The sky had cracked hours ago.
What remained above Olympus was not a firmament but a swirling void of torn clouds, thunder arcs, and falling debris from temples that no longer stood. Towers were dust. Thrones were splinters. Oceans boiled in the air. The battlefield had shifted into the high plateau, where only the strongest dared to remain.
There—Zeus, bloodied but unbroken, stood with storm wrapped around him like armor.
To his left: Poseidon, rising from a sea he had summoned to drown the peak itself, riding its surge like a living tempest.
And to his right: Hades, shadows coiling across his obsidian armor, the Helm of Invisibility flickering on and off, his scythe dragging ash through the marble that cracked beneath their feet.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
Words were no longer weapons here.
Only power was.
