Deep beneath the Hanging Fortress of Hades, there existba place where time bent and space frayed.
It was not part of the Underworld proper. It was beneath it, beside it, within it.
A pocket dimension, woven and anchored by spells older than gods themselves, pulsed in utter silence.
This was Hades' sanctum, created by the combined efforts of him and Hecate.
It is not a throne room, nor a hall of judgment.
But a laboratory of research and divinity, of desperate ambition and unbearable limits.
The chamber stretched endlessly, its size warped by spatial compression.
Along the walls, crystalline tubes floated mid-air—each one glowing with otherworldly hues, filled with the distilled essence from every corner of cosmos: golden ichor from slain gods, steaming blood of titans that sizzled upon contact with light, writhing fluid collected from fallen monsters whose names had long been erased from creation.
