my understudies, Pluto, Anubis, Hel, and the rest of my counterparts across Mythica.”

  His pale hand gestured, a flicker of shadow trailing his movements. “But those under my banner, those who declare themselves as mine, grant their offerings directly to me. Think of it as… godly experience points. We grow stronger because of you.”

  Jace nodded slowly, the pieces clicking into place. “I think I get it.”

  Hades arched an eyebrow, his expression faintly amused. “Do you? A Chosen is not just a follower, Jason. A Chosen is a conduit. You are an extension of me, tied closer to my essence than most mortals ever dream of being. Through you, I can grant my gifts more freely and claim a greater share of the tokens you generate.”

  Jace’s throat tightened. “So I’m like, what… a sales rep?”

  Hades took a deep, measured breath and shook his head before he continued.

  “At your level, you’re power is but an echo of my presence. But the higher ranks of a Chosen are called Avatar—the top is known as the Voice. A Voice speaks with my authority, wields my gifts in their purest form, and acts as a true vessel of my will. If you become my Avatar, it puts me within certain rights to… upgrade your abilities. To provide boons you will carry with or without a connection to me.”

  Persephone’s smile deepened, a flicker of warning dancing in her eyes as Hades leaned closer, his gaze piercing. “But let me be clear—this comes at a cost. If I were to elevate you too far, too fast, your mind would shatter like glass, your soul bursting free of your body, leaving scraps of you for old Cerberus to clean up.”

  The three-headed beast stirred at the mention of its name, one massive head rising to scan the room before settling back down with a low, rumbling sigh, its tails curling closer around its hulking body.

  “Then let’s avoid that,” he said, his voice dry but resolute.

  Hades chuckled, a sound that carried both approval and menace. “Smart boy.”

  “This next part is important, Chosen,” Hades said, his tone heavy. “A god is bound by certain rules. Rules between the gods. We call them the Golden Accords. One of these limits the amount of power we may grant to our Chosen. Each god can only grant a fraction of their tokens—their divine power—based on how many followers we have and how many serve directly under our banner. However, it doesn’t matter how many Chosen a god has. The power granted is divided among them all… equally.”

  Jace furrowed his brow, trying to piece it together. “Kind of like the conservation of ninjitsu?” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he recalled grainy action movies watched on battered VHS tapes with his brother.

  Hades arched a brow. “The what?”

  “It’s this old rule from action movies,” Jace explained, his tone light despite the somber atmosphere. “The more enemies there are, the weaker they all seem. But when there’s only one enemy? That one enemy gets all the juice—all the ninjitsu.”

  Hades tilted his head, considering the odd analogy, then gave a slow nod. “I suppose, in a sense, yes. The conservation of… ninjitsu.” The faintest hint of a smile touched Persephone’s lips as she glanced at her husband. “Because you are my only Chosen, I can afford certain leniencies with the power I grant you.”

  Jace’s eyes widened slightly. “This is huge. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  Hades’ expression darkened, the humor vanishing like a shadow under harsh light. “Because the power I can grant doesn’t come without strings, boy. You’ve had a taste of it already. Surely, you’ve begun to notice the effects.”

  Jace frowned, his mind flickering back to moments when his abilities had felt… different. Unnatural, almost. He nodded subtly.

  Hades nodded, his gaze piercing. “The powers of the Underworld are not to be taken lightly. Too much, too soon, and they will leave their mark on you. They can taint your journey, warp your Affinities. Gods who are wise,” his gaze flicked toward Persephone, “are careful with their gifts. When I made you my Chosen, I granted you small boons to aid you on your path, but even those have altered how your Affinities developed. Have you noticed anything… unusual about your abilities?”

  Jace hesitated before nodding. “There’s one thing. It doesn’t fit with anything else I’ve learned. I can… absorb the aether from beings I kill.”

  Hades’ eyes flickered with surprise, though he quickly masked it. “I see,” he murmured, leaning back in his throne. “This is… something I have encountered before. Though, only once.”

  “With my father?”.

  “Yes,” Hades said simply. “The ability itself is neither good nor evil. It’s a tool, nothing more. But it is potent. You’re tapping into the aether directly, Jason. Most mortals do this unconsciously when they gain experience—EXP, as you call it. But you…” He paused. “You’re doing it intentionally. With enough mastery, you may siphon far more than your peers. Ten times the energy, perhaps even enough to absorb the strength of a creature without having to kill it outright.”

