Chapter 597: Preparations Done!
The Great Hall of Erebus, built in the depths of the underworld, was never rely a space—it was a statent.A living reminder that even amidst the darkness, elegance and power could coexist with an almost nacing perfection.
The structure rose like a palace molded by night. The columns were of polished black marble, bathed in threads of gold that ran like living veins towards the vaulted ceiling. Crystal chandeliers and ethereal fire hung in the air, casting light upon the mirrored floor, where every step seed to echo for centuries.
On the walls, richly woven tapestries narrated stories of lost kingdoms, divine pacts, and forgotten wars.The sound of violins—soft, yet lancholic—filled the air, played by specters of musicians who seed to exist only by the will of Hades himself.
It was a setting worthy of the gatherings of ancient high society—the kind of place where every gesture, every word, was a weapon disguised as courtesy.And, ironically, it was there that the gods of Heaven and the Underworld would et.
Among the preparations, pacing back and forth with visible impatience, was Brynhildr, one of Odin’s Valkyries.
Tall, with impeccable posture and eyes sharp as a blade, she seed out of place in that environnt of crystals and rare perfus. Her light armor, in shades of silver and blue, contrasted with the formal attire of the underworld servants, who moved hurriedly to complete the final details.
“By Yggdrasil, this is absurd…” she muttered, crossing her arms as she watched a line of succubi hanging golden garlands. “A Valkyrie… organizing a party.”
One of the infernal stewards, a being with golden eyes and discreet fangs, bowed politely.”It’s not a party, Lady Brynhildr. It’s a diplomatic eting.”She turned her gaze to him, coldly.”Call it what you want,” she took a step forward, the tallic sound of her boots echoing. “Even so, it’s still a waste of ti.”
The demon forced a nervous smile, not daring to answer.
Brynhildr looked around, analyzing the hall with the skepticism of a warrior who had never learned to appreciate subtleties.Everything there was excessive: the crimson curtains falling like cascades of blood, the trays of pure gold, the floating mirrors that reflected distorted images of the preparations.An exaggeration worthy of the hosts—and that’s what bothered her.
“Hades and Persephone…” she murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of all the gods, they had to be the hosts.”
A pale elf, with hair as white as the moon, hurried past her carrying a goblet with a slightly steaming violet liquid.Brynhildr stopped him with a quick gesture.”What is that?”
“Lotus Nectar, Lady. Persephone requested that it be served to the main guests.”
“And what exactly does it do?”
The elf swallowed hard.”It calms the nerves… and soothes the emotions.”
Brynhildr let out a dry laugh.”Of course. Perfect for a hall full of gods with centuries of unresolved feuds.”
She continued walking, her long golden hair swaying behind her like a moving banner.Wherever she passed, the servants straightened up, fearing her gaze as much as that of their own masters.
The Valkyrie stopped before the main staircase—a construction of dark marble flanked by statues of female figures that seed to observe everything with living eyes.At the top, two thrones awaited. One, made of polished bones and silver, adorned with rubies and small chains that seed to move on their own.The other, alive—literally—ford from golden roots and flowers that exuded a sweet and deadly perfu.Hades’ throne. Persephone’s throne.
Brynhildr snorted, crossing her arms again.”What a wonderful combination…” she said ironically. “Death and spring, side by side.”
A feminine voice echoed near her, cold and lodious:”That’s why it works.”
Brynhildr turned, finding a woman of severe and elegant beauty. Fair skin, black hair tied in long braids, gray silk robes. A nymph of Persephone, one of the oldest.
“It works?” the Valkyrie asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” the nymph replied serenely. “Because one cannot exist without the other. Persephone brings the blossoming… and Hades, the rest. The balance is what makes this place stable.”
Brynhildr gave a short laugh.”You call it balance, I call it irony.”
She turned back to the hall, watching the chandeliers light up in golden tones, as if imitating the sunset.For an instant, even she had to admit—there was beauty there. A cold, but powerful beauty.
Even so, the idea of dealing with gods from different pantheons, all in the sa space, was an invitation to chaos.She knew that better than anyone.
The mories of the last “peaceful” etings between deities still burned in the minds of the elders.Ares and Shiva had already exchanged blows before dessert.Amaterasu had been offended by the excessive brightness of Zeus’s hall.And Hers… well, Hers always found a way to steal sothing.
Brynhildr sighed and tightened her grip on the spear she carried on her back.”I’d rather be slaying demons in Alfheim than serving wine to bored gods.”
