The western coast of the island was a chaotic gallery of spectators, all eyes turned toward the distant, cataclysmic duel between the Leviathan and the Titan Krios. The sea itself was a battlefield, with mountains of water crashing against shields of celestial light.
"Look! A ship!" a soldier shouted, pointing a trembling finger at a shadow cutting through the thick sea fog.
A wave of excitement passed through the crowd. "A giant ship! It's returning!"
"But three ships departed," another voice countered, the observation dousing the burgeoning hope. "Only one returns."
"Then it must be Lord Boreones and his host!" someone declared, trying to reinflate the collective spirit. A few ragged cheers went up.
But the speculation shattered as the vessel drew near. It was the obsidian leviathan of the Underworld. It settled on the shore without a sound, and three thousand unmarked soldiers began to disembark in perfect, silent formation. They were followed by Bia and Nike, their armor scarred and bloody, supporting a handful of survivors—a pitifully small group from ten thousand. As the ship shrank back into a marble that floated into Julie's palm, a heavy silence fell, broken only by the sigh of the waves.
Nike and Bia approached Julie. The pride of the Sky Legion bowed their heads. "Thank you, General Julie," Nike said, her voice raw. "The Underworld Legion saved what remains of our command. We owe you our lives."
A ripple of uneasy murmurs spread through the onlookers. Julie offered a thin, diplomatic smile. "There is no debt. We all fight the same war. Now, we should all rest."
As the immaculate Underworld Legion turned to march south, a voice lashed out from the crowd. "Not a single scratch on them!"
Another soldier spat on the ground. "They let the Sky Legion bleed while they waited in the shadows!"
"Cowards! Just like their master!"
Elfir's body erupted in flames, the ambient rain sizzling into steam around him. He took a heavy step toward the taunters, his fists clenched. A single, sharp word from Julie stopped him cold.
"Elfir!"
Their eyes met. She gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. With a sound of pure disgust,"Hmph!" he extinguished his flames and returned to rank, the tension in his shoulders screaming what his voice could not.
Suddenly heavy rain pour out.
Julie kept her pace steady, she tightly gripped the hilt of her dagger. 'This monkies, They deliberately entice us to attack. Then they got chance to reprimand us' she thought, the cold rain masking the fury in her eyes. 'Their courage exists only in a crowd. When Lord Hades arrives, they won't even have the nerve to whisper.'
---
From a high ridge, Pallas watched the Leviathan wrestle with Krios, but his mind was elsewhere. The reports were in. 'Ophium and Brontar, dead. Menoetius, victorious. And my daughters... alive again.'
He let out a long, slow breath. A memory surfaced, unbidden—Nike as a child, her small hands struggling to lift a bow practice archery, her face set with an impossible determination. "Now, her father, orchestrated battles designed to break that same spirit, to lead her to the gate of death."
"This is how fate is" a voice rasped from behind. Kois approached, his expression as dark as the churning depths below. "He pits kin against kin for his amusement. This is the true face of fate."
Pallas didn't turn. "It is the burden of choice," he replied, his voice low and hollow. "To sacrifice a piece to save the whole." As if fleeing his own thoughts, he launched himself from the cliff, a golden streak aimed at the heart of levianthan.
---
In the command tent, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and tension. An informer finished his dispatch. "General Boreones has fallen. The Sky Legion is victorious against Ophium, but only Generals Bia, Nike, and sixty-three soldiers survive. The Underworld Legion has annihilated Brontar's force. They took zero casualties."
"Leave." Metis ordered. When the tent flap closed, she leaned back, pressing her fingers to her temples. "We win the battles but lose the war. At this rate, we'll have no army before battle between Giants."
Prometheus studied the war map, his gaze calculating. "The pattern is undeniable. The Underworld Legion moves to protect Styx's children. This is a vulnerability we can exploit."
"A tool that could shatter in our hands," Metis countered, her eyes sharp. "They are like chained wolfs who only follows their alpha and they are waiting for this chains too loose."
