WARNING: Blood, organs.
Bloodletting
Apart from its river of souls, the Underworld was a place subdivided into numerous layers and plains, some vast enough to shame the largest continents of Earth. The oldest of its portions was one that existed as far as primordial times, and its name was Tartarus, at the center of which a seemingly never-ending pit disappeared in veil of shadow. The border of this hole was outlined by ancient buildings, some barely kept in the course of time, and their architecture varied from several Greek orders to some seemingly Egyptian.
Since the place was built of rocks apparently igneous in nature, and the black soil was rich enough to give rise to flora akin to dark vines, sprawling up as floating veins, much of the bricks used in construction were from an abundance of dark limestone and basalt polished to a mirror. The inhabitants of this region were dwarfed by everything around them, natural or artificial, though it was clear that they walked twisting paths from place to place, living typical lives.
One would've been able to walk up a long, shallow flight of stone stairs, looking up to the hazy heights. What looked like hypnotic sparks and glows occasionally appeared above, dancing aimlessly, and from those echoed the cries of souls buried in the pit. Sound journeyed from the depths to the unseen ceiling, and returned distorted into grotesque growls.
At the end of the stairs, a triple gate welcomed people into a section further in Tartarus, a collection of several temples and residences, scaling ever higher like the Twelve Houses of Sanctuary, though their foundation was nevertheless built on steady ground. Therein one would've found the Ploutonion, a city occupied by the likes of Persephone, Pandora, and Minos; this was the main abode of those meant to serve Hades, that being his cult and the Specters.
Near the temples of the Judges was a wide building, apparently mortuary in function, made of large blocks of limestone, sides engraved with figures portraying processions of the Cult of Hades. A line of columns stayed up front, to each side of another long stairway that led to the second story, then another stairway to a third one, where the largest entrance could be found. Smaller entrances were hidden behind these pillars, whose capitals were complex, oversized, and colorful. Their shapes were papyriform, with geometric paintings fluting outward like flowers.
The rest of the construction had been similarly painted in plenty of colors, despite the dim stones used to erect it. In the large courtyards it displayed, one would've found an abundance of statues, most of human forms. Those had also been colorfully painted, and depicted hardworking cultists, some seldom dressed, holding hammers, carts, and more. Others depicted fighters triumphing in battle, holding skulls, if not stepping over piles of bone.
A greater statue, however, stood far behind it, extending a bident to the highermost place in the Ploutonion. It depicted a muscular youth with curled hair, draped in tunic, head hidden behind a helm with two upper protrusions. Beside him was a large dog standing guard, a pet he held by chain; seeing that the creature possessed three wicked heads, this was Cerberus, and the one leading him was meant to represent Hades himself.
Lights of torches and crystals across the place lit it well, though some disembodied glow from far beyond the cloudy layer above was enough to cast a shadow on the mortuary, gracing them with the shape of their Lord. Accompanied by robed cultists, a man walked up the stairs towards one of the entrances. Close enough now, it was clear that trenches had been dug far below in the ground floor, and that some tar-like liquid reflected shines, moving as if given the motion of rivers.
The man which entered such place was Minos, and he came to check its state, for the place was of great importance to the Underworld, and it was called the Cenotaph. Within were several faint crystals energized with Cosmos, enough to spread reddish light for the whole interior. Its dominant stench was of fresh meat and blood, no different from a slaughterhouse, and parts of the place did seem to be one, as it had many of its colorful carvings and chambers stained in flesh, and organic tissue extended along the walls and portions of the tiled floor, breathing as if alive.
It was evident when they walked deeper that the building was monumental, and beyond several corridors, the three top floors connected in an open section. Amid it was a huge sphere of clear glass, with arcs of bronze that held it off the floor and ceiling; it was sealed in the same metal, and from there, pipes surrounded it, going under the ground or into the surrounding floors. Those were inscribed with phrases in an Ancient Greek script, reminiscent of Old Coptic. The thing was filled with the same liquid from the trenches outside, though this time a ruddy reflection was clear, hinting at it being pure blood.
