Swoosh!
Cronus swings his obsidian buster sword in a clean, horizontal arc. It slices through a giant standing stone, shearing it in two with a grating crunch. He jumps high, raising the sword above his head in a high stance.
'Gravity—amplify sword.'
A dark pink film sheathes the blade. The sword's weight multiplies a hundredfold in an instant. Cronus plummets, dragging the impossibly heavy weapon down like a meteor.
BOOOM!!! CRACK!!!
The impact doesn't just cut; it unravels the stone's structure into gravel and dust. A deep fissure snakes across the training ground. Cronus lands amidst the debris, wiping sweat from his temple with the back of his hand. He studies the fissure's depth, his golden eyes critical.
"A long way to go," he sighs, the sound lost in the settling dust.
'Gravity—Levitation.'
The same dark pink energy envelops his body.He rises into the air. The buster sword dissolves into black mist that flows back into his pores. He flies toward the castle, a silhouette against the underworld's bruised sky.
---
Hades and Hecate study the dragon egg from Rhea's vault. Hades's eyes gleam with a penetrating purple radiance. His glowing fingertip traces invisible patterns over the egg's scaly surface.
Hecate weaves intricate golden spells in the air around it. As she completes the final sigil, the symbols blaze and condense into thin, shimmering threads of light. She closes her eyes, guiding the threads. They probe the egg's surface, then sink inward.
Hecate's eyebrows shoot up. Her hands freeze mid-gesture. "The energy density inside… it's astronomical. It's a containment vessel for a small star."
Hades's eyes return to normal. "Yet the nascent soul within is too frail to wield it. The energy sustains it but traps it in a perpetual loop of rebirth. A paradox."
THAM!
The chamber door slams open. Both deities turn. Cronus stands on the threshold. Behind him, palace guards look pale, their hands trembling. Hecate waves a dismissive hand, and the soldiers bow and scramble away.
"Hades!" Cronus booms. "Give me work!"
Hades squints, exchanging a glance with Hecate. Her slight eyebrow raise says everything. "Father," Hades asks, his voice measured. "What prompts this sudden… industriousness?"
Cronus flashes a bright, disarming smile. "I don't wish to be a freeloader."
'He's bored out of his mind,' Hades and Hecate think in unison.
Hades pinches the bridge of his nose. 'Guard duty? He'd start a war out of spite. Administration? He'd bury me in paperwork just to escape it. But… soldier instructor…' A slight, calculating smile touches Hades's lips.
"There is a vacant post," Hades announces. "Instructor for the core Underworld army. Does that suit you?"
Cronus considers for a second. An image forms in his mind: barking orders, drilling formations, imparting hard-won, brutal wisdom. A savage grin spreads across his face. "Instructor… sounds acceptable."
Hades turns to Hecate. "Continue with the egg. I'll… manage this." Hecate nods, already turning back. She snaps her fingers. Tomes on forbidden rituals, draconic biology, and arcane reptilian lore materialize in the air. A pair of crystal-lensed spectacles settles on her nose. She picks up the first book, her focus absolute.
Hades snaps his own fingers.
---
They reappear before the towering gates of Tartarus, where the heat of Brontos's forges mixes with the ozone crackle of the main training grounds. The sudden assault of heat and fumes forces Cronus to shield his eyes. After a few blinks, his demonic constitution adapts.
He lowers his hand. A full unit of new soldiers stands at rigid attention. In the far corner, on a cliff overlooking the chaos, Julie and Druvak sit in deep meditation.
The presence of their king turns the soldiers to statues. A commander peels from the ranks, saluting with a sharp thump to his chest. "My Lord Hades!"
The unit echoes the salute in perfect unison. Hades acknowledges them with a nod. The commander returns to his position. "Discipline is the backbone of any army," Hades states, his voice carrying effortlessly. "You wear it well."
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Hades offers three slow, appreciative claps. The soldiers give a slight, synchronized bow. "Today," Hades announces, "I present your new combat instructor: Lord Cronus."
Cronus steps forward, hands clasped behind his back. "Ahem. You may know me as the former king of the cosmos." His voice, infused with his rediscovered royal divinity, rolls across the canyon, commanding absolute attention. "Forget that. From this moment, I am your instructor. I will teach you the art of war, stripped to its brutal bones. You will address me as 'Sir.' Is that understood?"
The "SIR, YES SIR!" that echoes back is thunderous.
The divine and sinful auras clashing in the air finally stir the two sinners on the cliff. Druvak and Julie's eyes snap open simultaneously. They leap, landing in front of Cronus in a cloud of kicked-up dust. Two aggressive, sin-tinged auras flare within it.
