Hades floated in an endless dark expanse, a void without form or direction, where neither time nor existence held meaning.
There was no ground beneath him, no sky above, only the silence of infinity pressing against his soul, a silence so heavy it was defeaning.
Yet beneath that silence, something stirred.
A vast abyssal presence of the outer one lingered beyond comprehension, watching him, studying him, and then, slowly, it reached out, trying to recreate itself once again using his body as a host.
The darkness itself began to twist and writhe, like an ocean made of thought and malice, and Hades felt it, the presence, trying to swallow him whole.
It was not merely consuming his body, but his being, clawing at the essence of what made him him.
Every thought, every memory, every heartbeat from the dawn of his consciousness was being stripped away, atom by atom, soul by soul.
