[Greek Mythology] The Demons Under My Command - Chapter 59

The Gates of the Underworld

The obsidian-forged gates of the Underworld groaned heavily under the tremor of Hera’s divine power in her palm. The bone serpents entwined around the bronze door knocker stirred restlessly, but as soon as they touched her skirt, they instantly turned to dust.

Doreen clenched the twin blades at her waist. Her boot soles crunched over the scattered ashes of the dead by the gate, and an icy chill ran down her spine.

It was the coldness exclusive to the Underworld, the coldness of eternal desolation.

“Don’t look up.”

Hera’s voice was low, her golden hair reflecting a cold light in the dimness. She lifted a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and the ruby ring on her finger ignited with starlight.

“The guiding ghosts of the Underworld will capture your soul. Follow me.”

Hera gazed ahead, seeing only boundless darkness beyond the gates, with only faint points of eerie blue ghost-fire flickering in the distance.

“She’s afraid of the dark.”

The woman muttered.

Winslow looked at Hera in confusion, not understanding what she was talking about.

The ruby suddenly burst forth with bloody starlight, carving a path ahead.

Doreen and Winslow followed closely behind her. Out of the corner of their eyes, they glimpsed several distorted shadows sweeping past in the darkness.

These shadows had human silhouettes but no facial features. Black viscous fluid flowed from their empty eye sockets. They stretched out withered hands, attempting to grab the living beings passing by, but at the moment of contact with the red starlight, they let out a piercing scream and turned into wisps of black smoke.

“Further ahead is the bank of the River Styx. Charon’s ferry won’t carry guests without payment, so we need to have what he wants ready,” Doreen instructed.

Winslow nodded, patting the plump money bag in her embrace.

The Ferryman

The waters of the River Styx glowed with an eerie, dark green color. Countless translucent spirits floated on the surface, reaching out to grasp the edge of the ferry, only to be ruthlessly beaten away by Charon, the ferryman, with his oar.

Charon sat at the stern, his figure small and hunched, a bronze mask covering his face, revealing only a pair of eyes that glimmered with a ghostly green light.

“Who goes there?”

Charon’s voice was hoarse and unclear. His oar stirred the river water, creating ripples: “The Underworld is a forbidden place. Only the dead may enter.”

Winslow stepped forward and tossed the money bag to Charon.

“Hera, the Goddess of Marriage, accompanied by two of her attendants, seeks an audience with Hades, the King of the Underworld. Is this enough to purchase three fares?”

Charon caught the money bag, weighed it in his hand, and a flicker of surprise crossed the eyes behind the bronze mask.

He was silent for a moment, then slowly steered the oar closer to the shore: “Get on board.”

“But remember, in the Underworld, even a god cannot act as they please. Lord Hades… hasn’t seen a living being in a long time, and he loathes self-important gods like you the most.”

Doreen and Winslow followed Hera onto the ferry. The planks creaked beneath their feet.

The river water exuded a foul smell. When the spirits in the river saw them, they let out mournful wails, reaching out to grab the gunwale, but Charon struck them down one by one with his oar.

Winslow felt the aura of the Underworld growing heavier, as if countless eyes were watching them from the darkness. Those gazes were filled with greed, jealousy, and resentment, making her shiver.

Hera stood at the bow, staring intently at the opposite bank.

A huge black palace was faintly visible there. The palace’s spires were studded with countless skulls, appearing particularly sinister and terrifying under the light of the eerie blue ghost-fire.

She knew that Hades must have already sensed their arrival.

“Hold on tight.”

Charon’s voice sounded again. He pushed hard with the oar, and the ferry slowly sailed towards the opposite bank of the River Styx.

“Ahead is Lord Hades’ Palace of the Underworld.”

The Palace of the Underworld

Three-headed Cerberus was kept at the entrance to the palace. Its drool dripped onto the ground, burning small black pits. When it saw them, it let out a low growl that hurt their eardrums.

Charon suddenly stopped rowing. The bronze mask turned towards Hera: “I can only take you this far. Lord Hades dislikes having his solitude disturbed, and your request may not be granted.”

He looked up at Hera but saw no fear in her red eyes; instead, there was a determination that spoke of certainty.

As soon as the ferry touched the black stone beach on the opposite bank, the low growl of the three-headed dog suddenly intensified. The leftmost head lunged forward, a foul-smelling wind carrying its fangs directly towards Winslow.

The flash of the blade was faster, precisely grazing the hellhound’s ear and splitting a black obsidian rock behind it in two.

The hellhound whimpered in pain but dared not advance further, merely circling the three of them.

