The battlefield was a cacophony of blood and steel, screams of war blending into the deafening clash of divine might. The air was thick with the stench of death, the ground slick with the blood of gods and mortals alike. And yet, amidst the chaos, time seemed to slow, the din of war fading into an eerie silence that sent a shiver down my spine.
Then, I saw her.
Hecate stood amidst the raging battlefield, her presence a stark contrast to the chaos around her. The glow of the burning sky reflected off her three faces, each one etched with fierce determination. Her staff pulsed with ethereal power, a conduit of magic so old, so absolute, that it made the very air around her shimmer with divine energy. She wove spells like a master weaver at a loom, each incantation a strand of raw cosmic power, bending the battlefield to her will.
I had fought beside her for centuries, millennia even. In every war, in every age, she had stood by my side, unwavering, her magic an unshakable shield against the dark. We were bound not just by love, but by time itself, by the countless moments we had stolen from fate, by the battles we had endured together. She had been my guide when I first walked the path of the dead, my confidante when the weight of my throne grew too heavy, my solace when the heavens turned their backs on me.
She was untouchable. Unbreakable.
And then Typhon appeared.
A shadow swallowed the battlefield, vast and terrible, devouring the very light of the fires that burned around us. It wasn't just darkness—it was something deeper, something wrong. The very fabric of existence recoiled at his presence, an ancient dread sinking into my bones before my mind could even comprehend what was happening.
I turned, my instincts screaming.
And I saw him.
Typhon loomed over her like a god over an insect, his monstrous form stretching across the sky, blotting out the sun. His scaled, serpentine limbs writhed hungrily, each ending in claws sharp enough to rend the heavens. Molten eyes burned with unspeakable malice, and his many heads twisted and sneered, each bearing a different grotesque expression of wicked delight.
He was behind her.
My breath caught.
I tried to move, tried to run, but my body felt sluggish, as though the weight of inevitability had wrapped itself around me.
Hecate sensed it, too.
Her head tilted slightly, one of her faces glancing back, but it was already too late.
Typhon's massive claw shot forward, faster than I thought something so large could move.
She barely had time to gasp before his hand wrapped around her throat.
"No!" My voice was raw, desperate, a sound I barely recognized as my own.
Hecate's staff fell from her grasp, clattering uselessly to the blood-soaked ground. She kicked, clawed at his hand, her fingers glowing with runes of banishment and destruction, but Typhon only laughed. A deep, guttural sound that rattled my very soul.
And then I saw the blade.
It was no ordinary weapon. Forged from adamantine and something darker, something ancient, it pulsed with an eerie, unnatural glow. A weapon crafted to kill gods. To erase them.
I lunged forward, shadows curling around my limbs as I tried to reach her.
But I was too slow.
The blade plunged into her chest.
Hecate's body arched, a strangled cry escaping her lips as the sickening crunch of bone and the wet, awful sound of tearing flesh rang through the battlefield. The runes along her arms flared wildly, her magic surging uncontrollably as pain wracked her body. Blood—her divine essence—spilled from the wound, staining Typhon's claws a deep crimson.
She turned her gaze to me then, and I saw something I had never seen in her eyes before.
Fear.
Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. Only a choked gasp.
And then, with terrifying ease, Typhon twisted the blade and—
Snap.
The sound of her neck snapping was followed by the oh familiar feeling of the pit in my stomach as a death knell ringing in my head as I felt a tear fall down my face.
A sound so final, so absolute, that the battlefield itself seemed to fall silent.
Her body went limp.
The magic that had once roared from her veins flickered and died like a candle snuffed out by the wind. Her fingers twitched, reaching for something unseen, before they stilled. The light in her eyes dimmed, her form slackening in Typhon's grip.
"No. No, no, no—"
I lurched forward, my hands grasping desperately, blindly, trying to hold onto her—onto anything. But the moment my fingers brushed against her skin, it was already slipping away.
