I Am Zeus

Zeus.

The first thing he felt was the cold. A deep, bone-ache cold that had nothing to do with temperature. It was the cold of being empty.

Then, a thump. A single, stubborn heartbeat that refused to quit.

Zeus dragged air into lungs that felt like shattered glass. His eyes opened. The world was a blur of red and black. The dark blade was still in his chest, a weight that felt more wrong than any wound. It was trying to swallow what was left of him.

Get up.

The thought wasn't a roar. It was quiet. A simple, undeniable command from some deep, forgotten part of himself.

He pushed himself onto his elbows. The hellstone scraped his skin. Every movement was agony. He got one knee under him, then the other. The blade pulsed, sending another wave of that soul-numbing chill through him. It whispered for him to lie down and forget.

He wrapped a hand around the hilt. His fingers trembled.

"Not yours," he rasped, his voice raw.

He pulled.

It didn't come out with a scream or a flash of light. It slid free with a soft, sucking sound, like pulling a root from wet earth. The wound beneath didn't bleed. It just closed, leaving a pale, thin scar over his heart. A reminder.

The blade in his hand writhed, trying to reshape itself into something deadly. He looked at it, this thing made of pure hate, and simply let his will wash over it. The darkness cracked, flaked away, and dissolved into nothing more than black dust on the wind.

He stood.

He was still hurt. He was still tired down to his soul. But the towering, godly pride was gone. In its place was something quieter, harder. The storm inside him wasn't a wild thing anymore. It was a tool. A weapon he finally knew how to hold.

A shadow fell over him. Leviathan coiled in the sky, one eye a ruined mess, the other fixed on him with ancient hatred. The Dragon limped forward, its broken wing dragging, smoke leaking from between its plates.

And Lucifer was watching him, his expression not of rage, but of a cold, irritated surprise. Like a man who saw a cockroach he was sure he'd squashed still moving.

Zeus ignored them all for a moment. He flexed his hand. Lightning, clean and white, sparked obediently between his fingers. It didn't crackle with unchecked power. It waited.

A spear, flung by a mind-controlled Vanir, flew at his head. He didn't even look. He raised two fingers. The spear stopped an inch from his temple, shuddered, and then drooped, the metal going dull and soft as clay. It fell to the ground with a thud.

The Vanir who threw it blinked, looking at his empty hands in horror. Zeus didn't turn. He just pushed a gentle wave of calm from himself, a ripple in the chaotic air. Where it passed, a few fighters stumbled, their eyes clearing for a precious second before the madness swallowed them again. It wasn't much. But it was something.

Hades felt the ripple. He met Zeus's gaze across the chaos and gave a single, short nod. No words were needed.

The Dragon charged.

Zeus didn't meet the charge. He took one step to the side. The massive jaws snapped shut on empty air, shattering a pillar of bone. As the beast's head swept past, Zeus reached out and laid a hand on its scaled neck.

It wasn't a violent touch. A thread of lightning, fine as a wire, shot from his palm into the Dragon's body. The beast didn't roar in pain. It just froze, its muscles locking solid. It crashed to the ground, skidding, its body twitching.

Leviathan's tail, a mountain of muscle and scale, came down like a hammer.

Zeus didn't try to catch it. He put his hand out, palm open. The air in front of him thickened into an invisible wall. The tail slammed into it and veered off course, carving a deep chasm into the floor beside him. The impact jarred his arm, but he stood firm.

Then Lucifer was there. No grand entrance. He just appeared, his movement faster than sight.

No words this time. Lucifer's hand, sharp as a blade, shot for Zeus's throat. Zeus caught the wrist. Lucifer's other hand formed a dagger of black-blue fire—the color of a dying star—and stabbed for Zeus's heart.

Zeus didn't block it. He turned his body, letting the burning dagger slice deep into his shoulder. He used the pain, channeling it into raw force as he drove his elbow into Lucifer's ribs. There was a satisfying crack.

They broke apart, both breathing hard. This wasn't a glorious duel of gods. It was a dirty, brutal brawl.

A blast of corrupted energy shot toward Zeus's back. In a blur of motion, Hermes took the hit, three shards of violet light embedding in his shoulder. He grunted, tumbling past. "Heads up, old man!" he wheezed, already vanishing back into the fray.

