Charon's boat rocked steadily over the river of the dead, its movements slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat pulsing through the veins of the underworld. Erebus clenched his fists tightly around the edge of the boat, his knuckles white against the dark wood. He tried as hard as he could not to gaze into the depths below him, where the river Styx flowed with the mournful cries of lost souls, each echo pulling at the corners of his mind like a whispered temptation.

Nyx, who sat behind him in the slim boat, was a stark contrast to his unease. Her eyes were closed, her face serene, as if she had slipped into a deep meditation to shield herself from the river's allure. Her dark robes billowed gently in the air, a shadow within shadows, and for a moment, Erebus envied her calm. She seemed untouchable, a goddess in the midst of chaos, her connection to the night serving as a barrier against the forces that surrounded them.

Even still, the tension was palpable. It clung to the air like mist, heavy and suffocating. The boat seemed to move slower with each passing moment, as if the weight of the dead below was dragging it down. Charon's hollow gaze remained fixed ahead, his bony hands gripping the pole that guided them across the river, but there was an unspoken understanding between them all. The river's current was not the only danger here—something ancient and malevolent lurked beneath the surface, watching, waiting.

Erebus shifted uncomfortably, the silence pressing down on him. He opened his mouth to speak but found the words stuck in his throat, swallowed by the oppressive atmosphere. Nyx stirred slightly, as if sensing his unease, but she remained silent. They all knew that in this realm, words held power, and even the smallest utterance could draw unwanted attention.

A ripple in the water caught Erebus' eye, a subtle disturbance that sent a shiver down his spine. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing instead on the distant shore that seemed so impossibly far away.

Asphodel was not the deepest part of the Underworld, but it wasn't on the very top either. The Meadows were the second level of the Underworld, as Thanatos had explained to him. The Underworld was unfathomably vast, a sprawling, eerie realm with layers that mirrored the complexity of death itself. Though there were many nooks and crannies within its shadowy expanse, three major areas dominated the landscape, each serving a distinct purpose for the souls that entered the land of the dead.

At the very bottom lay Tartaros. This was the dread-filled abyss, the deepest chasm of the earth, where the vilest of souls and most dangerous beings were imprisoned. Tartaros was more than just a place of punishment; it was a cosmic void of endless suffering, far removed from the light of the living world. The souls banished here would never again know peace. The only structures of relative comfort in this forsaken place were near Hades’ residence. His dark palace was a sanctuary in the depths, but even that was cold and foreboding compared to the world above. Here, the worst of humanity—traitors, murderers, and tyrants—would be condemned to an eternity of torment. The heat, suffocating darkness, and the perpetual cries of the damned made Tartaros a place even the gods rarely ventured. Legends whispered that it was guarded by monstrous entities like the Titans, eternally bound and seething with hatred.

Above Tartaros, on the next level, were the Asphodel Meadows. These meadows stretched endlessly, a vast plain filled with pale, ghostly flowers. The Asphodels themselves were said to symbolize death, their muted white blooms covering the land like a funeral shroud. This was the resting place of the ordinary dead, those who had led neither particularly heroic nor heinous lives. Here, souls wandered in a dreamlike state, neither happy nor sad, simply existing in a state of eternal neutrality. The Meadows were eerily quiet, with only the occasional whispers of the dead drifting through the air. Unlike the torment of Tartaros, there was no suffering here, but neither was there joy—just the soft hum of eternal peace. However, disturbances weren’t unheard of. Sometimes, demons might escape from deeper levels or restless spirits might stir, but the gods, particularly Hades and his servants, were quick to restore order. For most souls, this was their eternity: a place where the worries and pleasures of the mortal world faded away, leaving behind a tranquil, if somewhat monotonous, existence.

And then there was Elysium, the pinnacle of the Underworld, a place so vastly different from the rest that it felt almost like paradise. Elysium was reserved for the blessed few, those who had achieved greatness in life—heroes, philosophers, and those who had been favored by the gods. This realm was bathed in a soft, golden light, where the air was always warm and fragrant. The fields here were lush and green, and the rivers sparkled like liquid silver. In Elysium, the souls lived in eternal bliss, free to pursue any pleasure or delight they had enjoyed in life. It was a place of reward, a haven of happiness where the greatest mortals could reside in peace, mingling with gods and enjoying the fruits of their extraordinary deeds. Unlike the meandering spirits of the Asphodel Meadows, those in Elysium retained their personalities, their passions, and their joys. They were granted a paradise to match their honor, living out eternity in a place that reflected their virtue.

Charon's boat passed by Elysium, but didn't go trough it. Erebus thus only got a glimpse of what was supposedly paradise. The place seemed radiant and lively, and distant cheering could be heard. Charon, unbothered by any of this, kept going deeper into the core of the earth. The River Styx stretched out before them, dark and endless, as Charon’s boat silently cut through the obsidian waters. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken histories and lingering regrets of countless souls.

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The boat glided toward the misty shores of the Asphodel Meadows, a realm where the indifferent dead wandered aimlessly in a sea of grey. As they neared the land, Charon’s hollow eyes met Nyx’s, and without a word, the ferryman slowed the boat to a stop. Nyx stepped off first, her feet touching the ground as if she were a part of the shadows that clung to every blade of asphodel. Erebus followed, his presence blending seamlessly into the oppressive gloom that enveloped them.