Cronus's lips curve upwards. "It seems we have volunteers for a demonstration."
The dust settles. Druvak and Julie stand ready, weapons drawn, their gazes fixed on Cronus with predatory intensity. Druvak points his sword. "Lord Hades. Permission to exchange… insights with the new instructor?"
Hades waves a hand. A luxurious obsidian throne appears behind him. He sits, crossing his legs and resting his chin on a fist. "This ground exists for such exchanges. Proceed." A faint, anticipatory smile plays on his lips.
An obsidian buster sword forms from wisping demonic energy in Cronus's grasp. His obsidian armor manifests across his body with a series of soft clicks. A slick, eager smile stretches across his face. 'This. This is what I wanted.'
He swings the massive sword and rests it on his shoulder. He raises his right arm and crooks his index finger inward. Come.
Julie vanishes. Druvak's sword ignites with a chaotic green flare. He charges. 'Raging Water Sword Style.' His blade moves in unpredictable, furious arcs, a relentless tidal assault.
Cronus holds his sword in a high guard. He waits, poised. At the perfect moment, he murmurs, 'Gravity—Amplify.'
He brings the sword down in a devastating vertical chop. Druvak's assault shifts seamlessly into defense.
CLING!
The amplified sword crashes onto Druvak's blade,the immense weight forcing the sinner to one knee with a grunt.
Cronus's pupils dilate. He shifts sideways. 'Gravity—Light.'
His own weight vanishes.He spins like a leaf in a storm, then focuses all gravitational force into his right leg. 'Gravity—Heavy.'
The leg becomes a piston of immense torque. He kicks backward into empty air. "Your killing intent is a deafening shout!"
HEUK!
Julie's invisibility shatters as the kick connects with her torso,hurling her through the air. She crashes and rolls, but not before her dagger scores a line across Cronus's calf. Black ichor wells up, instantly evaporating into a malign haze that drifts toward her.
Druvak uses the opening. His blade flashes, cutting a line across Cronus's back.
Cronus grits his teeth, a spike of real pain cutting through the thrill. He kicks off the ground, putting distance between them.
He thinks he's safe, but Druvak flows into Gentle Wind Sword Style. His movement becomes a blur, closing the gap in an instant. The green-flared sword swings in a precise, horizontal arc aimed at Cronus's neck.
Cronus's eyes widen. A single drop of sweat traces a path down his temple. His heightened perception sees it all in dreadful slow motion: the heat haze rippling from the blade, the determined line of the cut, the inevitability of it. He leans back, muscles straining, but the sword follows its arc.
Swoosh.
The blade grazes his neck.Ichor beads along a thin line. Cronus stumbles back, his hand flying to the wound. But instead of fear, a mad, exhilarated grin splits his face. He looks at the ichor on his trembling fingers. This. This is the thrill. The brush with oblivion. The ice-cold clarity of true combat.
He glances up. Druvak is raising his sword for another strike. From behind, Julie approaches, twin daggers held low, her eyes the cold, focused eyes of an apex predator.
Cronus smiles ear to ear.
'Gravity Domain.'
'Domain Enhancement.'
A wave of deep pink energy erupts from him, covering a short radius that ensnares both attackers. Their limbs lock. The weight pressing down on them is that of a mountain. They flare their auras, muscles cording as they struggle against the oppressive force.
It buys Cronus only seconds. But it's enough. His wounds seal with a sizzle. He doesn't summon another greatsword. This time, twin, sleek longswords of obsidian form in his hands. He begins to rotate them in complex, interweaving patterns, creating a bladed cyclone before him.
Julie doesn't rush. She watches, studies. Druvak attacks, his style adapting, becoming sharper, more piercing to defeat the dual defense.
For a moment, it's a storm of sparks and the shriek of clashing metals. A hundred exchanges happen in a breath.
Then, a chill touches Cronus's spine. He spares a microsecond to glance behind and to the sides. 'Where is this lil' chick?'
He stretches all his senses but finds nothing. A dagger flies from a blind spot at a impossible angle. He tries to parry, but Druvak's relentless assault and the dagger's trajectory foil him. The blade grazes his cheek.
Suddenly, a hundred more daggers materialize in the air, shot from all directions.
Cronus reacts. The longswords dissolve. In their place, a gargantuan obsidian warhammer forms in his grip. He hoists it high. 'Gravity—Amplify.'
He brings it down with all the strength in his body and all the weight his power can grant.
BOOOM!!!
The shockwave is physical, visible. It hurls Druvak back and scatters the daggers like leaves. The ground beneath the hammer's head doesn't just crack; it pulverizes, sending a spiderweb of fractures outwards and catapulting massive boulders into the air. Julie is forced to reveal herself, slicing a boulder aimed at her in half.
