Prologue: The Nine Weights of the Underworld.

​Ebony-toned imperial silk was the only thing that could absorb so much blood without screaming.

​It was said that mortals wept for seven days after the death of a king. But for the immortals, eternity was a punishment that did not pause, not even for mourning. The Pantheon watched in silence, petrified not by humanity's victory, but by the betrayal that followed it.

​Hades lay inert, his broken body a portrait of dignity. He was the King of the Underworld, a god bearing the weight of the Nine Realms, and he had fallen defending his brother’s throne.

​And then, against all divine laws, the sound of cracking stone echoed.

​The First Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang, approached. He had shattered the god, but the void left in his fist was not that of a victory, but of a loneliness the King had not known since his childhood.

​The arrogant phoenix, the proudest Alpha humanity had ever offered, did not deign to bow. Instead, with his gaze covered by the worn bandages that hid the truth of his past, he extended his hands. His fingers, still stained with blood, brushed the cold skin.

​"The King needs no protection," he murmured, in a whisper that was both a vow. "He is the protection."

​And with an act that made the foundations of Valhalla tremble, Qin Shi Huang took Hades' body. Not out of respect, nor for glory, but out of a deep, selfish need that the only being who had understood the weight of his crown would not disappear.

​Zeus's fury was the first lightning bolt.

​But the worst was not the punishment. The worst was what the Emperor's hidden laboratories and forbidden sacrifices brought back.

​The corpse had reanimated. The violet eyes opened, but they no longer held the stoic wisdom of the King. Now, there was a primordial, raw, and violent authority that belonged to no caste known to the gods.

​The gods would call him an aberration. Mortals, a miracle.

​Qin Shi Huang could only watch, trapped between a shout of triumph and a shiver of terror, as the aura of the reborn one grew and grew, overwhelming him. The air became heavy, dense with a pheromone so powerful it burned the throat of the proud Alpha.

​The Emperor was thrown against the wall, his mind screaming: “What is this? What kind of monster have I created?”

​The voice, deep and ancient, resonated in his mind—not through the air, but directly into his soul: "I am what the Underworld demands. I am the Enigma, and you, my little Alpha... are condemned to my shadow."

​The King who had conquered the Nine Heavens suddenly found himself, for the first time, at the mercy of someone. And he understood, with a fear as sweet as forbidden honey, that his victory had only been the key to opening his own cage.