As the world matured and its power grew, the forces of balance shifted once more. From the will of the world itself, a monstrous entity was born—Python, a primordial serpent unlike any before it.
Unlike the mindless beasts of old, Python possessed intelligence, ambition, and a vision: to establish a civilization of monsters, separate from humanity and gods alike.
For too long, monsters had been hunted, enslaved, or driven into the wilds. Python sought to unite them under a single rule—his rule.
But his hunger for power did not stop there. As he gazed upon Olympus, he felt the stirrings of something deeper. Why should the gods rule over all? Why should Zeus sit upon the throne? Why should fate be dictated by those unworthy of it?
Python was not content with merely being a king of beasts. He would become the King of the Gods.
Yet, as the world gave birth to Python, it also sought to maintain balance. From the very fabric of destiny itself, three figures emerged—the Moirai, the Sisters of Fate.
Clotho, the Spinner, who wove the threads of life.
Lachesis, the Measurer, who determined the length of each thread.
Atropos, the Cutter, who severed them when time was due.
The three sisters were born in the shadows of Olympus, their forms shrouded in mystery. Each one carried a purpose, but Atropos… she carried something more.
Wandering through the depths of the world, she stumbled upon an ancient artifact—a scissor unlike any other, one that hummed with divine power. It had been forged long ago by Hephaestus, place inside a cave where Hephaestus once forge. This scissor was no ordinary tool. It could cut more than thread—it could cut fate itself.
As Atropos took it into her hands, she felt a whisper of destiny settle within her. This was her role. This was her purpose.
And so, with Hephaestus's creation, the Three Fates took their place in the cosmos.
Python, sensing that destiny had been set in motion against him, grew uneasy. He knew that if the Fates existed, then his own future could be measured, woven, and ultimately cut. He would not allow that.
Thus, he turned his gaze toward Delphi, a sacred land rich in divine energy. He would make it his domain, a throne from which he would challenge Olympus itself.
Time goes by as Python became stronger while being hidden from the gods. Soon te heavens trembled. The earth cracked. A monstrous roar echoed through Olympus, shaking the divine halls of the gods. Python, the monstrous serpent born from the will of the world itself, had risen.
For centuries, the gods had ruled unchallenged. But Python had no interest in their rule. It was born with a purpose—to rule over the monsters of the world, to forge a new order where beasts stood above gods and mortals alike. And so, it declared war upon Olympus.
The first sign of Python's attack was the storm that swallowed the sun.
Dark clouds, thick with corruption, rolled over the heavens, drowning Apollo's light. A second sun seemed to rise—Python's golden eyes, burning with hatred, staring down upon the world.
Then came the beasts. A monstrous horde, unlike anything seen before, poured from the earth. Winged serpents blackened the skies, their scales glinting like obsidian. Titanspawn, the remnants of the war against Kronos, crawled forth from the depths, their bodies twisted by Python's influence. Giant wolves, chimera, and ancient horrors surged toward the sacred mountain of the gods.
And at the center of it all, Python itself loomed, its massive form coiling through the heavens, ready to strike.
Zeus, seated upon his golden throne, rose to meet the challenge. His thunderbolt crackled in his grip, the raw fury of storms filling the sky.
"Olympians! To war!" he roared, his voice shaking the very heavens.
At his command, the gods took up their divine weapons and leaped into battle.
Ares, clad in bronze armor, descended like a meteor, his spear impaling a horde of monstrous wolves in a single strike.
Athena, with her owl-feathered cloak, led the charge, her spear flashing with divine wisdom, cutting through the chaos with precision.
Apollo, though his light had been stolen by the storm, nocked golden arrows, piercing through the darkness, striking the monsters from afar.
Poseidon, standing atop the oceans, raised his trident, summoning tidal waves to crash against Python's advancing forces.
Even Demeter, who rarely took up arms, wielded her sickle, cutting down monstrous vines that sought to strangle Olympus itself.
In the heart of battle, Zeus clashed directly with Python. Thunder met poison, divine might against raw chaos.
Lightning bolts rained upon the serpent, searing its scales, forcing it back. But Python, unrelenting, lunged forward, its fangs bared.
A moment of silence.
Then—a cry of pain.
The gods froze. Time itself seemed to stop.
Zeus, King of the Gods, staggered backward, blood dripping from his chest. Python's fangs had pierced him, venom surging into his divine form.
The ruler of Olympus—injured. The unthinkable had happened.
Python let out a thunderous laugh, shaking the skies. "Olympus will fall. The gods will be devoured."
As the gods reeled in shock, a blur of motion sliced through the battlefield. Hermes, the swift-footed messenger, moved like a flash of light.
With his winged sandals, he weaved between the chaos, dodging snapping maws and slashing claws. He reached Zeus in an instant.
"Hold on, Father," Hermes whispered, placing his hands on Zeus's wound. The venom of Python was deadly, even to gods, but Hermes knew no hesitation.
With the speed of a storm, he moved. He stole the venom itself, drawing it out of Zeus's body before it could spread further. He could not undo the injury, but he would not let the King of Olympus fall.
Python saw this and snarled. "You think a mere trickster can defy me?"
It struck again, its fangs descending toward Hermes.
But this time, Hermes was faster.
In a blink, he was gone—reappearing above Python's head, dagger in hand. With divine precision, he slashed across the serpent's eye, drawing a screech of agony from the beast.
"Try keeping up, you overgrown worm!" Hermes taunted before vanishing again.
The gods, seeing Zeus saved, rallied once more. The battle was far from over.
As Olympus fought, a deep rumbling echoed from the distant horizon.
Then—a city moved.
From the island of Lemnos, Hephaestus, the god of the forge, had activated his greatest creation.
The city itself began to walk, massive mechanical legs carrying it forward, gears turning, steam hissing. And from its steel belly—an army emerged.
Hephaestus's mechanical warriors, forged of celestial bronze, stormed the battlefield.
Colossal automatons, each as tall as the gods themselves, crushed Python's beasts beneath their feet. Mechanical hounds, with fire in their jaws, tore through serpents and chimeras alike. Winged constructs, modeled after Hephaestus's lost eagles, soared through the skies, striking from above.
With every clang of metal and hiss of steam, the tide turned. Python's army—once unchallenged—now faced annihilation.
But Python itself still lived. And it would not die easily.
Even as its army fell, the serpent surged forward, its golden eyes locking onto Olympus. Its very existence was a rejection of divine rule. It would kill the gods or die trying.
And then, from the shadows, three figures stepped forward.
The Three Sisters of Fate.
Clotho, the spinner, held a thread of golden light.
Lachesis, the measurer, traced the thread's length, whispering its destined end.
Atropos, the cutter, clutched a pair of shears, forged by Hephaestus himself.
"The time has come," they whispered in unison.
As Python lunged toward Olympus—they cut the thread.
A golden force seized the serpent mid-strike. Its fate was sealed.
Zeus, now standing once more, raised his thunderbolt.
Lightning descended like judgment.
Python screamed. Its monstrous form writhed, light and fate crushing it at once.
Then—silence.
The monster, who sought to overthrow Olympus, was no more.
The gods stood victorious. Olympus still stood. But they would never forget this battle.
Python had been a force of chaos, one that had nearly shattered their rule. It had proved that even gods were not untouchable.
As the last remnants of Python's body faded and was taken away by Hephaestus. Zeus thank every god who helped protect Olympus.