I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC273 Aphrodite's Tongue Work *
"It seems Zeus has forbidden all of us from intervening in the war any further," Aphrodite revealed, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and mild frustration.
The news wasn't surprising, though it was irritating. It appeared the gods had convened right after Heracles' death—a loss that must have sent tremors through Olympus. As expected, Hera, with her ceaseless disdain for me, seized the opportunity to demand my execution. This time, she hadn't cloaked her intentions in flowery language or subtle manipulations; she had outright asked Zeus to kill me.
That goddess... I swear she will pay for her insolence.
No mercy will be shown. Not this time.
I've learned my lesson well from past mistakes. Khione had faced punishment for daring to cast me aside, for even considering the idea of ridding herself of me. The repercussions for her treachery were swift and merciless. So imagine what I will do to Hera, the goddess who has plotted my death at every turn.
She must think I'm blind. Does she truly believe I haven't noticed the countless times she's taken control of a Greek soldier, nudging him to aim an arrow or swing a sword at my back? I've seen it all. I'm not foolish, nor am I oblivious. Athena has dabbled in such schemes as well, though far less frequently than Hera.
Just a little more patience, I told myself. Their time will come.
"Really?" I said mockingly, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Here I thought he was dead."
Zeus. That so-called King of the Gods. Where had he been during the chaos of this war? I hadn't seen him lift a finger to bring order. Shouldn't he, of all beings, be trying to put an end to this madness? And if he absolutely had to choose a side, shouldn't it have been the Trojans? They were the obvious underdogs, struggling against the overwhelming might of the Greeks and their divine patrons. But no. Zeus had done nothing. He had allowed Hera, Athena, and even Poseidon to run rampant, blessing their chosen mortals and meddling in every significant battle.
And now, after four long months, he finally decided to grow a spine? Pathetic.
I was lounging in the warm, soothing waters of my bath, the heat easing the tension from my weary muscles. The faint scent of lavender and sandalwood lingered in the steam, creating a serene ambiance that contrasted sharply with my simmering anger. Today had been exhausting, but here, in this moment, I allowed myself a brief reprieve.
Aphrodite stood nearby, her laughter ringing like a melody, light and carefree as if she had no stakes in the gods' squabbles. Her presence was both a distraction and a reminder of the absurdity of Olympus.
"Zeus has changed a great deal from the days of old," she said, her lips curling into a soft smile. "Now, he seeks peace. He doesn't want his children or family fighting one another anymore."
"Peace?" I scoffed, my voice cutting through the tranquility of the room. "He's a coward."
At least Zeus wasn't actively trying to kill me like his wife and daughter so dearly wished. That was the one thing I could grudgingly grant him. But cowardice wasn't a virtue, and it certainly wasn't worthy of the title "King of the Gods."
Aphrodite leaned closer, her breath warm against my cheek, a wicked smile playing at her lips as she gazed into my eyes, unblinking and intense. "You're lucky," she purred, her voice dripping with a mix of honey and venom. "Lucky I protect you during the Olympus meetings. The gods… they're voting to kill you. Every day, your name dances on their lips like a whispered curse." Her smile didn't falter, but her eyes burned with an enigmatic light, half-amusement, half-danger.
I matched her gaze, smirking faintly. "Are you alone in your defense?" I asked. "I'd bet Artemis has been doing her share, keeping Hera at bay. She's good at that." My tone carried the weight of certainty, my grin teasing as I leaned back against the warm marble of the bath.
The mention of Artemis made Aphrodite's composure falter. Her smile wavered, her brows drawing together just slightly. She stepped closer, her bare feet whispering against the stone floor. "Do you love her too?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost vulnerable, but laced with something deeper—jealousy, intrigue, a challenge.
I tilted my head, my smirk darkening into something almost cruel. "Love her? She's beautiful, sure. Fierce too. But let's not sugarcoat it—I'd love to see if that fierceness holds with my dick inside her. Would she still threaten to kill me, or would she just… moan? Break apart under me, just like all that fire promises she could."
Aphrodite's pink eyes gleamed, her pupils narrowing like a cat's as she stepped even closer. The air between us felt charged, thick with unspoken tension. Without a word, her delicate fingers dipped below the water. Her touch was sudden, firm, and unrelenting as her hand closed around my cock, stroking with deliberate precision.
A low groan rumbled from my throat, my body responding instinctively to the goddess's masterful touch. "Ungh… And you?" I managed, the words coming out rough as her movements quickened. "Hiding your jealousy in a handjob, Aphrodite? How very noble of you."
She tilted her head, her pink hair cascading over one shoulder, catching the light like molten silk. "Jealousy?" she mused, her voice a playful lilt. "You think this is jealousy? No, my dear. This is indulgence. You've changed, Nate. War has carved something new into you—something darker, more primal. That fire... you'll need it for what lies ahead."
Her hand worked me relentlessly, the slickness of the water adding to the sensation as I let my head fall back, my breath hitching. But I wasn't about to let her control the moment entirely. My hand darted out, gripping her wrist, halting her movements as I rose from the bath. Water cascaded from my body in rivulets, glistening in the firelight as I towered over her.
"You're quite sure of yourself," I murmured, stroking a hand through her impossibly soft, pink-tinted hair. "But let's not pretend you don't want more." I traced a line along her cheek with my thumb before letting my fingers curl into her hair, tilting her head up to meet my gaze. "Let me give you something Artemis will not have today or before you."
Her smile turned wicked, her lips parting in anticipation as she sank gracefully to her knees. The goddess of love and beauty, kneeling before me, her eyes alive with mischief and hunger. My dick stood proudly before her face, hard and aching, the heat of her breath teasing against me.
"Do you want it?" I asked, my voice low, taunting, as I ran my fingers through her hair.
Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. "Give it to me," she whispered, her voice husky, brimming with need.
I chuckled, my grip tightening slightly in her hair as I guided her closer. "Take it yourself," I commanded, watching her eyes flash with delight at the challenge.
Without hesitation, Aphrodite wrapped her delicate fingers around me, stroking with a practiced, deliberate rhythm before her tongue flicked out, tracing a torturous line along my length.
Aphrodite's first lick sent a jolt of pleasure through me that made my body shudder involuntarily. Her tongue glided over the sensitive head, swirling and teasing as she let out a teasing, deliberate sound.
"Sluuuuurp~"
Her enthusiasm was intoxicating, the way her pink tongue worked every inch of my length. She wasn't just taking her time—she was savoring it, her lips curling into a playful smile as she licked up the underside, dragging her tongue in a slow, maddening trail.
"Sluuuuurp! Sluuuurp! Sluuuuuurp~~sluuurp!"
Her mouth was a masterpiece of sensation, warm and wet, her saliva slicking my cock as she worshiped it with every movement. She spared no part of me, her tongue tracing over the sensitive ridge, then down to the base, her lips brushing my skin as she covered every inch of me with her attention.
"Haa… Keep going," I groaned, my voice strained as I slid my fingers through her silky pink hair, guiding her gently.
Aphrodite didn't need much encouragement. With one last wet, lewd slurp, her lips parted wide, and she took me into her mouth. My cock slid past her lips, disappearing into her warmth inch by inch. Her throat tightened briefly, but she didn't stop. Instead, she moaned around me—a soft, vibrating sound that sent shivers racing up my spine.
"Ungh… fuck," I hissed, gripping her hair as her head began to move, the suction of her lips so intense I could feel every drag and pull.
"GLUUURP~~~gluuuuurp~~~sluuuuurp!"
The room was filled with the symphony of her efforts, her muffled moans mixing with the wet, obscene sounds of her sucking. Each time she took me deeper, her tongue worked miracles, tracing my length even as her cheeks hollowed with effort. Her pink eyes fluttered shut briefly, lost in her work, but she opened them again to lock onto mine—taunting, gleaming with a goddess's delight.
Then she upped the ante. Her free hand drifted down, her soft fingers curling around my balls. She massaged them gently at first, then with more deliberate strokes, rolling and teasing them as her mouth continued to milk my cock.
"Grhnnn!" I groaned, my hips jerking involuntarily as she pushed me deeper. She didn't falter, though her throat tightened slightly as I filled it.
"Hnmfffffhh!!" she moaned, her eyes half-closing again, but her determination never wavered. Her fingers continued their playful torment of my balls, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me.
Then, with a sudden, deliberate movement, she pulled her mouth free from my cock. Her lips were glistening, a trail of spit connecting them to me. Before I could process the loss of her mouth, she lowered her head, her tongue flicking out to trace over my balls. Her touch was both playful and devastatingly precise, her lips closing around one as she began to suck.
"Guhh!" The suction was so intense, so perfectly controlled, that my knees nearly buckled. My hand tightened in her hair, holding her in place as she lavished her attention on me. Her tongue swirled around each orb, licking and sucking as if claiming every part of me as hers.
Her hand hadn't abandoned my cock, though. She pumped me with wild, fervent strokes, her movements faster, more desperate, as she sensed how close I was. Her strokes matched the rhythm of her mouth, her moans vibrating through me as she worked.
"Aphro… Aphrodite…" I groaned, my voice raw, shaky.
At the sound of her name, she looked up at me, her pink hair sticking to her cum-streaked face, her lips parted in anticipation. She positioned herself perfectly, her mouth open, waiting for the inevitable.
SPUUUUURT! SPUUUUURT!!
I erupted with force, my cum spurting into her open mouth. Her tongue darted out to catch every drop, her eyes lighting up as she swallowed, but I couldn't control the sheer volume. White ropes splashed across her face, painting her cheeks and tangling in her pink locks. She didn't flinch. Instead, she moaned softly, her lips curling into a satisfied smile as her fingers continued to milk me dry.
Aphrodite tilted her head, licking the last stray drop from her lips as she gazed up at me, her face a perfect blend of divinity and depravity.