Golden light bled from her form, her divine essence fracturing like glass, each shard catching the dim, flickering glow of the battlefield's dying fires. Like stardust in a storm, she scattered, piece by piece, drifting away, dissolving before my very eyes.
Her body—her warmth, her presence—was unraveling.
I tried to hold her together, to keep her here with me, but the universe had already claimed its toll. The threads of her existence frayed, slipping through my fingers like sand through an hourglass.
She was disappearing.
"Please, Hecate—no—please—stay—"
A choked breath, ragged and shallow, answered me.
Through the haze of vanishing light, her gaze found mine. Her three faces, once so fierce, so unyielding, softened. The pain was there, shadowed in the depths of her fading eyes, but there was something else, too—something deeper.
Love.
With the last strength she had left, she lifted a trembling hand, cupping my cheek, her fingers barely more than a whisper against my skin. I clutched her wrist, as if anchoring her here, as if sheer will alone could keep her from slipping away.
"Listen to me," she murmured, her voice fragile, yet steady—a sound I knew I would carry with me for eternity.
I shook my head, unable to speak, unable to do anything but stare at her in helpless agony.
"You were always so stubborn," she breathed, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "Always so serious." A weak chuckle, cut short as her form flickered. "I loved that about you."
I swallowed hard, my throat raw, burning. "Don't—don't say it like this. Don't say it like a farewell—"
Her fingers brushed against my lips, silencing me.
"It's alright, my love," she whispered, and I felt something inside me shatter. "It has always been alright… because I had you."
The battlefield, the war, the screams of the dying—it all faded. There was only her. Only us.
"I wanted more time," she admitted, her voice cracking, her three faces reflecting sorrow, longing, and peace all at once. "Just a little more… but time was never ours to command, was it?"
A tear slid down my cheek, hot against the cold numbness seeping into my bones.
"You were my beginning," she whispered, her breath faltering. "And you are my forever."
Her light pulsed, flickered. She was fading faster now.
"Hecate, please," I begged, my voice breaking, my hands still clinging to her as if I could hold her soul together through sheer force of will.
Her three faces, my beautiful, stubborn wife, looked at me one last time—one with love, one with sorrow, one with quiet acceptance.
"Do not let this break you, my love," she murmured. "Live. Even if it hurts. Even if it takes eternity to learn how. Live."
And then, softer than a dying breath, barely more than a wish carried on the wind—
"I love you."
Her light flared, blinding for a heartbeat—
And then, she was gone.
Vanished.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
I stood there, hands still outstretched, my mind refusing to comprehend the horror of what had just happened. My heart thundered in my chest, the sound deafening in my ears, drowning out the battle, drowning out everything.
I had seen gods die before. I had watched entire pantheons crumble. I had guided countless souls to the Underworld.
But this?
This was different.
This was Hecate.
My Hecate.
The woman who had stood beside me for eons, who had spent countless hours helping me build up my kingdom and who had given me my children.
And she was gone.
Something inside me broke.
A sound ripped from my throat, raw and primal—a scream of unbridled rage and unfathomable grief. It was a sound that did not belong to the realm of gods or mortals. It was something ancient, something monstrous, something buried deep within the fabric of existence itself. The battlefield trembled, the very earth beneath us splitting apart as shadows surged outward in a tidal wave of darkness.
I felt my divinity shift, unshackled by restraint, unburdened by control. My form twisted and morphed, power surging through my veins like wildfire. I became something more, something beyond god and beast—a fusion of terror and destruction incarnate. My wings unfurled, four vast, raven-like appendages that blotted out the sky, each feather inscribed with runic symbols glowing a furious red. My body expanded, runes of power burning across my skin, my canines elongating into predatory fangs. My hands twisted into claws, my feet sharpening into talons that carved into the ground with every step.
I was no longer merely Hades. I was something far worse.
The Norse forces hesitated, sensing the shift in the air, sensing the death that loomed upon them. It did not matter.
I moved, and the slaughter began.
