CHAPTER 101: "YOU OVERSTAYED YOUR WELCOME,"

The chains dragged Zeus down hard—straight through the stormclouds, through what remained of the palace ceiling, slamming him into the shattered floor like a meteor.

Smoke rose.

The gods watching from afar—Odin, Tsukuyomi, Thoth—stood frozen, the pressure too thick to breathe in.

But then...

The world slowed.

The shadows behind Zeus flickered again. The grip on his ankle loosened. The voice that had whispered from beneath—the cold, cruel voice—went silent.

A presence stepped into the room.

Not from the sky.

Not from below.

From the shattered doors of the palace.

Barefoot.

Slow.

Unbothered by the debris or the gods or the weight of divine war.

Hera.

But this wasn’t the Hera anyone remembered.

This wasn’t the woman who stood behind Zeus during council meetings. This wasn’t the quiet goddess who ruled the hearth and oversaw oaths.

This Hera... glowed.

Not soft golden. Not divine light.

She glowed with rage.

Pure. Controlled. Focused.

Her dress was midnight green, flowing like smoke over water. Her hair was tied high, laced with vines and rings of silver. And her eyes—gods above—her eyes burned violet.

She stopped just inside the broken hall.

Every god turned to her.

Even Tartarus.

Zeus groaned, lifting himself onto one arm.

He looked up.

And froze.

"...Hera?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if studying him for the first time.

"I expected you to be standing," she said calmly.

Tartarus stepped back, wings curling around him protectively.

"What is this?" he hissed. "You’re not part of this."

Hera didn’t even look at him.

She raised one hand.

A single flick of her finger—and the shadows binding Zeus cracked.

Not shattered.

Not banished.

Cracked.

Tartarus hissed louder.

"You dare interfere? After all I’ve done for you?"

Hera’s voice cut through the chaos like silk across glass.

"I didn’t ask you to possess my son."

Zeus blinked. His eyes narrowed. "...You?"

She finally looked at him.

"You were too busy playing god-king to notice," she said softly. "As usual."

Zeus tried to rise, but she stepped closer, slow, graceful.

"You never looked at me—not really. You looked at my presence. My utility. You needed a partner, but not a queen."

"This isn’t the time," Zeus growled, standing fully now.

"No," she said. "It’s the perfect time."

A silence hung between them. Not tense. Not awkward.

Just heavy.

Tartarus broke it with a roar.

"You’re wasting the moment. We had him—!"

Hera raised her hand again.

And Tartarus stopped mid-sentence.

He gasped—clawed at his own throat.

The shadows recoiled.

She didn’t even touch him.

Just stared.

"You were useful," she said coldly. "But you overreached."

A pulse of green light pulsed from her palm—and Tartarus was blown backward, sent spiraling across the room like a puppet cut from its strings.

He hit the far wall hard. Black blood spilled from Ares’s mouth. The wings flickered. The chains loosened.

Ares coughed—hard—his body twitching.

Zeus stepped forward. "Ares—!"

"Not yet," Hera warned.

Her voice was sharper now.

She stepped closer to Ares, who was still on the floor, gasping, flickering between himself and the shadow inside.

She crouched beside him.

"Ares," she whispered. "Do you remember the forge? When you were five?"

His eyes widened.

Hera brushed his hair back.

"You built a sword from scrap. Called it ’Queen’s Fang.’ You said it was for me. To protect me."

Tears welled up in his eyes.

"I remember..."

"Good," she whispered. "Hold onto that."

She closed her eyes—and her aura expanded.

Vines of emerald light wrapped around Ares’s body, not constricting—but comforting. Pulling. Drawing out the black threads like poison.

Tartarus screamed again, deeper now. Less in control.

Zeus stood beside her, stunned.

"She’s... purging him..."

But Hera’s face was tight with strain.

A crack of darkness burst near her shoulder—Tartarus trying to take back control. She didn’t flinch.

She held Ares’s hand tighter.

And pulled.

The shadows screeched.

A final surge of voidfire lashed out.

