Reborn As Hades In Olympus

Chapter 128 The Black Amber Gambit

Ch. 128: The Black Amber Gambit

I had little faith that Arman could survive against both the sorcerer and the masked man. If Poseidon was here, this must have been the black amber's origin, the catalyst for all the calamities yet to come. Stopping them now could alter everything. But the cost? The future itself trembled on this moment.

How had Poseidon slipped into the underworld? It didn't take long for me to figure it out— the traitor within my ranks. The one who Arman had spoke of. One who had betrayed more than just me but the underworld itself.

"It's a shame," Anok's voice slithered through the black market, thick with amusement. He lifted a hand, black mist bubbling from his fingers. "None of you could see the endless possibilities in black amber. Wealth, power, dominance— yet you cling to your pathetic fears. This we are always afraid of power eventually succumb to it in the end."

The man in red halted before him, his tone icy. "I'm not here for your theatrics. Did you bring the goods?" He seemed in a rush which was understandable, seeing where this was going.

Anok snarled, his eyes narrowing with distaste. "All in due time, dear client. First, I have to exterminate this pest from my sight."

The man in red glanced at Arman, groaning in impatience. "Then make it quick."

Anok's lips curled into a sinister smile. "Oh, believe me, I wouldn't have it any other way."

From the shadows, I watched, calculating. Arman stood alone, barely concealing the rage that simmered within him, blades hidden in his robes. I prayed his desire for revenge wouldn't cloud his judgment. If he died, it would make me an enemy of the serpentine tribe. They were few, but like Anok, they had the potential to become a threat. For now, I held back, observing the battlefield.

Faced against his father's killer, how would he react?

Anok hurled a ball of black mist toward Arman, but he swept it aside with one swift motion of his curved silver blades. The blast didn't dissipate, though— it shot into the crowd. Screams filled the air as bodies exploded, heads ripped clean from their shoulders. Blood sprayed like a morbid fountain, and Anok's grin widened with twisted glee.

"Your father's blades," Anok hissed, his eyes gleaming. "It's fitting that you should die by them. Makes it all memorable."

Arman moved with a speed that startled me, his blades a blur as they arced toward Anok's neck. At the last second, the man in red yanked him back with a vicious curse. "Damn it!"

"Enough games," the man in red snapped, his voice razor-sharp with anger. "That was too close."

Anok sneered. "What makes you think I was going to die?"

"You don't die until I say so," the man in red growled.

Arman lunged again, faster this time, but the man in red knocked him back effortlessly. "Back off," Arman spat through gritted teeth as he skidded across the blood-soaked ground.

Anok, unfazed, looked delighted. "Ah, nephew, you have gotten faster. A damn trait you inherited from grandfather I see. But unfortunately, our little dance ends here."

I weighed my options. Stepping in now would eliminate my advantage. It was best to wait until they had exhausted more of their energy, especially Poseidon. He wouldn't reveal his true abilities just yet, not with his identity at risk. But even with my body's latent power, I wasn't confident in beating him in a direct fight.

At least not now.

Anok crouched low, pressing his hands to the ground, and muttered something under his breath. Black smoke shot out like venomous vines, snaking through the marketplace. They whipped through the crowd, slicing through flesh as though the people were nothing but meat for the slaughter.

Arman danced through the chaos, slashing through the tendrils, but they regenerated almost instantly, blocking his path.

Panic erupted. Screams filled the air as blood soaked the ground, the bodies piling up faster than I could track. I could sense Poseidon's impatience. Was it time to step in?

"It's been a while since I've tasted blood, nephew," Anok purred, his face twisting into something grotesque. "Too bad I can't have yours. Not after I poisoned it."

Arman's eyes flared with fury, but before he could respond, the man in red interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. "Enough. Focus. Do you need me to remind you what's at stake?"

Anok's madness deepened, his laughter high and grating. "Shut up and let me have my fun!"

He was too far gone now.

