Poseidon said to Zeus, "My divine power here in Syracuse isn't reliable. If anything happens to the remaining Five Seas, I won't have spare power to shield this place."
He wasn't wrong: the Mediterranean's deepest point is a bit over five thousand meters; Atlantis goes down more than nine thousand. The two bodies of water aren't even in the same league in terms of volume.
Digging in at Syracuse would mean making Poseidon abandon his home field to guard a little pond.
There was simply no promise he could make Zeus.
It was much the same with Hades. Usually as tight-lipped as they come, he leveled with Zeus: "My divine power is down to seventy percent. Seventy percent of what it was before the living started dying en masse."
Zeus's heart sank halfway.
Only with life is there death.
Hades's recent increase in power was closely tied to the massive mortal deaths in the Greek heartland. Don't be fooled by that surge; once the living become too few, the number of future dead drops accordingly, and Hades's power base is greatly weakened.
And now, not only had the non-Greek mortal souls previously sent to Tartarus run off, but more than half of Greek souls had been abducted as well. Add in the invasion of the Elysian Fields, and mortals' dream of eternal rest was on the verge of being shattered.
Of course, Hades could lean on "win-ology" and simply not tell mortals that his lair had been sacked.
But so what?
Those fated to die won't live. The sharp fall in the Greek world's population was an undeniable fact, and with it Hades's power fell.
The only solution was to seize vast numbers of souls from other worlds to replenish the Greek underworld's vacancies.
But was it that simple?
That vicious crone Hela had already proved her strength. Truth be told, Hades now couldn't beat Hela at all.
Death-aspected deities don't go in for fancy tricks. Whoever's death power is stronger can just stack divine arts and drown the other.
With his two good brothers both weakened, Zeus's headache was splitting.
Compared to that, the deaths of Dionysus and Hermes, plus Hestia's capture, wouldn't actually lower the Olympian pantheon's combat level by much.
What pained Zeus more than combat power was something else…
"Dammit! I never even had Hestia! Or Artemis!" Zeus didn't say it out loud, but to a super lecher like him, having the virgin goddesses he'd set apart for himself taken by the enemy hurt worse than killing him.
He had gone to great lengths to prettify things, deliberately keeping three virgin goddesses to brand himself as not just some celestial scum who would sleep with anyone.
And now the cabbages he'd kept for himself had been rooted up by a boar from outside.
How was Zeus supposed to take that?
His state now resembled that of his father Kronos, who had been confined for so long—resentment and fury written all over him inside and out.
Even though Zeus hid it well, mumbling his father's name as cover, he couldn't fool the last of the three virgin goddesses, Athena.
Even without looking, Athena could, with her divine sense, read from those occasional "shocked glances" Zeus cast her way the warped greed and madness of this perverted father.
"Better to let me have them than that bastard Thalos?"
Zeus hadn't said it, but that was exactly what he was thinking.
Athena shuddered several times in a row.
In Olympus, Zeus was lust incarnate. Beyond seducing goddesses and bedding mortal queens under the prerogatives of god-king and God-Emperor, he had played plenty of dirty tricks on goddesses who refused him. When Hera didn't want his love back then, Zeus turned into a little bird, nestled into her arms, and then…
Because Zeus's misdeeds were legion and on the record, Athena felt an indescribable, absolute terror.
Give her a million choices and she would never yield herself to that old bastard Zeus!
At this very moment, Zeus didn't realize that his greedy glances at his daughter had planted a truly fearsome seed in Athena's heart—one now sprouting and thriving…
On the surface, Zeus was that supremely ambitious God-Emperor.
After his two brothers reported their situations, he convened a council of the gods in the Olympian temple (a branch hall) in Syracuse.
"Today's topic is how to deal with the pincer attack from Kronos's rebel Titans and the evil Aesir!" Zeus, at the head, opened the floor for opinions.
As expected, Ares spoke first. "Do we even need to say it? Hit back! Whether rebels or invaders, we have to hit back at once! Twist those trash heads off and hang them from the foot of the holy mountain all the way to the top!"
Named "war god," read "bruiser."
Ares was always like this—trying to solve everything with brute force.
The gods had always been annoyed with him and would rather not know him.
But in today's dire climate, his bullheadedness actually had a morale-boosting effect.
Ares blathered on, and Zeus instinctively turned his neck to the right—usually this was when Athena would step out and roast Ares.
Today, something was off.
Athena, famed for wisdom, didn't move. She sat quietly on her throne, not only not roasting Ares—it looked like she had no desire to speak at all.
This time it was Zeus's turn to get anxious.
"Athena, my wisest daughter, do you have nothing to say?"
For some reason, the word "daughter" made Athena feel a flash of nausea. You remember I'm your daughter?
She swiftly gathered her thoughts. Now was not the time to show anything that would tip Zeus off. Keeping her face composed with that dignified serenity, she said, "Father, I was just thinking—have the Titans and the Aesir really formed a mutual defense-and-offense alliance?"
Zeus's eyes lit up. "You mean?"
"Indeed, the Titans' breakout from Tartarus bears signs of Aesir manipulation behind the scenes," Athena said evenly. "But what we've seen from the Aesir is simple long-range support; they've not truly fought shoulder to shoulder with the Titans."
At that, the eyes of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades turned sharp.
What they feared most was the enemy all blending into one indistinguishable bloc.
So long as the enemy wasn't truly wearing the same pair of pants, there was still a fight to be had.
Hades said gravely, "You mean…"
"Whoever poses a mortal threat to our world, we strike first," Athena said ringing and clear, and then fell silent again.
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