Thus, Hades became like a cold observer, hiding in the shadow cast by his own creation, feeling the light of the Wealth Double gradually dim as its divine power was drained and absorbed in its wake.
He waited patiently, husbanding every fraction of meager divine power he could restore, while simultaneously delving deeply into the power of [Secrecy].
Time still held no meaning, but Hades had gained a new point of reference—the degree of the Double's digestion, and... the wait for the next 'companion'.
Finally, at some unmeasurable moment, this deathly silent dark prison suddenly convulsed!
A new, violent, primordial, and surging divine aura violently intruded into this space.
This power was mighty and untamed, utterly unlike Hades' stillness or the sisters' weakness—it was filled with an unyielding struggle and a will to resist.
Cronus's divine power reactivated, instinctively surging toward this newer, 'fresher', more 'active' target.
Hades' consciousness, which had long lain silent, abruptly awakened at that moment, like a boulder crashing into a frozen lake.
He 'saw' it.
The new god, his brother, roared and fought fiercely in the darkness, trying to resist the all-pervading force of consumption.
Poseidon.
He had come.
Now!
Hades' consciousness, silent for countless years, shot forth like the sharpest spear, suddenly piercing through its self-imposed slumber.
He did not hesitate. The divine power hoarded over that long age, together with his newborn power of [Secrecy], erupted without reservation!
This was not a confrontation of strength, but the ultimate form of 'concealment' and 'deception'.
His divine form instantly became illusory, as if he had merged with the very flow of Cronus's power—like a drop of ink cast into the sea, instantly sharing the same frequency and blending with the surrounding chaotic spacetime force.
The sacred office of [Secrecy] wove an invisible veil around him, minimizing every trace of his existence—fluctuations of divine power, echoes of consciousness, even his 'influence' on the outside world—to almost nothing.
He 'looked' toward the great mouth Cronus had momentarily opened to swallow Poseidon.
The path was filled with turbulence capable of tearing ordinary Titans apart, but for Hades, who was now intimately familiar with this power and could even briefly mimic it, it was not an impassable barrier.
Without the slightest hesitation, Hades moved.
He did not force a breakthrough, but followed the current of divine power, like a slippery fish, 'swimming' upward along the invisible tube-like wall of Cronus's digestive tract.
His speed was extreme, yet utterly silent, and his power of [Secrecy] ensured his movements created no additional ripples.
He passed by Poseidon, who struggled valiantly yet still slowly sank deeper.
He could even sense his brother's fierce and unyielding will, and the rage and bewilderment of a new god, mingled with that will, as he confronted the ancient king-god.
There was no hesitation in Hades' heart. In this moment, survival was paramount; empathy and aid were luxuries, and deadly ones at that.
He simply and silently ascended, leaving behind Poseidon's doomed struggle and temporarily abandoning the silent divine forms of his sisters in the endless darkness.
Closer, closer!
He sensed a certain 'opening' fluctuation ahead, and an entirely different aura belonging to the 'outside'—a thin, but free, aura. It was Cronus's throat, the last threshold to life.
He focused all his power into a single point—not to attack, but to converge to the extreme, allowing himself to become utterly a formless, flowing current, and silently slip through the gap created by that surge.
No light. No impact.
Like a drop of water sliding from a leaf's tip, like a snowflake melting into the earth.
In the next instant, the feeling of constraint vanished. The viscous, suffocating, digestive darkness was left behind.
Hades, the god of Subterranean Wealth and Secrecy, drifted from the mouth of the king-god Cronus, without alerting a single deity or disturbing even a mote of dust in the air.
He sensed several powerful fluctuations of divine essence. One was warm, loving, filled with indescribable sorrow and a steely resolve—it belonged to his mother, the goddess Rhea.
The other was full of primordial wildness, restlessness, and a thick, majestic aura—it was his father, the god-king, Cronus himself!
Hades did not even have time to clearly perceive the surrounding scene—the power of [Secrecy] was already operating at its limit, utterly erasing all his breath, all traces, even the very sensation of his divine body's existence.
He was like an invisible shadow, merging with the corners of the temple's pillars, blending into the cold stone and the shifting gloom.
He 'saw' it.
In the majestic and stern temple, the towering Cronus radiated a terrifying pressure, enthroned high above.
He had just finished swallowing a mouthful; his Adam's apple rolled, and his face bore an expression of satiation and unquestionable dominance. And beside his throne, the goddess- mother Rhea was pale, her eyes filled with profound grief and a hint of forcibly restrained resolve.
He saw the faint tremor in the goddess- mother Rhea's fingers as she watched Cronus swallow, and the tears that almost spilled from her eyes. He also saw the cruelty and indifference of Cronus, who devoured his own children as a matter of course.
A surge of anger rose in Hades' heart, but he could do nothing.
He was far too weak now. A newborn god, whose divine power had been exhausted by the long imprisonment and escape, facing the ancient and mighty king-god Cronus—any movement whatsoever would be suicide.
He could only watch, etching the scene before him—Cronus's cruel posture, and the 'nutriment' of his children within the god-king's belly—deep into the core of his own divinity.
After swallowing 'Poseidon', Cronus seemed to notice nothing amiss; perhaps Hades' [Secrecy] had indeed veiled any slight sense of discrepancy. He waved his hand, a gesture for Rhea to withdraw. Rhea lowered her head, containing her emotions, and slowly left the temple.
Within the temple remained only Cronus on his throne, and Hades, perfectly hidden in the shadows.
Time passed, grain by grain. Hades, like the most patient of hunters, remained utterly motionless.
He had to leave Mount Olympus. This place was now more dangerous for him than Cronus's belly. There, he had only to contend with a slumbering foe; here, any leakage of his trace could invite the thunderous strike of the God-King and his Titan brethren.
Finally, when Cronus, perhaps lulled into deeper slumber by Hypnos, sank into a profound rest and the turbulent fluctuations of his divine power around him subsided slightly, Hades moved.
He transformed into an invisible shadow, one that even light might fail to illuminate, and soundlessly slipped out through a crevice in the temple walls. He avoided all paths that might be guarded, and with the innate intuition granted by his power of [Secrecy], he fled down the sacred mountain, toward the boundless, free earth below.
His speed was extreme, yet it stirred not a single ripple in the cosmos. He glided alongside mountain streams fed by divine springs, passed through forests of exotic flora, and crossed borders guarded by minor gods.
Who knew how much time passed, until the majestic silhouette of Mount Olympus became a mere blur on the horizon behind him, until he could no longer feel the suffocating pressure of Cronus's divine power around him. Only then did Hades finally stop, in a desolate and deep canyon.
He allowed his form to become visible. The newborn, youthful body of the god appeared somewhat pale and gaunt in the light of the true moon.