Hades left Poseidon's shore—a shore full of meaningless art—and his figure moved through the rift between shadow and reality.
His perception, like an invisible web, enveloped the countless farces and tragedies unfolding on the earth.
Soon, two familiar and slightly awkward fluctuations of divine power, mixed with manic killing intent, hustle, and human noise, clearly transmitted into his perception.
On the edge of a plain ravaged by war, he saw an unpleasant scene.
Prometheus and Epimetheus, the two gods born from his tears, were fleeing in haste, pursued by a group of Bronze Age soldiers.
The bronze spearheads flickered with a cold, hard gleam in the dim light, like a bloodthirsty metal forest.
The soldiers, their faces smeared with ominous war paint and eyes burning with fanaticism for war itself, roared like beasts and hurled spears that tore through the air, piercing the path of the two fleeing gods.
Prometheus held a faint divine barrier that blocked most of the attacks, but his face was full of anxiety and helplessness. He tried to turn and shout, but his voice was drowned out by the noise of war:
"Stop! Children! War is not the only path to glory! Listen to the other voices within yourselves!"
Epimetheus was even more confused; his reaction was always half a beat slow. A stone flew past his arm, leaving a shallow trail of blood—not because he couldn't defend himself, but because he seemed to have withdrawn his instinctive counterattack at the last moment.
He cried out in pain, his eyes full of grievance and bewilderment at being wounded by the 'children':
"Why? We just wanted to tell you that there is a way to coexist peacefully..."
However, they were answered only by denser arrows and a roar full of contempt:
"Hypocritical gods! Get out of the way!"
"Your power is so weak, and you dare to lead our Bronze Race?"
"Only blood and fire can create true glory! Kill them and sacrifice them to our battle flag with divine blood!"
The army commander, a Bronze hero with an extraordinarily sturdy figure and a terrible scar on his face, raised his blood-stained long sword and pointed it at Prometheus:
"Look! They don't even dare to fight back! What qualifications does such a cowardly god have to stand above us? If we take their divinity, we will become stronger!"
The greed of human nature and the madness of war were undoubtedly revealed at this moment.
A flicker of deep sorrow passed through Prometheus's eyes.
His 'forethought' had long foreseen such a possibility, but seeing it and experiencing it still caused him pain.
He could have annihilated the army with a wave of his hand, but his love for humanity, his heart full of hope and compassion, would not allow him to do so.
This was especially true for Epimetheus, whose 'hindsight' made him more inclined to endure and reflect, rather than inflict harm.
As a result, the two gods could only be hunted like prey by the 'children' on whom they had placed great hopes, in the land they were trying to guide—an extremely awkward and absurd situation.
Hades's figure silently appeared on a low hill not far ahead of them.
His black robe was still in the wind filled with gunpowder, and in his violet eyes was a frozen deep sea, reflecting this absurd chase.
He did not act immediately.
He just watched quietly, with a sense of shame.
Prometheus was the first to notice Hades's presence.
At that moment, his expression was extremely complex—hope for rescue quickly gave way to deep embarrassment and shame.
He opened his mouth, but could not utter a word.
Epimetheus also noticed and almost instinctively wanted to cry for help, but Prometheus grabbed him.
The human army also spotted this uninvited guest.
The commander sensed the icy coldness and deathly silence emanating from Hades, completely different from the brothers Prometheus and Epimetheus, and his attack rhythm couldn't help but stop.
But the madness of war quickly overwhelmed the instinctive unease.
"Another god playing phantom! Take them all together!"
Hades finally moved.
He didn't even look at the surging Bronze men; he simply raised his pale right hand.
It was a simple action—he used his divine power of Hades to gently touch everything in the seemingly empty space before him.
As if cutting off some invisible support, space instantly 'collapsed', transforming into a bottomless dark rift, wide enough to isolate the army.
The rich breath of death rose like a substantive wall, and the Bronze men rushing forward couldn't even scream, as if swallowed by an invisible giant mouth, dissolving into the eternal darkness.
The following army halted in terror, gazing in horror at the chasm separating life and death, and at the black-robed god on the other side of the chasm, who looked at them indifferently.
All the fanaticism and killing intent instantly melted away in the face of this absolute death, leaving only the most primitive fear.
Hades didn't even bother to deal with these ant-like souls; he let the laws of Thanatos guide them naturally.
His gaze shifted to the frightened, wounded, and extremely embarrassed Prometheus and Epimetheus.
In this gaze, there was no approval, no sympathy, not even disappointment.
"Unnecessary kindness is the poison of efficiency." Hades's voice was cold, like the waters of the Styx washing over the eardrums of the two gods.
"Trying to guide a beast towards wisdom, yet unwilling to show the whip and the cage of the tamer. Your love is cheap and foolish."
Prometheus paled and wanted to argue, but under the gaze of those violet eyes, any words about 'hope' and 'guidance' seemed pale and powerless.
Epimetheus hung his head in shame.
Hades said no more. His gaze fell upon his own thin, pale left hand.
He needed a solution.
A plan to do it once and for all, to avoid a repetition of this humiliating scene.
These two had sprung from his existence, and although their ideas were contradictory, in the end, they bore his mark and posed no threat to Hades's status, but they could bring shame upon Hades.
His gaze fixed on the ring finger of his left hand.
The next moment, to the horrified stares of Prometheus and Epimetheus, Hades pointed at it like a knife. A dull light flashed, and he unhesitatingly severed the ring finger of his left hand!
No blood gushed forth, only a stream of extremely pure primordial divine power from Hades.
After the severed finger left the palm, it did not fall, but hovered in the air.
The severed finger swelled and deformed in the light; bones crackled, muscles grew wildly, and divine patterns rose and spread, like a living thing...
In just a few breaths, a completely new god was born.
He had a majestic build, like a mountain, and beneath his bronze skin lurked a terrifying power that seemed capable of bearing the sky.
His face was resolute, his eyes calm and determined, and his whole body radiated a strong sense of stabilizing presence.
He knelt on one knee before Hades, his voice low, like the roar of the earth:
"Father God."
Hades looked indifferently at the giant god, embodied from a part of his body and power.
"Your name is Atlas. Your duty is to protect." His gaze slid over the stunned Prometheus and Epimetheus beside him.
"Ensure that they do not fall into such a senseless situation again."
"I obey your commands, Father God." Atlas rose, like a moving mountain, and silently followed behind Prometheus and Epimetheus.
His immense body and the coercion of his invisible power immediately created a barrier of absolute safety.
Prometheus looked at Atlas, and then at Hades's left hand, which lacked a finger but was beginning to slowly regenerate under the influence of divine power. His mood was extremely complex.
Hades's method of sacrificing a part of his own essence to solve their problems caused by 'weakness' hurt him more than any reprimand.
Epimetheus muttered, "Father God... You..."
Hades ignored their reactions, once again fixing his gaze into the distance, where the silhouette of Olympus loomed in the clouds.
"Deal with the troubles caused by your 'children'," he uttered the last word, and his figure began to slowly fade.
"Do not waste any more of my... 'fingers'."
As soon as the words were spoken, Hades's figure completely disappeared, leaving only Prometheus and Epimetheus, silent, and behind them, the silent and reliable guardian of the mountain—Atlas.
On the plain, the chasm of the Underworld, separating life and death, slowly closed, leaving only fear and confusion in the Bronze Army for the rest of their lives.
Atlas's deep voice sounded from behind: "Foresight, Hindsight, it's time for us to leave."
His very presence was the embodiment of Hades's will: undeniable protection and a silent warning.