  Jace’s mouth went dry, his mind racing. “And my Soul Tether ability,” he said after a moment. “When I connect to a creature, I can pull some of its attributes. When I tethered to a hydra, I gained part of its healing factor.”

  Hades inclined his head, his expression grave. “Exactly. These changes might have come naturally, but my boons have amplified them, weaving into the fabric of your abilities. The more I grant you, the more pronounced these changes will become. Even so…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he studied Jace. “Given what lies ahead, you may need them.”

  “What do you mean?” Jace asked, his voice quiet but steady.

  “The territory you’re entering is neutral ground among the gods,” Hades said, leaning forward. “You will face scrutiny—intense scrutiny. Many will see you just as my only Chosen, my single representative in these games. And single means more dangerous. Some will resent that. Some will want you dead.”

  Jace tensed, his fists clenching. “I can handle myself.”

  Hades’ lips curled, not in amusement, but in something far older—resignation, perhaps, or inevitability dressed as indifference. “You’ll have to.” The words settled into the space between them, heavy as iron, immutable as fate.

  His gaze flickered, drifting toward something unseen, something distant. “I didn’t want this. Not yet. You’re unready, and I am unwilling, but time is no longer ours to command.” He exhaled, a sigh threaded with something ancient, something tired. “There are wounds that have not healed, debts that have not been forgotten. And now, hands I cannot stop have begun to turn the wheel.”

  Hades’ gaze locked onto Jace, sharp as a blade, unyielding as fate. “I will do what I can, but when you step into the Tower, the divine will fall silent. No prayers. No whispers. No gods. Not even me.”

  His voice dropped, something heavier settling beneath it. “So, I’m leaving you something. They call it a gift—though, time will tell.” A pause, almost imperceptible, then a quiet, bitter exhale. “A forced evolution. A piece of me that will stay with you, even if I…” He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. “Even if I am no longer able to reach you.”

  The words sat there, unspoken truths coiled beneath them, truths Jace wasn’t meant to understand—not yet.

  Jace nodded, it all settling over him like an ill-fitting coat—one that is far too large. “I... I think I understand.”

  Hades arched a brow. “Do you? With great power, Jace, comes something else.”

  Jace tilted his head. “Like... responsibility?”

  The chamber fell silent, save for the distant echo of souls drifting through the endless hallways beyond. Hades stood there, shoulders rigid beneath his obsidian mantle, eyes reflecting the faint ghost light that never quite illuminated the Underworld completely.

  He stared at Jace, just stared, with the weariness of someone who had witnessed millennia of human folly. Then he released a slow, exhausted exhale—the kind that carried centuries of disappointment, that spoke of countless mortals who had stood where Jace now stood, ambitious and naive and ultimately broken.

  “What? No.” He sounded offended. “Who said anything about responsibility?” The word itself seemed to taste bitter on his tongue.

  “No, this kind of power doesn’t make you noble,” Hades continued, shadows gathering at his feet as he spoke, “it makes you a target. It carves your name into the ledgers of the damned and paints a bullseye between your shoulders.” He moved closer, the temperature dropping with each step. “It drags you deeper, demands more, until there’s nothing left but the pain of it. Take too much, too soon, and it won’t just change you—it’ll twist you. Bind you to the Underworld.” His voice softened dangerously. “To me. To worse.”

  The god’s hand found Jace’s shoulder—cold and heavy as a tombstone—his expression unreadable as ancient text weathered by time. Something flickered in the depths of his immortal gaze—perhaps pity, perhaps memory. “But sure, kid,” he concluded with a smile that never reached his eyes. “Let’s go with responsibility.”

  Jace was rapidly developing a deep, soul-level dislike for where this conversation was headed. A coldness crept up his spine that had nothing to do with the perpetual chill of the Underworld, and everything to do with the growing certainty that he’d stumbled into something far beyond his understanding—a labyrinth with no visible exit.

  “Care to elaborate?” The words left his mouth with more bravado than he felt, each syllable a small act of defiance against the growing dread. “I’m all for ominous and vague warnings, but I’m not sure I can do much with them.”

