Hades remembered his birth.
Not as a child of Kronos.
Not as a god.
But as a presence—a will that watched over the Underworld, unable to interact, unable to change anything.
He was a silent observer, bound to the very fabric of death itself. He saw souls descend, their fates already sealed, but he could do nothing. The dead came, the dead stayed. That was all.
But then, the world itself called upon him.
A force beyond comprehension ripped him from his silent existence, reshaping him, molding him. The next thing he knew, he was no longer just the will of the Underworld.
He had become Hades, son of Kronos.
A god.
But even as he lived among gods, ruling over the dead, he held a secret.
A truth that not even the will of the world knew.
Hades was not native to this world.
Once, he had been human.
A man obsessed with death. Not in a way that was destructive, but in a way that made him marvel at its nature. He had studied the myths, the beliefs, the gods who ruled over it.
He had been born on a planet called Earth—not this Earth, but another, one that thrived with technology and knowledge.
And then one day, the sky split open.
Not because of an asteroid.
Not because of war.
But because of a head—the severed head of a dead god.
It descended upon his world like an omen of extinction, crashing into the planet's surface with a force that shattered civilizations in an instant.
But it wasn't just destruction that it brought.
From the dead god's head, monsters were born.
Horrors beyond imagination, creatures that should not exist, spawned endlessly from its flesh.
The people of Earth, with all their advancements, managed to escape—fleeing to another planet.
But it was all for nothing.
The monsters followed, spreading like a plague, devouring planets one by one.
The man who would become Hades fought.
He fought with everything he had, wielding weapons of war, leading armies, standing against the tide of creatures that had consumed his home.
And in the end, he made his way to the source.
Earth—now nothing more than a nest of monsters.
He descended into the nightmare, carving a path through the endless horrors. He fought until his body could move no more, until he stood before the severed head—the source of everything.
He did not hesitate.
He destroyed it.
But in doing so, he sacrificed himself.
As he died, an orb of light emerged from the head.
A strange, pulsing sphere, something that should not have existed.
It latched onto his soul, pulling him away, through space, through time, through worlds.
And when he next awoke—
He was no longer human.
He had become the will of the Underworld in this new world, a silent force watching over death.
And when the world reshaped him into Hades, he retained those memories.
That orb—the thing that had brought him here—lost its power upon arrival.
For centuries, he kept it hidden, a reminder of a life long gone.
Until one day, when he was given his greatest artifact.
The Helm of Invisibility.
Hades took the broken orb and fuse it into the helmet. The moment the orb fused into it, the helm became more than just an object. It became something beyond divine craftsmanship, something that transcended the gods of this world.
Even the Olympians did not know.
Even the world itself did not know.
But Hades knew.
The power of a dead god from another universe now rested within his helm.
And with it, he would forever rule the Underworld.