Zeus didn't have time to thank him. Leviathan was diving again. He threw out his hand, and a rope of pure lightning shot out, wrapping around the great serpent's jaw. He didn't try to overpower it. He just pulled, guiding its massive head away, forcing it to plow a furrow through the sky instead of through him.

The Dragon was back on its feet, spitting a stream of molten chaos. Zeus clapped his hands together. The sound wasn't loud, but the shockwave that followed was solid, hammering the stream aside and incinerating a pack of lesser demons.

He saw Hades, surrounded by the ghosts of the dead. Instead of fighting them, he was speaking to them, quietly, calling them by name. It was hurting them, breaking Azazel's hold. A surge of respect went through Zeus.

Odin was fighting again, Gungnir a beacon of certainty. Poseidon had turned the very rivers of Hell against the Dragon's legs, quenching its fire with ancient, bitter water.

It was messy. It was ugly. But they were fighting together.

Wukong bounded onto a broken pillar, bloody but grinning. He saw Zeus on his feet, gave a quick, sharp salute with his staff, and launched himself back into the fight.

Ares and Kratos fought back-to-back, a whirlwind of violence. Ares caught Zeus's eye and jerked his chin, a wordless 'about time'. Kratos just met his gaze for a fraction of a second. It wasn't friendly. It was an acknowledgment. A shared understanding that they were all in this until the end.

The Beasts circled. Lucifer pressed his attack, his movements a blend of beautiful grace and utter cruelty. The air was thick with Azazel's corrupting influence.

Zeus planted his feet and did something small. He created a bubble of silence around himself. Just a few yards wide. Inside it, the maddening whispers stopped. Four nearby gods suddenly blinked, looking around in confusion. The bubble was fragile, but for a moment, it held.

Lucifer saw it and moved to crush it. Zeus pivoted, letting Lucifer's attack slam into the ground, and countered with a sharp blow to the jaw. Lucifer took it, his head snapping back, but his grip was like iron as he caught Zeus's arm and twisted. Something popped in Zeus's forearm. He grit his teeth, using the pain to fuel his momentum, spinning out of the hold.

He was tired. So tired. When Leviathan's coils swept the ground, his jump was too slow. He landed hard, his knee screaming in protest. His hand slapped the hot ground, and he pulled the heat from the stone itself.

A spear of white fire, tinged with the brown of earth, grew in his hand. He threw it, and it shot into Leviathan's open mouth, pinning its jaws shut. The great serpent thrashed, stunned.

The Dragon roared in fury. Zeus took a step into the sound and lifted his hands to the sky.

This time, the lightning didn't flood the world. A single, perfect bolt lanced down from the heavens and stopped, frozen in the air, a hair's breadth from the Dragon's eyes. A silent, brilliant warning.

Lucifer sliced through the frozen lightning like it was paper. He was on Zeus again in an instant, driving him back through a bony archway. Splinters of fossilized bone exploded around them. Zeus coughed, tasting blood, but drove his shoulder forward, smashing into Lucifer's chest. A small, mean victory. He'd take it.

And then, a new shadow fell over them. Not from a Beast, not from a demon.

The bloody red sky of Hell… turned white.

A cold, surgical white. A light that didn't warm, but judged.

High above, a star had appeared. It wasn't a natural thing. It peeled open, and from it stepped figures of impossible light and sharp, geometric beauty. They carried swords that hummed with a silent song. Their wings were made of purpose, not feathers.

The first of the archangels had entered Hell.

Azazel, who had been a still, corrupting sun in the center of the room, finally took a step. His head tilted, the sand in his empty eye sockets whirling faster.

Lucifer's face tightened. A look of pure, undiluted hatred mixed with a flicker of something else—recognition.

Zeus just rolled his sore shoulder, the new scar on his chest tingling. He looked from the terrifying new arrivals to his ancient enemy, and set his feet once more.

He didn't feel like a king. He didn't feel like a god.

He just felt like a man who had a job to finish.

The wind died. The whole throne room seemed to hold its breath. Even the Beasts went still, sensing a power that changed the rules.

Michael had not yet spoken. But his presence had already drawn a line in the sand.

And on one side of that line, Zeus stood ready, the storm in his eyes finally, perfectly, clear.