Hades I

Hades sat on his obsidian throne, his normally cold eyes narrowed with an emotion that he scarcely allowed himself to feel—dismay. The vast expanse of the Underworld stretched before him, filled with the shadows of the dead, the souls that he, as the god of this realm, was tasked to oversee. But in this moment, the sight of his kingdom brought him no comfort. The whispers of the dead, usually a soothing symphony to his ears, grated against his nerves. The Underworld was his domain, his rightful place of power. And yet, everything was unraveling, spiraling out of his control.

He ground his teeth as he thought about how quickly it had all gone wrong. The Helmet of Darkness—his symbol of power, his crown—had been stolen. His mind churned with the implications of this theft, his thoughts dark and brooding. The helmet was more than just a tool to make him invisible, more than just a symbol of his dominion over the dead. It was an extension of his very being, a conduit that amplified his connection to the Underworld, to the shadows, to the night itself. Without it, he felt... diminished.

And then there was the matter of his brother’s half-blood bastard. Percy Jackson, a boy who should have been little more than a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things, had somehow managed to fight Alecto to a standstill. Hades had watched it unveiled from the shadows. Even though she hadn’t taken her divine form, the fact that a mere mortal, a child no less, had been able to contend with one of his Furies, the spawn of a primorial was... troubling in many ways.

Hades could hardly fathom how this had come to pass. This boy, this demigod, was at the center of everything going wrong. Alecto had been sent to retrieve his stolen helmet, to find the thief who had dared to cross him, and yet she had been thwarted by a child in a violation of the natural order of the world. A demigod child even one from a kronide shouldn’t have been so powerful.

His hands clenched into fists as he thought of Poseidon, the brother who had always been so volatile, so unpredictable. Poseidon, who had declared war on Zeus because their younger brother had put a bounty on his half-blood child. Hades could understand anger. He could understand feeling wronged, being accused of theft by their youngest sibling. But this? This was beyond comprehension. Poseidon, the Earth-Shaker, the god of the seas, had decided to go to war not out of pride, not out of some slight to his divine honor, but because of a mortal child.

Gods were vengeful, petty beings, especially among the Olympians. It would have been expected, normal even, for Poseidon to retaliate against Zeus by sinking ships, by cursing his lovers or favored mortals. But to upset the cycle of life and death? To bring back the dead from their watery graves? It was unheard of, an affront not just to Hades, but to the very balance of the world. This was not the petty vengeance of a god. This was something more. Something far more dangerous, something that needed to be stopped.

The memory of Demeter’s wrath when he had kidnapped Persephone flashed through his mind. The way she had plunged the world into an ice age, threatening to starve all of humanity, had been a terrifying thing to behold but at least, it had been in a way reasonable, it had been for an immortal child, her only daughter at that time who had suffered so much.

But this? This was worse. Poseidon was infringing on his domain, defying the ancient agreement that had divided the cosmos between the three brothers. Zeus had the sky, Poseidon the seas, and Hades the Underworld. And yet now, Poseidon was crossing that boundary, using the oceans, rivers, and lakes to bring the dead back to life.

Hades seethed at the insult. He had tried to use his authority over the Underworld to stop this madness, to halt the dead in their tracks before they could reach the surface. But it had been futile. His brother, with his oceans and seas, had managed to overpower him in his own domain. It was like fighting for control of his own soul, and Hades was losing. Hades, god of the underworld was losing against Poseidon in controlling the cycle of life and death. How could this be? How could Poseidon, who had left the Underworld thousands of years ago, still hold such sway over it?

Poseidon had once been a chthonic god, Hades could remembere with perfect clarity. The Mycenaean Greeks had revered Poseidon as a god of the Underworld, a deity connected to the rivers that flowed through the realm of the dead. They hadn’t been wrong. Before he had claimed the oceans, before he had married Amphitrite, before he had created Atlantis, Poseidon had lived in the Underworld with Hades. He was unique among the Olympians, sharing a connection with all of their domains in some way. He shared family with Hera and Hestia, the earth with Hades and Demeter and plant life with Demeter. He shared his domain as god of hospitality and storms with Zeus. But that connection should not be enough to give him more control over death than Hades himself. His main domain was after all the seas and the oceans.

