Darren tore after Marianne Elarion, his boots striking the metal beneath his feet as she slipped through the corridors ahead of him with effortless speed. The ship’s interior twisted and folded in on itself like a labyrinth designed to confuse the dead, yet she moved with absolute certainty, turning corners without hesitation, never once slowing to check her surroundings. Darren, in contrast, had to react, adjusting his stride constantly as he followed the Wicked Witch of Humanity.

  As they ran, his mind struggled to keep pace with his body.

  Several things had occurred to him.

  It had only been a few moments ago since Charon had been sent flying from her punch. The Ferryman of the Dead—an entity likely older than countless civilizations, an immortal whose existence was essential to the very function of the Underworld—had been launched away like a discarded doll. The sheer force that she had been capable of still made Darren’s knuckles tighten reflexively.

  Marianne was strong. Stronger even than Charon.

  He had seen her General Level, and even then, numbers alone hadn’t done the truth justice.

  Levels could be deceptive.

  Real power was revealed in moments just like that.

  Even with the Internal Arts, Darren wasn't sure if he could match her when it came to physicality alone. The speed she had displayed suggested something far beyond any technique. She was dangerous. For the first time since awakening in this strange, hostile time, Darren felt wary. If she turned on him, there was no guarantee he could survive the encounter. And yet…she hadn’t.

  For now, at least.

  Despite the sudden violence she had unleashed upon the Ferryman of the Dead, Marianne had not shown the erratic behavior Darren might have expected from someone freshly freed from what might have been years of frozen imprisonment. Her eyes had been clear and focused.

  She had not gone insane and that then begged the question, how did she know him?

  The familiarity in her gaze had not been imagined. It hadn’t been vague recognition either of a passing face. It was the kind of recognition that came from shared history, from memory meaningful enough that even time and ice could not erode it.

  And that made no sense.

  Because Darren had never met this woman before, he was sure of it.

  He had crossed paths with other members of Clan Elarion before—mainly Magnus, his son and granddaughter—but Marianne Elarion was not among them.

  So how?

  The question, along with so many more more, ate at him but there was no time to fixate on it now.

  How long she had been frozen, why she had been sealed away, what she believed she knew about him. All of that could wait for survival came first.

  Because the final realization had eclipsed all the others.

  Charon was gone.

  The ship shuddered beneath Darren’s feet, a low, a small noticeable tremor running through its hull. He felt the subtle shift something fundamental coming undone. The Ferryman of the Dead had not merely been this ship's captain. He had been its master, the force that bound it together and steered it safely across the Rivers of the Underworld.

  Without him, the ship was nothing more than metal and momentum.

  It would continue drifting but eventually, it would sink.

  Darren swallowed hard as the implications settled in. He and Marianne were not immortal. They would not rise again from the depths if those waters claimed them. The Underworld was not forgiving to the living. And he could not afford to face his end.

  Not now.

  Not with hope still burning in his chest, the hope that his family was still out there, waiting somewhere beyond death and damnation.

  He had already died once.

  He would not die again.

  But the absence of Charon’s will was beginning to make itself known, refusing to be ignored any longer as the seconds went by.

  The ship groaned around them, in a tortured chorus of metal and strain. Deep, grinding sounds echoed through the corridors, reverberating up through the deck plates and into Darren’s bones. It felt like something immense was tearing itself apart, piece by piece, as though the ferry had been alive only moments ago and was only now realizing its heart had been ripped free from its chest.

  Darren staggered slightly as the floor lurched beneath his feet.

  The corridors that had once felt unnervingly solid now betrayed stability with walls creaking and supports whining under stress. Whatever force had bound this ship together had vanished with Charon, and the Ferry of the Dead was beginning to remember that it should not exist without him.

  Marianne, however, did not slow.

  The woman led them upward as she took the stairs two at a time, pushing through a hatch and emerging onto the open deck. Hot air rushed in, thick with the stench of black water and ancient decay. Darren followed, eyes blinking against the chaos that greeted him.

  The deck was in disarray. Metal plates shuddered, some warping visibly as if bent by unseen hands. The waters below churned violently, tugging at the hull with relentless insistence. Every sound was amplified—groans, crashes, the distant roar of the Rivers itself.

  In the midst of it all, Marianne Elarion stood grinning, bordering on euphoric. Her eyes shone with excitement as if the collapsing ship and imminent death were nothing more than a delightful complication. For a fleeting, irrational moment, Darren wondered if he had been wrong earlier.

  Maybe she really was insane.

  Because she sure as hell looked like a madwoman right now.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Why didn't she feel as worried as he felt?

  “How exactly do you plan to hijack this ship?” Darren shouted, his voice nearly lost beneath the noise as another violent tremor shook the deck. He tried grabbing onto a railing, only to realize this ship never had any, nearly losing his balance altogether.

  Marianne burst into laughter.

  It was bright, entirely disconnected from the disaster unfolding around them. She shook her head, her red hair catching the wind as she looked back at him.

  “You like to ask silly questions, Darren.”

  Darren froze for half a heartbeat.

  He had never told her his name.

  So she really did know him.

  “How—” he began, but she cut him off before the question could fully form.

