The explosion cleared—
but no one had died.
The battlefield had moved.
The blast had ripped through space itself—tossing all three across realms.
When the light faded, they stood again—
Not on Olympus.
Not in Tartarus.
But on a floating void between both.
A broken realm. Half sky, half shadow. A swirling graveyard of dead stars and collapsed planes.
Zeus knelt first, breathing hard. Sparks still ran across his arms. His realm followed him—storm clouds churning faintly above like they were tethered to his blood.
Hades appeared next, landing quietly, his scythe in hand again. His robes flared in the breeze, and his eyes sharpened. He said nothing. But his presence thickened.
Then—
Tartarus stepped through a rift.
No longer in his massive, monstrous form.
Now…
He looked human.
But taller.
Rough skin like volcanic stone.
Hair coiled into braids of smoke.
Eyes like pits without bottom.
He wore black chains as armor.
And his aura—
it screamed.
Not with sound.
