Hades.
Even speaking the name aloud was enough to make grown warriors tremble. Across the entire continent of Valeria, from the snow-capped mountains of the North to the burning deserts of the South, this single name carried more weight than any royal decree or divine commandment.
Mages who could bend reality with their spells would fall silent when his name was mentioned. Martial artists who had trained their bodies to inhuman perfection would bow their heads in reluctant respect. Even the mighty governments of the Seven Kingdoms, with their vast armies and ancient treasuries, would think twice before making any move that might draw his attention.
But this fear and respect didn't come from admiration or gratitude. No, Hades was not beloved by the people. He was not a hero who saved villages or protected the innocent. The terror that surrounded his name came from something far darker – he was known throughout the land as the most ruthless and psychotic killer the world had ever seen.
For seven long years, Hades had carved a bloody path across Valeria. Villages burned in his wake. Armies fell before his dark magic. Anyone who dared to oppose him simply... disappeared. The stories of his cruelty grew with each passing month, becoming legends that mothers would whisper to warn their children about the monsters that lurked in the darkness.
Yet even in a world paralyzed by fear, there were those brave enough to stand against him. The Holy Church of Divine Light, the most powerful religious organization on the continent, had taken up the sacred duty of stopping this monster. Using ancient rituals and blessed artifacts, they created Heroes – warriors infused with holy power specifically designed to combat Hades and his dark magic.
These Heroes were humanity's last hope. Each one was trained from childhood, given the finest weapons and armor, and blessed with divine abilities that could rival even the strongest mages. They were sent out into the world with one mission: destroy Hades and save humanity from his reign of terror.
But Hades was no ordinary villain.
One by one, the Heroes fell. The first group of ten was found three days after their deployment – their bodies arranged in a perfect circle, each one killed by a different method as if Hades was experimenting with new ways to end life. The second group lasted a week before they too were discovered, this time hanging from the trees of a sacred forest like grotesque decorations.
By the time the Church had sent their hundredth Hero to face Hades, the pattern was clear. No matter how powerful, how well-trained, or how blessed these warriors were, they all met the same fate. Hades didn't just kill them – he made their deaths into twisted works of art, each one more horrifying than the last.
The world watched in growing despair as their champions fell one after another. If even the Church's blessed Heroes couldn't stop him, what hope did ordinary people have? Many began to believe that this was the end – that Hades would continue his rampage until every last person on the continent was dead.
But then something unexpected happened.
The Church, the same organization that had been sending Heroes to their deaths, suddenly changed their tune. In a closed meeting of the highest Cardinals and the Pope himself, a decision was made that would shock the world.
They declared that Hades was no longer a threat worth their attention.
"His methods are too chaotic," declared Cardinal Morpheus during the secret council. "He kills without purpose, destroys without strategy. Such mindless violence is beneath our concern."
"Furthermore," added Cardinal Seraphina, her voice cold as winter frost, "his services are no longer required for our greater plans. He has served his purpose as a test for our Heroes, but now he has become... inconvenient."
The truth was far more sinister than the Church would ever admit publicly. Hades had not simply appeared from nowhere seven years ago. He had been created by them – a product of their secret experiments, their attempts to forge the perfect weapon. But like all tools, he had outlived his usefulness, and now they wanted to dispose of him.
The betrayal came swiftly and without warning.
On a moonless night, as Hades stood atop his fortress of black stone, surveying the lands he had conquered, they struck. Not with Heroes or holy warriors, but with something far more devastating – a ritual that would strip away everything that made him who he was.
The magic hit him like a divine thunderbolt, tearing through his defenses as if they were made of paper. His immense power, built up over decades of study and countless battles, began to drain away like water through a broken dam. The dark energy that had made him nearly invincible flickered and died. Even his memories, his very sense of self, began to fade.
But the Church wasn't content with simply weakening him. They had prepared a final insult – a replacement.
As Hades collapsed to his knees, his power gone and his body failing, he watched in horror as another figure approached. This person looked exactly like him, down to the smallest detail, but there was something wrong with the eyes. They were empty, soulless – the eyes of someone who had never truly lived or suffered.