  “You made a deal with Hades,” she interrupted, her tone still amused, but with a touch of impatience now. “You’re his Champion now, are you not?”

  Again, she was right, armed with information that she should not have had. The System had made that clear when he struck that deal with the King of the Underworld. Still, he didn’t see how that helped them now.

  “Why is that important?” he demanded, the ship shuddering again as he spoke.

  This time, Marianne frowned.

  It was a small thing, but Darren caught it. It was a flash of irritation, sharp and fleeting, as if his ignorance was an inconvenience she hadn’t planned for. She turned fully toward him, planting her feet as though the bucking deck beneath them was nothing.

  “Let me ask you something,” she said. “How do you think Charon controls this ship?”

  Suddenly, he had just a glimpse of what she was getting at and the full answer hovered just out of reach. Darren’s gaze flicked instinctively to the corner of his vision, to the familiar presence he had almost forgotten in the chaos. He didn’t waste time hesitating. He reached out and pressed the button.

  With a soft flash, his Status Screen bloomed into existence.

  He skimmed past his attributes, his levels, the information he already knew. His eyes moved faster now, urgency sharpening his focus.

  Then he saw it.

  Under the list of Skills that the System had compiled for him, he saw the one he had noticed before his fight with the Hydra.

  // [ The Champion of Hades - Pathway Undecided ]

  Below him, the Ferry of the Dead screamed in protest as its structure continued to fail. The ship was still moving, dragged forward by the relentless pull of the river, its trajectory locked toward the distant Gates of the Underworld.

  The question wasn’t where the ship was going.

  It was whether it would survive long enough to get there.

  Darren reread the Skill’s description, slower this time, every word burning itself into his mind. Because now he understood what Marianne was pointing him toward.

  This Skill would decide whether they made it out here alive.

  Its description branched outward into something far larger than a single line of text. This was not a passive blessing or a simple enhancement. It was a declaration, an offer of direction, power, and consequence.

  Being given the Title was simply the beginning.

  What followed were the Pathways.

  There were three of them, three distinct routes that a Champion of the Underworld could walk, each one tied intrinsically to the nature of the god they called Hades.

  The first pathway was Death.

  Power over death itself in ways that was waiting to be discovered was the very first choice all Champions could make. Because Hades was, above all else, the ruler of the dead. Souls passed through his domain whether they wished to or not, and his authority over them was absolute. Thanatos, the embodiment of death, was feared and revered by mortals, yet even he often existed in the shadow of the King of the Underworld. In truth, Death had simply been the one who had mastered this Pathway to the greatest extent. To walk this path was to become an extension of the inevitable end that awaited all things.

  Darren did not linger there long because he knew it was not the answer.

  The second pathway was Time.

  This one made him pause.

  Aside from his dominion over the dead, Hades was also the eldest son of Kronos, the Titan King who had ruled before the Gods of Olympus. There had never been proof but the stories persisted across the ages. Whispers that when Kronos fell, his dominion over the flow of time itself had not vanished. They said it had been inherited, passed down to the one who now ruled over the King of the Underworld.

  As enticing as it was, the man knew this was not the Pathway he should choose.

  The third pathway was Authority.

  At first glance, it seemed less dramatic than the others.

  It was a power that did not look as appealing as Death or Time. But the longer Darren read, the clearer it became just how dangerous this path truly was. When the Titanomachy, the war between the Gods of Olympus and the Titans of Old, had ended and the Three Sons of Kronos had overthrown their predecessors, the world had been divided among them.

  Zeus, the King of Olympus, had claimed the skies as his own.

  Poseidon had taken the seas, commanding the endless oceans.

  Hades, however, had chosen the realm beneath.

  Many thought it was only Tartarus that was his to claim.

  But everything Under the World belonged to him. Including the riches that lay beneath the ground.

  Darren did not hesitate any longer.

  He knew he had found the answer, one that Marianne had seen all along.

  The ship continued screaming, metal warping even further as a support beam cracked somewhere beneath the deck.

  Time was running out, and yet, strangely, Darren felt calm. Death approached but he did not fear it.

  This was the Pathway that he knew he had to take.

  Charon had not ruled the Ferry of the Dead through any power of his own. Even the Minor Gods were not capable of such a thing. He had commanded it because the ship recognized him as its master.

  The Ferryman of the Dead had commanded it through Authority.

  A new screen flashed into existence as Darren stretched out his hand.

  // This choice cannot be taken back.

  // Is the Pathway of Authority the one you choose to take as one of the Champions of Hades?

  There were only two options.

  // [ Yes ] OR [ No ]

  The Wicked Witch of Humanity gave a small nod, somehow understanding what was happening, even if she could not see the System's screen that now appeared before him with her own eyes.

  Darren pressed [ Yes ].

  The moment he did, he felt it.

  The ship lurched violently, its hull threatening to tear itself apart, then all of it stopped. Not because the river carried it forward, but because something else took hold. Darren felt the invisible chains of Authority extending outward from his presence and locking into the very structure of the Ferry.

  Magical energy surged as he called upon this newfound power.

  The groaning quieted. The metal steadied. The large vessel surged forward once more, but this time, it did so at his command.

  Because the Ferry of the Dead had a new master now.

  And his name was Darren Ittriki, the New Champion of Hades.