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But then, a knock shattered the quiet intimacy.
Frowning, I turned my head toward the door. It couldn't have been Charybdis—she avoided the castle unless summoned, preferring the wild embrace of the sea. And besides, she'd join me later, slipping into my bed like a shadow.
A familiar voice broke through my thoughts. "Heiron. It's me."
At that, my surprise turned to a grin. "I'm sorry, Aphrodite; our time will have to wait," I said, stroking her cheek. Her skin was impossibly soft under my fingers, flushed with the afterglow of her efforts.
She licked me one last time, her tongue dragging along my length with a final, languid stroke, before pulling back. Her lips curled into a sly smile, and she licked them clean with an air of satisfaction. "I've had enough for today," she murmured. With a flicker of divine energy, she vanished, leaving only the faintest trace of her scent lingering in the air.
I dressed quickly, fastening my tunic with practiced hands before striding to the door. When I opened it, I was greeted by Atalanta's familiar face. Her golden hair was slightly disheveled from the revelry, her sharp green eyes locking onto mine.
"It's a surprise to see you here," I said, leaning against the doorframe.
"The feast for your victory just ended," she explained, her voice measured but tinged with concern. "I just wanted to see if you were all right."
Her words stirred something within me. The battle against Heracles had left me drained, both body and soul, and though I had skipped the celebration, the bath—and Aphrodite's ministrations—had restored a semblance of my strength. Atalanta's concern wasn't unwarranted, but I could tell it came from a place of deep care.
Her gaze flicked over me, taking in the signs of weariness I hadn't fully managed to hide. Atalanta was perceptive, much like Hector. She could see the cracks I tried to keep hidden. Still, I straightened, letting my confidence bolster my tone.
"You're worried about me, I see. But don't fret; I'm fine," I said softly, reaching out to cup her cheek.
Atalanta flinched slightly at the touch, her body stiffening, but she didn't pull away. Her green eyes darted away from mine, betraying a flicker of uncertainty—or was it something deeper?
"I… I should go," she stammered, turning to leave, her movements hurried. But before she could slip away, I grasped her wrist, firm but gentle, and pulled her into the room. The door shut with a resolute thud behind her.
"Stay," I said, my voice low but commanding.
Atalanta froze for a moment, her breath catching as she looked up at me. The space between us was charged, the air thick with tension. I let my hand linger on hers, my thumb brushing the pulse at her wrist. It beat rapidly, betraying the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.
"You've already come this far," I murmured, leaning in slightly. "So why run now?"
Atalanta's words trembled, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to push me away, her hands pressing weakly against my chest. "I… I can't… Samael…"
Her attempt at resistance was feeble, more symbolic than genuine, and I stepped closer, erasing the distance between us. My lips found the curve of her neck, trailing kisses along her warm, smooth skin. My tongue followed, tracing the elegant line of her throat as I breathed her in.
"Haaan~~~" A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips, her hands clutching the door behind her for support. The sound spurred me on, a sweet admission of the conflict raging within her. She wanted me as much as I wanted her.
"You and I both know what we want from each other," I murmured against her skin, my lips brushing her chin before capturing her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. Her lips were soft, plump, and faintly sweet, the taste of something sugary lingering on her tongue—cake, perhaps. It only made me crave her more.
"Hammnn~~nooo~~~I… I have sworn… Samael…" she protested weakly, her soft hands pressing against my shoulders even as her body leaned into mine. She was losing her battle, her resolve faltering under the weight of her own desire. I kissed her deeply, letting my lips roam across her face, her cheeks, her jawline, savoring every inch of her.
"What did you swear, Atalanta?" I asked, my voice a low growl as my hands slipped beneath her dress. Her thighs were toned, sculpted from a life of running and hunting, but soft to the touch. My fingers traced slow, teasing patterns along her skin, feeling her legs instinctively press together in a futile attempt to resist.
"V… Vir… Virginity… haaan~~~ purity~~~ that's why~~ hgnnn! I can't…" Atalanta's voice cracked as I continued to tease her thighs, kissing her lips in a relentless, consuming rhythm. Her words were halting, scattered, each syllable dripping with the conflict she felt.
"To whom?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear her say it, to make her admit it aloud as her resistance crumbled. My fingers brushed higher, sliding over the smooth, trembling skin of her inner thigh.
Her cheeks flushed, her green eyes squeezed shut, and her lips trembled as she whispered, "Aaah… Artemis…"
Before she could finish, I silenced her with my mouth, plunging my tongue between her lips. The taste of her, sweet and intoxicating, filled me as I explored her mouth with fervor. She gasped, her green eyes flying open in shock, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she melted into the kiss, her knees trembling as the pleasure overwhelmed her.
"Hmmff~~~" Her muffled whimper vibrated against my tongue as I devoured her, my hand slipping further under her dress. When my fingers brushed against her bare, slick folds, I smirked against her lips. She wasn't wearing anything beneath her dress, and the wetness coating her told me everything.
"Your pussy is telling me you're thirsty, Atalanta," I murmured, trailing a finger along her slit, teasing her entrance without yet giving her what she craved.
"H… Haaamnnn!" Her loud moan was swallowed by my mouth, her hands clutching at me desperately as her body betrayed her protests. Her legs trembled, her thighs parting slightly despite herself, inviting me deeper into her forbidden warmth.
Scooping her slick essence onto my finger, I raised it between us, holding it as a tangible testament to her arousal. My other hand cradled her flushed face as I pressed my lips to hers, my tongue sliding over her trembling mouth. "Look," I murmured against her lips, my voice low and teasing. "It's proof that your pussy is horny, Atalanta."
Her face burned crimson, her green eyes widening in mortification as her gaze darted to my glistening finger. "Hmpmpff!" she tried to protest, but her words were muffled as I kissed her again, deep and slow, leaving her with no room for denial. The proof was undeniable, slick and shining on my fingertip.
Finally, I parted from her lips, watching as she gasped for air, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.
"Haaaa❤️…haaaa❤️…haan❤️…" she whimpered, her voice quivering, her resolve crumbling before me.
Smirking, I licked my finger clean, savoring her taste, rich and intoxicating. Her eyes darted away, a futile attempt to escape the intensity of the moment. I wouldn't let her hide. I caught her chin, guiding her face back to me, and pressed the same finger against her lips.
"Suck it," I commanded, my voice dripping with authority as I trailed my finger across her trembling lips before slipping it past them. Her mouth parted reluctantly, and I pushed my finger in deeper, pressing her tongue down. "Good girl," I whispered, the praise meant to tease as much as to coax.
Her soft lips closed around my finger, her tongue timidly working against it. Meanwhile, I crouched down, lifting her dress slowly, reverently, until her untouched pussy came into view.
What a sight. Her folds were glistening, untouched, yet betraying her arousal with every drop that trailed down her thighs. Artemis's oath had kept her pure, but here she was, dripping with need, her body betraying the divine vow.
Unable to resist, I leaned in, my tongue darting out to catch the trail of her essence running down her thigh. The softness of her skin and the taste of her arousal sent a shiver through me.
"Hmfghhh!" Atalanta bucked against me, her muffled protests swallowed by the fingers still playing with her tongue. Her knees wobbled, her strength faltering under the onslaught of sensations.
I licked a slow path up her thigh, savoring every inch of her skin until I reached her soaked pussy. Pausing, I admired the beauty of it—pristine, untouched, yet glistening and inviting. Then, without hesitation, I flattened my tongue and gave her a long, deliberate stroke, drinking in her wetness.
"HMNFff❤️❤️~~~!" Her moan was loud, broken, spilling from her throat as her body shuddered, releasing even more of her sweet nectar onto my tongue.
"You're so wet," I chuckled darkly, my breath warm against her trembling core. My lips and tongue returned to their task, lapping and savoring her virgin pussy, my hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady as I worked her into a frenzy.
The room filled with the obscene sounds of slurping and Atalanta's helpless moans. My tongue delved deeper, exploring her, teasing her, claiming her in ways no one else ever had. Her body writhed against me, her thighs pressing into my face, her attempts to resist fading with every passing second.
When she came, it was sudden and intense, her juices flooding against my tongue as her body convulsed. I drank her in greedily, licking every last drop as her cries echoed in the room.
Finally, I stood, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. Atalanta slumped against the door, her body trembling, her breaths shallow and uneven. Her green eyes were glazed, her lips parted as she barely managed to suck on my fingers, her energy spent.
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Withdrawing my fingers from her mouth, I licked them clean of her saliva, savoring the lingering taste of her. "It's time to wake you up," I said with a wicked smirk, leaning in close, my eyes locking onto hers as I prepared to take her further down the path of no return.
I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC276 Morning talk with Kassandra
The morning light spilled gently through the windows of Nathan's room, bathing it in a golden glow. The sun's rays stretched lazily across the space, highlighting the intricate carvings on the wooden furniture and the faint wisps of steam rising from a distant brazier. The air was still, heavy with the silence of a camp in a rare moment of peace.
Nathan stirred, the soft light playing against his black hair. His body, weary from the trials of the past days, seemed reluctant to wake, seeking solace in the warmth of the bed. The previous days had been a whirlwind of action and emotion, culminating in events that even now felt larger than life.
His thunderous speech on the battlefield had resonated like the roll of distant thunder, shaking the resolve of both Greeks and Trojans. He had spoken with raw passion, unmasking his hatred for the Greeks, particularly Agamemnon and Menelaus. His words had spared no venom, calling out their hubris, their betrayal of family, and their sacrifice of innocents. Yet, his voice had also carried a note of unexpected compassion. He had extended his support to the Trojans, pledging allegiance to King Priam, and offered a rare acknowledgment of Greeks he deemed worthy—Helen of Sparta and Clytemnestra, the latter of whom had suffered the unthinkable at the hands of Agamemnon.
