But Hades soon noticed that something was off.
The sharp-tongued brat who had been speaking so forcefully just moments ago was now standing there in silence like a statue, eyes lowered, his gaze not even focused on Hades anymore.
And that was not all. The atmosphere around them had shifted in an extremely subtle way.
The air was growing colder at an unnatural pace, to the point that every breath felt like it might crystallize into frost.
And the gray dusk overhead, which had only just settled in, was now being swallowed up like ink spilled across the sky. Night was falling so fast it made the hair on the back of one's neck stand up.
"What are you doing?"
Hades frowned slightly, and the black magic around him, which had only just calmed down, began to stir again.
Faced with that question laced with terrible pressure, Shane finally snapped out of the strange emotional resonance rising from the depths of his heart.
Ignoring Hades' anger, he lifted his head slightly and looked around at the profound night and the swirling snow blown about by the cold wind.
"How… perfectly fitting."
He let out a soft sigh of admiration. Then he closed his eyes and, facing the boundless earth below, solemnly called out that name.
"Ereshkigal."
Hummmm—
The instant he spoke the name, time itself seemed to be forcibly put on pause.
Then, from somewhere beyond mortal perception, a faint and ethereal female voice—subtle, yet carrying absolute divinity—brushed directly across the hearts of everyone present without warning.
Whether it was Makarov or the arrogant Hades, in that moment they all felt a shiver rise from the depths of their souls.
"I grant your wish."
And then—
Rumble, rumble, rumble!
The earth split open without warning.
A pitch-black abyss, so deep it seemed capable of swallowing all light and sound in the world, suddenly yawned open before them.
Looking down from above, there was nothing inside it but endless darkness and absolute silence.
As Shane looked at the abyss that had opened beneath his feet, not only did he feel no fear at all, a rare trace of unconcealed excitement even appeared on his usually calm face.
There was no question that this abyss was the formal invitation she had given him.
"So I'm really going to meet the mistress of the underworld?"
Not as an illusion. Not as a vision.
But truly, face to face, with a being out of myth itself.
For him, it was almost impossible not to feel his heart surge with excitement.
Shane spread his arms, facing the icy wind blowing out of the abyss, and like a bard upon a stage, he raised his voice into the cold night and began to chant:
"She is the sovereign of the land of no return!"
"She is the embodiment of the winter earth!"
"She is the one true god of the underworld, the only one who may lay down law and render absolute judgment!"
As he recited her name and her authority, Shane turned his head and looked at Hades, whose face was slowly turning green.
"Look. What lies below is the genuine underworld. It really does suit your name, 'Hades,' doesn't it?"
"Would you care to come with me and meet the true ruler of the underworld?"
And with that, without giving Hades any chance to react or stop him—
and without caring in the slightest about the cries of shock erupting from Natsu, Makarov, and the others behind him—
Shane threw himself backward without hesitation and plunged straight into the bottomless black abyss.
Falling.
Falling.
Endlessly falling.
And yet, Shane did not feel the crushing, bone-shattering sensation of plummeting through weightlessness.
It was as if some unseen master were quietly looking after him. Though no motion could be seen, the darkness below spread apart gently like rippling water.
An invisible force rose from beneath, caught him steadily, and set him down with extraordinary softness upon a ruined ancient gray stone passageway.
"Hah…"
After steadying himself, Shane first placed a hand over his chest and bowed politely into the empty air.
"Thank you for your invitation. I have come in answer to it."
Only then did he lift his head and begin curiously taking in his surroundings.
Just as the Mesopotamian myths described the underworld—
it was vast and oppressively lofty.
Rough, colossal ancient stone pillars rose from the ground one after another, holding up the boundless darkness overhead as though it might collapse at any moment.
And beneath both sides of the passage where he stood there was another bottomless abyss, dim and oppressive, steeped in a silence so absolute it inspired despair.
Whooo—
As he began to walk forward, tiny blue ghostly flames flickered to life one by one along both sides of the passage.
Curious, Shane leaned in for a closer look.
They were not ordinary braziers.
They were exquisite cages woven from interlocking sharp spears.
And the blue flames trapped inside them were souls of the dead, bound fast within those cages.
Legend said that though Ereshkigal was forbidden from ever leaving the underworld, she loved her realm of death deeply, and would personally craft these prisons for confining souls with meticulous care.
Faced with these creations steeped in death, Shane felt no fear at all.
On the contrary, he was sincerely awed by the delicacy of the workmanship.
If he hadn't felt that touching them casually would be disrespectful to both the mistress of this place and the dead themselves, he might have been unable to resist reaching out to examine them properly.
Following the guidance of the blue flames, Shane continued down the passageway.
The scenery along the way remained as monotonous and desolate as ever. Other than cold stone and blue ghostfire, there was nothing.
Walking along that deathly silent road that seemed as though it would never end, Shane gradually found himself understanding why the goddess who ruled the underworld had developed such a deep fondness for vivid flowers.
To sit in this kingdom of death day after day, year after year, surrounded by nothing but black, gray, and blue—
anyone would inevitably become irresistibly curious about the bright, living flowers of the outside world.
He did not know how long he had walked through the silence before, at last, a door appeared at the end of the passage.
This gate of the underworld—the very one that, according to legend, had once stripped the heavenly goddess Ishtar of all her powers—was not towering, magnificent, or dazzling as Shane had imagined.
On the contrary, it was built from heavy, rough stone, covered in deep grooves carved by time and thick layers of dust, exuding a merciless aura of death and ruin.
"There's no gatekeeper?"
Shane glanced around, a little disappointed.
Perhaps because he had only called upon the goddess from his side alone, he had not encountered Nedu, the famous gatekeeper said to oversee the seven gates.
He stopped before the door.
It was shut so tightly that it did not seem inclined to open on its own.
A faint tension rose in Shane's chest.
"Am I supposed to push it open myself?"
After all, in the underworld, Ereshkigal possessed absolute and unquestionable authority.
This gate could strip away everything the one who opened it possessed—power, clothing, all of it—without reservation.
Up until now, that goddess had treated him rather gently. One could even say favorably.
But the moment he recalled how, in the myths, she had coldly and mercilessly stripped bare the other half of herself standing in opposition—her younger sister Ishtar—and subjected her to brutally cruel impalement torment, Shane couldn't help swallowing hard.
And yet—
just as that slightly irreverent, speculative thought formed in his mind—
Creeeak—
The impossibly heavy gate before him silently swung inward on its own.
Then, from within the doorway, came a gentle-looking force that brooked no resistance at all.
Shane had not even taken a single step when that power wrapped around him and dragged him uncontrollably through the gate that marked the boundary between life and death.
Amid spinning darkness, a calm voice, stripped of all emotion, echoed through the underworld.
"Remove the 'Shugurra' from her head."
The moment those words fell—
Shane felt an invisible force descend upon his shoulders.
The tattered hooded cloak draped over him was lightly flipped back, as though by an unseen hand.
Along with a violent collapse of magical energy, the [Assassin] state Shane was in was forcibly stripped away.
He was pulled out of Jack's form.