The black vines multiplied, now numbering in the thousands. They weaved through the marketplace, carving people into pieces. Arman was fast, but he couldn't keep up— the vines pierced him in several places, slowing his movements. He staggered, blood pouring from his wounds.

I cursed under my breath, feeling it was time to step in lest my unruly partner depart from life I looked around, scanning for anything I could use as a weapon. My eyes landed on a butcher's knife lying on a fishmonger's stall. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

With a flick of my wrist, I sent the knife flying toward Anok. The blade sailed through the air but was deflected by a vine at the last second. The brief distraction, however, was enough. Arman closed the distance, his blades arcing toward Anok's throat. But before I could see the outcome, the vines surged, blocking my view.

A high-pitched scream cut through the chaos— fortunately it was Anok's scream.

The vines withered and fell to ash, revealing Arman standing over Anok, blood dripping from his blades. Anok lay on the ground, clutching his severed arm, his face twisted in agony. I could almost feel the pain— too familiar, too raw.

Even the man in red seemed taken aback by Arman's speed. But there was something wrong. Arman was losing too much blood, his body riddled with the cuts from the vines. The man in red was already moving in to finish him off.

Time stretched thin. If I hesitated, Arman would die.

I surged forward, all the power in my legs propelling me faster than I had ever moved. The man in red's eyes widened as he caught my movement, but it was too late. My fist slammed into his chest with the force of a sledgehammer. He grunted, thrown backward, crashing into the ground with a thunderous impact that shook the marketplace. Discover exclusive tales at M-V-L

Smoke hissed from my hands as I straightened. "Arman, are you okay?"

He wiped the blood from his chin, breathing heavily. "I'm alive." He knocked down his uncle just for good measure.

"Good." I glanced at the cloud of dust rising from where the man in red had fallen. "We need to move. That won't keep him down for long."

Arman groaned in pain, clutching his wounds. "But damn, that was one hell of a punch."

I knew the man in red's strength— Poseidon's strength, having fought him in the future. This wasn't over. From the rubble, he stirred, rising slowly, his eyes burning with fury through the mask.

Just then, a shout echoed through the chaos: "The reapers are coming!"

The man in red froze, torn between pursuing us and fleeing the inevitable. His decision didn't take long. He turned and bolted in the opposite direction.

Arman lifted his unconscious uncle onto his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the pain. "We need to go. You don't want to be here when the reapers arrive. Believe me it'll get messy."

He was right. We slipped into the panicking crowd, blending in with the chaos. The reapers tore through the canopy, their scythes slashing through flesh in one clean stroke, bodies crumbling in their wake.

"This way!" Arman shouted, veering into an alley, his speed faltering from the blood loss. We weaved through the narrow passageways until the sounds of slaughter were distant, the air thick with the stench of blood and burning flesh.

Finally, Arman stopped before a dilapidated stall manned by a vendor with blue skin and a crooked nose. A black mirror loomed behind him— a Hell's Gateway.

"One hundred thousand soul coins," the vendor croaked, his voice a sneer.

"What?" Arman growled. "The usual price is five thousand at most!"

The vendor shrugged. "Prices go up when you're running from reapers. Ain't it a shame?"

"Can you at least drop the force down to the usuals?" Arman asked.

The vendir looked at us and said. "Listen well you pieces of shit. I am guessing the reapers are after you lot, you all reek of blood. So I ain't changing my price."

He scratched his nose and said. "I could rat you out but there's no gain in that since the reapers would find you either way. You could also run but you might not get lucky so what's your gambit then?"

Arman hesitated.

Arman bristled with rage, but I stepped forward. "Do you take transfers?"

The vendor's eyes gleamed with greed. Moments later, the transaction was complete, and he snapped his fingers. The Hell's Gateway shimmered to life.

We stepped toward the portal, Arman muttering curses under his breath. Just as I moved to follow, the vendor whispered something under his breath that sent a chill down my spine.

"What was my account pin again?" he mused, his voice filled with a strange malice.

But there was no time to question it. We disappeared into the portal, leaving the blood-soaked market behind. Another crisis averted—for now.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading and supporting my work.