Below, the earth screamed in fire and ruin. The war of warriors and monsters raged across land and sky alike.
In the distance, the war engines of Apocalypse tore through the veil of reality—vast colossi of nightmare iron breaching the surface through roaring Boom Tubes that fractured the clouds like shattered glass.
Darkseid.
Once, he had been Uxas, a lesser god among the denizens of the Fourth World—ambitious, cunning, envious of the divine thrones that towered above him. He murdered his brother, Drax, as he communed with the Omega Force, seizing its power for himself. It burned him, reshaping his flesh into obsidian stone and his soul into the embodiment of tyranny. From that day forth, Uxas ceased to exist. Darkseid was born—no longer a man, nor god, but principle made flesh.
He no longer sought to rule as others ruled; he sought to define. To forge the universe in his own image. For that, he must first break it—reduce existence to ash and remake it in the image of order.
His order.
Apokolips was but one of his bastions, a black star of ceaseless industry. Billions "willing" servants bent to his will, their obedience sealed by fear and faith alike. Few forces in all creation could rival his.
And now, his gaze turned to Earth—to the Old Ones that slumbered here. The Olympians. The descendants of Chaos itself. Ancient gods whose pride made them perfect prey. Hunting them was his sport, a ritual of conquest through which he proved his dominion over creation.
WHOOMM.
A blazing streak cleaved through the heavens, a burning comet drawn by four steeds of fire. The air shuddered from the force, the sky warped by searing heat. Below, clouds of ash and parademons parted as the infernal chariot plunged through the storm.
the Chariot of Helios, the vessel that bore the sun across the sky each day. Yet on this day, it was no instrument of light, but of purge.
Despite the infernal brilliance that scorched the clouds around it, three figures stood upon the chariot, unmoved by heat or vertigo.
"You golden bastards really love to show off," came a gruff complaint.
It was Heracles. His great frame gleamed with sweat and soot, a massive club slung across his shoulder.
Beside him stood two beings of staggering beauty and power, their forms radiant yet austere. They wore garments of pure white linen, bound by leather cords and gleaming bronze clasps—simple, divine and ancient.
The first, Helios, bore hair like living flame, eyes that burned with the fury of a thousand suns. His skin shimmered faintly like heated bronze, and the air around him rippled with unbearable warmth.
The second, Apollo, was his equal in majesty—his hair gold as the day, caught in the wind, framing a face of calm light. His golden eyes were serene, his smile gentle, almost wistful.
Apollo turned slightly, casting a side glance at Heracles.
"What can I say? We are glorious. It's in our nature to shine brighter than all." His voice was melodic, almost teasing. Then, turning his gaze to the other, he added with a smirk, "Isn't that right, Helios?"
Helios said nothing. His expression remained stoic, carved of light and wrath. His hands tightened upon the reins. The fiery steeds shrieked as he pulled them sharply, steering through the drifting legions of parademons that filled the upper air.
"You're still angry I lost the cup, aren't you?" Heracles sighed, glancing toward him. "It wasn't my fault—I was tricked."
Helios's jaw tightened.
During the hero's tenth labor, he had once been granted a golden cup by the sun god himself—a relic of immense power and honor—only for Heracles to lose it to a mortal in a drunken wager. The Titan's silence now said more than words.
Apollo's grin widened, but he kept his peace.
At last, Helios spoke. His voice, deep and resonant, flowed like molten gold.
"Tell me, then—why did you join us here? Your strength is needed there." He gestured with a tilt of his chin toward the horizon, where battle raged. The ground below was alive with war—Olympian armies clashing with swarms of parademons, the sky streaked with fire and ash.
Screams and metallic screeches echoed as the chariot tore through the smoke. The scent of scorched flesh hung heavy in the air.
"You'll see," Heracles said nonchalantly, gripping his club as he eyed the growing swarm behind them.
"You're just trying to shirk duty," Apollo replied with a wry smile. "Father won't be pleased."
"I suppose he wouldn't—ahhh!"
Before he could finish, Apollo shoved him clean off the chariot. Heracles spun through the air, roaring curses as he plummeted into the black clouds below—straight into a horde of parademons. The beasts shrieked as his impact scattered them like ash on the wind.
Helios's lip twitched—barely. "You seem to enjoy his company," he murmured.
Apollo's expression softened. "He's part of us, whether the others like it or not. Mortal blood does not taint divinity—it tempers it. Their essence is... freer than ours, unbound by the same eternal chains. Having them among us brings balance."
Helios maneuvered the chariot through a spiral of burning debris, the parademons pursuing like a living cloud. "And you think the others will share that sentiment?"
"It matters little what they think," Apollo replied, his golden hair whipped by the storm. "I see what they refuse to see. I want us to endure. If we are to survive this age, our endless rivalries must cease. Every downfall we've suffered came from our own pride—from family devouring family."
The chariot burst through another swarm of winged horrors, their blackened bodies igniting in the wake of the sun god's heat.
Far below, below, Heracles's thunderous laughter echoed faintly from amidst the carnage.
Apollo continued, his voice firm yet filled with melancholy. "Our very presence invites challenge, brother. It always has. But what if one day we call forth something we cannot defeat? Something beyond gods, beyond Titans, beyond the very flame that made us?"
Helios's eyes flickered with restrained thought as the chariot broke through the cloud barrier, revealing the burning world below—a battlefield of mortal and demonic ruin.
"Then," Helios said at last, his voice low as the deep sun, "we burn brighter than ever before."
Apollo smiled faintly, but the light in his eyes dimmed. The firestorm beneath them was reflected in his gaze.
"Let us hope, brother," he murmured, "that the light will still be ours when the darkness comes."
WHOOOOOM
Suddenly all who stood before their presence below lost their sight as a blinding light consumed all who witnessed.
This was the domain of the light, hear there was no sight nor sound only blindness.