Hades sat atop the ruined debris of Iapetus' temple.
He was staring at his hand, clenching and opening it, feeling the newfound power that courses through his being.
The power of Iapetus is something he had long since coveted. The power of turn immortal into martal. To put an end to eternity.
The wind howled, carrying the scent of destruction. He could feel the pulse of the world shifting—the balance of power tilting in their favor.
He had felt the death of Crius and the defeat of Coeus, leaving only Hyperion as the last Pillar Titan that can still participate in this war.
But Hades was sure that the wounds he suffered from him three years ago is still affecting him at this very moment.
"Now, only Atlas is left before we can get to Cronus."
Suddenly, a dark purple mist swallowed the temple.
Hades simply stared at it, knowing full well whose power this mist belongs to.
