I Am Zeus

The air over Olympus began to thicken as dawn broke across the mortal world. The sky was a bruised gold, and the first rays of sunlight slid across the marble terraces like hesitant fingers. The world was waking, but the mountain was already alive.

From every corner of the realm, divine power pulsed toward its peak. The decision had been made. The war was no longer an idea—it was a heartbeat, and that heartbeat was quickening.

Zeus stood at the edge of the great terrace, high above the clouds, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The wind rippled through his cloak, and faint arcs of lightning danced around his arms like restless spirits. Behind him, the gods of Olympus waited in tense silence. Odin leaned on Gungnir, Hades stood beside Persephone, Athena's eyes gleamed with cold calculation, and Artemis rested a hand on her bow. Even Poseidon, the eternal skeptic, stood still. They knew what was coming.

Zeus raised his hand. The clouds above trembled. His voice, when it came, was not sound—it was essence. It was the first command that ever echoed through existence, the same tone that had once shaped mountains and drawn rivers from stone.

It was the Divine Voice.

The world stopped to listen.

"Children of the Sky," Zeus began, his words vibrating through air, stone, and soul alike. "Children of Sea and Earth. Sons of Fire and Daughters of Shadow. Gods, Titans, Demigods, Spirits, and Beasts—hear me."

The wind fell silent. Across distant lands, temples quaked. Oceans paused mid-wave. Even the underworld felt the tremor.

"The gates of Hell are open. The fallen sons of the first creation have risen. They march against us—not as conquerors of one realm, but as executioners of all." His gaze moved across the horizon, where distant thunderheads flickered. "They seek to unmake what light has built, to turn every realm into the image of their master's grief. They are patient, clever, and endless. But so are we."

In the mortal realm, priests fell to their knees as the words rolled through the sky. In forests, dryads and fae looked up, eyes wide. Deep beneath the sea, merfolk raised their tridents in silent answer. In the mountains of the East, dragons stirred from ancient sleep. The voice reached them all.

"Today," Zeus said, "we put aside bloodlines, grudges, and names. Olympus, Asgard, the Jade Heavens, Duat, Valhalla, Nirvana—every realm born from light and chaos alike—we stand as one creation. No more borders. No more thrones. Just existence."

The ground shook with the power of his words.

"In three days' time, we march on the pit. The infection festers there, and we will burn it out from the root. If you are a god, your domain calls you. If you are a warrior, your hands are needed. If you are a monster who ever dreamed of redemption, this is your chance. If you are mortal and still believe in us, raise your eyes to the sky. We see you."

He closed his eyes and spoke the last words not as a command, but as a plea. "This is not a war of faith. It is a war of survival. Come to Olympus. Stand with us. Or watch the world die screaming."

The power of the Divine Voice rippled outward.

It crossed continents, pierced clouds, slipped into oceans, and moved through the very fabric of the spirit world.

In Asgard, Thor felt it before he heard it. Lightning coiled around Mjölnir as if answering an old friend. He looked up at the darkening sky and smirked. "So the storm calls the storm. Finally."

In the halls of the Jade Emperor, celestial generals paused their drills. The Emperor opened his eyes, his face calm but his aura flaring gold. "Then the time has come."

In the deserts of Duat, new Anubis turned from the river of souls, his jackal eyes narrowing. "Even the dead are listening," he murmured. "Let them."

In the forests of the East, Sun Wukong—sitting cross-legged on a cliff after his fight with Mephisto—grinned. "Finally, someone's throwing a proper party." He stood, stretching lazily, the Ruyi Jingu Bang shrinking back to needle size. "Mount Olympus, huh? Haven't been there since I stole their wine."

Even the darker places stirred. In the shadows between realms, monsters who had once cursed the gods looked up. Vampires paused in their hunger. Werewolves in the deep woods raised their heads to the wind. Old demons bound by blood pacts felt something long forgotten: a call not from their masters, but from the world itself.

Zeus lowered his hand. The echo of his words faded into the distance, leaving only the hum of power in the air.

Behind him, the gods stood in awe. No one spoke for several breaths. Even Odin, who had heard countless speeches of kings and prophets, looked moved.

"That should do it," Hermes murmured, half in jest, though his eyes were wide.

Zeus exhaled slowly, letting the last of the power fade from his form. He turned to face them, his face drawn but resolute. "They'll come," he said simply. "Even those who hate us will come. Because they know this is the end of all things if they don't."

Athena crossed her arms. "And what then? When they arrive?"

"Then," Zeus said, "we show them what unity looks like. Not the kind written in treaties. The kind forged in fire."

Poseidon frowned. "You called demons too, brother. And monsters. Even the ones who barely walk the line of damnation. You think they'll fight beside us?"

"They'll fight," Hades said before Zeus could answer. His voice was dry, but certain.

Odin's single eye gleamed faintly in the torchlight. "A bold gamble, calling the wicked as well as the righteous. You're turning the mountain into a gathering of chaos."

Zeus allowed himself a small, weary smile. "If we're going to war with the Prince of Chaos, we might as well speak his language."

The gods exchanged glances—uneasy, but not dissenting.

Far below, Olympus began to awaken. Golden eagles flew across the sky, carrying the sound of drums that hadn't been played in millennia. Messengers streaked between temples, between realms.

The mountain that had once been a symbol of peace was becoming an army's heart.

From the horizon, portals began to shimmer into view.

The first were streaks of gold and crimson—Asgardian banners carried by Thor, Freyja, and Tyr. They landed with thunder and laughter, the air around them alive with energy.

Then came the eastern gods, carried on clouds and phoenix fire. The Jade Emperor's court descended in a procession of light, their banners fluttering like sunbeams.

From the underworld rose Hades's legions, cloaked in mist, their eyes faint with the glow of souls bound to serve one last cause. Persephone walked beside them, barefoot, flowers blooming in her wake.

The Norse and Greek gods clasped hands, awkwardly at first, then firmly. The Celestial generals nodded in quiet respect. The air was thick with the scent of ozone, smoke, and divine presence.

Even darker shapes appeared at the edges. Fallen angels in tattered armor. Old titans, their eyes hollow but burning with purpose. The children of chaos itself, stepping cautiously into the light.

It was not order. It was not harmony. It was something rawer, more powerful—necessity.

Zeus watched them all arrive, one by one, until the entire sky above Olympus was a storm of light and motion. The mountain shook under their combined weight, but it did not break.

He stepped forward once more, lightning gathering behind him like wings. "Welcome," he said, his voice carrying to the farthest edges of the gathering. "You have all been called—not by Olympus, not by any single god, but by the world itself. The enemy does not care for your titles, your myths, or your thrones. He wants only your extinction. So fight for yourselves. Fight for what you love. Fight for what made you."

He lifted his hand again, and lightning arced into the heavens, splitting the clouds. The light illuminated every face—god, demon, monster, mortal, all standing on the same mountain.

"This is the dawn before the fire," Zeus said quietly. "Make it count."

The world answered with thunder.