The lands near the Underworld were unlike anywhere else Hephaestus had traveled. The air felt thick, laden with the scent of decay and the whispers of unseen spirits. The sky was a shade of eternal twilight, where the light of the mortal world barely reached. Each step he took was accompanied by an eerie silence, as if the land itself feared to disturb the slumbering dead.
But Hephaestus was not here to fear death. He had come to forge it.
At the edge of the River Styx, where the water gleamed with a darkness deeper than night, a figure awaited him. Thanatos, the god of death, stood motionless like a statue carved from shadows. His expression was impassive, yet there was an undeniable weight in his gaze—one that had seen the end of countless lives.
"You walk where few dare to tread, Hephaestus," Thanatos spoke, his voice as cold as the abyss. "Why have you come?"
Hephaestus met the god's gaze without hesitation. "To forge."
For a long moment, Thanatos said nothing. Then, without another word, he lifted his hand. From his palm, something small and dark pulsed with an eerie glow. A lotus seed—but unlike any that existed in the mortal world. Its petals, though closed, seemed to drink in the very light around them. The darkness within it was not empty—it was endless.
"This is the Thanátos Lotus," Thanatos said. "Born from the waters of the Styx, where souls pass into eternity. It is pure death. If you wish to forge a blade that carries the weight of execution itself, then take this seed and shape it into steel."
Hephaestus reached out and grasped it. A vision flashed before his eyes.
Countless battles. Countless warriors struck down. Countless souls drifting into the Underworld, unfulfilled, unfinished. A blade to bring finality. A blade that would embody the end.
His forge called to him.
After finding a safe and comfortable space, Hphaestus quickly summoned his Mobile Forge, Hephaestus prepared his materials.
This weapon he will forge is no ordinary blade—it was to be the first weapon crafted to represent death itself. A weapon that represent the death of mortals due to weapons.He could not afford even the slightest imperfection.
He summoned the finest metals he had acquired from his travels:
Nethersteel – A metal found only in the deepest chasms of the Underworld, unbreakable and resistant to time itself. It carried the weight of inevitability.
Thanátos Lotus – The essence of silent death, the seed that would breathe a soul into the blade.
Stygian Silver – A sacred metal said to guide lost souls to the afterlife, perfect for an executioner's weapon.
The forge roared to life, hotter than it had ever been. Flames black as the void licked at the anvil as Hephaestus crushed the Thanátos Lotus into a fine powder, infusing it into the molten Nethersteel. It darkened, absorbing the essence of death itself.
He shaped the Xiphos-style blade with precision, each strike of his hammer ringing with the weight of finality. As the metal cooled, he layered Stygian Silver along the edges, forming a gleaming contrast to the abyssal darkness of the blade's core. The silver would ensure that no soul cut by this blade could escape judgment.
The hilt was wrapped in woven shadows, gifted by Thanatos himself, ensuring that the sword would forever remain bound to death.
As he struck the final blow, the world shuddered.
Something new had been born.
---
The Kopis – Sword of Execution
The blade hummed in his hands. It was not alive, yet it was aware. Hephaestus felt its power ripple through his very being.
Silent Death – A single cut delivers execution without pain. No struggle. No suffering. Just an end.
Soul Severance – Wounds inflicted by this blade cannot be healed, for it severs both flesh and spirit.
Reaper's Call – Shadows of the Underworld answer the wielder's command, striking fear into the hearts of the living.
Judgment's Edge – The blade weighs the soul of its target. If they are meant to die, nothing can prevent their fate.
---
Hephaestus held it up to the forge's light, watching as the silver edge gleamed like moonlight against the black abyss of the Nethersteel. This was no ordinary weapon. This was an executioner's blade.
And now, a part of death itself had a symbol.
As Hephaestus admired his work, a familiar presence filled the forge. Shadows gathered, coiling around the edges of the room, and from them, Thanatos stepped forward.
He reached out, his pale fingers brushing the blade's edge. A rare flicker of approval crossed his usually unreadable face.
"You have done well, Hephaestus," Thanatos said quietly. "With this, death now has a form in the world. The mortals will come to understand it not as a terror, but as a certainty."
Thanatos lifted his gaze to Hephaestus. "This will not be the last time we meet. Your craft shapes the world. And the world will always need death."
With that, the god of death vanished, leaving nothing behind but a whisper.
"We will meet again."
Hephaestus stood alone in the forge, the Kopis still warm in his hands. He had forged many weapons before, but this one felt different.
This was not just another creation.
This was a weapon that the world itself had needed.