Doreen shielded Winslow behind her, her eyes fixed on the hellhound’s movements. Her boot soles crunched on the scattered bones, making a faint sound.

“Hades, since you know we are here, why send these beasts to obstruct us?”

Hera’s voice cut through the hellhound’s low growls, carrying into the depths of the palace.

The black palace gates slowly opened, and a chill even colder than the River Styx rushed out. Several spectral guards in black armor emerged from behind the gates. The tips of the long spears in their hands burned with ghostly green fire.

The lead guard stepped forward, his voice hollow: “The King of the Underworld invites you, but only Your Majesty Hera is permitted to enter. The two attendants must wait here.”

Winslow subconsciously wanted to refuse. Doreen frowned, about to speak out, but Hera raised a hand to stop her: “Don’t worry,”

Hera turned to them, a reassuring look in her red eyes: “I will be out soon. There is no time to lose.”

Audience with Hades

Hades was half-reclined on his throne, his dark black robe trailing to his ankles. His unbound, inky hair fell to his shoulders, a few loose strands clinging to the side of his neck. Under the fringe of his forehead were a pair of long, narrow eyes. His irises were a chilling, icy blue, as if the deepest waters of the Underworld had solidified in his gaze. His skin was the cold white of someone who never saw sunlight.

“I wonder what the Goddess of Marriage intends by repeatedly intruding upon my domain?”

The man on the obsidian throne in the center of the palace saw that she had entered alone, keeping her word, and asked with a thin, insincere smile.

She looked up at the man on the throne, suppressing the urgency in her voice: “Hades, I have come for one thing only.”

“Give me the key to the Labyrinth of the Dead.”

The Labyrinth of the Dead imprisons all the souls that have died on that day.

Hades’ icy blue eyes lost a degree of their languor upon hearing this. That the imperious Goddess of Marriage, Hera, would humble herself before him was truly intriguing.

“Oh? The god of Mount Olympus would seek a favor from me? But why should I help you?”

Hades let out a soft laugh, a cold curve on his thin lips. A dark silver chain suddenly shot out from beside the throne. Its barbed tip scraped past Hera’s hair and nailed itself into the floor tile at her feet, splashing up tiny black cracks.

“Can you manage to pacify the vengeful spirits confined in the Underworld by yourself?”

“I swear on the name of the Goddess of Marriage that the Temple of Marriage will offer an appeasement ritual to the Underworld every ten years to help you cleanse the souls.”

“If that is not enough, I am willing to leave behind some of my divine power to help you reinforce the seal.”

Silence fell within the hall, broken only by the faint, muffled growls of Cerberus outside.

Hades stared at her tense jawline, a flash of complexity in his icy blue eyes.

He had witnessed Hera’s untouchable arrogance on Mount Olympus and her defiance when confronting Zeus, but he had never seen her in such a compromising posture, where even her starlight seemed to be a concession.

What exactly was she seeking?

Hades retracted the chain. He took a black Mandragora blossom, carved with the patterns of the creatures of the Underworld, from his cloak. With a flick of his finger, the Mandragora landed steadily in Hera’s palm.

The Mandragora emitted a sudden chill upon touching her body temperature, as if the energy of the Underworld flowed through its petals: “Take the Mark of the Underworld and go to the Labyrinth Garden behind the hall. You must be out before dawn, or the prison spirits of the Underworld will devour your divine power.”

Hera gripped the Mandragora. Just as she was about to thank him, Hades spoke again, his voice as faint as the wind: “Also, the prison spirits will reflect what you fear most. Don’t let it trap you.”

“After all, the tears of the Goddess of Marriage should not fall in my Hell.”

“This is the key to the Labyrinth of the Dead?”

Hera held the Mandragora tightly, her thumb pressing against the cold petals, her voice deeper than before.

“Something like that.”

Hades leaned back onto the throne, his icy blue eyes half-closed. His fingers lightly tapped the armrest under his dark black robe: “But I am truly curious, who is it that can make the Goddess of Marriage so submissive before me.”

Hearing Hades’ question, the red eyes beneath the golden hair curved slightly: “My life’s beloved.”

“I will bring out the soul I am looking for before dawn.”

Hades watched her turn away, the complexity in his icy blue eyes deepening.

He suddenly spoke, his voice no longer carrying its former coldness, but a hint of unnoticed warning: “The souls in the Labyrinth of the Dead are filled with profound resentment. Your starlight can only temporarily suppress them. If you encounter a prison spirit, crush a petal of the Mandragora. It will help you break the illusion.”

“Hera, what if you don’t find her?”