  Hades regarded him with the patient scrutiny of a being who had watched civilizations rise and crumble to dust. When he finally spoke, his voice resonated not just in the chamber but somehow within Jace’s very marrow.

  “This power isn’t a gift—it’s a trade, and it always demands its toll,” Hades said, flat, unyielding, and cold enough to make the air feel heavier, as if truth itself had weight in this realm. “You’ll have allies, people you think you can lean on. But trust them sparingly.” Here, something ancient and weary flickered across his features. “The gods, Jace... the gods play games within games. They will move you like a pawn, manipulate you, twist you until you’re nothing more than a piece to be sacrificed. If you let them.”

  Shadows gathered around them, responding to Hades’ words like faithful hounds to their master’s call. The darkness between them seemed to deepen, to listen.

  He paused, his dark eyes locking onto Jace’s—not merely looking at him but through him, past flesh and bone to something more fundamental. “I’ll do what I can to strengthen you against them. To make you something more than just a piece on their board.” His voice softened, not with kindness but with a terrible honesty. “But don’t fool yourself—I might break you in the process. You mortals, even the so-called long-lived ones, are so... fragile.”

  The word hung in the air like a blade over Jace’s head, its edge glinting with possibilities too sharp to contemplate.

  “Now kneel, Chosen, and I’ll bestow the gift.”

  The pressure hit like a physical force, a weight pressing down on Jace’s shoulders, urging him to kneel. It wasn’t just Hades’ command but something more primal—the weight of ritual, of power recognizing power, of traditions older than humanity itself. But something deep inside him—the stubborn, rebellious core that had carried him this far, through loss and betrayal and impossible odds—rose up in defiance.

  “Kneeling seems a bit... old-fashioned, doesn’t it?” Jace said, forcing his voice to stay steady though his knees trembled beneath him. Each heartbeat felt like a small rebellion, each breath a quiet refusal to be entirely consumed by this moment.

  Hades raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement ghosting across his face like distant lightning. Something almost human passed between them—a recognition, perhaps, of kindred spirits separated only by the vast gulf of mortality.

  “I daresay your stubbornness will either be the end or the making of you, Jason.” The use of his full name carried an intimacy that was somehow more unsettling than any threat. “But fine. It was mostly to keep you from falling on your ass, anyway.” His lips curved into something not quite a smile. “Have it your way.”

  Hades is attempting to forcibly evolve several of your abilities.

  Accept | Reject

  He chose Accept.

  And then it hit.

  A surge of darkness and twilight erupted from Hades’ hands, spilling out like a tidal wave of shadow and raw power. The force struck Jace square in the chest, slamming him to the floor. The world around him twisted, folded, and shattered in flashes of black and violet light.

  This was it—the precipice, the moment where everything changed. The last fragile thread tethering him to the life he once knew frayed, snapped, and was consumed in the void.

  The power roared into him, not as a gentle tide but as a hurricane, tearing through him with reckless abandon. It unmade him—dissolving every barrier, every wall he’d built around himself—before knitting him back together in ways he couldn’t comprehend. He gasped, his lungs burning, the pain both a wound and a revelation, feeding on each other like two serpents eating their tails.

  For a fleeting, brilliant moment, the world shattered open before him. He saw it not as a man, but as something more. The intricate web of existence unraveled in his mind—threads of light and shadow twisting together in impossible patterns. Life and death, magic and matter, all bound together in a tapestry so breathtaking it ached to look upon it. His mortal mind buckled, barely able to hold the understanding, and for an instant, he thought he might break. Blood poured from Jaces nose and eyes.

  He felt himself shifting backward, as if untethered from the confines of his body. Two feet, three, five, ten—until he was hovering above it all, looking down on Hades, Persephone, and… himself. But not himself. His body.

  He truly felt the divide, the line that separated what he was from his physical form. The thing that had traveled across universes, shedding layers like old skin. The him that was the real him—the essence, the core—floated apart, weightless and vast, as if it had always been waiting to break free.

  And then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended.

  Jace crumpled to the cold stone floor, his knees striking hard enough to send jolts of pain up his legs. He gasped for air, clawing it back into his lungs, his body trembling violently with the aftershocks of the power that had coursed through him.

  Jace raised his head, his body still trembling. “I should’ve kneeled.”