The battlefield had held its breath, and even the gods of Olympus had been silenced by his audacity. Among the Greek soldiers, some began to question their purpose in this war. Was their cause just? Was it worth the rivers of blood they had spilled? But those voices of doubt were drowned by the roar of men like Agamemnon, whose fury now burned hotter than ever. Heiron had climbed to the very top of Agamemnon's list of enemies. It was no secret—Agamemnon seethed with rage at the man who had stolen Briseis and possibly Astynome from him.
And then came the battle that poets and bards would one day immortalize—the clash between Nathan and Heracles. It was a duel of legends, a thunderous collision of wills and power. The battlefield had stood still, every eye fixed on the two titans. Nathan's victory was not merely a triumph of skill but a silencing of gods themselves. The murmurs of disbelief in Olympus were deafening.
Nathan had become a name etched in the annals of the Trojan War, a living legend feared and reviled by the Greeks. He had bested Jason, the son of Poseidon; Ajax the Great; and now Heracles himself. The Greeks' fear of Heiron grew with each passing day, casting a shadow over their ranks. Yet, Nathan cared little for their opinions. To him, they were ants scurrying about, inconsequential in the grand scheme of his plans.
With Heracles dead, a temporary truce had been agreed upon, granting both sides a rare reprieve from the ceaseless slaughter. For once, Nathan had allowed himself to rest, his body yielding to the exhaustion he had ignored for so long.
As his hand reached out instinctively to the other side of the bed, he found only emptiness. He opened his eyes, the haze of sleep lifting slowly, and was met with the sight of rumpled sheets where another had once lain. It seemed Atalanta had slipped away early in the morning. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he remembered the night before. He had enjoyed their time together immensely.
But her departure wasn't unusual. The women who shared his bed often left before dawn to avoid prying eyes and unwanted attention. Astynome, Penthesilea, and even Charybdis, who couldn't bear the confines of the castle, all followed the same pattern. The war demanded discretion, and so, more often than not, Nathan found himself waking alone.
He lay back against the pillows, letting out a soft sigh. The fleeting moments of intimacy were a welcome distraction, but the solitude that followed only served as a reminder of the weight he carried.
It was rare for Nathan to wake up alone in the morning, considering the many women who shared his company. Yet, this was his current reality. The bed was cold beside him, and the room was silent save for the faint rustle of curtains swaying in the morning breeze. Nathan sighed, his mind drifting to the growing list of burdens he carried.
One, in particular, weighed heavily—Apollo. It had been nearly five months since the god had given him the ultimatum to find a solution for his deteriorating body. Yet there had been no word, no sign of the deity's return. Each passing day brought him closer to the deadline, yet Apollo's absence was a silence that gnawed at him.
Shaking off the thought, Nathan rose from the bed and stepped into the shower. The cold water washed over him, invigorating his tired body and clearing the lingering fog of sleep. After dressing, he left his room and began his usual morning routine.
The halls of the Trojan castle were alive with activity, yet they seemed to still in Nathan's presence. Soldiers and nobles alike stopped to bow as he passed, their words a chorus of praise and admiration. They called him a hero, the savior of Troy, their unyielding shield against the Greeks. Nathan responded with nothing more than a curt nod, his stride unwavering. Such accolades were meaningless to him. Actions, not words, defined his worth.
Stepping outside the castle walls, he allowed the cool morning air to fill his lungs. The sun was still low, its golden rays casting long shadows across the grounds. As he walked, his sharp eyes caught sight of a familiar figure seated alone on a bench beneath a sprawling olive tree.
Kassandra.
She sat with her shoulders slightly hunched, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The sunlight caught her red hair, making it shimmer like strands of woven silk. Despite her serene posture, there was an air of melancholy about her. Nathan's feet carried him toward her almost instinctively.
Kassandra noticed his approach and inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Have you slept well, Lord Heiron?" she asked, her tone polite but reserved.
"You can drop the 'lord' part," Nathan replied, taking a seat beside her. He kept a respectful distance, sensing her preference for solitude.
"You're alone here again," Nathan observed. This wasn't the first time he'd found her like this.
"I feel at peace alone," Kassandra replied softly. "And no one likes having me around."
Her voice carried a quiet resignation, and Nathan understood why. Her prophetic gift, or curse as many saw it, unnerved those around her. Her predictions often spoke of doom, of unavoidable tragedies that sent chills down the spines of even the bravest warriors. Combined with the knowledge of Apollo's curse upon her, Kassandra had become a pariah. To approach her was, to many, like courting death itself.
Nathan studied her carefully. The weight of harsh words and judgment seemed to press down on her, visible in the slight slump of her shoulders and the tired look in her eyes. Memories of Paris's cruel outburst toward her surfaced in his mind—a moment of anger that had driven sharp words into her already wounded spirit. Nathan regretted not intervening then, but he intended to make amends now.
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"How do you explain my presence here, then?" Nathan asked, his tone neutral yet probing.
Kassandra's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the question. She hesitated before offering an excuse. "You don't know me yet..."
Nathan's lips curled into a faint smile. "I think I know you quite well," he countered. "Since that night we first spoke, we've talked nearly every day about your predictions, haven't we? Do you think I was only pretending to care?"
"No, I didn't mean that..." Kassandra replied hastily, her voice trembling with urgency. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, betraying the flurry of emotions stirring within her.
In truth, she felt profoundly grateful to Nathan, who had treated her with a respect and trust she hadn't experienced in years. While others recoiled from her, fearing her prophecies of doom, Nathan had sought her out, listened intently to her words, and believed in her almost blindly. It wasn't just his faith in her visions; it was his willingness to see beyond the curse and treat her as a person.
For weeks now, their conversations had been her solace. She had spoken to him more than she had to any other man—or anyone, for that matter. And each exchange left her heart fluttering, a sensation that now returned as he sat beside her.
But Paris's cruel accusations still lingered in her mind, the echoes of his venomous words reverberating with every beat of her heart.
Was she truly the harbinger of Troy's destruction?
And if so... what about Nathan? Was she doomed to bring ruin to him as well?
"I'm just someone who brings misfortune to everyone," Kassandra murmured, her voice barely audible. She lowered her gaze, unable to meet Nathan's eyes. "If something happened to you, Lord Heiron... it would be my fault. I might be the one responsible."
Nathan studied her for a moment, his expression softening. He reached out, his hand gently cupping her cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through Kassandra, and her eyes instinctively rose to meet his.
"Kassandra," he said softly, his voice a calming balm to her frayed nerves. Without another word, he leaned in, closing the distance between them. His lips met hers in a tender kiss, a gesture so unexpected and yet so deeply comforting that it left her breathless.
Kassandra's entire body warmed, a heat that spread from her cheeks to her very core. She hadn't anticipated this—not from him, not from anyone. Yet it felt so natural, so right. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she surrendered to the moment, letting herself be enveloped by the gentle passion of his kiss.
When Nathan finally pulled away, his gaze lingered on her flushed face, her lips still parted in surprise. She looked at him, wide-eyed and trembling, as though the world had shifted beneath her feet.
"After the war is over," Nathan began, his voice steady and resolute, "I will ask King Priam to give you to me as my reward for everything I've done in this war."
Kassandra's breath hitched, her lips quivering as the weight of his words sank in. "You... you would do that for me?" she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
"I will give you the happiness and love you've been denied all this time," Nathan assured her, his tone unwavering. "You deserve to be cherished, not feared. Just wait patiently for the war to end, and I will take you with me."
Tears spilled freely down Kassandra's cheeks, but this time, they weren't tears of sorrow. A trembling smile broke across her face as she nodded, unable to form the words that swelled in her heart.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Kassandra felt a glimmer of hope.
And it was all because of him.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC277: Liphiel's plan
In stark contrast to the bustling life of the Trojan camps, the Greek encampment lay shrouded in an oppressive silence, a heavy gloom hanging over every corner. The air felt stifling, as though the loss they had suffered had stolen the very vitality from their souls. The once-proud warriors who filled the camp with laughter, shouts, and the clang of preparation now moved like shadows, burdened by grief.
Their most recent battle had dealt them a blow that many feared might be insurmountable. Heracles—one of their mightiest champions, a pillar of strength and honor—was no more. The weight of his death pressed down upon them like a boulder crushing fragile reeds.
But Heracles had been more than just a warrior. To his comrades, he was a beacon of hope, an embodiment of everything noble in their cause. His courage was unparalleled, his kindness boundless, and his sense of honor unshakable. He had fought not just with unparalleled strength but also with an unyielding sense of justice. His death had torn a gaping hole in the hearts of those who had fought beside him, those who had shared in his laughter and sought his wisdom.
Many of the soldiers, hardened by years of bloodshed and death, now found their eyes stinging with tears they thought long buried. They whispered prayers of gratitude, at least finding solace in one thing—Heracles had not been abandoned in his final moments. He had been carried away by the gods themselves, a sight both wondrous and heartbreaking.
Yet, even the knowledge of his divine ascension could not fill the void he left behind. His absence was a wound that would not heal, a constant reminder of the toll this war exacted on them.
Heracles had fallen to a single man, a name now spoken in hushed and fearful tones throughout the camp: Heiron.
Heiron. The name was a curse on the lips of the Greeks, carrying the weight of despair and fury. He was the shadow that loomed over their once-great warriors, the man who had slain Ajax, Jason, and now Heracles. His growing legend was one of terror—a phantom that haunted their dreams, his promises of doom resonating like a death knell.
