Reborn As Hades In Olympus

Chapter 112 Tears of a Weeping God

Ch. 112: Tears of a Weeping God

Why confront Hermes when I already knew the answers to the questions I needed solved? Simple. Hermes didn't know what I knew, and I wanted him to break before my eyes. I wanted to see how a god of his nature, always dancing on the edges of trickery and truth, would react when pushed. His guilt had been festering for too long, and now, it was time to watch him unravel.

Hermes trembled before me, his usual lively demeanor utterly drained. His face, once so full of mischief and cheer, was now a portrait of fear and desperation. He knew, deep down, that this moment was inevitable. His shoulders were hunched, his breath unsteady. The room felt small, the air thick with the weight of his silent confession, though no words had yet escaped his lips.

I studied him in silence. This god of fun, of laughter— always bright, always on the move, trying to outrun the shadows of his past. But no one outruns truth. He had betrayed his nature once, betrayed me, and now the weight of that betrayal was suffocating him.

"You're quiet for once, Hermes." I rose from my seat slowly, allowing the tension to stretch between us like a taut string. Each step I took toward him felt deliberate, controlled, as though the very ground beneath us was trembling in anticipation. "So, are you going to run again? Or will you face your mistakes?"

The room seemed to shrink as I closed the distance, my presence pressing down on him. I stopped a few feet from where he stood, my eyes never leaving his. Hermes' head dropped, his golden curls hiding his face from view, but not enough to conceal the droplets of tears that rolled down his cheeks. His hands shook as they fidgeted at his sides, and a quiet, choked sob escaped him.

So, he really did break easily. I thought. It was almost disappointing. Almost.

"I... I'll yield," he muttered, his voice trembling like a wounded bird. "Hades, I— I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The words tumbled from his lips in a frantic, desperate chant, his body folding into itself as he sank to his knees.

He couldn't look at me. His eyes were clenched shut, his hands balled into fists as though trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to drown him. "Please... I'm sorry."

His tears soaked the floor beneath him as he wept, and for a moment, I felt something stir within me. A flicker of pity, perhaps? But no. This wasn't the time for pity.

I watched him sob, his fragile form hunched before me like a child begging for forgiveness, too consumed by guilt to even gaze at my face. The tears and the muffled breathing— none of it felt fake. It was raw, it was real, and it was... pathetic.

"It was me," he whimpered through broken sobs. "I poisoned you, Hades. I... I'm sorry. I was so happy when I saw you alive, but— I never wanted this." His voice cracked under the weight of the admission. "I won't ask for forgiveness, but I have a request.

Please, before you damn me, let me save them."

Save them? What was he talking about now? I crouched beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the contact, but I kept my voice calm, measured. "Have a seat, Hermes. Let's talk this out."

He hesitated, still trembling, before slowly rising to his feet and sitting across from me. There was only the table between us now, a thin divide in a room filled with unspoken accusations and heavy truths. His eyes avoided my face, as though my very presence was suffocating him. His breathing was shallow, his cheeks flushed with the heat of his guilt.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

"I had no choice," he finally whispered, his voice hoarse from the tears. "They made me do it. The Circle... they threatened the children. They have an orphanage— an orphanage full of kids, Hades. They use them for their experiments, and they said...

they said if I didn't do as they asked, they'd kill them all. And Eris, she was innocent and yet they manipulated and threatened to kill her like the others."

His words were rapid now, tumbling over each other as he tried to justify the unforgivable. "They made me run their errands, smuggling black amber, making connections in the black market. And when they told me to kill you... I diluted the poison, Hades. I couldn't... I couldn't bear the thought of actually ending your life.

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I tried to make it easier, I thought... maybe... maybe you'd just—"

"Die peacefully?" I interrupted, my tone cold.

He flinched but nodded, his face pale. "Yes. But instead, you survived. And when I saw you again, alive... I thought it was a miracle. I thought maybe...

maybe I had not completely damned myself." His voice cracked again, and he buried his face in his hands. "I've failed you. You've always taken care of me like a father, and I... I betrayed you like a coward."

His words hung in the air, a confession that carried the weight of countless sleepless nights, of guilt gnawing at his conscience until it broke him.

I watched him silently. He was so small now, so fragile. And yet, there was a fire in his words—a desperate desire to right his wrongs. He had been manipulated, coerced, and yet... he still chose to betray Hades.

"You think death will atone for this?" I asked, my voice soft but laced with an edge.

Hermes looked up at me, eyes wide and glassy. "It's the only way. I know you must hate me, Hades, but before you send me to Tartarus, let me save the children. Let me save them, at least. After that, I'll accept whatever fate you decide for me."

I said nothing for a long while, my gaze steady on him as he squirmed under the weight of my silence. I could see the torment in his eyes, the war he had fought alone for so long. He idolized me once, looked up to me as a father figure, and now... he was shattered.

But there was something more at play here. They were using him, manipulating him.

"Hermes," I said, finally breaking the silence. "You're not beyond saving."

He blinked at me, confused. "But... how? After everything—"

"I forgive you."

The words stunned him into silence. He stared at me, disbelieving, as though he hadn't heard me correctly.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "You can not forgive me. I don't deserve it."

"You don't get to decide that," I replied, my tone firm. "I understand why you did it. You wanted to save the children, the way I saved you once. You idolized me, and in trying to live by my ideals, you became a hero in your own right. But you've been carrying this burden alone for too long, and it's time you let me help."

Hermes broke again, this time collapsing into my arms. His sobs were heavy, his body trembling as he mumbled apologies over and over, his words slurring together in a mess of emotion.

I held him, awkward but steady. "It's okay," I whispered. "We'll fix this. Together."

And as I sat there, the weeping god in my arms, I vowed to take down the Circle once and for all— starting with Poseidon. And to save everyone I had once lost.