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Chapter - 6: BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
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I kept staring for a moment longer at the spot where Nyx had disappeared, then lowered my gaze. I knew I couldn't—or maybe it was better to say I didn't want to—rely on her anymore.
She had already helped me far too much. She had always been there, ever since my childhood. Even though I wasn't her son, she had treated me as if I were.
When my mother was absent and my father too distant, she was the only one who stayed by my side. She spoke to me when everything else was silent, guided me through the saddest moments, and on the days I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror, it was her voice that reminded me my time would come.
But now, from this moment on, it was time to walk on my own path. Not because I didn't love her anymore. Quite the opposite. Precisely because I did. Because if I kept clinging to her, I would never become the person I was meant to be.
I turned toward my room and stepped inside. It was always the same, and it certainly wouldn't be changing anytime soon, since I liked it just the way it was.
I had been lucky to have it: it was the second-largest bedroom in the entire House of Hades, second only to that of my parents and a few other high-ranking members.
Even my sisters had to settle for smaller, less spacious, and more isolated rooms. Not that it had anything to do with me being mom's favorite, of course...
No, of course not. Just a lucky coincidence.
The first thing that caught the eye upon entering the room was a large, imposing mirror that loomed silently in the darkest corner. I wished I could say it was the Mirror of Night, the one that, in the game, would empower me—but no.
In reality, nothing is ever that simple.
Next to the mirror, in contrast to its solemnity, stood my neglected desk. Scattered across it were parchment scrolls, some crumpled, others faded with time.
They held the stories of heroes I loved to read as a child: tales of impossible feats, legendary battles, of gods and men clashing in duels.
By now, those scrolls were covered in dust, but I just couldn't bring myself to get rid of them. Maybe because, deep down, a part of me still hoped to write my own story alongside those of the heroes I had admired so much as a child.
The bed, surprisingly tidy, dominated the right side of the room. Incredibly comfortable, with its softness and death-themed embroidery, it seemed made precisely for those who wished—ironically—to rest in peace.
Above, three enormous skulls stood as proof of the hardships I had faced during my attempts to leave this dimension. Among them, a smaller one caught the eye with its six monstrous faces carved into the stone: cyclopes, gorgons, beasts with gaping maws.
Each creature seemed to stare at me, as if a spirit lingered inside them to remind me of everything I had faced and everything that still awaited me.
Every detail of the room told a part of me. Every crack in the stone, every shard of bone lodged between the floor tiles, was tangible proof of my existence.
Of every time I had fallen and had chosen, stubbornly, to rise again.
Speaking of that, you could see a portrait of Achilles dominating one of the walls, upright and impassive like a living monument. Beneath it, carved into black stone, a simple but unshakable phrase:
"The worth of a hero is not measured by victories, but by how many times he manages to stand up after every fall." Simple words, yet carrying a weight that knew how to reach my heart.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I knew the path ahead of me was still long, and that I had much to learn. But one thing was now clear: I could no longer keep running away.
It was time to look within myself, and finally try to uncover more about the latent powers that flowed through my blood—not as curses or gifts imposed by higher forces, but as genuine fragments of my identity.
And this body was certainly no divine gift. I had forged it with my own hands in pain, in sweat, in blood. With the determination that burned with every fall.
And with an unshakable will to never give up.
Sleepless nights. Days without rest.
And I was proud of it. Damn proud.
I looked at myself in the dark mirror. I no longer wanted to be a god in name only. I had to prove to the world—and above all to myself—that I wasn't simply "the son of Hades."
While other gods basked in inherited power, I clenched my teeth. I didn't want to be superior, nor worshipped out of fear. If I had to wish for something, it was to become the kind of god that men pray to with respect.
Not out of fear.
But out of admiration.
At any cost.
It was finally time to know every fragment of my essence. Because for me, the time had come to write my legend with that very same blood.
And this time no one—not even fate—would stop me.
I let myself fall to the ground, sitting cross-legged. I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing, letting the silence wrap around me in an attempt to feel the world around me.
I didn't know where to start, but at least from what I had seen from my sisters, I had to sense something within me, as if it were an innate instinct.
But it was like trying to hold smoke between your fingers.
A useless effort.
I knew what I was looking for, but not how to reach it. And that feeling frustrated me. "I'm the son of Hades," I kept repeating to myself. Darkness should answer me—or at least, that was the easiest answer I had.
I know. It sounds way too chuuni, even for me.But it was the truth.If I really had any kind of domain, then it had to reside there: in shadow, in blood, in death and in life.
I tried to draw from what felt most natural.Not water, not air—but darkness.A heavy and viscous sensation, like thick fog on a winter night, wrapped around me.
But it danced around me, brushed against me, then slipped away as if I couldn't quite capture the sensation that was supposed to be mine to begin with.
Why? Why couldn't I hold onto it?Didn't divine powers work that way?Don't demigods grasp them, command them, bend them to their will…?
I tried to channel it forcefully, to force it to enter me.I expected an epic scene: my aura exploding, me ascending to the sky blinded by my divine might.
