Hades

The shadows of the Underworld stretched long and deep, casting the throne room in an eternal twilight. Hades sat upon his obsidian throne, fingers drumming against the armrest carved with scenes of judgment and mercy. Five months had passed since Persephone's departure—five months that felt like five centuries to the Lord of the Dead.     He glanced toward the empty throne beside his own, smaller but no less magnificent, adorned with precious gems that caught what little light existed in his realm and transformed it into something beautiful. Just as she did.   "My lord," Thanatos spoke from the entrance, his voice carrying across the silent hall. "The souls await your judgment."   "Let them wait," Hades replied, his voice low and resonant. "I've been patient enough."     Rising from his throne, he descended the dais with purposeful strides. The floral tattoos on his arms shifted restlessly, blooms closing and thorns extending—a reflection of his darkening mood. The Underworld had grown colder in Persephone's absence—the Fields of Asphodel more gray, the rivers more somber in their flow. Even Cerberus had taken to mournful howling at odd hours.     "I'm going to retrieve her myself," he announced, magic already swirling around his form, transforming his imposing figure into something more suitable for the world above. Gone were his dark robes and crown of shadows, replaced by an immaculately tailored black suit that complemented his alabaster skin and snow-white hair, now neatly tied back.   "But my lord," Thanatos protested, "the agreement with Demeter—"   "Is still being honored," Hades finished firmly. "I merely wish to... expedite the transition."   With a wave of his hand, Hades summoned a portal of swirling darkness. The chill air of the mortal realm's approaching winter rushed through, carrying with it the scents of decay and renewal that marked the changing seasons.   "Watch over our realm, Thanatos. I shall return with my queen."   Stepping through the portal, Hades emerged in a secluded corner of Central Park. The crisp autumn air filled his lungs—a strange sensation after the stale atmosphere of the Underworld. Around him, trees stood half-bare, their remaining leaves clinging desperately to branches in brilliant hues of red and gold. Mortals hurried past, bundled in coats and scarves, unaware of the god walking among them.   Hades adjusted his cufflinks—onyx set in platinum—and surveyed the bustling city. His crimson eyes, now disguised as a deep brown to avoid mortal attention, narrowed as he extended his senses, searching for that familiar spark of divine energy that belonged only to Persephone.     The tattoos beneath his suit rippled with anticipation, roses blooming across his skin despite the concealment. He could feel her presence somewhere in this concrete jungle—faint but unmistakable, like the first crocus pushing through winter snow.   "Playing games again, my love?" he murmured, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Very well."   A businessman passing by shivered involuntarily as Hades moved past him, the mortal's soul instinctively recognizing the proximity of death even if his conscious mind did not.   Hades straightened his tie and set off toward the heart of the city. The hunt for his wayward queen had begun, and this time, he wouldn't return to the Underworld alone.     "New York," he mused with dark amusement. "How fitting you would hide among eight million souls. But did you really think I wouldn't find you, Persephone?"