He had cursed Agamemnon himself, vowing the most horrifying deaths to all Greeks, and his words had taken root in their minds like a dark prophecy. Though they would never admit it aloud, many of the warriors harbored a secret fear of Heiron, this man who dared to challenge not only mortal armies but even the gods themselves. Heiron, who fought for the Trojans, seemed to defy all reason, his presence a stark contradiction to the natural order.
They wondered with trepidation, Who is this man? Where did he come from?
But one thing was indisputable: their king, Agamemnon, hated Heiron with a fervor that surpassed even his infamous disdain for Achilles—a feat no one had thought possible.
Agamemnon's hatred burned with the intensity of a wildfire, consuming everything in its path.
Inside the Greek commander's tent, the atmosphere was tense. The space, once filled with the voices of their leaders debating strategies and victories, now felt desolate.
Ajax. Jason. Diomedes. Heracles. Their names echoed like ghosts, a painful reminder of the seats now empty.
Standing behind Agamemnon, Nestor sighed deeply, his weathered face etched with exhaustion and grief. The veteran warrior's voice was low and heavy as he broke the silence.
"This war is taking far more than we ever anticipated..."
Odysseus nodded grimly.
"We must acknowledge a bitter truth—we underestimated the Trojans. Gravely so."
Next to him, Chiron—the wise centaur—stood in stoic silence, his ageless eyes filled with sorrow as he rested a hand on Asclepius' shoulder. The healer, though young, bore the burden of countless lives slipping through his fingers, and his face betrayed the weariness of a man carrying the weight of an army's pain.
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Menelaus, arms crossed, leaned against a table covered with maps and battle plans. His face was clouded with frustration and anger, his thoughts consumed by the biting words Nathan had hurled at him during their last encounter.
But before anyone could respond, Agamemnon erupted. His voice was a thunderclap, shaking the very ground beneath their feet as he slammed his fist against the table.
"I don't care about your excuses!" he roared, his face contorted with fury. His anger burned brighter than ever, his words like molten steel. "I want that Trojan dog DEAD!"
The others exchanged uneasy glances. There was no doubt in anyone's mind who Agamemnon meant—Heiron.
His hatred for the man had transcended all reason, becoming an obsession that threatened to consume him.
"I may be able to assist you, King Agamemnon."
The voice came suddenly, soft and sweet like honey dripping from the comb, yet it carried an edge of authority that commanded immediate attention. The men turned sharply toward the entrance of the tent as a figure stepped inside.
The light from the campfires outside illuminated her striking form. Her light blue hair, flowing like liquid moonlight, framed a face that was both ethereal and commanding. Her eyes, glowing faintly with a divine radiance, swept over the gathered men with an almost disarming serenity.
It was her—Liphiel, a Divine Knight of the Light Empire.
A murmur passed through the tent as the warriors exchanged glances. They all recognized her, though her presence had been something of a mystery throughout the war. Despite the ongoing battles, she and her Heroes had remained curiously silent, refraining from participating directly. Those who speculated knew this silence could only have been at Liphiel's order, though none dared question her motives openly. But now, at last, she had chosen to step forward.
"What do you want, woman?" Menelaus growled, his voice low and hostile. His arms crossed tightly, and his glare could have melted stone.
Liphiel, unperturbed, smiled faintly, her expression calm and unshaken. "I have come to offer you a way to kill this Heiron," she said simply, her words flowing like silk.
Menelaus snorted, his laugh dripping with derision. "And how, pray tell? Will you deign to do it yourself?"
Her smile widened, a gleam of amusement flickering in her luminous eyes. "No, not me," she said, shaking her head with an almost playful air. "But my strongest Hero will."
The mention of her Hero piqued the interest of the men in the room. Odysseus, ever the thinker, leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto her. "Your strongest Hero?" he repeated, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
"Yes," Liphiel replied, her voice brimming with confidence. "Her name is Sienna. She is the mightiest Hero of the Light Empire. Blessed directly by Athena herself since the day she appeared in this world. She is one of Athena's favorites, her chosen champion. There is no way she will lose."
The name struck a chord, especially with Odysseus. He remembered her vividly—Sienna, a name spoken in hushed tones among the Heroes. Alongside another notable figure, a woman named Courtney, Sienna had stood out as a figure of immense potential. But Sienna was in a league of her own. Her reputation as the strongest Hero had preceded her, yet her absence from the frontlines had been puzzling to many.
Odysseus narrowed his eyes. "Sienna, you say..." His voice trailed off as he pieced together the puzzle. The realization struck him like a lightning bolt. Of course. Liphiel had held her back deliberately, keeping her as a secret weapon, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash her might. And now, with the Greeks at their most desperate, that moment had arrived.
Liphiel's smile deepened, the corners of her lips curling into a smirk. Her radiant presence seemed to grow, filling the tent with an almost suffocating sense of inevitability. "Together," she said, her tone laced with conviction, "we will kill one of Troy's leaders. And after Heiron falls, Hector will be next. With their champions gone, Troy will crumble like sand beneath the waves."
°°°°°
While Liphiel conferred with Agamemnon in the war council's tent, Patroclus made his way to Khillea's quarters, his steps heavy with despair. His heart felt as though it had been wrenched from his chest, each beat a painful reminder of the tragedy that had befallen their camp.
The tent loomed before him, encased in an ethereal glow from the divine barrier that only he and Thetis, Khillea's mother, were permitted to cross. As he stepped inside, the somber air seemed to dissolve for a moment, replaced by an almost surreal sense of calm.
The scene within was unlike the war-torn world outside. Khillea lay on a luxurious bed adorned with golden threads and silken fabrics that shimmered in the dim light. Her radiant beauty was undiminished, her smile serene as she hummed a soft melody. One hand gently rested on her swollen belly, which had grown significantly with her unborn child. She looked every bit the picture of divine grace, yet the contrast between her tranquility and the grief that burned within Patroclus was unbearable.
His fists clenched as he took in the sight, his heart aching with a mix of anger and sorrow.
"Heracles is dead, Khillea," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "You must know that... or have you already forgotten?"
Khillea turned her gaze toward him, her calm demeanor unshaken. Her eyes, luminous and deep, studied him for a moment before she let out a soft sigh.
"A pity, yes," she said finally, her voice as smooth as the melody she had been singing. "But Heracles was a warrior. He chose his own death. What do you expect me to do about it?"
Patroclus's breath caught in his throat. The casual indifference in her tone cut through him like a blade.
"So many Greeks are dying, suffering—and yet you feel nothing?" he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of his anguish. Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of the countless comrades he had tried, and failed, to save. Their pain and his own guilt had become an unbearable burden.
Khillea's expression remained unmoved, her gaze sharp. "Why should I?" she asked coolly. "None of them came to my defense when Agamemnon dishonored me. They abandoned me when I needed them most. I owe them nothing. As far as I'm concerned, unless Agamemnon crawls here on his knees to beg for my help, I have no reason to care."
Her words stung, but Patroclus knew there was truth in them. He lowered his gaze, unable to meet her piercing eyes.
Khillea sighed softly, her cousin's sorrow tugging at the edges of her heart. Rising carefully from her bed, she approached him, each movement deliberate and graceful despite her condition. Her hand reached up to cup his face, her touch surprisingly gentle.
"Listen to me, Patroclus," she said, her voice softer now. "I will be leaving soon, to my mother's divine dimension. The time has come—I will give birth soon, in the next weeks, and I cannot do so here. My mother's care is necessary for this moment. It might take a week or more."
Patroclus's shoulders slumped further, though he nodded faintly. "I see... Be careful," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
A faint smile graced Khillea's lips, a rare warmth softening her features. "Thank you, cousin." She stepped back slightly, her tone growing firm again. "While I am gone, I want you to take care of the Myrmidons in my absence. Protect them, guide them—but listen well, Patroclus. You are not to take part in the fighting. Do you understand me?"
Her piercing gaze bore into him, leaving no room for argument.
"I... won't," he said hesitantly, though his voice carried a hint of uncertainty.
"Good," Khillea said, her smile returning, this time tinged with a maternal glow. She placed a hand over her belly, her voice softening. "When my child is born, I want her uncle to be there to hold her. She will need her family, just as I need you now."
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC278 Hera's plan
"Did you find anything about him?" Athena asked, her tone sharp yet measured, her piercing blue eyes fixed on Hera.
The two goddesses stood in a secluded grove, far from prying eyes and ears, the air thick with tension. Sunlight filtered weakly through the dense canopy above, casting fragmented patterns of light and shadow around them. The weight of their conversation was evident, even in the silence that stretched between them.
The subject of their concern was Heiron.
"Yes," Hera finally responded, her voice edged with a grim certainty. "He is the Lord Commander of Tenebria." Her lips pressed into a thin line as she emphasized the title. "I am certain of it now."
"The Hero of Darkness?" Athena's eyes widened, her typically composed demeanor giving way to a rare flicker of shock.
The name carried weight, even among gods. The Hero of Darkness, Samael, was no ordinary figure. Stories of his summoning by the Kingdom of Tenebria had spread like wildfire, shrouded in mystery and controversy. Until now, none of them knew which god had granted Tenebria the knowledge—and the audacity—to summon such a Hero.
Athena's mind raced as she pieced together what she knew. Samael had been pivotal in the battle against the Kingdom of Kastoria. Alone, he had faced the might of Kastoria's Heroes, the champions chosen and blessed by none other than Amaterasu herself. Alone, he had defeated them, ending the conflict decisively and in Tenebria's favor.
"Yes," Hera confirmed, her voice laced with bitterness. "The one who humiliated Amaterasu's Heroes." Her hands clenched tightly at her sides, her teeth grinding in frustration.
Athena frowned, her expression thoughtful but troubled. "What is he doing here? This far from Tenebria?" She paused, her gaze narrowing. "This is an entirely different continent. Another world, even. This is Achaeenas—our domain. Only the Greek Gods rule here."
