The Underworld trembled.
Not with the cries of the dead, nor the flow of rivers, nor the beating wings of damned spirits.
But with something far more terrifying—the fury of its king.
In the heart of the realm, beneath a sky of endless twilight, stood the Hanging Fortress of Hades—a monolithic, floating structure of obsidian and stygian metal, suspended by divine will above the city of Nox, the most prosperous city in Underworld.
Inside, shadows bent and twisted unnaturally, fleeing the throne as if even they feared his wrath.
And upon that throne sat Hades, the King of the Underworld.
His back was straight, but his hands were clenched around the edges of his seat. His eyes burned with an emotion rarely seen from the god of the dead: rage.
His divine aura pulsed outward in rhythmic waves.
Each pulse warped the air, fractured the light, and bent the laws of reality around him.
