The campus of Olympus was a ghost of its former self, a testament to shattered ambition. Only the injured and the incapable remained, huddled around campfires that did little to ward off the chill of defeat. Among them were Bia, Nike, and Zelus, the only children of Styx who had not participated in the war. Zelus's gaze kept darting towards his sisters, his lips parting as if to speak before sealing shut once more. He finally tightened his fist until his knuckles turned white.
"Have you noticed…" he began, his voice low. "Brother hasn't been himself. Not since the Underworld Legion withdrew."
Bia narrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"
"His behavior has become… extravagant. Reckless, even," Zelus answered, his eyes fixed on the struggling flames.
Nike nodded, her usual confidence subdued. "He insisted we not join the war. He made us swear on our mother's name. It felt less like a request and more like a command."
Before they could ponder further, an intense, searing heat slammed into the camp, followed by a light that bleached the colour from the world. Every eye widened, fixed on the sky. Silence, heavy and absolute, smothered the camp. A soldier with one leg amputated, struggling to stand with his crutch, lost his balance and fell to his knees. His whisper was a ragged breath of pure terror.
"Hyperion…"
The silence shattered. Those who comprehended the celestial threat scrambled for horses, for cover, for anything that might offer a few more seconds of life. Chaos erupted, a frantic, hopeless dance of survival.
Metis and Prometheus burst from their tent. "What is happening? What is this chaos?" Metis shouted, but her words were lost in the panicked screams.
Crack. Crack.
Two crystals on her bracelet splintered apart. She froze mid-step. The wind itself seemed to die, and the only sound was the frantic hammering of her own heart. Her unsteady gaze found Prometheus, who was staring at the sky, his face pale. He felt her stare and met her eyes. She slowly raised her hand, showing him the broken bracelet.
Prometheus stumbled, grabbing a tent rope for support. He massaged his temples, a low groan escaping him. This is it. The end of the line. Metis stumbled to his side, her voice a terrified mumble. "We have to… escape."
Prometheus gave a single, grim nod. "Hmm."
They each pulled a dark crystal from their pockets and crushed it simultaneously. A portal of swirling shadows manifested at their feet and swallowed them whole.
High above, Hyperion observed the chaotic island, his hands folded over his chest. His lip curled in a sneer. "Lowly beings, forgetting their place." He raised his hands, his voice a thunderous proclamation that rolled across the sky. "Let me remind you of the price of defiance!"
Judgment of Sol Invictus
Light bent around him, condensing into a swirling, miniature sun held between his palms. He thrust his hands toward the island. The clouds above twisted and burned, turning from grey to a blinding, molten gold. A beam of divine sunlight descended—a white so pure it devoured all other colour. It pierced through sky and ground, connecting heaven and earth in a single, merciless line.
Where the beam touched the island, the camp, the soldiers, the very air—everything simply vaporised. The ground flashed into a vast, searing lake of molten glass. A heartbeat of absolute silence was followed by a soundless, expanding shockwave that scoured the land. Then, the ocean roared in to claim the newly formed, steaming crater, the waves violently filling the void until every trace of the island was erased, as if it had never existed.
---
In an Unknown Relic Castle
A portal shimmered into existence and violently spat out Metis and Prometheus. Metis's eyes snapped open, adjusting to the dim light. Her breath caught.
Zeus hung suspended in a giant sphere of water, his body limp. Thousands of tiny, needle-sharp jets of water constantly pricked his already heavily injured body. Poseidon stood before him, eyes closed, his palms resting on the surface of the sphere, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Metis's mind reeled, refusing to process the scene for a heartbeat. Then, it snapped into terrible focus. The dread in her chest ignited into a white-hot fury.
Without a weapon, she did the only thing she could. She threw herself at Poseidon, not to harm him, but to slam her body into his arm, breaking his connection to the water prison. "Get away from him!"
The sudden impact shattered Poseidon's concentration. The water prison collapsed, and Zeus's unconscious body dropped to the stone floor with a sickening thud. Poseidon's eyes snapped open, his gaze burning with rage as it locked onto Metis. As she raised her hand for another futile strike, he grabbed her wrist, his grip like iron, and drove a kick into her stomach.