Hades’ thoughts darkened further. The Underworld was his. He had stayed here, been bathed in its darkness, become one with it. The very essence of the Underworld flowed through him as if it were a part of his being. And yet, Poseidon, whose true dominion was the seas, could overpower him. The idea that his brother could have more influence over death than he did was infuriating.

If he had his Helm of Darkness, Hades was certain he could have stopped this madness. His helmet was more than just a tool; it was a part of him. Without it, his power was diminished, his connection to the Underworld weakened. But with it... with it, he could do more than just halt Poseidon’s encroachment. The helmet strengthened his bond with the shadows, with the night, a thousandfold. Without it, if he were to lose his mind and try to cover the world in darkness, it would take him at least three days. But with his helmet, it would take less than two hours.

Zeus’s Master Bolt was a world-ending weapon, capable of turning a hydrogen bomb into little more than a firecracker. The Helm of Darkness was no less potent. It had been forged by the same smiths, at the same time as the Master Bolt and Poseidon’s trident. In the hands of another god, the helmet could forge a bond with the Underworld strong enough to be a nuisance, a thorn in Hades’ side. But in the hands of a powerful chthonic deity, it could be much more dangerous. It could challenge his very throne.

Hades’ gaze turned to the golden sphere floating beside his throne. Inside it was a mortal woman, unconscious and suspended by his magic. Sally Jackson. The mother of Percy Jackson. Hades studied her face, her dark hair framing her pale features, her expression peaceful in her forced slumber. Poseidon might not care about her, but her son surely did. Perhaps... perhaps she could be used as leverage. A way to draw out the boy, to force him to reveal what he knew. If Percy Jackson truly was the thief, if he had somehow managed to steal both the Master Bolt and the Helm of Darkness, then Hades needed to know, needed to manipulate him to retrieve his helmet.

He had the beginnings of a plan. A way to regain control. Hades summoned a shadowy mirror, a tool for communication between the gods and the creatures of the Underworld. He would contact Alecto, tell her there was a change of plan. But as he spoke into the mirror, it remained silent. No response.

A sense of unease crept into Hades’ mind, a feeling he had not known for millennia. In all the time Alecto had served him, she had never failed to answer his call. He tried again, reaching out to Thanatos this time, the god of death himself. But again, nothing. The silence was deafening.

Hades’ unease grew into something more, a gnawing anxiety that he could not shake. Something was happening on the surface world, something that was beyond his control. And for the first time in a very long time, Hades felt a chill of fear run down his spine.

What was happening? What could be causing this silence? The thought of his brother crossed his mind again, but this time, there was a new suspicion. What if Poseidon wasn’t just reacting to the theft of his son’s life? What if Poseidon had orchestrated the theft of Hades’ helmet? With the Helm of Darkness, Poseidon could overpower him, could seize control of the Underworld. Perhaps that was why Poseidon was so defensive of his half-blood child. Perhaps Zeus had been right all along, and Percy Jackson was the thief. Maybe Poseidon even if it seemed mad to think wanted to usurp Hades and Zeus.

Maybe in the past, he would have outright dismissed but time had proved to him again and again that no matter how much he wished to trust his siblings, to truly be one of them, he couldn't. Additionally, Poseidon already had dethroned Zeus in the past once. Why wouldn’t he do it again if he could?

Poseidon had broken his oath even though he knew what risk a half-blood child posed. At least, Zeus didn't help his mistake. The same couldn’t be said with Poseidon. What if the reason why Percy Jackson was so powerful was because Poseidon wanted to use him to manipulate the great prophecy?

Hades stared at the golden sphere with the mortal woman inside, his mind racing. He had to act. He had to regain his helmet, his power, before it was too late. But as he tried once more to contact his underlings, the silence persisted.

Alecto, Thanatos, all of them... where were they? What was happening on the surface world? And what role did this mortal boy, Percy Jackson, play in it all?

Hades’ heart, usually as cold as the shadows he commanded, beat with a growing dread. The gods were not meant to fear, but in this moment, Hades, god of the Underworld, felt the icy grip of fear tightening around him. And he did not like it one bit.