Her voice betrayed her confusion and growing unease. The presence of Samael in their realm was not only unusual but deeply troubling.
Hera sighed, her frustration evident. "I don't know. But I am certain of one thing—Aphrodite knows something." Her tone dripped with disdain. "That little bitch probably had a hand in this. I wouldn't be surprised if she were the one who brought him here." Hera's voice grew sharper, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. "For all we know, she might have been the one to summon him in the first place."
Athena's expression turned icy, her lips tightening as she considered Hera's accusation. "Isn't that a violation of our sacred laws?" she asked, her voice cold and cutting. Read exclusive chapters at My Virtual Library Empire
Hera laughed bitterly, a sound devoid of humor. "Since when has that bitch ever cared about rules?" she spat. "She thrives on chaos and manipulation. But it doesn't matter. Zeus wouldn't believe a word I say anymore."
Athena's eyes darkened. "Should I bring this to his attention?" she suggested, her voice firm. "If we expose Aphrodite, she'll lose her influence. Without her protection, Samael will be vulnerable."
Hera shook her head, her expression grim. "No. It's not that simple."
She gestured vaguely, frustration etched on her face. "Artemis and Ares are here, watching everything. And Apollo… I have no idea where that fool has wandered off to or what he's doing."
The mention of Apollo caused Athena's brows to knit together. The Sun God abandoning his domain was no small matter. His absence from his city was unprecedented—unthinkable, even—unless it was for something directly tied to the Trojan War.
Hera's lips pressed into a thin line as she continued, her voice tinged with unease. "If Apollo's disappearance has anything to do with Troy, it could mean trouble for all of us. But until we know for sure, we can't risk acting prematurely."
"What do you propose, then?" Athena asked, her voice sharp yet restrained, as she tightened her grip on her gleaming lance. The faint hum of divine energy surrounded her, a testament to her readiness for whatever scheme Hera was about to unveil.
Hera smirked, her expression brimming with cold satisfaction as she produced a small vial from the folds of her flowing robes. The bottle was ornate, carved from crystalline glass, and filled with a shimmering pink liquid that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
Athena's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What is that?" she demanded, her tone tinged with both curiosity and unease.
Hera twirled the bottle delicately between her fingers, her smirk widening. "Something I procured from Ishtar," she explained, her voice dripping with condescension. "A potent elixir, capable of making even a god succumb to feelings he thought long buried. It can reignite love, even in the heart of a husband who has grown cold—or unfaithful." She paused, her eyes glinting with malice. "It will work perfectly on a king desperate for affection... like the great Zeus himself."
Athena's eyes widened in shock, her usually composed demeanor giving way to disbelief. "You're planning to use it on Father? Hera, if he learns of this—"
Hera waved her hand dismissively, cutting Athena off. "By the time he learns of it, it will be far too late," she said mockingly. Her voice carried the weight of years of bitterness and betrayal, an undercurrent of simmering rage beneath her calm exterior. "Zeus won't interfere with us anymore. Not after this."
The conviction in Hera's voice was unsettling. For centuries, she had endured Zeus's infidelity, his favoritism, and his betrayals. But now, it was clear—she had reached her breaking point.
"When he finally regains his senses, the Trojan War will be over," Hera continued, her tone growing colder. "The Greeks will have their victory, and Troy will be reduced to ashes—a forgotten city wiped from the annals of history."
Athena hesitated, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling within her. Deceiving Zeus was no small matter. He was the King of Olympus, the Father of the Gods. To trick him so blatantly... the consequences, should he discover their plot, could be catastrophic.
But Hera's voice cut through her hesitation like a blade. "Stop worrying about Zeus," she snapped, her tone harsh and unyielding. "He betrayed us first when he chose to aid Thetis and her pathetic schemes. This is nothing more than justice—a long-overdue vengeance." She leaned closer, her piercing gaze locking onto Athena's. "Or would you rather see Aphrodite win? Would you prefer to watch her bask in victory while we suffer humiliation?"
Athena gritted her teeth, her jaw tightening as Hera's words struck a nerve. The thought of Aphrodite triumphing, of her arrogance and scheming overshadowing their own efforts, was intolerable. After a long moment of silence, Athena gave a curt nod. "Fine," she said, her voice low but resolute.
"Good." Hera straightened, satisfaction flickering across her face. "Then gather all the gods who stand with the Greeks. From tomorrow, Troy will burn. They will suffer a hell like no other."
Without waiting for a response, Hera vanished in a swirl of golden light, leaving Athena alone in the grove.
°°°°°°
That night, atop the tranquil peaks of Olympus, Zeus sat beneath a towering cedar tree, its ancient branches stretching skyward as if seeking the heavens themselves. The King of the Gods leaned back against the rough bark, his expression weary and his thoughts troubled.
The throne hall, a place meant to symbolize unity and divine authority, had become a battleground of its own. Insults and vitriol filled the air as gods and goddesses quarreled over the Trojan War—those siding with the Greeks clashing against those who supported the Trojans. Zeus had barely managed to keep the disputes from boiling over into outright chaos, but at the cost of his own peace of mind.
He sighed, running a hand through his thick, silver-streaked hair. How he longed for the war to end, for the mortals to settle their fate without divine meddling. Yet now that the gods had been ordered not to intervene directly, the outcome seemed more uncertain than ever.
As Zeus sat lost in thought, an alluring scent wafted through the night air, rich and intoxicating. He stiffened, turning his gaze toward the source.
Emerging from the shadows was Hera, his wife and sister, her figure radiant under the moonlight. She wore an exquisite gown adorned with shimmering ornaments that reflected the soft glow of Olympus. Her cheeks and skin seemed to glisten faintly, a rosy hue that gave her an almost ethereal beauty.
Zeus felt an uncharacteristic tug in his chest, a stirring of desire he hadn't experienced in ages—not since their earliest days together. He tore his gaze away, determined to maintain his composure.
"What are you doing here, Hera?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with caution.
Hera smiled, her steps unhurried as she moved closer. "I came to apologize, Zeus," she said softly, seating herself beside him and leaning slightly against his shoulder. Her voice was smooth, tinged with an unfamiliar warmth. "For everything—my words, my whims, my... stubbornness."
Zeus arched a brow, his expression guarded. "Don't you think it's too late for apologies?" he replied, his tone firm. "You and Athena set this war in motion, and now it's spiraled into a level of violence we haven't seen in centuries."
Hera's lips tightened for a fleeting moment, her initial instinct to retort—blaming Aphrodite for all of it—barely restrained. Instead, she forced herself to smile, her eyes softening.
"You're right," she said, her voice laced with humility that felt foreign, even to her. "It is my fault."
Zeus turned his head slightly, his surprise evident. Hera? Meek? Apologizing? It was so unlike her that he found himself studying her more closely.
Hera met his gaze, her expression a perfect blend of remorse and sincerity. "But is it so wrong for me to want the Greeks to win?" she continued, her tone almost pleading. "You know as well as I do that they worship us far more faithfully than the Trojans. Their devotion strengthens us."
Zeus sighed, his blue eyes darkening as he looked toward the horizon. "I know," he admitted, his voice steady. "But the Trojans are still believers. They honor us in their own way, and I won't abandon them simply to favor the Greeks. To do so would make me no better than the petty squabbles we've seen among the others."
Hera's jaw clenched, her nails digging into the fabric of her gown as her patience frayed. She had hoped—however briefly—that her charms and sweet words might sway him, sparing her from having to enact her plan. But Zeus remained as resolute as ever, his sense of justice unshakable.
Forcing a serene smile to mask her frustration, Hera leaned a little closer, resting her hand lightly on Zeus's arm. "You're as unwavering as ever, my dear husband," she said softly, her voice dripping with honeyed affection. "It's one of the things I admire most about you."
"Peace and cohesion among us are vital, Hera," Zeus said, his voice heavy with conviction. "Not just for Olympus but for the pantheon as a whole. Even the gods of other realms look to us. Yet, there are greater threats looming—threats that even we should fear."
His brows furrowed, a rare flicker of worry darkening his otherwise commanding visage. Whatever he was referring to seemed to weigh heavily on his mind, a danger so profound that even the King of the Gods appeared uneasy.
Hera wanted to laugh.
Greater threats?
What could possibly threaten them?
To her, the idea of a force powerful enough to endanger the gods of Olympus was absurd. She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. If there was such a danger, surely they would have conquered it by now.
This, it seemed, was the end of their discussion. Zeus would not bend, and Hera had no interest in indulging his mysterious premonitions any further.
Suddenly, she stepped closer, her hand brushing against his arm. Before Zeus could question her intentions, Hera pressed against him, forcing him to the ground.
"Hera?" Zeus's eyes widened, startled by the unexpected aggression.
Before he could rise, her lips captured his in a fierce kiss.
The intoxicating power of Ishtar's potion surged through him like fire and honey, clouding his mind and stirring emotions long dormant. A sharp snap echoed in his thoughts, as if something deep within him had fractured, and a wave of unrelenting desire crashed over him.
But Zeus was no ordinary god—he was the King of Olympus, a force unmatched in willpower. Despite the potion's potency, he resisted, his mind battling against the unnatural pull.
"Hera…" he growled, his voice strained.
Yet Hera knew her husband all too well. She had anticipated his resistance, even against the finest brew Ishtar could craft. A glimmer of cunning flashed in her eyes as she turned her gaze skyward.
"Hypnos," she called softly.
From above, a figure emerged, floating lazily on the air currents. Hypnos, the god of sleep, descended with a lethargic grace.
He raised a hand, and an invisible force washed over Zeus. Sleep, irresistible even to the mightiest of gods, began to drag him under. The potion had weakened him just enough to make Hypnos's power unstoppable.
