The Styx tasted like ash and regret. Fitting, I supposed, considering where I was. One moment I was engulfed in blue flames, a familiar inferno that promised oblivion, and the next… this. This endless, echoing darkness that pressed in on me, punctuated only by the mournful cries of unseen souls.
I remembered. I remembered the bitter, twisted path that led me to that final blaze. Touya Todoroki, the forgotten son, the failed experiment consumed by his own ambition and his father's relentless expectations. I remembered Dabi, the scarred villain, a walking pyre fueled by hatred and a desperate need for recognition. Both were me, and both were gone.
Or so I thought.
A blinding light erupted, forcing me to shield my eyes. When I could see again, I found myself standing on black sand, the air thick with the scent of sulfur and something ancient, something powerful. Before me stood a palace of obsidian and shadow, its towers piercing the gloom like jagged teeth.
A voice, deep and resonant, echoed in my mind, "Welcome, Hades. Lord of the Underworld. Your realm awaits."
Hades? Lord of the Underworld? The very idea felt absurd, a cruel cosmic joke. I, Dabi, the burnt-out husk of a man consumed by vengeance, was now a god?
But the power humming beneath my skin, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders, it felt… undeniable. I was no longer Touya, no longer Dabi. I was something… more.
Hesitantly, I approached the palace. The massive gates swung open as I neared, revealing a vast courtyard bathed in an unnatural, perpetual twilight. Shades drifted through the grounds, their forms flickering and indistinct, whispering fragments of forgotten lives.
This was my domain. These were my people.
The first few centuries were a blur of disorientation and reluctant learning. I had no mentor, no guide. The other gods, the Olympians, kept their distance. They saw me as an outsider, a pariah saddled with a grim task. I learned the laws of the Underworld through trial and error, decreeing punishment and reward, navigating the treacherous currents of the souls in my care.
It was lonely. Bone-achingly lonely.
Then, one day, a familiar face arrived. Or rather, a face that was both familiar and utterly transformed. He stood at the banks of the Styx, radiating a power that rivaled my own, the very air around him shimmering with the scent of salt and sea.
His eyes, one grey, one blue, widened in recognition. "Touya?" he breathed, the name a hesitant whisper in the suffocating silence of the Underworld.
It was Shoto. My little brother. But not the Shoto I remembered. This was Poseidon, Lord of the Seas, his features sharper, more defined, his presence radiating an almost unbearable intensity.
"Shoto," I replied, the name feeling foreign on my tongue. "Or should I say… Poseidon?"
A myriad of emotions flickered across his face: disbelief, confusion, and something that looked suspiciously like relief. "What… how is this possible?"
"I don't know," I admitted, the truth ringing hollow. "I died. I became… this." I gestured to the sprawling palace, the endless expanse of the Underworld. "And you… you're Poseidon?"
He nodded, slowly, as if still trying to process the impossible. "I… I don't remember everything. But I remember you. Our… past life. Our family."
For the first time since arriving in this desolate realm, a flicker of warmth ignited within me. Family. A connection. Something real in this sea of shadows.
Our reunion was awkward, stilted by centuries of separation and the immense weight of our new identities. We spoke of our past, carefully skirting the edges of the pain and resentment that had defined our relationship. We spoke of the other gods, of Olympus, of the endless cycle of power struggles and petty squabbles.
Poseidon, unlike the others, didn't shy away from the Underworld. He visited often, the salty tang of the sea a stark contrast to the suffocating gloom of my domain. He told me tales of the surface world, of storms and sea monsters, of the vibrant life teeming beneath the waves. He brought me gifts: pearls from the deepest ocean trenches, shells that whispered secrets of forgotten lands.
Through him, I began to see the Underworld in a new light. It wasn't just a place of death and despair. It was a repository of memories, a sanctuary for the forgotten, a necessary counterbalance to the vibrant chaos of the living world.
I began to take a more active role in the lives of my subjects. I listened to their stories, mediated their disputes, and ensured that justice was served, even in the realm of the dead. I learned to wield my power with precision and compassion, shaping the Underworld into something more than just a desolate wasteland.
One day, a young woman arrived at my palace. She was Persephone, daughter of Demeter, the goddess of agriculture. She had been kidnapped, lured into the Underworld by a magical narcissus, and I, drawn to her beauty and innocence, had claimed her as my queen.
Her arrival brought a spark of life to the Underworld. She filled the halls with laughter and light, bringing a touch of spring to the eternal twilight. She challenged my rigid rules, softened my hardened heart, and showed me that even in the realm of the dead, there was room for love and joy.
Demeter, understandably, was furious. She threatened to plunge the world into an eternal winter if her daughter was not returned. A compromise was reached: Persephone would spend part of the year with me in the Underworld, and the rest with her mother on Olympus, bringing spring and summer to the mortal world.
Life, as much as it could be called that in the Underworld, settled into a rhythm. I ruled alongside Persephone, guided by her wisdom and compassion. I visited Poseidon on the surface, marveling at the vastness of the ocean, the bright warmth of the sun. I even, on occasion, tolerated the company of the other Olympians, though their arrogance and petty squabbles still grated on my nerves.
I was still Dabi, still Touya, in some small, forgotten corner of my mind. But I was also Hades, Lord of the Underworld, a god with responsibilities, with a wife, with a brother who understood the burden of our shared past.
The Styx still tasted like ash and regret. But now, there was also a hint of something else: hope. A fragile, flickering ember in the eternal darkness, but a hope nonetheless. I was no longer just a destroyer. I was a ruler, a protector, a husband, a brother.
I was building a new life, even in the realm of the dead. And perhaps, just perhaps, that was enough.