Ash floated in the morning air like falling snow. The wind blew cold across the ruined ground where the facility once stood. The crater left behind still smoked. Pools of blood shimmered under the scattered light, while teams from the council's auxiliary units gathered the few survivors that remained.
They had thought the joint strike would cripple Hecate's forces. That eliminating her stolen vessels before she completed the triad would weaken her, delay her move toward the sealed gates.
Despite the angels and the fury and Nicolas's howling rage.
She had succeeded.
Deep underground near the entrance to Tartarus Hecate sat alone.
No longer in need of allies.
No longer in need of patience.
Her three vessels now stood complete. The Crone had been replaced. Her voice stronger than ever. The Maiden glimmered with fresh starlight. The Mother, clad in war-forged armor, her gauntlets slick with the blood of a fresh sacrifice.
The rituals had been completed in silence. Her necromancers worked day and night, carving through innocent flesh and gathering divine objects. All for this moment.
Three divine relics rested on a pedestal before her. Each pulsed with old power.
The Lunar Circlet, stolen from a vault of forgotten Athenian priestesses.
The Ruby Trident Ring, torn from Poseidon's oceanic temple.
And the First Flame Shard, wrenched from the shrine of Apollo.
They were ready.
Hecate rose from the obsidian throne and summoned her forms. One by one, the three aspects of her being stepped forward, robes trailing flame and shadow.
They spoke no words.
But they began to walk towards the door, deep beneath the earth. The air pulsating each step closer to the doors.
The double doors of polished bronze groaned open beneath the sunlight of the desert.
Mr. Johns adjusted the sleeves of his coat and stepped into the domed hall of King Maymun's palace. Even he, scholar and cynic paused at the grandeur.
The room pulsed with heat and light. The walls shimmered with ancient glyphs that refused to hold still when stared at directly. Djinn of every shape and lineage lined the hall, some cloaked in human forms, others proudly elemental.
At the far end, on a throne carved from mirrored obsidian, sat King Maymun.
His presence was unmistakable.
His skin shimmered like sun-warmed bronze, robes of radiant white draped over one shoulder, and his golden eyes seemed to read through every breath Mr. Johns had ever taken.
Mike stood to the side, arms crossed, watching silently as Mr. Johns approached.
"Librarian," Maymun said in his deep, melodious voice. "I heard you wished to meet with me. We have little time left for indecision."
Mr. Johns bowed slightly, eyes sharp behind the glasses perched on his nose. "If I'd known how the council and angels would act. I would have made the request sooner."
"If the wind blows, ride it," Maymun replied with a smile.
They sat at a low circular table, where maps of the Earth and Veil slowly shifted across the surface, veins of red energy crawling like cracks through tectonic plates. Between those cracks shimmered the black void of Tartarus.
Mike didn't sit. His expression was unreadable.
"Let's not waste time," Mr. Johns said, folding his hands. "Hecate's vessels have been restored. The divine relics are no longer scattered. And Tartarus is opening. The angels and council failed to stop her."
"Correct," Maymun said. "The doors should be opening soon. And if you came here expecting optimism, I hope you packed something stronger than hope."
"I came here for truth," Mr. Johns replied.
Hamza stood behind the king, arms folded. Dina sat on the far side of the table, still quiet, her aura pulsing faintly with the revelations.
King Maymun extended his hand and the table responded. One portion of the world map peeled away, zooming down through shifting crust, past the hollowed fault lines of the Earth, until it focused on a massive set of sealed doors far beneath the surface.
"The Gate to Tartarus," Maymun said. "Older than Olympus. Older than any pantheon with temples still standing."
Mike stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "But it's real."
"It is now," Hamza answered. "Three keys are in place. The gods carved the seal into reality itself, using their own divine authorities. Zeus's crown. Poseidon's trident. And the First Flame."
"The Flame from the dawn of shape," Maymun said grimly. "Before light had borders."
Mr. Johns leaned in. "What happens when the final seal breaks?"
"Global war," the king said. "That prison does not merely hold Titans. The giants. Or the ancient beasts of chaos. It holds the Watchers."
Mr. Johns frowned. "Gabriel came and warned the council that they were also in Tartarus."
"Angels only share for their benefit," Hamza said. "The Watchers fell before the fall of Babylon. Before the Deluge. We were there."
"Their sins led to more than the flood," Maymun added. "It led to the creation of the Gate."
"They taught forbidden magic to mankind," Dina murmured. "Opened doors in the soul not meant to be opened."
Mr. Johns exhaled slowly. "And Hecate wants them released."
Maymun nodded. "She doesn't seek dominion over Earth. Not like most. She seeks to break the balance entirely, to drag the world into a new arcane epoch where the rules are hers to write."
Mike said nothing.
Maymun turned toward him. "You've dealt damage, Michael. You've slowed her. Destroyed her Crone. The loss of that form forced her to delay. But not for long enough."
"How long do we have?" Mr. Johns asked.
Maymun raised a hand. The map pulsed.
"With Olympus choosing politics and internal power struggles over protecting the relics, Hecate has everything to open the door. No one can close it again."
"Then we don't let her reach it," Mike said. His voice was steel.
"No," Maymun agreed. "She already knows the location. We need to get there before she inserts the relics."
Mr. Johns leaned back. "And the Council still fumbles about with politics like Olympus, more afraid of rogue dragons and treaties than what's coming."
Maymun's smile faded. "Let them. We will act."
There was a pause.
Then Mr. Johns removed a folded slip of vellum from inside his jacket and placed it on the table. "Coordinates. I've tracked the ritual points used by the Crone in her last days. One is still active."
"Where?" Hamza asked.
"Near the ruins of an old temple in Anatolia. Hidden beneath layers of misdirection and divine masking. I suspect it's the location of the door."
Dina's eyes brightened. "The actual doors?"
Mike cracked his knuckles. "Then I'll burn them down."
"No," Maymun said. "We burn down the whole site. Together."
Mike gave a small nod.
Then the king turned back to Mr. Johns. "You've done more than any scholar on the Council. Why?"
The old man looked at Mike.
"Because I watched Kelsey fight for herself while the gods stood idle. I watched Michael be cast aside for saving his wife. And I've seen what Tartarus would bring if opened." He looked Maymun in the eye. "I do this because no one else will."
The king rose.
"Then welcome to the war, Librarian."
Deep Underground, the doors stood over 100 feet tall, each carved with scenes from the Titanomachy, gods battling giants, lightning splitting mountains. Statues of Zeus and Poseidon stood on either side, cracked but still regal.
In front of the gates stood three forms, all belonging to one.
Hecate.
The Maiden, in silver and moonlight.
The Mother, armored and blood-stained.
The Crone, black-eyed, bearing a staff of bone.
Each carried a relic.
The Maiden placed the lunar circlet into a hollowed crown above Zeus.
The Mother fitted a ruby ring into Poseidon's broken trident.
And the Crone stepped forward, carrying the final key, a shard of the First Flame.
With a sigh, she slid it into the center of the doors.
CRACK.
The walls trembled. The door glowed. The first seal unraveled.
The air rippled with vibrations as the doors began to open. A loud bellowing horn sounded across the entire world.
The eyes of all three vessels flared with light as they spoke in unison.
"A new era is upon us."