The battlefield groaned beneath the sheer weight of divinity.
Black flames and corrupted mud clashed like writhing serpents across the scorched Underworld plains, boiling rivers of ichor carving new trenches into the ruined stone.
But through it all, Hades remained still, a statue of calm amid the storm, his cloak untouched by the chaos swirling around him.
Before him, Gaia charged like a demon, her mouth screaming wordless fury.
Her hair flailed in the wind, and her darkened skin cracked with veins of greenish mud pulsing like poison.
She was healing from every wound, regenerating limbs, reshaping her broken form. Even torn to shreds, she would rebuild herself in moments.
Hades had seen it all before. He had already grown tired of it.
And so...
He gripped desmos and went on a stance.
And activated an authority that had lain dormant for eons.
The air snapped.
The shadows trembled.