“Something stirs,” Nyx said quietly, her voice like the soft rustle of wind through the void. She looked out across the expanse, her violet eyes gleaming in the darkness. “Can you feel it, Oli? The air is restless. The souls here are uneasy.”

Erebus stood still, slightly caught of by hearing his real name again, if even for a brief moment. His form was indistinct, as if the darkness around them had molded itself into his shape. “Yes,” he replied, his voice deep and resonant, much more so than usual, like the echo of something ancient and forgotten. “It’s not just the souls. There’s something else. A disturbance. It must be the demons”

Nyx’s gaze narrowed as she scanned the horizon. The Asphodel Meadows were vast, a seemingly endless plain of pale flowers swaying in the spectral breeze. Spirits wandered aimlessly, their expressions vacant, their existence a monotony of nothingness. But beneath the surface, Nyx could sense something more—a disruption in the usual calm.

“The rogue demons have taken root here,” she said, her tone laced with a quiet certainty. “They’re feeding on the apathy of these souls, twisting it into something darker. But something or someone is guiding to do so. As if a stronger force is messing around here.”

Erebus looked around, and it felt as though he could see al wich lay unseen. He could sense them, but they had hidden themselfs amongst the dead. With every passing moment he had been here, it had seemed as if memories of the previous Erebus had found their way to him, and his head was filled with information he didn't have before. Glancing over to Nyx, it seemed as though the same was happening to here. She had been a god a bit longer, but for her this was also the very first time in the Asphodel Meadows.

Nyx took a step forward, her form barely disturbing the mist that coiled around her. “We’ll flush them out,” she said, her voice calm but laced with a quiet power. It seemed as if she had read his mind. “This place belongs to the dead—not to those who seek to manipulate them for their own ends.”

As they moved deeper into the meadows, the silence around them became more oppressive. The souls of the dead wandered past them, oblivious to the presence of the two deities. Every step they took felt like a descent into something darker, something more dangerous. The asphodel flowers, once pale and unremarkable, now seemed to shudder underfoot as if recoiling from the darkness that had taken hold here.

“Do you hear that?” Erebus asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. Nyx stopped, listening. There it was—a low, almost imperceptible whisper carried on the wind. It wasn’t the murmuring of souls, nor the sigh of the wind through the flowers. It was something else, something alive.

“Demons,” Nyx murmured, her eyes narrowing. “They’re close.”

Erebus stepped forward, his form seeming to expand, the shadows around him deepening as he prepared for what lay ahead. “Let’s end this.” While he wouldn't admit to he, he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. The cold silence of the Meadows made him uneasy, and clouded his mind. While the souls here didn't seem to suffer, the seemed to just exist. Nothing more than empty shades aimlessly wandering the plains for all eternity.

They moved with purpose now, their senses heightened as they followed the faint trail of malevolent energy that led them through the meadows. The spirits around them seemed to fade into the background, their presence nothing more than a backdrop to the hunt.

As they ventured further into the heart of the meadows, the ground beneath their feet began to change. The pale asphodels grew darker, their petals stained with a sickly shade of grey. The air grew heavier, thick with the stench of corruption.

Nyx’s eyes glowed faintly in the gloom, her expression resolute. “They’ve tainted this place,” she said softly. “But they won’t get far.”

Ahead, a cluster of shadows shifted, darker than the surrounding gloom. Erebus tensed, his gaze fixed on the movement. “There,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “They’re trying to hide.”

Nyx stepped forward, her presence becoming more palpable as she drew on the power of the night that surrounded her. “Come out,” she commanded, her voice carrying through the still air like a blade slicing through the dark.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, the shadows ahead began to shift, coalescing into grotesque forms. The rogue demons revealed themselves, their twisted bodies writhing with dark energy. Their eyes glowed with malevolent hunger as they realized they had been found. The sight of them again seemed to bring back memories that weren't theirs. Erebus was certain these memories where brought to them in aid for the mission, but he couldn't help but feel weird. The demons before them weren't demons, but Keres, death spirits who were usually drawn to battlefields. They couldn't kill themselfs, but took pleasure in feeding on the dead, and thus would also feed on the souls in Asphodel. The Keres were fallen gods , as they are Children of Nyx, once the god of Violent Death, but exiled by the other gods of the Underworld for reasons that for some reason missed from the memories. It seemed as though it was classified, as if Olympus itself didn't want to have it be public knowledge. They were stripped of their titles and now spent their time torturing the innocent.

Behind them interrupting their thoughts, they suddenly heared one of the vilest laughs you could imagine. As they turned, Erebus and Nyx saw a figure behind them, yet this wasn't a demon. It was clear without a doubt. The figure, a skinny, almost ghostly woman, was a god. But something about here seemed wrong. She wasn't here to help though, that much was clear.

“I've been waiting for some action,“ she cackled, her eyes burning with a strange aura. All Erebus could think of doing was preparing for what seemed to be an unavoidable confrontation