The Underworld didn't have a sun. Instead, everything was bathed in a sickly, bruised violet light that seemed to bleed from the stones themselves. The air was thick, tasting of copper and a billion years of stagnant sighs.
The Collector stood before me, his porcelain mask trembling. He stared at his crooked staff,the lantern that had led a billion souls to their final rest,and his jaw dropped. The light was dead. The middle of the staff was simply gone; no shards, no sparks. Just a perfect, empty curve where his authority had met my Existence.
"You... you erased the Debt," the Collector whispered, his voice cracking like dry parchment.
"I didn't erase it," I said. My voice sounded strange—heavy, like a mountain speaking. "I just decided it didn't need to be there anymore."
I looked at my hands. The gold veins were pulsing under my skin, glowing brighter with every second I stayed in this realm of the dead. I felt a terrifying urge to just reach out and erase the entire grey horizon, simply because the color annoyed me.
"Trespasser! Abomination!" the Collector shrieked. He dropped the useless wood and raised his gloved hands. The ground beneath me erupted. Thousands of ghostly chains, forged from the guilt of the damned, lashed out to bind my arms and legs.
I didn't move. I couldn't. The "Weight" of being the Mediator was pinning me to the spot, making my every breath feel like I was inhaling lead.
"I'm not here for a fight, you overgrown puppet!" I shouted, the 'Clown' in me trying to hide the fact that I was actually sweating gold. "I'm here for Leo! Where is he?"
"He is being processed by the Law!" the Collector lunged, his fingers turning into long, porcelain claws. "And you will join him in the pit of the Unnamed!"
As his claws reached for my throat, a voice boomed from the darkness behind the Great Gate. It wasn't loud, but it was absolute. It carried the weight of every grave ever dug.
"Enough, Little Janitor."
The chains turned to dust. The Collector froze mid-air, then scrambled backward, hitting the grey sand and bowing so low his mask clicked against the dirt.
A man stepped through the obsidian slabs. He wasn't a giant. He didn't have horns. He wore a tattered, ancient chlamys and carried a set of keys heavy enough to lock the universe. His eyes were tired—the tiredness of a king who had watched the same tragedy repeat for a million years.
This was Hades. The former King of the Deep.
He didn't look at the Collector. He looked straight at me. His eyes widened, and for a split second, I saw a flash of pure, unadulterated fear in a God's expression.
"You," Hades breathed. "The one without a shadow. The one who speaks the Father's name in the mud."
"Hades, I assume?" I said, trying to stop my hands from shaking. I crossed my arms, leaning back against the air as if it were a solid wall. "Nice place. A bit depressing, though. Needs more windows."
Hades didn't laugh. He stepped closer, sniffing the air. "You smell of Genesis. You smell of the Beginning... and yet, you have the stench of a petrol-thief from the hills. How is this possible?"
"I'm a man of many talents," I said. "Look, I don't want your throne. I just want Leo. Give him to me, and I'll leave before I accidentally 'delete' your front door."
Hades looked at the shattered staff, then back at me. A slow, weary realization crossed his face.
"I quit this job a thousand years ago, boy," Hades sighed, rubbing his temples. "I've been letting the 'Law' run this place on autopilot because I was bored of the weeping. But you... you are the first interesting thing to die in an eternity."
He turned toward the gate. "Come. Let's see if your friend is still 'himself.' But be warned: the Underworld doesn't just take your life. It takes your 'Why.' If he's been here too long, he might not even remember your name."
My heart,the one I wasn't supposed to have sank. "Then we'd better move fast, wouldn't we?"