The Pit of Tartarus
The wind didn't blow here.
Because there was no wind.
No time. No sound. No sky.
Only pressure.
Crushing, ancient pressure that grinded mountains to dust and cracked even immortal bones. The realm of Tartarus wasn't made for things that walked. It was made for punishment. For agony. For echoes that screamed without mouths.
Yet down the endless throat of that realm came Zeus.
He descended like a storm being swallowed.
Bolts of divine lightning forked out from his back as his boots struck the invisible floor of Tartarus, each step sending pulses through the blackness like sonar. His cloak fluttered against a wind that didn't exist. His eyes lit the dark.
He wasn't hiding.
He wanted to be seen.
And Tartarus saw him.
A rumble came. Low and rising. Not from above, but beneath.
A churning quake. A voice with no center, no mouth. It came from every wall, every crack, every grain of this damnable realm.
"You dare walk into me again… boy?"
