A bustling marketplace thrived in a human kingdom, filled with lively traders and townsfolk under a bright, cloud-dotted sky. The air was rich with the scent of bread and the sounds of commerce.
From the clouds above, Iapetus looked down upon the peaceful, prosperous scene. His jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "We are your creators!" his voice boomed, reverberating across the entire world and shaking the very timbers of the houses. "We gifted you immortality, strength, and freedom from hunger, age, and disease! And now, you lower beings dare to raise your hands against us? Pathetic!"
Below, the vibrant marketplace froze. Every human, from playing children to haggling merchants, dropped to their knees as if their strings had been cut. A wave of primal terror silenced the crowd, leaving only the sound of whimpering and shaking hands pressed against the cobblestones.
An old sage, his face streaked with tears, began to rhythmically thump his forehead against the hard ground. "We have committed a great sin!" he croaked, a dark smear of blood already forming on the stone. "Please! Forgive our arrogance!"
"Forgiveness?" Iapetus's voice scoffed, laced with divine contempt. "A fantasy for the weak. Today, I take back our gifts. From this moment, your race is vulnerable to everything—sickness, time, and your own fleeting strength. This curse is eternal!"
As his words faded, an invisible wave of energy swept the kingdom. A vibrant young man stared at his hands in horror as wrinkles began to spread across his skin. A child's joyful laugh turned into a racking cough. The very air, once thick with the promise of eternity, now carried the chilling, metallic scent of mortality. Iapetus turned, his mission of vengeance complete, and flew back to Mount Othrys.
---
In the hall on Othrys, a map was spread across a massive stone table. Iapetus took his seat among the other Cardinals and Pallas.
Pallas placed small white pillars on the map. "These represent you, the Cardinals." He then placed a single black pillar on a small island to the west. "And this is the enemy's position." He settled into his chair. "My informants confirm Zeus and Poseidon have ascended to the low level of God King."
The words "God King" hung in the air, sucking the warmth from the room. The Cardinals exchanged grim looks, their previous confidence visibly shaken.
Atlas was the first to break the silence. "What of Hades?"
Pallas let out a tired sigh. "No data. He has not appeared on the island. Only a small legion of three thousand soldiers from his realm is present."
He tossed parchments to each Cardinal. "This is their full order of battle. The rest of their army is weak, comprised of high gods and mortals. The true threats are Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, and the Leviathan."
As they read, Krios exclaimed, pointing at his scroll, "Why is the column for the Underworld General labelled 'Unknown'?"
"Because she is," Pallas replied, taking a sip of nectar. "She had a... disagreement with Zeus. And to the surprise of all, she matched his divine pressure without flinching."
He stood, commanding their attention. "To be truthful, their overall base strength is superior. Lord Oceanus's involvement is also unclear; he claims neutrality, but we must be cautious. Other than Lord Cronus, none can stand against that ancient king." He paused, letting the gravity of their situation sink in before offering a lifeline. "Therefore, I have requested the aid of the Solar King, Lord Hyperion. He has agreed and also promised to enhance our weapons and relics in the Star Forge, worked by the starsmith Voriathorn himself."
At the mention of Hyperion, the grim silence broke. Shoulders straightened. Krios allowed himself a sharp, predatory grin. The hope was a tangible thing, a spark igniting in their eyes.
"Our new armaments will arrive within a week or two," Pallas continued. "Until then, we prolong this war. Are there any questions?"
Koios stood. "None. We know your capabilities, Pallas. More importantly, we trust you."
As the Titans departed, Pallas remained, his hands flat on the table. He stared at the black pillar representing his enemies, a devious smile twisting his lips. "I will teach you all how a real war is waged."
---
In the allies' command tent, a long table held a large map and cups of wine. The generals were seated around it, with Zeus at the head. Julie's seat was conspicuously empty, a silent testament to the ongoing friction.
Metis addressed the assembly. "Tomorrow, we begin. Our vanguard will be Nike and Bia."
Nike, mid-sip, choked on her wine. She and Bia quickly stood, the eyes of the entire council upon them. A smattering of polite, uncertain applause rang out.
Prometheus watched from his corner, sipping his wine. Are we truly at war? he thought, his gaze fixed on the two young goddesses. Nike's lower lip was caught firmly between her teeth. Beside her, Bia's hands were clasped so tightly in her lap her knuckles were bone-white. They were so young, handed the reins of a war they could scarcely comprehend.
Nike noticed his gaze. Prometheus moved his lips without a sound: Both of you... meet me after. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
The tent flap opened, and a messenger entered, bringing a sudden silence. "My lords," the messenger announced. "The Underworld is sealed. Completely. No one is allowed to enter or exit, not even souls. Lord Hades refuses all messengers."
The crystal goblet in Zeus's hand exploded into dust. "How shameful! What cowardice!" he roared, and his fist came down on the heavy oak table. It didn't just break; it splintered with a sound like a lightning strike, sending maps, wine, and parchment flying. "Does he have no backbone? No pride? We are here, staking our lives with no comfort, and he hides in his palace!"
The initial shock gave way to a low, venomous hum. A bearded general leaned toward his companion, his voice a malicious whisper. "I heard he keeps a harem of monsters..." Another voice added, "He abducts children for his pleasure and dark rituals." The seed was planted, and as the leaders filed out, the whispers multiplied, twisting and growing in the dark.
Soon, only Metis, Prometheus, Nike, and Bia remained. Prometheus stood, murmuring, "Pigs. They condemn a man they've never seen." He righted a chair and waved his hand, a new stone table forming from the earth. Metis laid a fresh, more detailed map upon it.
"Your formation must have strong flanks but a weak centre," Metis explained, tracing the lines. "They will take the bait and charge. When they do, your flanks will envelop them."
Nike and Bia listened with unwavering focus.
Prometheus interjected, his voice low and serious. "They will try to humiliate you, to provoke you with taunts and dirty tricks. You must let your pride be your armour, not your weakness. Use your rage as fuel for precision, not recklessness."
With the new strategy imprinted on their minds, Nike and Bia departed. Unseen by them, a figure melted from the shadows near the tent entrance, a masked and hooded form that darted silently into the jungle, heading toward the Underworld legion's camp.
---
By a campfire, Mia sat on a log. She heard a rustle. "Julie, is that you?"
Julie pulled back her hood and removed her mask, her face illuminated by the firelight. She sat beside Mia, accepting a cup of water.
"Tomorrow, Nike and Bia open the war," Julie reported. She drank deeply, then delivered the heavier news. "And the Underworld is sealed. Completely. Even the flow of souls has been halted."
Mia's eyes widened. "What? Then shouldn't we return?"
Julie's hand, resting on her knee, clenched into a fist for a fraction of a second before she relaxed it. Her voice, however, remained steel. "No. Our primary objective stands: protect the children of the Styx by any means necessary. Until we receive new orders directly from Lord Hades, we hold our position."
---
Back in the now-empty command tent, only Metis and Prometheus remained.
Prometheus drained his cup. "Was that your doing?" he asked, his gaze sharp. "The rumours?"
"No," Metis replied without hesitation. "I don't use such cheap tricks." She studied his face. "If it wasn't you or me, then who? Poseidon?"
"I think not. He is a silent one and rarely speaks. Unless..." Prometheus's voice trailed off, the implication clear. "Unless someone who backs him is pulling the strings. Just as we do for Zeus."
A cold realisation dawned on Metis's face. The image of her father, the inscrutable Oceanus, flashed in her mind. Is it you, Father? she wondered, a new layer of dread settling in her heart. The war for the throne had just become a great deal more complicated.