Hera’s steps paused, but she didn’t turn back.

“Then I will keep searching until I do.”

The woman nodded gently, her slender figure quickly disappearing behind the hall.

Silence returned to the hall. Hades raised a hand to summon a spectral guard, his voice regaining the authority of the Lord of the Underworld: “Bring her two attendants in from outside. Have them follow her, and make sure she doesn’t die in the Labyrinth Garden.”

After the guard bowed and withdrew, Hades gazed at the empty palace door. He condensed a wisp of dark spectral energy in his palm and murmured to himself: “What kind of soul can make you risk so much?”

The Labyrinth Garden

Hera reached the Labyrinth Garden behind the hall. She held the Mandragora in mid-air and chanted a divine decree. A rift was forcefully torn open in the air, and she stepped through the gap.

Before her was an endless gray plain. Countless souls drifted across the ground like scattered mist. There were human cries and the wails of animals. Even the air was saturated with unresolvable despair.

The Labyrinth of the Dead held souls from all over—human and animal alike. Anyone who had died was here.

She was trying her best to remain calm, telling herself repeatedly not to panic. There was no time for sorrow.

If she completely succumbed to grief, she would utterly lose her.

A broken body, a person who had died—it didn’t matter. She had to find Li Jia’s soul. As long as she found Li Jia’s soul, she would have a way to make her be reborn and live again.

After death, all things are continuously reincarnated, their memories wiped clean for a fresh start.

Hera had made up her mind. It was fine. She would love her no matter what form she took—man, woman, or animal. As long as she could live again, it didn’t matter if she didn’t remember her. She would make her fall in love with her again.

Fate is given by the heavens; destiny is earned by oneself.

Sorrow has no value here; one must act.

She would never let go.

When Winslow and Doreen burst in, Hera was standing on the plain, looking into the distance, where countless gray-black souls drifted like rootless dandelions.

“Your Majesty, how do we find Li Jia’s soul?”

Winslow was struggling to breathe under the pressure of the resentment, her voice full of anxiety: “There are too many souls here. What if we don’t find her before…”

“That is why we must be fast.”

Hera interrupted her. She raised the Mandragora in her palm to her eyes, took out a sharp knife, and quickly made a cut on her wrist.

“Your Majesty, are you planning to…”

Blood trickled down Hera’s wrist. The moment it dripped onto the Mandragora petals, the previously cold flower suddenly trembled.

The heart of the flower greedily drank the divine blood. The petals visibly stretched, growing from the size of a thumb to the length of half an arm. Black and purple patterns spread across the petals.

“Your Majesty! Your divine blood will deplete your divine power!”

Doreen exclaimed, stepping forward to press Hera’s bleeding wrist, but Hera raised her hand to stop her.

Hera’s face was a shade paler: “Li Jia has my blood in her body. I must let the Mandragora absorb my blood. This flower can sense it.”

“The more it absorbs, the stronger the connection will be.”

Yes.

They had been registered in the Book of Marriage—they were legitimate spouses, a perfect match.

She still had her marriage mark on her body, and in the deep palace, she still had her little things—her blanket, her swing…

She couldn’t.

How could she abandon all of this?

Sacrifice

The fresh blood gorged the Mandragora until it seemed to hiccup, yet still, there was no sign.

She was not in this part of the Underworld. Hera had searched inside and out, and there was not a trace of Li Jia’s soul.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the cracks, Doreen looked at the Goddess standing on the plain like an ice statue and at Winslow crying beside her. She felt a headache coming on.

“Your Majesty, it’s almost dawn.”

Doreen’s voice held unconcealed worry, her gaze sweeping over the gradually brightening sky behind them: “The King of the Underworld said that if we are not out before dawn, the resentment of the Underworld will completely seal the exit…”

The red starlight in Hera’s palm flickered violently, and the sound of the rift closing grew closer.

Hera raised a hand and pressed the Mandragora to her brow. The flower, which had been saturated with divine blood, instantly burst into blinding light. Black and purple patterns spread down from her forehead, winding around her wrist, as if to completely drain her divine power.

“Your Majesty! What are you doing?”

Winslow’s gasp had barely finished when Hera’s surrounding starlight suddenly surged, then instantly contracted inward, pouring entirely into the Mandragora.

Her golden hair began to turn frosty white. First, a few strands, as if dusted with snow by the cold wind of the Underworld, and then the white spread visibly, creeping down her hair. Soon, half of her golden hair had faded to silver-white.

“In the name of the Goddess of Marriage, I sacrifice my divine power to open the Gate of the Underworld. The Gates of Hell shall be eternally open for me.”