"No… don't… Hera…" Zeus muttered, his words slurred as his eyelids grew impossibly heavy. With a final effort, he reached out toward her, but his strength failed, and his hand fell limp.
Hera gently lowered her husband's slumbering form to the ground, brushing a strand of white hair from his face. Then she straightened, her smile twisting into one of cold triumph.
"Sleep well, my love," she murmured.
She turned away, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the fate of Troy would soon be decided.
"The downfall of the Trojans begins tomorrow."
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC279 Heiron Vs Sienna!
The tide of war had shifted in ways Nathan could never have foreseen.
At first, Heiron had been the primary target, enduring the relentless onslaught of Greek heroes. But now, the focus had changed. The Greeks, led by their unyielding determination, had turned their attention toward Hector, singling him out with an intensity that left Nathan uneasy. Even Chiron, once Hector's mentor, now seemed consumed by an unrelenting desire to see his former student fall.
Heiron's battlefront, however, was far from dormant. The heroes of the Light Empire had entered the fray, their radiant banners cutting through the chaos. Though Nathan didn't recognize all of them, one figure stood out starkly amidst the throng—Sienna. She wasn't alone; several of his classmates fought alongside her, their faces blurred in his memory, forgotten amidst the tides of time and conflict.
It had been three grueling days since Nathan found himself locked in battle with Sienna. Three days of relentless combat that drained him more than he cared to admit. Sienna was no ordinary opponent; her movements were sharp, her attacks precise, and her resolve unshakable. Fighting her demanded Nathan's full focus. He could no longer afford to hold back while ensuring his own safety. She was forcing him to walk a razor-thin line: to fight with everything he had while ensuring he didn't cause her grievous harm. The thought of seriously injuring her gnawed at him, but every passing moment made it clear—if he didn't take her seriously, she might very well be the one to end him.
"How did it come to this?"
The question haunted Nathan as he parried yet another strike from her relentless assault. The joy he had briefly felt at not having to face any of the women he cared for had been dashed the moment Sienna had appeared on the battlefield. Her presence had turned what was already a grueling war into a personal torment.
But Sienna's sudden emergence wasn't the worst of it.
Liphiel.
She had arrived too.
The battlefield buzzed with the presence of the Divine Knight, her commanding aura palpable even from a distance. Until now, Liphiel had remained in the shadows, her hand unseen and her involvement minimal. But her sudden appearance sent a cold shiver down Nathan's spine.
Nathan's mind raced as he dodged another strike from Sienna. The pieces were falling into place, albeit in the most dangerous way possible. He quickly deduced that Liphiel was behind Sienna's deployment against him. But the burning question remained: had she discovered his true identity?
If she knew he was Nathan, it would explain why she had sent Sienna to eliminate him. It was the easiest way knowing I couldn't kill her. But the implications of her discovery were terrifying. If Liphiel had pieced it together, then he was in mortal peril—not just from her, but from the entire cadre of Divine Knights who would undoubtedly be summoned to finish the job.
Nathan wasn't ready.
Not yet.
Nathan gritted his teeth as he deflected Sienna's blade, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He needed more time—time to strengthen himself, time to prepare for the inevitable confrontation with the Divine Knights. But most of all, he needed to protect the people he cared about. His sisters, his women, and now, his children. Amelia had just given birth, and Aisha was carrying a child as well. The weight of their safety pressed heavily on his shoulders, making failure an unacceptable option.
There was only one solution.
Nathan's expression darkened, his thoughts colder than ice.
"I need to kill Liphiel."
The words echoed in his mind like a death knell. It was the only way to ensure his survival and protect those he loved. Liphiel couldn't be allowed to leave this battlefield alive. If she returned to the Empire of Light, she would tell and inform the high ranks Divine Knights whose power dwarfed even hers.
"What do you want?" Nathan demanded, his voice steady despite the rapid clash of blades. He parried Sienna's strike, his movements precise but increasingly strained.
She had grown stronger—far stronger than he had anticipated. The fluidity of her movements, the sheer power behind her swings, and the speed at which she attacked left him momentarily stunned. It wasn't just physical strength; there was a refinement in her technique that bordered on perfection.
Jason, with his vaunted SSS-ranked main skill, was nowhere near her level. Nathan couldn't help but compare. Among all the people who had been brought to this world alongside him, Sienna had clearly surpassed them all.
But Sienna didn't respond to his question. Her silence was deafening, her focus unwavering as she pressed forward. Blue energy crackled around her, coiling like living flame, illuminating her form in an almost ethereal glow. She raised her sword, her speed increasing tenfold, and with a single swing, she forced Nathan back.
The force of the blow sent him sliding across the ground, his boots digging into the dirt as he struggled to steady himself.
"Sienna…" he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening around his sword. He couldn't reveal himself to her—not yet. The risk was too great. But every second spent fighting her chipped away at his resolve. How could he escape this without injuring her?
Before he could find an answer, she was upon him again, her blade moving faster than his eyes could track.
Nathan reacted instinctively, summoning a towering wall of ice between them. The crystalline barrier glistened in the sunlight, its jagged edges sharp enough to cut flesh.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then came the sound of shattering ice.
Sienna's sword tore through the wall like it was paper, shards of frozen debris scattering in every direction. But Nathan was already gone. Using the precious seconds her attack had bought him, he darted through the chaos, weaving between enemy ranks with a singular focus: Liphiel.
"Stop right there!" a voice cried out behind him, shrill and desperate.
"Kill him!" another shouted.
Two figures stepped into his path, their weapons drawn, their faces familiar in the worst possible way. Nathan recognized them instantly. They had been among the ones who had laughed at him back on Earth, joining Aidan in mocking him during his lowest moments. He had almost forgotten about them—almost. But their sneering faces were burned into his memory, an annoyance he couldn't quite erase.
They moved to block his path, their determination evident.
Nathan didn't hesitate.
With a single swing of his blade, he unleashed a freezing wave of mana, encasing them both in jagged pillars of ice. Their expressions of shock were frozen—literally—into place, their bodies suspended in a cruel, crystalline prison.
He swung again.
The ice shattered, fragments flying in all directions as their bodies disintegrated into nothingness.
A chilling silence fell over the battlefield.
His remaining classmates froze, their expressions shifting from disbelief to abject terror. The sheer brutality of the act—the ease with which he had ended two of their own—left them rooted in place, unable to move.
They had heard rumors about Heiron, whispered tales of his power and the destruction he left in his wake. But seeing it firsthand was an entirely different matter. Liphiel had kept them shielded from his wrath until now, and their ignorance of what Nathan was truly capable of had cost them dearly.
Nathan didn't spare them a second glance.
His eyes were fixed on Liphiel, her figure standing tall amidst the chaos. She was smiling—that smile. The same damned smile she had worn the day she had nearly killed him.
That memory came rushing back in vivid detail. The searing pain, the unbearable heat of her attack, the way his body had screamed in agony as life slipped from him. The scar of that day wasn't just physical; it was carved deep into his soul.
His blue eye, cold as ice, and his demonic gold eye, burning with unholy fire, narrowed as his fury reached its peak.
That smile. That cursed, mocking smile.
Nathan tightened his grip on his sword, his knuckles turning white.
He would carve it off her face.
But suddenly, Nathan felt it—a presence closing in behind him like a storm on the horizon.
Sienna.
She was moving at an extraordinary speed, her approach so swift and fluid that it was almost as if she were slicing through the very air itself. It wasn't just speed, though; it was precision, a deadly grace.
For a brief moment, he thought he had miscalculated. Surely, even in his weakened state, there was no way Sienna could move this fast. Yet here she was, faster than him now—faster than he had ever seen her before.
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The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
Athena.
The rumors whispered about Sienna being Athena's favorite suddenly didn't seem so far-fetched. If the goddess had truly blessed her, then her newfound strength and speed made sense.
Nathan barely had time to react. Sienna leapt into the air, closing the remaining distance between them in a heartbeat. Her blade gleamed under the harsh sunlight, a streak of silver aimed directly at him.
With a growl, Nathan twisted his body and swung his sword in a powerful arc. The force of his strike met hers midair, the clash of metal ringing out like a thunderclap. The impact sent Sienna hurtling backward, her feet skidding across the ground as she fought to regain her balance.
But she didn't stay down for long.
Within seconds, she was on her feet again, her movements as fluid as a predator's. Her blade began to glow, the intensity of the mana radiating from it so overwhelming that the air around her seemed to shimmer.
Nathan's eyes narrowed. He didn't have time for this.
"Fuck this," he growled under his breath, his frustration spilling over as Sienna charged at him once more.
BADOOOOM!!!
The ground trembled beneath them as their swords collided again, the sheer force of their clash sending shockwaves rippling outward. Sparks flew like fireworks, illuminating the battlefield for a brief, blinding moment.
Sienna's eyes locked onto his coldly. Nathan met her gaze with equal intensity.
Then, as their weapons pressed against each other, Nathan did something unexpected.
"Your brother is alive."
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC280: Hunting Liphiel
Sienna's eyes locked onto his coldly. Nathan met her gaze with equal intensity.
Then, as their weapons pressed against each other, Nathan did something unexpected.
"Your brother is alive."
The impact was immediate. Sienna's defiance shattered like fragile glass. Her eyes widened in shock, and her breath hitched audibly. For a moment, her entire body froze, not by magic but by sheer disbelief. Her lips parted, trembling as though trying to form words, yet her voice faltered.
"What…?" she managed to whisper, the single word laced with both hope and agony.
Nathan offered no further explanation. Before she could say anything more, he raised his hand, and a glacial frost enveloped her. Sienna's body became encased in ice, her expression of disbelief and vulnerability preserved within the crystalline prison.
"Sister!" Siara's desperate cry echoed through the battlefield as she charged toward Sienna without hesitation. Her voice was raw with fear, and her movements reckless, driven by the need to protect her sister.