One jagged chunk of rock shoots directly toward Hades's throne.
Hades, without looking, lazily flicks his wrist. The boulder loses all momentum and hangs suspended in the air for a moment before thudding harmlessly to the ground. His keen eyes have been analyzing every move. He uses gravity for mobility, amplification, and area denial. His royal divinity augments the domain's potency. But his application is still brute force. He could be far more efficient and devastating with—
Hades's thought process halts. His head turns sharply, his gaze piercing the layers of the underworld, focusing on a distant point in Elysium—the grove of the Life Jewel.
He sees it. The Jewel has bloomed, its first fruit glowing with ripe potency. And with the fruit comes an emission, a sweet, intoxicating scent of divine nectar. A scent designed to attract pollinators.
But in the Underworld, it attracts something else. It's a beacon. He can sense the stirrings in the giant chasms, the sudden focused hunger from the wild demonic beasts. It's a tide about to turn.
"HALT!"
Hades's voice, infused with the absolute authority of the Underworld, freezes the combatants mid-motion. Even Cronus stills, his warhammer halting in its backswing.
"First Legion!" Hades commands, his voice now crisp and tactical. "Full muster at the Labyrinth Gate! Double time!"
No one questions. The soldiers snap into motion, discipline overriding confusion. For them only one thing matters KING ORDER, FOLLOW THE ORDER.
"Signal Corps," Hades barks another order. "Sound the Emergency Bell."
A small unit breaks away, sprinting for the central bell tower. Moments later, the deep, resonant, world-shaking tones begin to roll across the entire realm.
RANG! RANG! RANG! RANG!
In libraries, forges, barracks, and gardens, every being in the Underworld stops. That specific, quadruple pattern hasn't sounded in centuries. Soldiers immediately move to fortified positions. Gates grind shut. Magical barriers hum to life.
In her study, Hecate's quill stops above a parchment. She looks up, her crystalline lenses reflecting the light. "…Emergency," she whispers, the weight of the term settling in the quiet room.
---
Meanwhile, on Olympus, a different kind of sickness festers.
Zeus's behavior has grown erratic. He mutters to himself in throne room shadows, bursts into laughter at grim reports, and flies into rages over minor slights. Whispers coil through the halls, fueled by a new, terrifying prophecy about the child of Metis that spreads like divine plague.
Alone in his chamber, Zeus slumps on his throne. Exhaustion, fear, and something darker pull him under.
Sunlight. It streams through a high window, warm and accusing. It falls on his closed eyelids. He stirs, opens them. His vision is blurry, swimming. A boy stands before him, silhouetted by the light. He holds something long and gleaming.
Zeus blinks rapidly, rubbing his eyes. The image sharpens.
A youth, with a smile that holds no joy, stands before the throne. In his hand is a masterbolt, reshaped into a cruel, single-edged sword.
Rage floods Zeus. He tries to rise, to summon his might, to grab the boy's throat. His prosthetic arm jerks up but meets resistance. Thick, frozen chains of stygian iron are wrapped around his wrists, anchoring him to the throne.
The boy's cheerful, innocent voice cuts through the panic. "Your time is over, Father. It's my turn to sit here."
Zeus's eyes widen. His mouth works, but no sound emerges, as if the dream has stolen his voice.
The boy raises the lightning-sword high and brings it down in a decisive, vertical slash.
THUD.
Zeus jolts awake, falling from his throne to the cold marble floor. He gasps, sweat plastering his chiton to his skin. Moonlight, not sunlight, filters through the window. The room is empty.
His throat is a desert. He scrambles for the amphora of nectar beside the throne, drinking deep, the sweet liquid doing nothing to wash the metallic taste of terror from his mouth. "A nightmare," he croaks to the empty room. "Only a nightmare."
'Are you certain?' The voice in his mind is calm, insidious. 'Neglect the root, and the tree will surely grow. Hesitate, and the dream becomes your waking world.'
"Then what would you have me do?" Zeus snarls aloud.
'Cut the problem at its source. Eliminate the child of prophecy.'
Zeus goes still. The paranoia crystallizes into a cold, brutal logic. A slow, terrible smile spreads across his face, devoid of any warmth. "No," he murmurs, the idea taking hold. "Not the child. The mother. You don't prune the branch; you tear out the root."
He pushes himself to his feet, his figure casting a long, predatory shadow in the moonlight. "I will not repeat my father's mistake. I will not wait for the threat to be born. Metis is the womb of this prophecy. If the womb is destroyed…" He lets the sentence hang, the solution feeling inevitable, righteous. "Then the problem never exists at all."