This liquid was fed into those enigmatic organic layers of the Cenotaph in mechanical fashion, and its purpose was soon revealed. The cultists took Minos to a series of chambers where men and women had been half buried in this flesh. They were in the nude, their skins were of unnatural tones, and their arms and legs had been tethered to tubes of meat, inflating and deflating whenever a dark substance passed through.
Said folk appeared unconscious — truly they seemed half dead. Nonetheless, they breathed shallow with athletic bodies varied in size and shape, and they were visibly vascular, perhaps to an unhealthy degree. Though some seemed closer to a conventional human form, others were barely humanoid, more misshapen, hairless, scarred, oft missing navels, nails, or some cartilage of the nose and ears.
Other servants of Hades employed a bizarre rite, wherein they pressed a hand or iron tool against the body of such people, and they cursed it with Cosmos; in other instances, they merely used Cosmos against the vessels tethered to them, affecting the substance sure to invade their bodies. One could assume it was by these methods that their bodies grew to be so deformed.
"They are all finished," Minos said as he moved past the chambers.
"Aye, the Specters have been ready for over a year," a priest said. "They come to us out of diligence only, though their flesh is in proper shape to serve our Lord. They are eager to receive the Surplices."
"What came to be of those souls Aiacos entrapped?" the Judge asked.
The two cultists exchanged stares, as if permitting one another; the same man replied: "I am personally satisfied with their condition. Come, Lord Minos."
They went down to the ground floor, descending square stairwells. There they sought one particular chamber, beyond the glass sphere, past a tall fend in a wall. Five bodies had been suspended in flesh therein, and they looked much more human than that of the other Specters. Beside each had been left a stone glowing red, moans vibrating distant, as if stuck deep in a dimension their own.
These were familiar bodies, created to simulate the appearance of men who once lived on Earth. Worse, these were not just random humans, but Gold Saints killed in action. On the sides were younger ones, that being Deathmask and Camus. Further behind them were other two, that being Shura and Saga. In the very center, deeper in the organs of that twisted machine, the face of one such as Mu and Kiki floated in tissue; that was the man who last raised the Gemini, the one who squashed Kanon's revolt, the one Dohko believed to have been appointed to Popehood: Aries Shion.
Minos stopped inside and admired the handiwork with a special sense pride. "Formidable! To have the greatest of Athena's Saints under our control... Aiacos is truly commendable, and your efforts were, indeed, fruitful. I could be no less satisfied," he told the cultists.
The leading priest chuckled and nodded, saying: "It was a collective endeavor begetting much study and sleepless nights. As we speak, new Surplices are fashioned for these men in the forge. We have ensured that those shall mirror the Cloths they once wore in life, to remind the Saints that no man, no matter how powerful, may conquer death."
"In death you are all wretched," Minos proclaimed. "The Underworld is the one equalizer. Kings, merchants, and beggars alike return to be purified of their self-inflicted horrors, then to be set free into the world, where they are made impure again. Thus the cycle goes. Let Sanctuary be reminded of this fact."
"Oh, to see these proud warriors of Athena reduced to tools in our Lord's war… the one equalizer, that is one way to put it! They have fallen to the state of beggars!" the priest spoke exhilarated.
"Enough of these poor fools, show me the vessel. Is it ready?" Minos pressured his subjects.
The cultists pended to answer, hiding some insecurity. With a few steps towards the chamber's exit, the leading man responded meekly: "I am not as confident in its condition, but it could be of use."
"Take me to it."
Now the Judge was escorted further into the depths of the Cenotaph, revealing catacombs underneath it. Its shadowy halls were the least illuminated of the entire building, with fluttering rock for walls, shining from some distant light source. They followed such brightness to their ultimate destination.
The last chamber they wandered into was a much grander one, almost entirely covered in that revolting matter. Betwixt the meat and skin, intricate depressions were visible on the walls, ceiling, and even on the bloodied tiles. They depicted the steps in reincarnating Hades' shade: his capture in Pandora's jar, his descending to the Ploutonion, his entry into the Cenotaph, his handling by the Cult, and his administering into flesh in that very room.
