The Depths of Tartarus – Far Below the Mortal World
The path narrowed.
Twisted rock arched overhead like broken ribs, and the floor pulsed with a slow rhythm—like a sleeping thing breathing beneath the stone. There were no stars. No horizon. Just shifting shadows and distant echoes that didn't match the steps they made.
Zeus walked in front, a faint crackle of lightning dancing between his fingertips. Not enough to light the path—just enough to keep the dark from crawling into his head.
Behind him, his siblings followed in silence.
Hades moved like he belonged here. The shadows didn't cling to him—they made space for him. His eyes scanned every wall, every corner.
Poseidon grumbled softly, the air around him dampening, droplets of seawater trailing from his skin like a warning. "This place smells like the end of the world."
"No," Hera said, watching a shape twitch in the distance. "It smells like what the world left behind."
Demeter walked slowly, hand brushing the walls, green vines trying to grow from her touch—but they withered just as fast. "It hates life here…"
"And yet it holds it," Hestia said, her flame hovering low in her palm, a flickering heartbeat. "Even in this place."
Metis walked behind them, her cloak drawn tightly around her, voice low. "We're close. The chains are older here. You'll feel it."
Then, they heard it.
Not a roar.
Not a scream.
But a breath.
A single, massive exhale from far below.
The walls trembled slightly. Dust fell from unseen cracks above.
Zeus stopped. "That's not Tartarus reacting."
Metis nodded. "That's them. The Hecatoncheires are stirring."
Styx stepped forward, her black eyes steady. "They've been asleep for so long… their dreams are loud."
A new path opened—sloped downward and lined with cracked pillars that stretched impossibly high, carved with names in a language that burned if you tried to read them.
Zeus led the way.
The deeper they went, the more the air changed. Time slowed. Not because of magic. But because Tartarus wanted it to. It pulled at their thoughts, made memories stretch.
Poseidon suddenly stumbled, clutching his head. "I just saw myself… as a child. In Cronus's hand. Why…?"
"It's showing you things to weaken you," Hades said, helping him up. "Ignore it. Remember why we're here."
A moment later, Hera paused, eyes distant.
Then she blinked sharply. "It tried to make me forget Zeus."
He turned back toward her. "Couldn't if you tried."
She smirked faintly. "Don't flatter yourself, baby brother."
Further in now, the path opened.
And there, chained to pillars of obsidian taller than mountains… were the Hecatoncheires.
Three of them.
Each one larger than a fortress. Bodies shaped like men, but with fifty arms sprawled and nailed across the black stone. Faces that looked like war had sculpted them. Eyes closed. Chests slowly rising.
They didn't look dead.
They looked waiting.
Chains thicker than trees bound them. The metal glowed faintly with divine inscriptions—Oath Seals. Curse Runes. Fading, but not yet broken.
"They're still bound," Metis whispered. "Even in sleep, they're kept in place by Titan blood magic."
"And the Cyclopes?" Hestia asked.
"They're deeper," Styx said. "Held in stone prisons. Muffled so their cries don't reach the surface."
Zeus stepped forward.
The chains hissed at his presence.
One of the Hecatoncheires twitched.
Zeus raised his voice.
"I'm Zeus. Son of Cronus. But not his ally."
No response.
"I've come to free you."
Stillness.
Then… a voice.
It came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Deep. Rumbling. Tired.
"Another son of the Sky… Come to use us?"
Zeus clenched his fists.
"No. I came to fight the ones who put you here."
The chains trembled.
Another voice—different tone, a whisper behind thunder. "Cronus promised freedom… then locked us deeper."
Zeus stepped forward. His aura flared. Thunder cracked in the stillness.
"I'm not him. I'm not Uranus. I'm not Cronus. I came to end them. And I want you to stand with me."
Slowly, one eye opened.
Golden. Massive. Staring directly into Zeus's soul.
"You would free monsters?"
"No," Zeus said. "I would free brothers."
Silence.
Then the chains shook. Violently.
Poseidon stepped back. "Uh, is that good or bad?"
Metis's eyes narrowed. "It's working."
The runes began to crack. The old seals pulsed red, then blue, then burned to ash in the air.
One of the arms moved.
Then another.
The scream that followed wasn't pain—it was release.
The cavern split. The Hecatoncheires moved for the first time in ages, shaking the whole of Tartarus.
And yet, behind them…
A new vibration.
A growl.
Something else had woken up.
Zeus turned. "The Cyclopes."
"They're near," Hades said. "I feel them—like forges gone cold."
They ran.
Down twisted tunnels where heat rose from cracks, where iron still glowed faintly on anvils untouched for centuries.
There they were.
Three Cyclopes.
Massive. Muscled. One eye each. Trapped behind glowing walls of locked stone. Beards of soot. Hands too big for their prisons.
Zeus reached out.
The one in the center opened his eye and spoke in a rough voice.
"You're not Cronus."
"No."
"Are you here to kill us?"
"No."
"Then who are you?"
Zeus smiled. "Your future."
He punched the stone barrier.
Nothing.
Then Poseidon stepped up and grinned. "Let me try."
He summoned a vortex of condensed water pressure, firing it like a cannon.
The stone cracked.
Hera followed, forming a blast of divine light that shattered the upper seal.
Demeter threw vines laced with divine aether.
Hestia's fire melted the lock core.
Zeus stepped forward, divine lightning building around him. He summoned all the divine charge in his body—and slammed his fist against the final seal.
BOOM.
The stone exploded outward. The Cyclopes roared.
And were free.
The others followed. All three standing tall, stretching like titans of flame and metal.
"Who are you?" one asked.
"Zeus."
The tallest Cyclops grinned, eye gleaming like molten silver.
"Then we owe you weapons."
Zeus grinned.
"We'll take them."
The group turned.
Behind them, the freed Hecatoncheires were already moving, arms flexing, voices rising in low, shaking war songs.
Zeus looked at his siblings. "We go now. To the surface."
Poseidon cracked his neck. "About time."
Hera smirked. "Let's see how Father likes his old enemies coming home."
They walked toward the way back.
Tartarus didn't try to stop them.
It watched.
Because gods were walking out with monsters behind them.
And the storm was only just beginning.