ALL NOVEL Chapter 14: FOG OF THE UNDERWORLD
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Chapter: The Fog of the Underworld
In the underworld, without the cover of the sky, everything was steeped in an eerie silence.
The earth had been torn asunder, and Ryan had already passed through its crust to arrive at this forsaken land. One of the three parts of Chaos, this underworld was shrouded in perpetual darkness. Here, the sky and the earth merged into an indistinguishable void, and the oceans and rivers were but distant memories.
This was not the underworld of ancient myths. There were no rivers of fire scorching its surface, no three-headed hound prowling its gates, and no grand palace of a deity ruling over the dead. Instead, an endless gray plain stretched infinitely in all directions, cloaked in heavy mist and ghostly fog. The air was dense, not with sound or life but with an oppressive stillness that dulled even the faintest echoes.
Ryan walked slowly across the plain, his feet leaving faint impressions in the ashen ground. Each step disturbed the thin veil of mist, swirling it into transient patterns before it resettled into stillness. "This is where the souls should reside," he muttered, his voice barely breaking the oppressive quiet. His tone held a trace of irony. "But the dead seem more elusive than the living."
He scanned his surroundings with divine senses that pierced the fog. The field, later known as the Field of Truth, felt unnervingly hollow. There was no wind, no movement, no sense of time passing. This was a place where existence itself seemed to pause. Ryan's gaze lingered on the mist, as if expecting something—or someone—to emerge from its depths.
"No signs of life, or death, for that matter," he murmured. Yet his expression betrayed neither frustration nor fear. Instead, he extended a hand toward the ground.
The dust and clay stirred, rising and twisting in response to his will. In mere moments, they took shape—a modest hill crowned by a table and chair, carved from the same gray material. Though primitive in appearance, they bore the unmistakable touch of divinity. Ryan ran a hand across the smooth surface of the table, nodding in satisfaction. "Not my best work, but it will do," he said to no one in particular.
He took his seat, leaning back with a casual air. Though his domain of divinity lay in craftsmanship and spirituality, it was far from mighty. Ryan lacked the raw power to rival gods of war or nature, but he possessed something far more dangerous: foresight and leverage. In a realm where strength ruled, Ryan thrived on trading wits.
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Time moved differently in the underworld. With no sun or moon to mark its passage, the concept of hours, days, or years became irrelevant. For Ryan, it was not the ticking of clocks but the rhythm of his own divine perception that marked the flow of time. He sat in silence, watching the fog shift and swirl, his thoughts a labyrinth of plans and contingencies.
Twenty-four years had passed since the twelve Titans had returned to their mother's body. Ryan had foreseen their return long before it happened. His prophetic dreams had shown him glimpses of this moment—when the balance of power would tip, and the world would stand on the brink of upheaval.
At last, a flash of dark green light pierced the fog, scattering the mist like a gust of wind through smoke. The silence was broken by the faint sound of footsteps—measured, deliberate, and heavy with the weight of ages. Ryan's gaze sharpened, though his posture remained relaxed.
Gaia had arrived.
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The Mother of Earth was a shadow of her former self. Once radiant and resplendent, Gaia now looked as if the weight of countless millennia had ground her down. Her emerald eyes, once vibrant with life, were dulled by exhaustion. Her hair, once adorned with blooming flowers, now hung in dry, tangled strands. Even her robes, once a symbol of her divine majesty, were tattered and heavy with dust.
Despite her diminished form, there was still an undeniable presence about her. Gaia's every step seemed to resonate with the earth itself, her movements slow but deliberate. She stopped a few paces from Ryan, her gaze piercing and unyielding.
Ryan did not rise to greet her. Instead, he gestured toward the stone chair opposite him. "Long time no see, Mother Earth," he said, his tone calm but distant.
Gaia's eyes narrowed slightly. She noted the change in his demeanor. Ryan was no longer the deferential ally she had once known. Now, he spoke to her as an equal—or perhaps even an adversary. "Long time no see, your wise Highness Ryan," she replied, her voice weary but edged with sarcasm. She sank into the chair, her movements betraying her fatigue.
The two sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them palpable. Finally, Gaia spoke. "I came seeking your aid."
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Gaia's voice was steady but tinged with desperation. "I gave birth to the prophesied sword, the one you claimed could challenge the rule of the God King." She paused, as if weighing her next words. "But even with the sword, we lack the means to strike the final blow. Cronus has taken up the weapon, but he cannot stand alone. I need your guidance, Prophet. Tell me how to end this tyranny."
Ryan leaned back, his expression inscrutable. For a moment, he said nothing, letting Gaia's words hang in the air. Finally, he smiled faintly. "What you need, Mother Earth, is not just guidance. You need leverage. And that… comes at a price."
Gaia's eyes darkened. "What do you want?"
"Three conditions," Ryan said, his tone measured. "The first: I require the Aquarius of Life. Not permanently—only for a thousand years. Surely you can spare it for such a short time."
Gaia stiffened. The Aquarius of Life was not merely an artifact; it was an extension of her very essence. To part with it, even temporarily, would leave her vulnerable. "You ask for much," she said, her voice cold. "What else?"
"The second condition is simpler," Ryan continued. "You must align the growth of plants and the changes in climate with the calendar I establish. Under the ebb and flow of the illusory moon, you will preserve this alignment until the God King is overthrown."
Gaia's lips tightened. "You seek to shape the natural order itself. A bold request, but not impossible. And the third?"
Ryan's smile widened, but he did not answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, his gaze locking with hers. "The third condition," he said softly, "is for Cronus to hear. Bring him to me, and we will speak."
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Gaia rose slowly, her movements heavy with the weight of her choices. "I hope your prophecies serve us well, Ryan. For your sake and ours."
Ryan watched her disappear into the fog, his expression unreadable. When the silence returned, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the shifting mist.
"The pieces are in motion," he murmured to himself. "And the game begins."
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