"Heuk!"
The air exploded from her lungs. She flew backward, crashing against the wall and slumping to the ground. She grabbed her stomach, heaving and coughing violently, tears of pain and frustration streaming from her reddened eyes.
Poseidon glared at her, his voice a low, dangerous bark. "I despise him. I want to kill him with my own hands. But I am no coward who uses tricks and unfair means to do it." He gestured dismissively at Zeus. "Now go! Treat your man!"
As Poseidon stalked away, Prometheus and Metis scrambled to Zeus's side. His body was a canvas of horror: unhealed bruises, blackened burns, a deep hole in his chest, and the severed stump of his right arm.
Metis's hands trembled as she poured a healing potion over him. An emerald glow radiated from his wounds. He groaned, and the burns and bruises began to fade, the hole in his chest knitting shut. She poured more onto the severed arm. The golden ichor stopped flowing, but the flesh refused to knit, the skin repelled by an invisible force.
"It's not working… why isn't it—" she whispered, panic rising.
Prometheus placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "It is a wound from Iapetus's blade, Metis. Mortality is woven into it. It cannot be undone by any potion." He gestured to the humble supplies he had laid out—a needle, thread, and herbal pastes. "For this, we need the medicine of those who are born to die."
Metis looked up, her eyes pleading. "But—"
"Metis!" Prometheus's voice was stern, his gaze unwavering and knowing. She fell silent, her head bowing in grim acceptance.
Prometheus set to work, his movements precise and practised. He cleaned the wounds, stitched the deepest gashes, applied a pungent medicinal paste, and wrapped Zeus's torso in clean cotton bandages.
From across the room, Poseidon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. He watched the entire procedure, a scornful sneer on his face. "Huh," he snorted. "A weakling duck, desperate to become a swan."
After a few hours, a pained groan echoed in the chamber. Zeus's eyes fluttered open. He tried to push himself up using the wall, but his body failed him, and he collapsed. Prometheus and Metis were at his side in an instant, supporting him. His gaze fell upon the bandaged stump where his hand used to be. The fire in his eyes guttered and died, leaving behind cold ashes. A long, weary sigh escaped him.
"So," he rasped, "how do things stand?"
Prometheus and Metis exchanged a heavy glance. Zeus's eyes narrowed. "How bad is it?"
"The army is gone," Metis said, her voice hollow. "Wiped out. Hyperion scours the world like a hound, and we are the prey. Our chances of victory are... less than slim."
Zeus's head hung low. Then, Prometheus spoke, his voice cutting through the despair. "There is one way."
The postures of both Zeus and Poseidon straightened almost imperceptibly. A flicker of desperate hope lit Zeus's eyes.
"Your eldest brother," Prometheus continued. "Hades."
The room darkened again. "The Underworld is the only realm where Cronus and his Titans dare not tread. His legions are the only force that can stand equal to the Cardinals. And it is the home of the world's finest craftsmen." Prometheus met Zeus's glare without flinching. "If you want to win this war, his presence is not just helpful. It is necessary."
Poseidon interjected, his voice a sceptical rumble. "And you believe he will simply agree?"
"He must," Metis insisted, her voice low and intent. "He has remained silent during the war, and he holds a deep respect for Lady Rhea and Hestia. We will use that weakness against him."
"But—" Zeus tried to protest, the old rivalries and pride surfacing.
Metis cut him off, her voice firm. "Zeus. Look at us. Look at you. We have no other choice."
---
Meanwhile, on the Banks of the River Styx…
Kratos's eyes fluttered open. His vision was blurry, his mind hazy. He held his throbbing head and groaned. "Ahh… where am I?"
A familiar, cheerful voice cut through the fog. "Yo! Brother!"
Kratos rubbed his eyes, his vision clearing to reveal his siblings—Nike, Bia, and Zelus—and his mother, the goddess Styx, all sitting on smooth, dark stones. And they were all looking directly at him.