Reborn As Hades In Olympus

Chapter 4: Ch. 004: The Black Book Appears

Ch. 004: The Black Book Appears

I shut the door after telling Hermes I would join him shortly. Surprisingly, he seemed pleased, like he relished the thought of my company. Pretending to be a god was exhausting; if not for my knowledge of Greek mythology, I'd have broken character long ago.

Then, there was Prometheus. According to the old stories, he had defied the gods not out of arrogance, but out of a fierce love for humanity. To give humans the gift of fire was to offer them survival— a chance to keep warm, cook, fend off beasts. Without fire, human existence was little more than a flickering shadow.

The gods had placed it in their vault for a reason, knowing that taking it would be an act of rebellion. Yet Prometheus had dared to steal it, defying Zeus's command to keep mortals in the dark.

Now, Zeus wanted to destroy humanity, and this time, his wrath felt boundless. I couldn't see a way to reason with a god as absolute as him. He was powerful, but predictable; maybe that would be his weakness.

I was still mulling over my thoughts when something caught my eye— a glimmer from the bed where I had woken. It was a peculiar light, dark in nature, with a strange, hypnotic glow that seemed almost sentient. I stepped closer, finding it emanated from beneath the pillow. Slowly, cautiously, I lifted it.

A black book rested there, its cover blank and worn but pulsating with an otherworldly energy, like a heartbeat. The book looked unmistakably familiar— the very same tome that had fascinated me before my death. The Secrets of Olympus, as I had called it but it was blank now. I remembered the golden lettering and strange allure, though I could have sworn it hadn't appeared like this before.

"How…?" I whispered. The idea that this book had somehow followed me into another world was unnerving.

I opened the cover, half-expecting the ancient text to greet me. Instead, the pages were blank. I flipped through them, a mixture of frustration and curiosity bubbling within. The stories, the myths I had once studied, were gone. But just as I was about to close it, the pages flickered to life.

Words began to materialize, written in flowing black ink that seemed to bleed directly from the darkness itself.

Hello… Scholar.

The hairs on my arms prickled. My fingers hovered over the words, not daring to touch the page, as if I'd break some fragile illusion. "Is it you... the book itself?" I whispered, feeling a bizarre compulsion to speak.

The ink began to move, forming a response:

Yes… Your death, while unfortunate, was predetermined by me. You had to die to be reborn here in this time.

My heart thudded as I took a step back. The thought that this ancient relic had somehow orchestrated my death made my mind whirl with unease. What was I dealing with?

I managed to steady my voice. "Then, you're my murderer? Why did I— a scholar— need to die to be reborn in the form of a god?"

A brief silence, then the ink replied:

Though your departure was indeed my design, I did not control your rebirth form. The purpose of your death was simply to avert a crisis— the apocalypse that will end Olympus. You alone had the knowledge to change the course of history.

The answer sent a chill down my spine. This was more than myth; it was prophecy. And here I was, caught within it.

"Were you… Hades?" The question came without thinking, yet felt instinctual.

A long pause followed. Then, the ink scratched across the page:

Yes… I am what remains of Hades. The god's essence, distilled into a memory. I could not save Olympus once, but I left behind this fragment, seeking one who might succeed where I had failed.

"Then why did you die, Hades?" I asked, pressing forward. "If you had foreseen these events, why couldn't you prevent your own fall?"

The ink swirled, hesitating as though dredging through murky memories:

My life… stretched beyond time, and time erodes even the gods. I saw too much, lived too long. My mind fractured under the weight. In my final act, I bound my essence to this book, hoping someone with knowledge of the mortal myths could use my legacy.

A heaviness settled over me. The god of the Underworld, the keeper of all lost souls, had bound himself to a book, casting his mind across worlds in search of one who would know his story. A strange fate, even for a god.

"And what if I had chosen not to become you? What if I had picked another form— Poseidon, or perhaps a mortal like Perseus? Would your essence still have found me?"

Yes. Once you were chosen, our fates became intertwined. No matter your form, I would have reached you. My essence is bound to yours.

The words faded briefly, and then returned, darker than before:

But know this, Scholar— there are other forces watching. Forces that would see Olympus fall. Your life in this world will not go unnoticed. If you stray, if you falter, they will come for you.

A shiver crept up my spine. "And if I succeed?"

Then you may yet reshape fate.

The pages stopped moving. The ink settled, as if the book had nothing more to say. I let out a long, ragged breath, feeling the weight of Hades' essence— his ambition, his regrets— settling within me.

I held the black book close, aware of its silent power, of the ancient mind within its pages that had lived and failed in a world I could scarcely comprehend. And yet, it was my world now.

Did I choose this or was it handed to me?

Setting my resolve, I made for the door. If I was to avert this looming crisis, I needed to find Prometheus. The gift of fire had been given once, and I would ensure that it would never be extinguished.