My claws tore through the first warriors before they could even scream, their bodies shredded like parchment. The darkness surged around me, swallowing those who tried to flee, dragging them into the abyss where their souls would know only endless torment. My flames, no longer the controlled inferno of a god but the wild, consuming fire of something more primal, erupted across the battlefield, turning divine flesh and steel into ash.
I saw their faces—fear, horror, desperation. They were gods, warriors of Asgard, but before me, they were nothing. They were insects beneath my talons, kindling for my wrath. One by one, I cut them down. They screamed. They ran. It did not matter.
Thor arrived like the storm itself, his presence a beacon of raw destruction amidst the chaos of war. Lightning wreathed his towering form, and in his grip, Mjolnir crackled with an energy that could level mountains. His approach was heralded by the sky splitting open, the clouds rolling like a wounded beast, the heavens weeping molten light as if mourning what had just transpired.
What he had just witnessed.
Hecate…
Her name was an open wound, a gaping void inside me. Even now, I could still feel the warmth of her fading body in my arms, could still hear the last exhale of her breath before her form dissolved into nothingness. She was gone—ripped away, stolen, murdered. The realization was a crushing weight, suffocating, unrelenting, drowning me in something I hadn't felt in centuries. Despair.
I had endured much in my eternal existence. I had ruled over death itself. I had stood unmoved while gods and mortals alike begged for their lives, their voices a meaningless chorus beneath the weight of my domain. But this?
This was different. This was her. My wife. My light in the abyss. My Hecate.
And Typhon had taken her from me.
A beastly, ravenous snarl tore itself from my throat, echoing across the battlefield in a sound so primal, so wrong, that even the gods hesitated. My body burned with something far beyond mere divine rage—this was older, deeper. My true nature, no longer restrained, no longer hidden beneath the veneer of civility.
I had become something more than god, more than monster.
And Thor—mighty, defiant Thor—stepped forth to meet me.
"Hades!" His voice was thunder itself, shaking the very firmament, demanding my attention. "Enough!"
Mjolnir rose high, the storm above howling in response. Divine power surged around him, a blinding light in the darkness of war. He brought the hammer down with a force meant to shatter worlds, to end this madness before it consumed everything in its wake.
The weapon struck true.
The force of the blow was enough to break the land itself, the sheer impact sending a deafening shockwave across the battlefield. The ground beneath us fractured, splitting apart as divine energy erupted in every direction. Any lesser being would have been obliterated.
But I was not lesser.
I did not fall. I did not stumble. I caught the hammer mid-swing.
My claws dug deep into the enchanted metal, the once unshakable weight of Mjolnir now held aloft in my grasp. The veins along my arm burned with raw energy as my strength matched his own, my grip tightening, the storm struggling against me as I crushed the force of his strike beneath my hand.
Thor's eyes widened.
"Stay out of my way, thunder god," I growled, my voice no longer my own but layered, echoing with the wails of countless souls, with the fury of the abyss itself.
His shock was fleeting. Thor was a warrior, and warriors did not hesitate. He tore Mjolnir back, spinning with the momentum to deliver another strike. But I was faster.
I wrenched the hammer aside and lashed out with a backhanded strike. He barely managed to leap away as my claws carved through empty space, but even in retreat, my flames followed, scorching the ground where he stood mere moments before.
The battlefield around us was in ruin, the earth itself unmade by our battle. But I did not pursue him further.
No.
He was not the one who deserved my wrath.
Typhon.
He stood atop the battlefield, a god-killer, a harbinger of ruin, his monstrous form wreathed in malice. He did not flinch beneath my gaze. He did not flee as I turned my full attention toward him.
He smirked.
That was all it took.
I lost the last shreds of restraint.
I lunged, a streak of shadow and flame, my fury given form. The battlefield warped around me, the air distorting from the sheer force of my power as I closed the distance in an instant.
Typhon would suffer.
I would tear the flesh from his bones, shatter every limb, rip his soul apart so that even the void would reject him.
For Hecate.
For the rest of my family.
This war would end.
And I would make sure that Typhon burned in a hell only I could create.