The war banners flutter, proud and defiant in the wind, as Nike and Bia lead their weary army back to camp. The taste of victory is sharp and sweet on the air, and the cheers of their soldiers are a symphony of triumph. The first true victory in this long, merciless war.
But as they cross into the main encampment, the symphony dies, choked off into a hollow silence. The air grows thick and heavy, pressing down on them. The faces they pass are drawn and pale, eyes darting away to avoid their gaze. The celebration curdles in Nike's throat, replaced by a cold, creeping unease.
"What is this?" she whispers, her hand tightening on the grip of her bow.
Bia's sharp eyes scan the camp, landing on a solitary, muscular figure seated on a felled tree trunk, methodically eating a bowl of soup. The tattoos coiled around his bald head and arms seem to pulse in the dim light. Bia approaches him. "Brother Kratos."
Kratos turns, his expression as unreadable as stone. He looks from Bia to Nike, his gaze lingering on the dirt and gore that cakes their armor. "You return," he states, his voice flat. "You are the only commanders to steal a victory from our father's hand."
Nike's brow furrows. "What do you mean, the only ones?"
He sets his bowl down. The clatter is unnaturally loud in the quiet. "Three other fronts. North and East—their armies are annihilated before they even touch the soil of Orthys. The merfolk host in the West? Poisoned. The sea itself turns against them." His eyes, cold and ancient, hold theirs. "The war is decided before your battle even ends."
Bia takes a half-step back as if struck. Her own spear slips from her grasp, its point digging into the mud. "This… this is a disgrace. This is not war."
Kratos lets out a slow breath, the sound laden with the weight of countless battlefields. He does not look at them with scorn, but with a grim, weary pity. "Victory does not care for your honor, sister," he rumbles. "It only answers to those left standing when the dust settles. Remember that." He stands, his shadow falling over them like a shroud. "Rest. The war you knew is over. A crueler one begins now." He walks away, leaving them in the crushing silence.
---
Prometheus enters the command tent to find Metis leaning over the war table, her knuckles white as she grips its edge. "I predicted losses," she mutters to the map, "but not a total rout. Not without a single blow landed… This is catastrophic."
"Nike and Bia have won their front."
Metis starts, spinning around. "How?"
Prometheus settles into a chair and takes a slow sip of wine. He raises two fingers. "First, Pallas softens for his children. Second, the Underworld Legion fights for them from the shadows."
'The Underworld Legion…' Metis's eyes snap shut as she plunges into thought. 'Nike and Bia are children of Pallas and Styx. Styx recently joined the Underworld realm, then perhaps…' After a long moment, she murmurs, "Is this Lady Styx's move?"
"Perhaps," Prometheus answers, noncommittal.
Metis's hands move swiftly over the map. She places a black piece upon the Northern pillar and a white one on the Western. "Tomorrow, we test the hypothesis. The Underworld Legion assaults the North. Nike and Bia press the West. Let us see where the scales tip."
---
The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows across the faces of Julie and her commanders. Mia breaks the quiet, her voice analytical. "Three commanders fall today. There is a common thread."
"They all die at sea," Sia offers.
"A factor," Mia concedes. "But the true commonality is that they are given unbalanced, weak units. And, most importantly, they all openly oppose Zeus."
Julie's voice is a low, dangerous whisper. "They are staged to die."
"I speculate this is Metis's design," Mia concludes. "Using the war as a cover to eliminate resistance to Ze—"
A rustle.
The undergrowth at the edge of their camp shivers.Every head turns, hands dropping to weapons.
A human soldier stumbles out, his armor caked in mud and filth. His eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and fanatical hatred, lock onto them. He throws a rolled parchment at their feet. "Monsters!" he spits. "Your day of slaughter has come! Hmph… Your coward master's dirty—"
Thwack.
The man's words end in a wet gurgle as Julie's dagger finds its home in his forehead. He crumples to the ground. A stunned silence grips the circle, all eyes fixed on Julie.
She merely arches an eyebrow at their stares. "He is loud. Annoying. And he interrupts my strategist."
As Mia cautiously retrieves the parchment, a faint red mist begins to seep from the soldier's corpse. It streams across the clearing, flowing into Julie. Before their eyes, his skin shrivels, his body collapsing in on itself until nothing but a dry, leaf-like husk remains. A gentle night breeze stirs, scattering him into ashes.
Mia announced the letter " Tommorow, Underworld legion will attack Northern pillar."
Julie flexes her fingers, a faint, satisfied sigh escaping her lips. "Well," she purrs, "the ocean will not miss a single drop." Her smile vanishes, her eyes turning hard and sharp as she scans her commanders. "But my ocean is not so vast. Tomorrow, I do not lose a single one of my drops. Do you understand?"
A unified, sharp reply answers her. "Yes, Commander!"
---
Hades ascends, piercing the veil of clouds until the very air grows thin and vanishes. He soars into a void, a profound darkness illuminated by the cold, brilliant fire of countless stars. He halts, momentarily stunned by the ethereal vista before him—a cosmic canvas of swirling nebulae in vibrant blues, reds, and oranges, with distant galaxies smeared across the infinity.
Focus, he commands himself, tearing his gaze from the celestial beauty. He reaches out with his secret divinity, a pulse of will that scans the void… and locks onto its target.
He flies, a black arrow against the starscape, until he reaches a swirling vortex of violet and electric blue energy. It pulses like the heart of a newborn galaxy. As he drives towards its center, a blur of motion flickers at the edge of his vision.
Instinct alone saves him. He snaps his wings forward, a shield of obsidian feathers meeting an unseen claw with a screech of tearing force. He spins, seeing nothing.
Again, a lethal slash from behind. He twists, the claws ripping through the void where he has just been. His eyes narrow. Enough of this.
A wave of purple energy erupts from him, washing outwards in all directions. In its wake, the attacker is revealed. Hym, a vengeful spirit with a grotesque, gaping maw and glowing eyes, its spiked body coiling in the ether.
"Kaaahee!!" it roars, its claws igniting with malevolent purple energy. It charges.
Hades responds with a volley of a hundred arcane bolts. The spirit becomes translucent, the bolts passing through its form harmlessly. It rematerializes, claws descending.
'Aegis.'
An invisible barrier flares, deflecting the blow. For a split second, the creature is exposed and vulnerable. Hades opens his beak, and a torrent of soul fire, white-hot and silent, engulfs the Hym. It has no time to scream. Its form is incinerated, not into ash, but into a wisp of black gas that drifts away into the cosmos.
Without a backward glance, Hades plunges into the heart of the vortex.
There, at its calm center, it floats: a spherical crystal, its interior a captured cosmos of swirling purples, reds, and a fiery, golden core. He shifts back to his human form, his fingers closing around the cool, smooth surface. The moment he pockets it, the entire vortex destabilizes, its energy dissipating into the void.
The spatial crystal is obtained, he thinks. Now for the final piece.
Transforming once more into the black phoenix, he turns his wings downward and begins his rapid descent to the world below.