Zeus stepped forward.

Smite.

A bolt of white plasma struck the shadows before they could touch her. The backlash pushed Ares and Hera back—but the chains broke.

Ares gasped—and black mist poured from his mouth.

It formed into a vaguely human shape. Horned. Twisted. Ragged.

Tartarus.

But weakened now.

Shaking.

Almost... afraid.

Hera stood first. Her eyes glowing, breath calm.

"You overstayed your welcome," she said.

Zeus stepped beside her.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Tartarus looked between them.

"This... wasn’t the plan," he snarled. "She was mine. You were broken. You—"

Zeus raised a brow. "You really don’t get how Olympus works, do you?"

Then the king and queen of the gods stepped forward together.

And the heavens cracked open.

Lightning surged from Zeus’s palm.

Green fire bloomed from Hera’s.

They hurled them together—two beams of divine judgment, twining in mid-air like serpents dancing.

Tartarus raised a wall of chains.

It lasted less than a second.

The impact blew the throne hall wide open, ripped a hole through the sky, and sent Tartarus screaming into the void.

Gone.

Silence.

Ares collapsed.

Zeus caught him.

Hera stood still. Just breathing.

A few moments passed.

Then Ares groaned.

"...Dad?"

Zeus exhaled. "I’ve got you."

Hera stepped back. Her arms hung at her sides. Her glow began to fade—but not fully. Something in her had changed.

She wasn’t shrinking back into the background again.

She wasn’t stepping behind Zeus.

She turned, walking away from the hall. Not toward the throne. Not toward the gods.

Just... away.

Zeus watched her go, still holding Ares.

He didn’t say her name.

Didn’t try to stop her.

Odin finally stepped forward, quiet. "So... is the war over?"

Zeus didn’t look back. His eyes stayed on the exit Hera walked through.

"No," he said quietly.

"It’s just started."

The throne hall was still broken.

Marble ruins smoldered at the edges. Light filtered through massive cracks in the ceiling. Silence hung heavy—thick enough to choke on.

Zeus stood in the center of it all, one arm wrapped around Ares’s shoulders, steadying his son as he breathed slow and uneven.

The other gods didn’t speak. Odin. Tsukuyomi. Thoth. They had witnessed everything—Tartarus’s wrath, Ares’s corruption, Hera’s terrifying return.

And now?

They were waiting.

Zeus looked down at Ares. His son’s skin was pale. Burnt in places. But alive. Still himself.

For now.

"...Rest," Zeus said quietly.

He let go and stepped forward.

Each step echoed—slow, heavy, like the world itself needed time to catch up.

He walked to the center of the chamber—what was left of it—and faced the gods still watching.

Odin, leaning on his spear. Tsukuyomi, arms folded, calm but cautious. Thoth, eyes gleaming behind his avian mask, ever the observer.

Zeus stood before them.

Then he bowed.

Not deeply.

But sincerely.

"My guests," he said, his voice low. "Forgive the chaos. I... did not plan for this."

There was a pause.

Then Odin stepped forward.

"Did anyone plan for that?" he asked, gesturing around them. "Because if you did, I’d like to speak with them. Alone."

Zeus almost smiled.

Almost.

But he nodded. "I know this meeting was meant to be about balance. About realm treaties. Agreements between pantheons. Instead, you saw the foundation of Olympus nearly torn apart."

Tsukuyomi finally spoke. "And you allowed it to play out."

Zeus turned to him. "I had no choice."

Tsukuyomi raised a brow. "You always have a choice. That’s what makes us gods."

Zeus’s jaw tightened.

But he didn’t argue.

He looked back toward the open doors—where Hera had walked away.

"...Some truths take war to reveal."

Thoth finally stepped forward. His voice, like his face, unreadable.

"Tartarus is still awake."

Zeus nodded.

"And Hera?"

Zeus hesitated.

Then simply said, "Changed."

Odin glanced at the wreckage of the throne. "Seems Olympus isn’t as united as it once was."

"No," Zeus agreed. "It never was. But now we stop pretending."