There, on a basalt throne, a gruesome view was presented to Minos. The nude man who sat on it was fully hairless, skin greasy and loose, with little fat or muscle to hide bone. His limbs had elongated inhumanly, as did his fingers and toes, and his sharp nails seemed to have fused with part of the calcium beneath. His cheeks were almost hollow, nose sunken into the face; his mouth was partly open, lips thin and shriveled; his eyes were long, narrow, raised far into the skull.
Vessels penetrating his neck, arms, legs, and navel squelched with the traveling fluid, and the only movement of the body was twitching in such a rhythm. The priest stood near the specimen, though his ashamed expression hinted at him not being happy with its state.
"As you can see, Lord Minos, he is barely fit for our Lord's reception," he said.
"His complexion is…" the Judge paused to view it more carefully "… ghastly, if I may say."
"I hope it is no issue."
"Nay, here is the outcome of alchemy withal ingenious, that being the upkeep of a body absent a soul. I admit, many lives ago did I last witness a husk endure a decade, to the degree of turning this unrecognizable," he spoke.
"We have done our best," said the priest, and the others appeared relieved at his reaction.
"It is among the finest work I have come to admire, priests. Until the Specters find a proper vessel, it shall serve our Lord well."
"That would please us."
"Doubtlessly. Now I must take my leave." The priests bowed. Satisfied, Minos turned and walked out of the chamber, with the intent of leaving the dreary Cenotaph entirely.
His destination was far above, to where that great statue's bident pointed, the Temple of Hades itself, where he held court in his every incarnation. Like the Cenotaph, the monument exhibited colorful etchings, and orders verging between Hellenic and Egyptian, a purposeful mixture. With foundation built on the side of steep rock, the great building oversaw many other constructions from that far up, including the quarters of the three Judges, where souls passed to be distributed back to the remainder of the Underworld.
Back in the court, Persephone engaged in debate with two tall men, both robed as was Minos. They stood near rows of seats before the high dais, empty for the day; apart from their voices, only the soothing sound of lyre was heard.
It was an armored man who played it most beautifully near the entrance; his face was deathly pale, and his eyes shone a dark yellow; the armor he wore had white metal, like the Cloth of a Silver Saint. Despite some exposed veins coming from his throat, he was a goodly youth, with a soft, somewhat masculine face, framed in dark golden hair, wavy and long enough to drape over the details of his defense. A tiara-like mask with three icy gems adorned his skull, more for aesthetics than protection. The shoulder pads were round and pale, layered in pairs, with light gold trims. The cuirass was engraved with the shape of a lyre, his instrument of choice, and the rest of the armor was as conservative as that, elegant, unexpected of a man of the Underworld.
Despite being undeniably present, he was aloof and quiet, only serving as the court's entertainer. "We are to wait!" Persephone spoke amid the men's complaints.
"My Lady, we know him to be unsealed, only retrieval remains. Why wait until then?" one of the men asked, the one with extremely long, straight black hair, strands often flying onto his dark gray eyes. His skin, as that of his peers, was oddly pale, and his body was visibly muscular also.
"What do you know of that which Hades wishes for the Underworld? I merely abide by law," the girl responded.
It was the other man who spoke up next, his voice grovely and more aggressive: "Law is worthless in face of the Underworld's survival!" His hair was a quite fair blond, with medium-length curls, lacking contrast against his similarly fair skin. His vicious-looking stare had long eyelids, surrounding small, light olive irises. Among the Judges, his body seemed the most sculpted, surely out of effort.
"Since the Underworld is at risk, Rhadamanthys, point me to the signs, for they were not made manifest to me," said Persephone.
"Is it not clear that Heaven conspires against Lady Athena?" Rhadamanthys inquired. "They have thrown caution to the wind. They care not what happens to Earth, let alone the Underworld, the heart that beats the whole of existence! To allow this remain unaddressed is suicide."
"Father would never act so foolishly!"
"Foolishness is not the issue, but egoism, Lady Persephone. Your father would have you dead if it meant consolidating his power," he continued.