"A wolf can be directed with the right bait," Prometheus replied calmly. "We hold the perfect leverage: the pride of the Sky Legion commanders. They would choose death over the stain of cowardice, and that pride will keep the Legion fighting for us." He tapped a finger on the map, right over the western front. "And the general, Julie... she consumes the strength of the fallen. This war is a banquet for her. We can ensure the feast is laid where it serves us best."
A slow, calculating smile spread across Metis's lips. "Then let us make sure her hunger serves our purpose."
---
In the lightless, crushing pressure of the abyssal plain, Hades stood upon the seabed. The water here was as thick as stone.
"Lord Pontus!" His voice, amplified by divinity, cut through the eternal silence. "I am Hades, King of the Underworld. I come to seek your aid!"
The very ocean floor trembled. The pressure intensified, becoming a weight that would have vaporized a lesser god. Before him, two piercing azure orbs ignited in the darkness, each larger than he was. A voice, profound and ancient, echoed not in his ears but in his soul.
"What... does the King of the Dead... seek from the First Sea?"
"Greetings, Lord Pontus. Tartarus has fallen into slumber. The seals on the chasm are breaking. I require a fragment of your essence to mend what is torn."
A long silence stretched, filled only by the groan of the deep. "It... shall be given."
The azure gaze faded. In its place, a single, luminous orb of swirling blue energy appeared. It pulsed with a serene, cosmic power, like a captured piece of the primordial ocean. Hades carefully secured the Ocean Essence within his dimensional pocket and turned to ascend.
Before he had risen far, a sleek orca glided into his path. It dipped its head in a gesture of respect. "Lord Hades," it communicated through a series of resonant clicks. "I am a messenger of Lord Oceanus. He requests your presence in his palace."
Hades stilled. 'Now, what he plaining?' After a moment's consideration, he gave a single, curt nod. "Lead the way."
---
Meanwhile, on the lowest floor of Tartarus, the air was thick with the snarls of monsters and the scent of ozone.
'Judgment Slash!' Druvak's blade flared with crimson radiance, cleaving a Hym in two.
'Glacial Lance!' Amazel hurled spears of piercing ice that pinned shrieking Orcs to the cavern walls.
Nixi, a phantom of condensed shadow in her panther form, moved between them. Her shadowy fangs crunched through a Hym's spine while her claws tore through Orcish armor like parchment.
'Arcane Barrage!' Hectate finished the struggle, unleashing a storm of pure magical energy that vaporized the remaining foes. She let out a tired breath, her shoulders slumping. "Four days. Where is he?"
Her gaze flicked to a floating scrying orb, its surface showing a mob of messengers from various pantheons pounding on the gates of the Underworld, their faces contorted in rage. "And these fools," she muttered. "They dare curse me at my own doorstep. What idiocy gives them such confidence?"
Suddenly, the very air in Tartarus grew heavy, stale, and thick with dread. A pressure fell upon them that had nothing to do with the depth. Every head turned towards the giant chasm.
A claw emerged, a obsidian scythe of a digit, larger than a warship and settled on the mountain of corpses. The sheer weight of it pressed the mound of the dead into a pulp. Then the rest of the form followed.
A colossal obsidian dragon pulled itself into the realm, its scales like forged nightmare, each one a polished black mirror reflecting the despair of the damned. Twin horns spiraled from its head like monuments to oblivion, and its eyes burned with violet, ancient fury. Its vast wings unfurled, casting the entire battlefield into an even deeper, light-devouring gloom.
It threw back its head, and the sound that ripped from its maw was not a roar, but the sound of the world tearing in two.
"ROOOOAAAARRR!!!"
The shockwave vibrated through every stone and soul in Tartarus. The ground trembled. Hectate's eyes widened in primal recognition, her blood running cold.
"An Ancient Obsidian Dragon..." she whispered, the words a death sentence in the sudden, terrible silence that followed the roar.