The mountain roared as though it were alive.
Olympus shook from its roots to its peak, the stone screaming under the weight of gods and Primordials clashing. What had once been the shining heart of the Greek realm now twisted into a battlefield so savage it would never look the same again.
Zeus's storm split the skies open, rivers of lightning pouring down in endless torrents. The marble courtyards crumbled, statues shattered into dust, rivers boiled where thunder fell. Each strike was not just a weapon—it was the rewriting of the land itself.
Erebus's void pushed back, an ocean of shadow rolling over every crack of light. Where his darkness touched, reality bent, marble turning to ash, trees withering to dust, rivers bleeding black. His voice rolled across the battlefield, low and venomous.
"You blind yourselves with sparks, but all flames die in night!"
