The air died.
It didn't grow still. It didn't become quiet. It died. The chaotic storm around Zeus froze mid-eruption. The screams of the wounded, the crackle of distant fires, the very hum of reality—it all vanished, swallowed by an absolute, suffocating silence. It was a pressure that had nothing to do with force; it was the weight of a gaze.
Everyone, everywhere, stopped.
On the edges of the crater, Ares lowered his spear, his face blank with awe. Kratos stood like a statue, his blades cooling in his hands. The archangels, Michael included, had gone to one knee, their heads bowed not in submission, but in profound, stunned recognition.
Hades, who had never bowed to anyone, simply looked up, his pale face unreadable. Odin's single eye widened, seeing a pattern he had never glimpsed before. Poseidon stood frozen, a forgotten prayer on his lips.
