The God of Underworld-Chapter 320 - 19

In the Mesopotamian Pantheon the collapse of their universe had reached its terminal phase.

Across the tapestry of their universe, ancient and venerable dimensions and temples were being snuffed out like candles in an encroaching gale.

For the once proud and ancient pantheon, the transition was most jarring.

Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld, stood upon the obsidian battlements of Kur.

Above her, the "Overworld"—the once-glorious plains of Sumer and Akkad—was a nightmare of purple fires and dissolving geography.

The golden ziggurats were being ground into dust by the invisible teeth of the Outer Ones.

There were no longer life left in their. Or rather, it is no longer possible to even stand there and remain alive.

So all the remaining gods, bloodied and humbled, had retreated to the absolute depths of the Underworld.

Here, the laws of death provided a temporary, brittle sanctuary against the forces of chaos.

But they knew, that this sanctuary wouldn’t last long. Just like the overworld, the Outer Ones would find this place and kill all of them.

Enlil, the Lord of the Storm, stepped into the center of the gathered spirits.

His divine radiance was dimmed, but his authority remained absolute. He knew that the outer ones are inevitable, and so he must make the decision now for their survival.

"Let us escape," he stated, his voice a low thunder that silenced the weeping of the minor deities. "This universe is a lost cause. To stay is to embrace a meaningless extinction."

A wave of protest rose from the crowd—gods of the soil, of the rivers, of the city-states.

"No! This is our land!"

"If we were to die, then we will die along with it!"

"We’re not cowards! We will never abandon our home!"

To abandon the land was unthinkable. No self-respecting god of their pantheon would even think of doing that.

But before things get heated, Enlil silenced them with a single, sharp gesture; he raised his hand.

Instantly, all the gods shut their mouths out of respect and fear.

"Let me ask you, what is Mesopotamia?" Enlil challenged, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Is Mesopotamia a place, or is it its people?"

The silence that followed was heavy, as if carrying the weight of countless eons that their pantheon had existed.

"If you say Mesopotamia is a place, then you must also admit that we are tethered to clay and silt. If you do, then does it mean if we move to another realm, we cease to be who we are?" Enlil’s voice rose, vibrating with the power of his divine authority. "Of course not! Mesopotamia is the people! As long as we breathe, as long as we hold our pantheon in our hearts, anywhere we stand becomes Sumer! Anywhere we dwell becomes Akkad! We carry our home within us!"

The realization struck them like a bolt of lightning.

That’s right. They are Mesopotamia!

Wherever they go is their home. Wherever they live is their land!

The attachment to the land dissolved, replaced by a fierce, nomadic resolve.

As long as the gods lived, Mesopotamia was immortal.

*

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Simultaneously, the Shinto Pantheon was undergoing its own tragic exodus.

Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess, stood amidst the falling cherry blossoms of a reality that was turning to ash.

The "Hidden World" was no longer hidden; the prying eyes of the Outer Ones had found every corner.

She watched as Susanoo and Tsukuyomi led the retreat of thousands of kami toward the dimensional rifts.

She knew that there were no longer any hope for their universe, so she simply chose to escape.

But even so, the regret was like a bitter poison in her throat.

Why did I wait? she wondered. Why did I let pride and isolationism blind me? I should have fled the moment we were discovered.

Because of her indecisiveness, countless gods and spirits have perished! So much so that they were reduced to a mere fraction of their original size!

But the Sun Goddess did not linger on the past any further. There was no time for regret nor mourning, now, she must ensure their survival.

She turned her light toward the path ahead. If her sun was to set on this world, it would rise with even more brilliance in the Hyperverse.

She can regret and blame herself all she wants later once she made sure that her pantheon can survive.

*

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Beyond the narrative, in the cold white spaces of the Library, Azathoth had finally grew tired of the slow feast.

It had observed the defiance of Hades the so-called Supreme Deity, the survival of the fragments, and the gathering of the refugees.

It decided that the time for "waiting" was over.

It was time for War.

Hades has now become suitable for devouring, any more and he might grew even stronger which would be counterproductive.

Then, a silent, conceptual pulse erupted from the Primordial Chaos God.

Inside the book, every Outer One—from the massive, universe-eating entities to the smallest "Silent Wailers"—paused.