"I am Hades now," the impostor declared, his voice an perfect mimiculation of the original. "Your name, your reputation, your very existence – I will take it all."
The real Hades tried to speak, to protest, to rage against this ultimate betrayal, but his voice came out as nothing more than a raspy whisper. The magic that had stripped his power had also taken his ability to fight back.
"You... you don't understand," he managed to gasp, staring up at his replacement with eyes that burned with fury despite his weakness. "You wear my face, but you know nothing of what I've endured. Nothing of the pain that forged me into what I became."
The impostor tilted his head, studying the broken man before him with mild curiosity. "Does it matter? I will be a better Hades than you ever were. More controlled. More useful to those who created us both."
In his final moments, as his life force continued to ebb away, the real Hades felt something he hadn't experienced in years – pure, overwhelming rage. Not the cold calculation that had driven his conquests, but a burning hatred that seemed to ignite his very soul.
His body shook violently as he forced himself to speak, pouring every ounce of his remaining strength into his words:
"I swear... I swear on every life I've taken, every soul I've crushed... I WILL RETURN!" His voice grew stronger with each word, as if his fury was giving him one last burst of power. "And when I do, I will burn this world to ashes! Every kingdom, every church, every last trace of humanity will fall before me!"
For a moment, the impostor's confident expression faltered. There was something in those words, something in the way they seemed to echo through the very air itself, that gave him pause. He stared down at this dying man who somehow still managed to radiate such terrible intent.
Then the moment passed, and the false Hades burst into laughter.
"I'll be waiting," he said with a cruel grin, raising a sword that gleamed with stolen power. "Enjoy whatever afterlife awaits monsters like us."
The blade fell, and the real Hades knew no more.
---
## The Void Between Worlds
In a place that existed beyond life and death, beyond time and space, a single soul burned with unquenchable fire.
This was not the peaceful rest that most spirits found after death. This was not the judgment hall of the gods or the punishment grounds of demons. This was something else entirely – a void of endless darkness where even the concept of existence became meaningless.
Yet somehow, impossibly, consciousness remained.
The soul that had once been Hades drifted in this nothingness, no longer possessing a body but still carrying the weight of his memories and the burning core of his rage. Time had no meaning here. Days, months, years – they all blended together into one eternal moment of fury and pain.
And through it all, one word echoed endlessly through his being:
"Revenge."
The memory of his final moments played over and over like a curse. The betrayal. The impostor. The mocking laughter as his head was severed from his shoulders. Each repetition only fed the flames of his hatred, keeping his consciousness intact when it should have faded into oblivion long ago.
He had sworn an oath in his dying breath, and that oath had become his anchor to existence itself.
Somewhere in the infinite darkness, something stirred. A presence vast and ancient, so powerful that even the void itself seemed to bend around it.
"Young one," a voice spoke, deep and resonant, causing ripples to spread through the nothingness like stones dropped in still water. "Do you truly plan to repeat this cycle of rage forever?"
But the burning soul paid no attention to the voice. The word continued to echo through his consciousness, drowning out everything else:
"Revenge... revenge... REVENGE..."
The presence hummed with what might have been amusement or perhaps disappointment.
"Fascinating," the voice mused. "Even in death, even stripped of flesh and bone, your hatred burns so brightly that it holds your spirit together. Most souls would have dissolved into nothing by now, but you... you refuse to let go."
Still, the soul of Hades showed no sign of hearing. His entire being was focused on that single, consuming desire for vengeance.
The ancient presence seemed to consider this for a long moment before speaking again, and this time there was something different in its tone – a hint of interest, perhaps even approval.
"The power you seek," the voice said slowly, deliberately, "the strength to make good on your oath of revenge... I can give it to you."
For the first time since arriving in this void, the endless repetition stopped. The burning soul suddenly focused, turning its attention toward the source of that impossible offer.
The voice chuckled, a sound like distant thunder.
"Ah, now I have your attention. Tell me, fallen king of darkness... just how far are you willing to go to reclaim what was stolen from you?"