The two gods met in a cavern that belonged to neither. It was simply The Dark.
Hine-nui-te-pō sat like a mountain of shadow, her eyes flashing red obsidian. She waited. She was a trap waiting to be sprung.
"Come closer, little god," she whispered. Her voice was the crushing weight of earth.
Hades adjusted his Helm of Darkness. He vanished.
The Invisible King
Hine-nui-te-pō sniffed the air. She could smell death, but Hades was death. He had no scent she could track.
She snapped her obsidian teeth at the empty air. Obsidian Passage Crush. It caught nothing.
Hades walked silently behind her. He observed her power. It was raw, primal, and stationary. She was a gatekeeper; he was a ruler.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. He didn't strike; he claimed.
Sovereignty of the Dead.
"You manage the door," Hades whispered in her ear from the void. "I own the house."
Hine-nui-te-pō roared, trying to grab him, but her hands passed through his spectral form. The authority of Hades—the Plouton, the Wealthy One—weighed down on her. The shadows of the cavern betrayed her, bending to his will instead of hers.
"I do not serve," Hine growled.
"Then you do not exist," Hades replied.
He opened a fissure in the earth, and the concept of Greek Death swallowed the concept of Maori Death, incorporating her into his vast administration. She became a department leader, furious but bound.