The gods could only struggle to withstand the assault from the Goddess of Magic.
Yet to them, this kind of defense, though effective, could only last for a time, it could never hold for eternity.
After all, pitting finite divine power against the infinite flow of magic was a losing game from the start.
Even though the Goddess of Magic expended divinity when casting magic on such a scale, especially when her spells drained other gods, her consumption was still far smaller than that of the gods forced to defend against her endless power drawn from the Weave.
The gods quickly realized this wouldn't work. If it continued, Hecate would wear them down to death.
So they immediately shifted tactics.
Though none of them could wield magic with the same might as the Goddess of Magic, they each held their own divine authority and commanded unique powers.
Against Hecate's magic, they could not afford to pit their weaknesses against her strengths. Instead, they needed to bring forth their own domains and turn them into advantages.
For example…
"We can't keep this up!"
Standing at the front lines, teeth clenched as he resisted the onslaught of spells, Zeus growled.
"We must weaken these magics, by using our own authority! Everyone, follow my command!"
He turned and shouted loudly to the back.
"Hephaestus!"
"I'm here."
A lame and unsightly god stepped forward. His figure was smeared with soot, a smith's apron hanging across his chest, a hammer clutched in his hand.
When he appeared, Alaric noticed Aphrodite frown faintly among the gods, her face twisted in undisguised disdain.
Raising his smith's hammer, Hephaestus rasped in a voice harsh and wheezing like bellows:
"Flames that rage across heaven and earth, by the name of I, Hephaestus, god of fire and forge, I command you, quell your fury! Bury your blazing wrath deep in the ashes!"
At his decree, every flame conjured by Hecate instantly weakened. Even the mighty Inferno Storm dwindled until its firepower was weaker than a mere fireball.
The pressure on the gods lightened at once.
Zeus nodded in satisfaction and barked again: "Demeter!"
A tall, solemn goddess stepped out. A wreath of flowers crowned her golden waves of hair, a sheaf of wheat in one hand, a blazing torch in the other.
Lifting the wheat stalks, she waved them gently as she spoke in a warm, resonant tone:
"Power of the earth, legacy of primordial Gaia, I, Demeter, goddess of harvest, beseech you, draw back your weight, bury your grandeur of soil and stone deep within the mountains!"
The true will of Gaia was suppression, not a force that could appear directly among the gods.
Thus, within the pantheon, the aspect of "earth" was shared between Demeter, goddess of harvest and agriculture, and the ancient mountain goddess Rhea.
With Demeter's invocation, Hecate's earth-element spells lost their bite. Even her rockfalls crumbled, scattering into weak, weightless dust.
Next, Zeus called upon Poseidon.
This sea god resembled Zeus in form, strong, imposing, a middle-aged man of authority.
He rode a chariot drawn by bronze-hoofed, golden-maned horses, a trident forged by the Cyclopes during the Titanomachy gripped in his hand.
Though displeased at his brother Zeus's command, Poseidon nevertheless leveled his trident toward Hecate and thundered:
"Power of water that embraces all things! Pure, you nourish all life. Foul, you corrode all that exists.
Your fury blots out the skies, your hatred chills to the bone.
By the name of I, Poseidon, god of the sea and waters, I command you, recede your raging waves before me, and return to the vast ocean!"
At his word, ice spells that froze the world and acid rain that corroded everything both vanished of power. Cold and corrosion alike became harmless to the gods.
After him came Aeolus, god of winds, calming the raging storm spells.
Apollo the sun god and Artemis the moon goddess stepped forward, dimming the brilliance of radiant spells.
Nyx, goddess of night, emerged, dissolving the dread woven into shadow sorcery.
Finally, Zeus himself stood forth.
As the lord of lightning, the moment he acted, the rampaging storms of thunder collapsed.
Together, the gods nullified Hecate's elemental magic. No longer could her spells harm them in the slightest.
Left with no choice, Hecate turned to other spells.
But she was still a new god, unfamiliar with the full breadth of her powers. Aside from elemental magic, she had little mastery of other schools, and soon she was forced onto the defensive.
It was hardly surprising.
Alaric had chosen Hecate to ascend as Goddess of Magic not only because of her compatibility with divinity but also her natural affinity with elements and raw magical energy.
In truth, while she now bore the mantle of Goddess of Magic, her essence leaned more toward Goddess of the Weave and raw magical power.
As the magic goddess, given enough time she could swiftly learn all forms of sorcery, if a spell existed, she could master it.
But now, she had neither the time to learn nor the experience to fully understand and wield what she did know.
Thus, despite possessing overwhelming mana, she could not fully bring out the strength of magic beyond the gods' authorities.
This flaw was also tied to her lack of combat experience.
In all of Greece, aside from Alaric himself, she had been the very first true mage.
With her immense talent, she had reached legendary rank in little time, most of it spent within the Mage Tower.
But this left her with almost no practical combat. Not even duels against peers of her own level, let alone battles against foes of equal standing.
And as she grew stronger, the problem only worsened.
As the second-strongest in the entire Academy after Alaric, a lofty legendary mage, none in Greece could rival her, not even the greatest of heroes.
Where then could she gain battle experience?
So it was inevitable: even as a god, she remained a novice in battle.
When she could rely on evocation spells alone, like a living spell cannon, she had been formidable.
But the moment she met opponents immune to pure destructive sorcery, her artillery-like tactics became useless, leaving her at a loss.
That was her situation now.
Alaric had long been aware of this flaw.
He knew it was not fatal. As long as Hecate was given time, the repertoire of the Goddess of Magic would grow boundless, every spell recorded in history would one day be hers to command.
And until she reached her full growth, Alaric had other methods prepared.
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