The throne room was still burning.
Cracks ran across the marble. The divine sky above Olympus twisted in shades of black and crimson. The gods—Odin, Tsukuyomi, Thoth—they stood behind shimmering shields, saying nothing. Watching.
Ares—no, the thing that had taken him—stood still. Chains of shadow curled off his limbs like smoke. His eyes were bottomless pits. Tartarus had taken hold.
Zeus stepped forward through the dust, his voice cold.
"Show yourself."
No answer.
He stepped again. Thunder sparked at his heels.
"I said, show yourself, pit."
The chains slithered. The air turned heavy.
And then—Ares's mouth opened. The voice that came out was layered. Not one. Not human.
"You finally speak to me directly."
Zeus narrowed his eyes. "Took my son to get my attention. That's weak. Even for you."