Instead, the other man attempted to calm her down, saying: "Trust Lady Pandora. Without breaking the seal, without violating Heaven's law, she hears our Lord's whispers. By such method, we understand his desire to raise arms at once."
"I cannot," Persephone told. "Furthermore, the Specters without the Surplices cannot fight, and the army without the Specters is as good as dead."
"Lady Pandora said it herself: his previous wisdom was to push Atlantis into a corner, sure to make them think twice about a strike on Sanctuary," the kinder Judge explained. "This never came to be, so with the Marina now out of the picture, there is less resistance to an inevitable advance from Heaven."
"No such advance shall arise!" Persephone insisted.
"The signs are there for those who see," said Rhadamanthys.
As their heated debate continued, Minos re-entered the court, this once alongside Pandora, whom he had beseeched. It was her who signaled to the lyrist, catching his attention as she approached. "Orpheus, you are dismissed," she whispered to him.
"As you wish," the soft-spoken man said, interrupting the song to leave without meandering.
Therewith the two joined the debating trio, and Pandora greeted the others: "Lady Persephone, Aiacos, Rhadamanthys…"
The other Judges bowed their heads in respect, with Rhadamanthys instantly requesting her aid. "Lady Pandora, our ruler yet disregards the whispers, the signs, the truth as it is!" he exclaimed.
"Is there a holdover, my Lady?" Pandora calmly asked the girl.
Persephone seemed to subside her spirit upon the new arrivals. "You bring those whispers each life, though this once, they come so frequently, I…" she was unable to finish her thought before the High Priestess came to conclusions.
"You doubt my sincerity," Pandora spoke like a tranquil realization.
"No such thing, Lady Pandora, please!" Persephone desperately attempted to clear things up. "I sense that you may be under too great a pressure."
But Rhadamanthys incensed that flame: "You doubt the ears and lips of the Divine Adoratrice!"
Persephone finally became emotional, even tearing up this once, a fact she attempted to hide by scowling. "Ignoring my every word, what guile!" she deplored.
Eyeing Aiacos a moment, Pandora sighed, easing her as he would. "Fret not," said the priestess. "The Judges' anxieties are their own; my discipline, no less, is mine. I employ autonomy bestowed on me by Lord Hades. No word of the law prohibits communicating with him in his state of bondage, thus we fulfill his demands even in death. Every whisper I bring from Rozan is fact, whether I stand in agreement or otherwise. My discipline is independent of any motivation, much less moral value. You may trust no one as much as you may trust me."
Despite coming to an agreement, Persephone looked away, wiping those tears pooled in her eyes. "Aye, I trust what you say," she told.
"Reliance is precious here, my Lady, so I am glad."
Minos spoke next: "Now, I have seen with my own eyes that Lord Hades' husk is ready. It is not his ideal flesh, yet, since the time is conducive to his release, they shall prepare it for incarnation."
"So it comes," said Aiacos.
"Your regency nears its end, Lady Persephone," Rhadamanthys spoke more bitterly, but the girl avoided his sight.
"As she travels to Earth, let us unite the Specters in anticipation for what is imminent," Minos ordered.
The other two nodded and left the court. Pandora only stayed a while, perhaps in service to her Lady, though Persephone merely turned back to recollect her thoughts near the dais. Seeing that likely nothing would come of waiting, the cultist prepared to leave in travels.
It was then that the girl's emotional voice came, questioning: "Will my efforts have been in vain?"
Pandora stopped and turned. "What efforts do you refer to?" she asked.
"Those to mellow my husband's evil."
Those large, nigh black irises of the High Priestess never espoused a hint of kindness to anyone, not even that votive goddess. They were absent passion, compassion, and anything that pertained to them. Her voice, too, was as insipid as it was calm when it resounded after a brief silence.
"I say as sincerely as ever: they were industrious, but never of any effect," Pandora said.
Once more Persephone cloistered herself in lament, thus Pandora left to her duty, for she was to ascend to Mount Olympus, then to travel to Rozan. There she would repeat the deed she was tasked with for millennia, and the terrors of Hades would, once more, be exposed to the world at large.