The gods did not argue.
They never did when fear outweighed pride.
High above the mortal realms, where clouds were shaped like thrones and lightning served as law, judgment fell in silence. No trial. No debate. Only consensus.
Siegfried had crossed a line.
Not by killing a dragon.
Not even by surviving it.
But by reminding the gods of something they despised.
That they could be defied.
The sky broke open above him.
Siegfried felt it before he saw it—a pressure descending, vast and absolute. The air thickened. The ground beneath his feet fractured as light bled through the cracks.
He looked up.
The clouds parted like torn flesh.
A presence descended.
Not a god.
An execution.
Golden chains formed from nothingness, etched with divine law and ancient condemnation. They wrapped around his limbs before he could move, burning cold against his skin.
Siegfried did not scream.
He did not resist.
He looked straight into the heavens.
"So this is your answer," he said quietly.
Thunder answered him.
Voices echoed from everywhere and nowhere.
"You have defiled the divine order."
"You have shattered sanctuaries."
"You have contaminated the world with dragon's blood."
Siegfried laughed.
A dry, hollow sound.
"You buried monsters instead of facing them," he replied.
"You chained truths instead of correcting them."
The chains tightened.
Pain surged—not through his flesh, but through his existence. The blood of the dragon reacted violently, scales beneath his skin flaring with unseen heat.
For a brief moment, the heavens hesitated.
Then the verdict was delivered.
"Cast him down."
Reality opened beneath Siegfried.
The ground vanished, replaced by an abyss so deep it swallowed light itself. A pit older than hell, older than memory.
Tartarus.
The chains dragged him downward.
The sky closed above him like a sealed wound.
The descent was endless.
Not a fall.
A removal.
Layers of reality peeled away as he was pulled deeper—past forgotten wars, past broken titans, past echoes of screams that had lost their voices long ago.
The light died.
Sound followed.
Only pressure remained.
The weight of eternity pressed against him, seeking to crush what remained of his will.
Siegfried clenched his jaw.
He refused to beg.
He struck the bottom like a corpse thrown into a grave.
The impact shattered black stone and sent cracks racing through the abyssal floor. Chains slammed him down, pinning him against cold rock engraved with laws written before language.
The air was thick with decay and despair.
Tartarus breathed.
And it welcomed him.
The gods' presence lingered for only a moment.
"You will rot here," the voices declared.
"You will be forgotten."
"You will become a warning."
Siegfried lifted his head with effort.
Blood ran from his mouth.
"Then remember this," he said.
"You didn't punish me because I was wrong."
Silence.
"You punished me because I reminded you what you are."
The divine presence withdrew.
The chains locked into the stone.
Judgment was complete.
Time lost meaning.
Days. Years. Centuries.
Siegfried hung suspended in darkness, his body broken, his mind assaulted by Tartarus itself. Whispers crawled through his thoughts. Memories rotted. Rage curdled into something colder.
The dragon's blood did not fade.
It endured.
It adapted.
The abyss tested him.
And he endured that too.
Deep within Tartarus, something stirred.
An ancient presence shifted its gaze.
A demon smiled.
Chains rattled softly.
The pit remembered another prisoner.
Siegfried closed his eyes.
He did not pray.
He waited.
Because now he understood.
The gods had not erased him.
They had planted him.
And one day, Tartarus would regret what it had been asked to hold.