CHAPTER 105: FINAL CLASH

The explosion cleared—

but no one had died.

The battlefield had moved.

The blast had ripped through space itself—tossing all three across realms.

When the light faded, they stood again—

Not on Olympus.

Not in Tartarus.

But on a floating void between both.

A broken realm. Half sky, half shadow. A swirling graveyard of dead stars and collapsed planes.

Zeus knelt first, breathing hard. Sparks still ran across his arms. His realm followed him—storm clouds churning faintly above like they were tethered to his blood.

Hades appeared next, landing quietly, his scythe in hand again. His robes flared in the breeze, and his eyes sharpened. He said nothing. But his presence thickened.

Then—

Tartarus stepped through a rift.

No longer in his massive, monstrous form.

Now...

He looked human.

But taller.

Rough skin like volcanic stone.

Hair coiled into braids of smoke.

Eyes like pits without bottom.

He wore black chains as armor.

And his aura—

it screamed.

Not with sound.

But pressure.

A crushing weight that bent reality just by being near.

Zeus spat blood and stood.

Lightning still licked his shoulders.

Hades moved beside him.

"We end this here," Zeus muttered.

Hades nodded. "Together."

Tartarus cracked his neck. "Then die."

He was gone in a blink.

Fast.

Faster than thunder.

He appeared behind Zeus—

a black dagger in hand—

but Hades was already there.

CLANG!

Scythe to dagger. Sparks flew.

Zeus turned, lightning bursting from his fingertips like a web, and slammed a fist into Tartarus’s side.

Tartarus didn’t block it.

He took the blow.

Grunted.

Then twisted, elbowing Zeus in the jaw, sending him flying again.

Hades used the opening.

He stepped in, slicing upward—

then down—

each arc of his scythe opening dimensional wounds.

Tartarus parried the third swing—

but the cut still drew ichor from his ribs.

BOOM!!

A thunderbolt speared down from above—

Zeus returned, lightning dancing across his knuckles, eyes glowing bright white.

He shouted mid-air—

and storm pillars erupted from the floating ground.

Spiraling spears of raw lightning, each like a divine lance.

Tartarus lifted both arms—

Chains shot out like wings.

They spun.

Deflected three.

But the fourth pierced through.

"GRAAAHH!!"

Tartarus roared, half his shoulder disintegrating in light.

But then—

the chains snapped back—

and one caught Zeus by the throat mid-air.

It yanked.

CRASH!!

Zeus slammed into a floating slab of black stone.

The chains wrapped around him—

dragging him toward Tartarus’s hand.

"You want godhood?" Tartarus snarled. "Then feel what it costs!"

He clenched—

and the chains tried to crush Zeus whole.

But then—

BZZZZZZZT—!!

A pulse of divine energy snapped the chains apart.

Zeus glowed.

Storm Deity Mode—fully active.

His body now burned with white-gold lightning. Every movement lit the realm.

Tartarus tried to swing—

But Hades caught him by the arm—

and dragged him into a swirling death spiral.

Gravestone Edge.

Hades’s ultimate technique.

The scythe spun around them in circles, slashing faster than sound. Dozens. Hundreds of cuts—dimensional rips that tore through the veil of the void.

Tartarus grunted—

then stomped.

A black sigil formed under him—

and erupted.

Shadow nova.

A pure burst of death energy blasted Hades away, slamming him into a crumbling moon fragment.

Tartarus turned—

only to find Zeus already charging up.

His palm glowed.

Crackling.

Sparking.

Swirling with a cyclone of lightning.

Then—

BOOM!!!

Zeus released the Heavenstrike Nova.

A concentrated beam of compressed divine electricity.

It cut the void in half.

Tartarus roared as it hit—

It tore through his shoulder, his chest—

his body cracked like glass.

He was thrown back, slamming into a floating ridge, coughing blood.

Zeus didn’t stop.

He teleported—

and appeared above him—

driving both fists down like hammers of Olympus.

Tartarus caught them—

barely—

and countered with a brutal headbutt.

Zeus staggered—

but Hades was already behind Tartarus again.

He sliced at the knees—

forcing the primordial god to fall.

Then Zeus raised both hands—

and pulled down the sky.

Literally.

Thunderclouds swarmed above.

Hundreds.

Thousands.

Then—

RAGNAROK TEMPEST.

Zeus snapped his fingers.

And the sky rained destruction.

Bolts larger than titans fell.

Each one a nuke of lightning.

The entire realm exploded in white and gold.

Tartarus screamed.

His form warped, twisted.

But even through the fire—

he fought.

Chains lashed blindly—

and caught both gods at once—

spinning them into the air, slamming them down again.

BOOOOM!!!

Zeus coughed. Hades groaned.

The floor cracked beneath them.

But they rose.

Side by side.

Again.

"Still standing," Zeus said.

"Tired of this bastard," Hades replied.

Tartarus stood too.

Barely.

Half his face was burnt.

One horn broken.

His body shook.

"You don’t kill me," he spat. "You delay me."

Zeus stepped forward.

"So be it."

He raised one hand.

And called the Zeusblade—

A sword of lightning forged by Gaia herself—just once.

It hummed as it formed in his grip.

Hades followed—

summoning the Reaping Edge—his true scythe, long hidden.

The gods didn’t shout.

They didn’t monologue.

They attacked.

Together.

Zeus struck low, Hades struck high.

Tartarus blocked the first, dodged the second—

but the third cut deep.

Lightning exploded in his chest.

Then death energy bloomed from the wound.

He stumbled.

Hades grabbed his arm—

and slammed him face-first into a slab.

Zeus impaled him.

The sword pinned Tartarus to the stone.

He screamed.

The realm cracked again.

And finally—

his voice broke.

He shrieked—not in rage.

In fear.

"NO!!"

The void began to collapse.

Not Tartarus.

The idea of Tartarus.

The concept.

The domain that had lived since before history.

It cracked.

And Zeus twisted the sword.

One final surge of lightning—

And the last of Tartarus—

Was gone.

The realm quieted.

Everything turned still.

Hades sat on a floating rock, panting.

Zeus stood alone in the drifting ruins. His skin glowed faintly.

Then—

he dropped the blade.

And looked to the shattered sky.

Not in triumph.

Just...

silence.

Because even victory felt like loss when the war never truly ended.

A/N

Thanks for reading my work, I truly appreciate, really appreciate you.