Courtney wasn't far behind, her face pale with panic. Nathan could see the alarm in her eyes, a fear that he might shatter Sienna's frozen form just as he had done to so many others before. But Nathan had no intention of harming his sister further. His actions, though harsh, were calculated. Without a word, he turned and bolted past them, leaving Siara and Courtney to tend to Sienna.
His focus shifted entirely to Liphiel.
She stood some distance away, her smile as infuriatingly smug as ever. The sight of her fanned the flames of Nathan's fury, though his expression remained as icy as his magic. She had crossed a line—a line that no one should dare approach. Using Sienna, his sister, as a pawn in her schemes was an unforgivable act. And if she dared to stoop so low, what else was she willing to do? Nathan's resolve hardened. She needed to die.
But she wasn't going to make it easy.
As if on cue, countless Greek soldiers swarmed toward him, their armor clanging as they formed a wall of resistance. Nathan's lips curled into a cold sneer. He raised his sword, its icy edge glinting ominously in the light. With one fluid slash, a wave of frost surged forward, freezing the soldiers in an instant. Another swing shattered their frozen forms into a flurry of glimmering shards, their cries silenced forever.
Nathan moved with precision and speed, leaping over obstacles and dodging attacks with an almost inhuman grace. Each step brought him closer to Liphiel, and each swing of his blade left destruction in his wake.
"You're not going anywhere!"
A thunderous voice rang out, and Nathan's path was suddenly blocked. He halted, his gaze narrowing as he recognized the figure standing before him. It was Aidan.
Aidan's confident smirk was like a spark to Nathan's simmering anger. His eyes turned colder, a frost forming around him as he clenched his weapon tighter. Without hesitation, Nathan moved.
In an instant, he appeared before Aidan, his blade descending with lethal precision. The ground shook as the force of the blow sent Aidan hurtling backward, a shockwave rippling through the battlefield. But to Nathan's surprise, Aidan's weapon remained intact, its surface unmarred despite the overwhelming strength of the strike.
"Gahaha! This strength! Thank you, Poseidon!" Aidan bellowed, his laughter echoing as he steadied himself.
Nathan's eyes darted upward, catching sight of Poseidon observing the battlefield with a triumphant smirk. The god's presence was unmistakable, his aura suffocatingly divine.
How? Nathan's thoughts raced. Didn't Zeus forbid their intervention?
Gritting his teeth, Nathan pushed forward, unwilling to waste time on questions. Liphiel was still within his reach, and he couldn't let her escape. He surged ahead, his speed blurring his movements.
"You're running away now?!" Aidan's voice boomed as he reappeared in front of Nathan, his sword raised for an attack.
But Nathan's fury was unrelenting. In a split second, his magic surged. Aidan's right arm and leg were engulfed in frost, the ice spreading with merciless efficiency. A sickening crack followed as the frozen limbs shattered into countless fragments.
"GARHHH??!" Aidan's voice was a mix of shock and terror as he stared at his ruined body.
Nathan didn't spare him a glance. He moved past him, his focus singular. Liphiel was still smiling, but Nathan could sense her slight unease.
But if the gods intervened, it would be too late to strike her down.
Liphiel's gaze faltered as Nathan advanced, his presence radiating an oppressive aura that made her retreat, step by reluctant step. Her heart raced, and for the first time in ages, she felt a genuine pang of fear. His eyes burned with cold determination, and the carnage he left in his wake was staggering.
To Nathan, the Greeks might as well have been insects. They weren't even worth calling meat shields anymore. With each swing of his blade, ten fell, their bodies crumpling to the blood-soaked ground like discarded dolls. He carved through their ranks with terrifying efficiency, his path to Liphiel clear and relentless.
Realizing she couldn't hold him off much longer, Liphiel raised her staff. An ominous glow pulsed from its tip, and the air grew heavy with magic. In an instant, three colossal figures materialized before her, their towering forms casting long, menacing shadows over the battlefield.
Nathan's eyes narrowed as recognition dawned. These were the same giants Liphiel had summoned on the day she had nearly ended his life. That memory stoked a fire within him. He gripped his sword tighter, his knuckles whitening as he prepared to face them.
The first giant moved with surprising speed for its size, launching itself toward Nathan with a massive fist raised.
BADAAAM!
The impact was earth-shaking. Nathan skidded backward, his boots grinding against the dirt, but he held his ground, his blade locked against the giant's massive fist. With a guttural growl, he shifted his stance and delivered a precise slash.
The giant's roar of pain echoed across the battlefield as its arm was severed cleanly at the elbow. It staggered back, crimson light gathering in its remaining hand, which now glowed ominously. But Nathan gave it no chance to retaliate. He leaped onto the giant's massive torso with agility that seemed almost supernatural.
"Khione," he murmured, summoning her icy power.
BADAAAAAM!
A cold mist enveloped the giant, freezing it solid in mere moments. Its movements slowed, then ceased entirely as frost crept over its hulking form. Seconds later, the frozen giant shattered into countless icy shards that glittered in the sunlight.
Nathan landed gracefully amidst the frozen remains, his expression calm and unbothered. "Next," he taunted, his voice echoing across the battlefield like a death knell.
The second giant bellowed in response, its guttural roar filled with rage. This one was armed, wielding a massive sword that gleamed with an ominous crimson hue. It swung the blade with such force that the very air seemed to scream in protest.
BADAAAAM!
The sword cleaved through the earth, leaving a deep, jagged scar in its wake. The force of the attack obliterated everything in its path—Greeks and Trojans alike were sliced apart like fragile clay dolls, their bodies scattered grotesquely.
But Nathan had already moved. His agility made him a blur as he sidestepped the devastating swing and retaliated. His sword gleamed with icy brilliance as he struck with all his strength.
BADAAM!
Shock rippled through the battlefield. It wasn't Nathan who staggered—it was the giant. The sheer force of his strike sent the towering creature sliding backward, its massive feet digging trenches in the ground. Gasps and murmurs erupted among the spectators. Nathan's strength was beyond anything they had imagined.
Not giving the giant a moment to recover, Nathan leaped high into the air. His blade descended in a perfect arc, cutting cleanly through the giant's neck. Its massive head toppled to the ground with a thunderous crash, and the colossal body followed moments later.
Nathan didn't spare it a glance. His focus was locked on Liphiel, who was now running, her pace frantic as the last giant lumbered behind her like a protective shield.
Suddenly, the third giant came to a halt. Its jaw opened wide, revealing a maw that began gathering crimson energy. The air grew hot, and an ominous hum filled the battlefield.
Nathan felt the danger instinctively, a deep pulse of warning in his chest. Without hesitation, he called on Khione's power once more, raising a massive wall of ice between himself and the incoming blast.
BADAAAAAAM!
The beam erupted with devastating force, slamming into Nathan's ice barrier. The impact shook the ground violently, cracks spidering through the glacial wall. The sheer power of the blast sent tremors rippling across the battlefield, forcing even the most battle-hardened warriors to stumble.
Nathan gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing as the ice wall groaned under the relentless assault. Steam hissed and rose as the heat battled against the cold, but the barrier held, though barely.
Through the haze of steam and debris, Nathan's voice emerged. "You'll need more than that to stop me, Liphiel."
Liphiel's expression twisted in a mixture of fear and fury as she watched her summoned giant falter under Nathan's relentless assault. The air around her seemed charged with desperation. Her confidence, once unshakable, was now crumbling like sand beneath the tide.
Nathan, catching the flicker of despair in her eyes, felt a surge of satisfaction. The corners of his lips curled into a wicked smirk. Finally, the smile had vanished from her face, replaced by the fear he craved to see.
"You're going to die here," he muttered under his breath, his voice a venomous whisper meant only for himself.
The giant, battered but still functional, began gathering energy for another devastating beam. The crimson light swirled in its mouth, a deadly glow illuminating the battlefield. But Nathan was faster.
With a swift motion, his icy magic surged forward, freezing the giant's legs in place. Cracks formed in its massive limbs, the frost spreading like veins, and with one precise slash, Nathan severed both legs at the knees.
The behemoth toppled forward, collapsing with a thunderous crash, its massive weight sending tremors through the earth. It landed awkwardly, propped on its shattered knees, still attempting to charge its attack.
Nathan approached the immobilized creature, his sword gleaming coldly in the pale light. He raised his gaze, locking eyes with the giant's massive face, where the energy beam continued to gather clumsily.
"Now," Nathan said, his voice cold and steady, "it's your turn to see me kill you."
Without hesitation, he plunged his sword deep into the giant's gaping maw, twisting it violently as frost surged through the blade.
BADAAAAAM!
The giant's head erupted in an explosion of red and shimmering ice. Sparkles of frozen blood and shattered frost rained down around Nathan, painting the battlefield with a grotesque, glittering beauty.
But as the last shards of the giant's head scattered, Nathan's sword cracked and splintered under the strain. It broke apart in his hands, the pieces falling to the ground with a dull clang.
Nathan frowned, tossing the useless hilt aside. "It wasn't a good sword anyway," he muttered. His eyes shifted toward Liphiel, who stood frozen in the distance.
Yet, to his surprise, her lips curved into a smirk. Her gaze wasn't on him but something—or someone—behind him.
A sudden chill ran down Nathan's spine as he turned instinctively, raising his arm to block.
"Sienna…"
There she was, her eyes void of recognition, her sword already swinging toward him.
BADAAAAAM!
The impact sent a shockwave through Nathan's body. He groaned in pain as her blade collided with his arm, its force amplified by divine blessing. His ice armor absorbed some of the blow, but not enough. The blade sliced through, cutting deep into his flesh.