Behind her, a light laugh echoed.”And yet, Odin chose you. It must be because you’re the only one who can intimidate a god without raising a weapon.”
Brynhildr recognized the voice — Hers, always appearing when no one called him.He was leaning against one of the columns, elegant in a gray suit that contrasted with the golden gleam of his wings.
“If you ca to mock, choose another target, ssenger,” she replied without looking.
“I wouldn’t mock soone who’s keeping this eting of divine egos together,” he said, amused. “They say even Ares was afraid to complain about the place after you silenced a succubus with a look.”
Brynhildr gave him a wry smile.”He learned quickly.”
Hers laughed.”That’s good. You may need to repeat the lesson. The guests are starting to arrive soon.”
Brynhildr took a deep breath, straightening her body.Outside, the distant sound of trumpets resonated, marking the beginning of the arrival of the divine chariots.The doors of the Great Hall slowly opened, and the air was filled with perfus, lights, and ancient presences.
“May Odin grant patience…” she murmured, adjusting her cloak. “Because if I lack it, I’ll have to compensate with violence.”
Hers laughed, already walking away.”A piece of advice, Valkyrie: smile. Even if it seems like a threat—the gods love to pretend that everything is in harmony.”
She rolled her eyes, but for a mont, a small, sharp smile escaped her lips.”Oh, don’t worry, ssenger,” she said, lowering her voice. “I know very well how to smile… especially before the war.”
And so, the hall shone brightly as the first guests crossed the golden threshold.Gods, kings, and monsters—all masked by formality, all ready for the spectacle.
And in the center, Brynhildr watched, steadfast, knowing that behind the luxury and courtesies, the real feast would be one of intrigue.A celestial ball on the brink of chaos—and she, the Valkyrie in charge of keeping the gods well-behaved.
…
[Paris.]
The beating heart of the Earth, where luxury and decadence mingle with a divine naturalness—and perhaps that was why Aphrodite had chosen that place to call ho since she abandoned Olympus.
The sky that morning was covered with pink clouds, reflecting the golden light of the rising sun on the stained-glass windows of one of the oldest buildings in the city. Inside a high-ceilinged apartnt, with arched windows and translucent curtains dancing in the wind, the goddess of love remained motionless before a table laden with letters, crystal glasses, and an oval mirror adorned with pearls.
The lightness of the environnt contrasted with her gaze—serene on the outside, restless within.
Aphrodite was the very personification of tiless charm. She wore a champagne-colored silk robe, the fabric flowing over her skin like liquid. Her long, golden hair was loose, falling over her shoulders like a shimring waterfall.
Even among mortals, she didn’t need to try to be noticed; but there, alone, the radiance she exuded seed slightly dimd—as if sothing was missing. That’s when a faint tallic sound echoed across the table: the small silver mirror began to emit a bluish glow, and a ssage appeared on its surface, etched in lines of energy.
It was short, but enough to make her gasp:
“That man, Hercules, seems to be coming to the event before the tournant. Sapphire asked to warn you. I don’t understand why, but… Anyway, just a heads-up.”
For a mont, the silence was absolute.
Aphrodite stared at those words, the reflection of her golden eyes shimring in the mirror. After centuries, his na echoed in her mind again—Hercules.
A na that carried weight, strength, and mories.
She slowly put down the cup she was holding, and a small, lancholic smile ford on her lips.
“Finally…” she murmured, almost to herself. “So the great hero has decided to leave his exile.”
Aphrodite moved away from the mirror, walking to the window. Outside, Paris was waking up. The cobblestone streets ca alive with the distant sounds of cafes opening, and the scent of fresh flowers rose from the balconies.
For a mont, she rembered another ti—when she walked among mortals not as an exile, but as a revered goddess. When love was still sothing pure, and not a weapon or a currency.
Leaving Olympus hadn’t been an easy choice, but it was inevitable.
She had endured too many wars, betrayals, and manipulations from Zeus and the other gods.
And when Hercules—the most loyal of Olympus’s sons—decided to abandon it too, sothing inside her changed.
At first, she didn’t understand. How could the ultimate symbol of divine glory simply turn his back on everything he had fought to represent?
But, with ti, she began to understand.
Deep down, she knew he had grown weary—not of the fight, but of the corruption behind it.
And now, Vergil said he would return.
Aphrodite turned to the mirror, touching it with her fingertips.
The blue glow disappeared, but the feeling of anticipation remained.
“Hercules,” she whispered. “I want to talk to you…”
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