The monster took a step.
Just one.
And the entire throne room split open.
The marble cracked, curling upward like torn paper. The ground rumbled. Divine wards etched into the palace walls flickered—then shattered. Ares, now fully consumed by Tartarus, stood tall. Wings of ash unfolded behind him, chains coiled like serpents ready to strike, and that pulsing red core in his chest beat like war drums.
Zeus didn't speak.
He didn't have to.
His eyes glowed white, pure skyfire pouring from his pupils. Lightning flickered down his arms, crawling over his skin like living tattoos. The air around him warped as if Olympus itself was bracing.
And then they moved.
BOOM.
A single clash.
Their fists collided mid-air—lightning against abyss. The impact tore through the hall like a cannon, blowing out every window, collapsing columns, sending the other gods flying back behind protective barriers. The sky cracked open.