Instead… I collapsed to the ground, gasping.
A searing pain tore through my chest, and blood trickled from my lips.I barely managed to stay conscious as my regenerative powers—legacy of my lineage—kicked in.
If I hadn't been the child of a god, I would have died.
A pathetic death, for yet another failed attempt.
What had I done wrong? What was I missing?I thought I was finally taking a step forward.Instead, it felt like my core—or rather, myself—was missing a fundamental piece of knowledge.
A crucial part, a stable foundation to build upon.Without it, everything I created crumbled.I took a deep breath. I instinctively placed my hand on the ground.
I let the darkness around me move, while at the same time, I felt the heartbeat of the earth as if it were a real entity with a life of its own.
It wasn't cold.Nor malevolent.
It was simply a part of me. "Why am I acting like a demigod…?" I whispered."I am a god."The words came out on their own. But they had weight.
The gods are not their bodies.Those are merely shells, temporary containers for what we truly are: our essence.
Ephemeral, ever-shifting—but not us.That's why we are immortal.Not because the body resists time, but because the soul of a god knows no end.
It persists.
It changes form, but it never fades.
Authority is not some distant or unreachable power. It is not a prize to be won, nor a blessing to be begged for. It is what we are. It is the purest expression of our being.
Our domain from the very beginning, engraved into our soul as a primordial truth. There was no need to summon it by force.It was like breathing—something you did without even thinking.
And so, I asked myself:
What represents me more than anything else?
Blood.
But what is blood, really? A scholar from my old world would confidently answer: " It is a vital fluid that transports oxygen and nutrients throughout the body."
What a boring answer.
No… blood is much more than that.
I looked at my hand, at my trembling fingers. Then, without thinking too much, I bit down hard on my palm. The pain came immediately after—subtle but real—as the blood welled up slowly, warm, sliding down my wrist and dripping onto the floor with a soft, steady sound.
Plik… plik… plik…
Drop by drop, the blood fell slowly, tracing a small dark pool at my feet that gradually spread outward, as if it were claiming every fragment of space around me.
It kept flowing, dripping in silence, and I could do nothing but watch.Hypnotized. Suspended.
Then something happened.
It touched my core.
No… it wasn't just that.
It had found something deeper.
My Authority.
The more I watched it move, the more I understood. The way I had tried to use it until now had been superficial. I had tried to command it, but I had never truly understood it.
Because, in truth, I had never truly understood myself.
And finally, the truth revealed itself.
Bond.
Persistence.
Subversion.
Three words.
Three fundamental truths carved into my blood.
In one hand, my blood began to rise, slowly dancing in the air, tracing runes or symbols I couldn't fully decipher.
And when they met, they fused.
In that instant, I felt something unfold inside me.
"All blood is under my dominion…" I declared, almost without realizing it, while I clutched hungrily to that primal sensation that was born from some remote, visceral point deep within me.
The full breadth of my Authority was unleashed—for the first time, since I had come into this world.
A dull hum.
And then it happened.
The blood at my feet began to shudder, to rise slowly. It swelled like a living, bubbling mass—an amorphous creature on the verge of taking form.
The black surface distorted in silence, expanding, as if some unseen intelligence were trying to give it shape. Before me, a cocoon was forming: black, streaked with red, pulsing like an ancient heart.
It emitted a faint, sinister light, almost as if it were breathing. The pressure around me grew. The air turned dense. Space contracted, as if the entire world were holding its breath.
And then, without warning…
It swallowed me.
In an instant, I found myself standing on a vast sea of blood.The sky above me was black as ink—oppressive, motionless.All around, an absolute silence, unreal, like that of a tomb forgotten by the gods.
In front of me, veiled in shadow, stood a figure seated on a throne.It had no face. No human features—only two black, curved horns protruding from its head and a wide smile carved into the flesh, eternal.
I stayed silent.
Every fiber of my being begged me to listen, not to speak.
"I have a better answer to your question," said the creature, with that smile that seemed to stretch into infinity. "Unlike the other gods, for those like us, blood is a currency of exchange."
The world trembled. Not out of fear—but as if it were responding to the echo of its power. "Through blood, we can perform miracles.And what we are doing now… is one of them."
"Who are you…?" I asked, but the question couldn't leave my lips.It was buried in my mind, blocked by a condition I couldn't understand.
"Who am I? That's not so important," replied the voice, a whisper that crept into my thoughts like a living shadow. Despite its ethereal nature, that voice felt strangely familiar.
"But it is important to know—how long do you plan to keep lying there, helpless?" it continued, in a regal tone. "I have shown you the path," it declared, spreading its arms wide to reveal this world.
It was talking about my domain.
And, perhaps… just perhaps I was finally starting to understand.
A moment of silence. Then one final warning, like an echo dissolving into nothing: "Do not forget… Blood will always be your most loyal ally.Right after your bonds, of course."
A gust of wind suddenly rose, sweeping away the white mist that surrounded me. And with it, that presence too vanished—as if it had never existed.
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