Hecate took a deep, trembling breath, feeling her chest rise and fall as the aftershocks of her spell still reverberated through the fabric of the cosmos itself.
The air, or rather, the conceptual space that passed for it in this battlefield, was thick with the residue of her power, humming with the scent of ozone and burnt starlight.
Her body ached in ways that no mortal or godly form was ever meant to endure; every vein within her felt as though it was carrying molten light instead of blood, and her mind still pulsed with the residual echoes of the incantation she had just unleashed.
Never before, not even during the chaos of the Titanomachy when she along with Zeus, Poseidon, and the Underworld Rivers fought Cronus, had she ever released such an immense flood of magic.