Blood seeped from the wound, staining his arm as he tried to steady himself. "Sienna…" he groaned, his voice strained. He wanted to say more, to reach out to her, but his words died in his throat.
Suddenly, his entire body froze. He couldn't move. A paralyzing force gripped him, locking him in place.
His gaze darted upward, where Hera hovered above, her smirk radiating triumph. She had intervened blatantly, her divine aura making it clear she cared little for subtlety.
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Before Nathan could process what was happening, a flurry of motion erupted around him.
Aphrodite soared toward him, her expression frantic as she raced to help, but Athena intercepted her mid-flight, blocking her path with a cold glare.
Ares surged forward, his war cry echoing across the battlefield, but Poseidon appeared in his way, his trident shimmering with power.
Artemis, perched atop the Trojan walls, had her bow drawn, an arrow of light aimed precisely at Hera so Nathan could get out of the frozen state. But even she couldn't act fast enough.
BADAAAAAAM!
A beam of light, blinding and merciless, tore through the battlefield.
Nathan felt the searing pain before he even registered what had happened. The light struck him square in the back, ripping through his body with devastating force. It burned through his stomach, leaving a gaping wound that bled profusely.
But he wasn't the only victim.
Behind him, Sienna gasped, her eyes wide with shock. The same beam had pierced her chest, tearing through her with equal brutality. Blood bubbled from her lips as she coughed, her body trembling violently.
Nathan staggered, his arms instinctively reaching out to catch her as she collapsed forward. Her weight fell against him, her blood soaking his already torn clothes.
"Sienna…" he whispered hoarsely, his vision blurring as he struggled to hold her upright.
In the distance, Agamemnon stood, his face twisted into a maddened grin. His sword, still glowing with the remnants of Hera's blessing, radiated heat as he watched the chaos he had unleashed.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC281 Heiron's revenge!
Nathan staggered, his arms instinctively reaching out to catch her as she collapsed forward. Her weight fell against him, her blood soaking his already torn clothes.
"Sienna…" he whispered hoarsely, his vision blurring as he struggled to hold her upright.
In the distance, Agamemnon stood, his face twisted into a maddened grin. His sword, still glowing with the remnants of Hera's blessing, radiated heat as he watched the chaos he had unleashed.
The battlefield was silent for a moment, the aftermath of the attack leaving both allies and enemies in stunned disbelief.
Nathan's grip tightened around Sienna's lifeless form, his teeth gritted against the pain and rage building within him.
"Sienna, look at me…" Nathan's voice, hoarse and strained, barely carried over the battlefield's chaos. Blood dripped from the corner of his lips as he coughed violently, the gaping hole in his stomach stealing away what little strength he had left.
Despite the pain that threatened to pull him into unconsciousness, his trembling hands reached for Sienna's lifeless form. Her head lolled weakly against his chest, and her once-brilliant blue eyes were glazed over, unfocused.
"Please, Sienna…" His voice cracked, his words trembling with desperation. "It's me… Nathan… Please wake up…"
But there was no response. Her body was unnervingly still, her breaths shallow, if they existed at all.
Nathan's heart clenched. No, it couldn't be her. Not Sienna.
Among his siblings, Sienna was the one who had always stood by him. She had never belittled him, never spat cruel words in his direction like others had. While she wasn't outgoing or sociable, she had shown him a quiet, steadfast love, always doing her best to ease his burdens. Her kindness had been a light in the oppressive darkness of his life.
His mind reeled as the horrifying reality began to set in. Sienna, the sister he cherished most, was slipping away.
Meanwhile, the Gods of Troy stood frozen, their divine forms exuding shock and disbelief.
Aphrodite clutched her chest, her face pale with worry. Ares glared at the scene, his hands balled into fists, a fire of rage simmering in his eyes. Artemis, ever stoic, had an arrow nocked and drawn, her gaze narrowing at Hera, Athena, and Poseidon.
None of them had anticipated this.
Hera, Athena, and Poseidon had gone against Zeus's explicit orders to protect Nathan. It was a calculated and treacherous move, one made possible by Hera's deception. She had kept the truth of Zeus's slumber hidden, ensuring no one would question her actions until it was too late.
Now, the battlefield was steeped in their betrayal, and Nathan was on the brink of death.
Nathan's trembling hand rested against Sienna's cheek, but her blue eyes had already fluttered closed. Her breathing slowed to almost nothing, her skin growing unnervingly pale.
"No…" he whispered, his voice breaking.
Suddenly, Sienna's body was enveloped in a brilliant glow, the soft radiance lifting her from Nathan's arms. The light cradled her, carrying her into the air with a divine gentleness.
Nathan's eyes widened in confusion and dread as he looked up. Athena, her expression a storm of fury, descended from the heavens. Her piercing gaze wasn't directed at him but at Agamemnon and Hera.
The goddess's rage was palpable. For a fleeting moment, it seemed she might unleash her divine wrath upon them both, but instead, she held back, her composure rigidly maintained. She clenched her fists, her face dark with restrained anger, before vanishing from the battlefield in a flash of light. She had no choice but to act quickly to save Sienna.
Nathan remained on his knees, staring at the space where Sienna had been moments before. Blood pooled beneath him, flowing freely from the grievous wound in his stomach. His face, streaked with dirt and blood, was utterly void of light.
And then…
BADOOOOOM!
A shockwave of darkness erupted from him, expanding in all directions like a tidal wave of malevolence. The ground quaked beneath its oppressive force, and the air grew heavy with a suffocating dread.
For so long, Nathan had concealed this power, suppressing it beneath layers of restraint and self-control to not reveal his identity. But now, with death's cold hand reaching for him, he no longer cared.
He had one minute left—one final, fleeting moment before the end claimed him.
If that was all he had, then so be it. He would make this minute count.
With that dark thought, Nathan pushed himself to his feet. Darkness seeped from his wound, filling the gaping hole in his stomach, holding his body together just enough for him to move.
His eyes burned with an intensity that made even the gods falter. They were no longer the eyes of a desperate man but those of a predator.
Nathan turned, his gaze locking onto Liphiel.
The Divine knight's expression, so confident and condescending before, twisted into sheer terror. Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched as she took a trembling step back.
Nathan's every movement exuded menace, the aura of darkness around him warping and crackling like living shadows. His gaze bore into her with murderous intent, a promise of vengeance that sent shivers down her spine.
For the first time in her life, Liphiel felt true fear. Her body trembled, and her composure shattered as she stared into the eyes of a man who had nothing left to lose.
This wasn't just Nathan anymore. This was death incarnate, and it was coming for her.
Nathan took a deliberate step forward, and the ground beneath him responded as if obeying his will. Darkness, thick and oppressive, unfurled from his feet like a living shadow, spreading outward in an eerie tide. The inky void slithered past the Trojans, sparing them entirely, but it engulfed every Greek soldier in its path.
For those caught in its grip, the sensation was instantaneous and devastating. Their energy and mana were siphoned away as if devoured by an insatiable void. One by one, they crumbled to the ground, lifeless husks. For mortals, being utterly drained of vitality—of energy, stamina, and mana—was synonymous with death itself.
The battlefield fell silent for a breath, the Greeks' collective collapse casting a grim shadow over the ongoing war. But Nathan did not linger. In a flash, his form dissolved into a streak of pure darkness, cutting through the air like a predator zeroing in on its prey.
His destination was clear: Liphiel.
The moment her eyes caught sight of his approach, Liphiel's composed demeanor shattered. Her expression twisted into one of sheer terror, her fear written plainly across her face. In a frantic attempt to defend herself, she raised her staff, her hands trembling as she summoned every ounce of her divine power.
"Celestial Magic! Kill this evil being! Spear of the God of Light!" she cried, her voice tinged with desperation.
A radiant spear materialized in her grasp, its golden glow pulsating with celestial energy. The spear's brilliance was blinding, a weapon forged to combat the vilest darkness, designed to counter the power wielded by the previous Demon King himself.
But Nathan did not falter. Your journey continues at My Virtual Library Empire
He surged toward her with unwavering resolve, his dark aura crackling ominously. The spear, with its divine brilliance, launched toward him, ripping through the air with a deafening BADAAAAM! Its light was so intense that it forced even those far away to shield their eyes. The spear radiated a purity so potent it seemed to consume darkness itself.
Yet Nathan remained undeterred.
With a sharp motion, he drew his weapon—a blade as dark as the abyss, imbued with the essence of the Demon King. As the spear neared, Nathan swung his sword down in a single, decisive strike.
BADOOOOOM!
The clash of powers unleashed a cataclysmic explosion, the resulting shockwave rippling across the battlefield. The celestial spear splintered into two, its fragments disintegrating into nothingness.
Liphiel froze, her expression one of absolute disbelief. Her mouth fell open, her wide eyes reflecting the impossible reality before her. She barely had time to react before Nathan appeared in front of her, his hand lashing out like a viper.
He seized her throat in an iron grip.
"Gaaah!" Liphiel choked, her voice rasping as her glasses shattered and fell away. Nathan slammed her into the ground with enough force to crack the earth beneath her.
He loomed over her, his golden, demonic eyes glowing like twin suns in the darkness. His voice was low, venomous, and laced with malice.
"I finally got you, little bitch," he spat, his tone devoid of any warmth.
Liphiel gasped for air, her voice a strained whisper. "Y...you're him... Nathan," she managed, her words barely audible.
Nathan's grip tightened mercilessly around her throat, cutting off her air entirely. "I told you, Liphiel at that time," he said, his voice as cold as death itself. "Killing me would come with consequences."
Liphiel clawed at his hand, her struggles futile against his overwhelming strength.
Without waiting for her to respond, Nathan summoned his magic. Darkness coiled around his form, and with a flick of his hand, flames erupted. The fire, born of his wrath and enhanced by his dark magic, ignited Liphiel's body.
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