Hades took a deep breath, feeling every fragment of power of Azathoth fusing into him. It was a cold, chaotic torrent that tried to rip his consciousness apart, but the King of the Dead held firm.
The erratic, mindless entropy of the Primordial Chaos God was now being forced into the iron-clad structure of the Underworld's Law.
He felt his veins pulse with the raw data of a billion discarded drafts, his very skin vibrating with the potential to erase and create.
Now, he felt as if he was no longer just the Supreme Deity of a single reality; he was becoming the weight that held the Library itself together.
Then, without hesitation, he summoned his spear, Desmos, and slashed at the empty void, and a bright white tear appeared.
The jagged edges of the rift glowed with a light that didn't come from any star, but from the source of all stories.