They stopped their individual devouring of minor universes and they lifted their countless eyes and mouths, receiving the singular directive of their source.

Then, in a terrifying, coordinated movement, the tide of chaos shifted.

They stopped drifting aimlessly. Billions of creatures, steered by a single, malevolent will, began to move toward a specific coordinate.

They were heading for the Hyperverse.

The scent of the Supreme Deity was a beacon that could no longer be ignored.

*

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Just outside the shimmering, reinforced borders of the Hyperverse, space-time buckled.

The Hindu Pantheon arrived first.

Indra, his golden spear now chipped and his body a map of scars, stood at the prow of the unified Trinity’s protective aura.

Behind him were the survivors of a war that had nearly erased the concept of Dharma.

He sighed in relief, for now, they are safe. And once they fully integrate with the Hyperverse, they can then slowly recover from their losses.

But, just then, almost immediately, a massive, jade-colored structure—the massive Ark of Chinese Pantheon—ripped through the void nearby.

This ark symbolises that the Chinese Pantheon had arrived.

Indra stared at the Ark and saw the cracks in its hull, the flickering light of the Heavenly Dao within, and the weary Saints standing on its deck.

He had never liked the Chinese Pantheon; their arrogance and rigid celestial bureaucracy had always grated against his storm-tossed nature.

But seeing them now, reduced to refugees fleeing the same shadow that had nearly swallowed his own people, he felt a sudden, heavy pang of pity.

Just like them, the Chinese Pantheon was once proud and powerful pantheon, but with one creature, they were reduced to fleeing nomads with no divine dignity.

At this moment, Shiva rose from his meditative stance, his third eye closed but his presence still vast as he flew toward the Ark.

Simultaneously, Nuwa emerged from the jade vessel, her robes torn and her divine essence strained.

They met in the silent void between their two dying legacies.

"It seems," Shiva said, his voice a gravelly echo of his former power, "that we both experienced tragedy."

Nuwa looked at the Hindu Lord of Destruction and then at the battered Indra.

A painful, weary smile touched her lips as she reached out, and she and Shiva shook hands—a historic gesture of unity between two of the oldest and most powerful pantheons in existence.

"We were both too proud," Nuwa admitted softly. "We thought our Heavens were unshakeable."

"And now we find ourselves at the same doorstep," Shiva replied.

The Hindus and the Chinese—two cultures that had stood at odds for aeons, respecting yet resentful of each other’s power—now stood together as brothers and sisters in exile.

They turned their gazes toward the Hyperverse, the shimmering beacon of the Anchor, hoping that the King of the Dead would have room for two more "Heavens."

Just then...

The space flickered, and a soft, gentle chuckle resounded throughout the void. Nuwa and Shiva immediately recognised the voice, after all, she was the reason why the now defunct divine council was formed in the first place.

"Well, it’s rare to see you both getting along."

From the void, Nyx appeared, a graceful smile on her lips as she observed the two leaders of their respective pantheon.

"Nyx..." Shiva nodded, feeling indignant seeing that the woman who was once he considered to be his equal has long since surpassed him in strength.

Shiva couldn’t even feel a fraction of Nyx’s divinity, proving that she had already attained Transcendence and reached a higher dimension of power.

"Nyx, I believe you already know why we’re here?" Nuwa cupped her hands in greeting, "We....humbly ...ask that you allow us to be part of this Hyperverse."

Nyx smiled at them, "Don’t worry, I know why you all are here, and I can say that Hades has been waiting for you for quite awhile now."

"Then..." Nuwa looked up, her face hopeful.

But Nyx raised her hand, stopping her, "Wait. Let us wait for the others. I don’t want to keep going back and forth."

"Others?" Shiva wondered.

Nyx nodded, "The Shinto and Mesopotamia will come."

Nuwa’s face shifted into displeasure hearing the words ’Shinto’, but chose to hide it well. They never like those isolationist, or rather, they despised them.

They were just a small pantheon that clings to them many eons ago, but after gaining some strength, they turned and snubbed them, growling at the hands that protected and feed them.

Ungrateful creatures. Nuwa mentally scolded.

"Before that, you and your pantheon can take a rest." Nyx smiled, "It must be a long journey."

With this, all the major pantheon were all pretty much secured.

She can now confidently say that the Hyperverse is now complete!