Hera’s voice was hoarse with the loss of divine power.

The Mandragora petals broke away from the stem, turning into streaks of light that flew towards the depths of the Labyrinth of the Dead.

The ground began to shake violently. The single rift began to continuously stretch across the plain. Countless streaks of ghostly blue light seeped from the ground, gradually solidifying into a massive gate.

It was the perpetually open Gate of the Dead. The Mandragora pattern carved onto the gate was slowly rotating as Hera’s divine power flowed into it.

Doreen lunged forward to grab her but was repelled by an invisible force: “Your Majesty! You will deplete all your divine power!”

She looked at Hera’s hair, which was rapidly turning white, and tears instantly welled up. The golden hair that once symbolized the glory of the Goddess of Marriage was now as pale as snow, with only a few faint golden strands remaining at the tips.

Hera didn’t look back, only clutching the wedding band in her palm.

She could distinctly feel the divine power draining from her limbs. With every fraction lost, the whiteness of her hair deepened, and even the red in her eyes dimmed slightly.

But when she saw the Gate of the Underworld completely stabilize and fill the rift, a slight smile curved her lips: “This way… you won’t be trapped here anymore. I will find you.”

“I will wait for you, until the day I can see you.”

Finally, the last trace of divine power flowed into the Gate of the Underworld. Her white hair hung down to her shoulders, like an unmelting frost.

She staggered backward. If Winslow hadn’t quickly supported her, she would have fallen.

Departure

In the distance, inside the Palace of the Underworld, Hades abruptly stood up, dark spectral energy violently churning in his palm.

He looked at the eternally open gate in the direction of the Labyrinth of the Dead and whispered: “Insane… truly insane! To use her own divine power for an Eternal Gate of the Underworld… absolutely foolish!”

“Your Majesty, let’s get out of here?”

Doreen looked at her paper-white face, her voice trembling: “The Gate of the Underworld is open. There will be other chances to find Li Jia.”

Hera nodded, her gaze still fixed on the depths of the Gate of the Underworld.

Black mist churned there, but there was no soul fluctuation. Yet she insisted on staring, as if Li Jia’s soul would float out of the mist at any second, smiling and asking her to call her ‘Older Sister.’

With every step she took, she felt tiny fragments of divine power seeping out of her body. Even the starlight around her was so faint it was almost invisible.

Just as she stepped out of the rift, the cold wind of the Labyrinth Garden swept in, carrying flower petals. Hera instinctively raised a hand to block it but glanced at the Mandragora in her palm. The flower, which had been saturated with divine blood, was now shriveled and wrinkled. The black and purple patterns had faded, leaving only a few tattered petals hanging on the stem, as if mourning for her.

She gently squeezed the remnants of the petals, and they turned to dust, scattering with the wind.

“Lord Hades!”

Doreen suddenly spoke. Hera looked up to see Hades standing on the stone steps not far away, his dark black robe billowing in the wind. His icy blue eyes were full of complexity as he stared at her white hair. The spectral energy at his fingertips trembled slightly.

“Do you understand the consequences of sacrificing your divine power to open the Gate of the Underworld?”

Hades’ voice was deeper than before: “The proud Goddess of Marriage, making herself so distraught for the sake of a mortal—it’s truly laughable.”

Hera, however, forced a faint smile: “What does this matter, as long as I can find my wife?”

She shook the wedding band in her palm. The marriage mark on the ring was still faintly glowing: “Our marriage contract still holds. I will always find her.”

Hades looked at her state, remaining silent for a long time before finally raising a hand and summoning a wisp of spectral energy, which gently settled on Hera’s shoulder.

The spectral energy brought warmth, temporarily stabilizing her loss of divine power.

Hera was slightly stunned. Just as she was about to say it wasn’t necessary, Hades had already turned and walked towards the Palace of the Underworld, leaving only a single sentence: “Don’t die too soon. I haven’t seen the day you find her yet. I want to see what kind of divine being could make you go to such lengths.”

Winslow looked at the retreating figure of the King of the Underworld, then at the spectral energy on Hera’s shoulder, and whispered: “Your Majesty, the King of the Underworld… he doesn’t seem that cold and terrifying, does he?”

Hera didn’t speak, merely looking down at the wedding band. Her white hair was lifted by the wind, brushing across the marriage mark on the ring.

The Gate of the Underworld is open. No matter what corner of the world you are in, I will find you.

No matter how far, no matter how long, I will wait for you to return.

Even if there is no outcome, I will still wait for you.

I await the day we meet again.

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