CHAPTER 147: TAKING THE FIGHT TO THEM

The cavern still groaned with the echoes of what had just happened. Ymir’s corpse smoked where it had fallen, rivers of frozen ichor spilling into cracks that had split open across the underworld. Pangu was gone, his body torn apart in the storm’s last detonation, but the scars of his axe were carved forever into the bones of the realm.

Hades leaned heavy on his bident, the flames licking at its tips guttering low. His cloak was torn and soaked with blood. The Lord of the Dead looked older, as though holding the underworld together had drained centuries out of him in moments. Nyx stood not far off, her star-robes dimmer than before, edges ragged where Ymir’s frost and Pangu’s swings had cut through. She kept her posture straight, but Zeus could see the exhaustion in her shoulders, the strain in her silver eyes.

Zeus’s storm dimmed around him, the sparks fading to a low hum across his skin. He turned, his gaze sweeping over the ruined battlefield. The underworld still stood, but only just. The dead had no songs left in them, only whispers. Even Styx flowed weaker, her waters hissing against the cracks Pangu had left in her path.

He looked first to Nyx. "You gave more than you should have." His tone wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t cold either. "Rest. Let the night mend itself."

Then his eyes cut to his brother. "And you—hold your ground, but do no more than that. If you keep bleeding for every strike, the underworld will crumble beneath your feet."

Hades straightened a little at that, gripping the bident tighter. His mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but no words came. At last, he dipped his head once, silent agreement in his tired eyes.

Zeus stepped between them. Lightning cracked faintly along his arms, not loud, not wild, but steady. "This ends here. I’ve held back, I’ve waited, I’ve let them bring the war to us. No more." His voice rolled across the cavern, through the dead rivers and broken walls, sharp and final. "I will take the fight to them. To every realm that chose their side. They want blood? I’ll make them choke on it."

Neither Nyx nor Hades moved. Both of them only watched him, knowing he meant it. The time for standing guard was over.

Zeus looked to the black ceiling above, where cracks of light still bled faintly through. "When you’ve recovered, when the dead are steadied and the night stitched back together, follow me. Tell the others. Olympus will not wait in shadows anymore. Not while I breathe."

The storm climbed his body once more. He turned from them, sparks crawling into arcs that bent the cavern around him. For a heartbeat, he lingered—his eyes on his brother, then on the goddess of night. He gave one small nod. Then the storm broke.

Lightning split the underworld. In a flash of white and blue, Zeus vanished.

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The void between realms stretched, a place where no mortal breath had ever touched. Here, light was wrong, sound was swallowed, time itself bent in ways that made the air burn against the skin. It was here that Zeus tore his path, lightning carving through the emptiness. Each strike left scars in the void, cracks that hissed and stitched themselves shut behind him.

Ahead loomed his target.

The realm of Pangu.

It was no shining kingdom, no paradise. It was a place built on endless stone and flame, mountains stacked atop each other like bones piled from creation itself. The sky wasn’t sky at all, but a sheet of raw power—crimson light pulsing through every crack, gold veins cutting across it like the world itself was bleeding. The ground shifted with every step, mountains moving like the backs of titans turning in their sleep.

Zeus landed at its edge. The earth split under him, sparks crawling from his feet. He raised his eyes, taking in the weight of it. This was where the titan had drawn his strength, where his axe had carved laws into the bones of reality. Without him, the realm groaned like a body missing its heart—but it was not empty. He could feel them. The echoes of Pangu’s will, the remnants of his children, the guardians who had sworn themselves to his axe.

The storm around Zeus steadied, pulsing heavy with every beat of his heart. He stepped forward. Each stride cracked the stone, each breath burned the air.

The realm stirred.

From the mountains crawled figures—giants of stone, their bodies cut from the land itself, veins of magma glowing under their skins. From the rivers rose creatures of molten gold, their eyes blank but their jaws open, screaming as they surged forward. Above, the sky split, and winged shapes dove down, each feather a blade of creation, their screeches splitting the air.

The guardians of Pangu.

Zeus did not wait. He lifted his hand and the storm answered. Lightning cascaded across the land in rivers, vaporizing whole swarms of the molten creatures, splitting the ground wide enough to swallow their bodies. His other hand snapped upward, thunder striking the sky, spearing through the winged shapes. Their bodies burned to ash before they reached him.

The giants charged, their fists mountains in themselves. The first swung down, stone cracking with the weight of it. Zeus blurred into light, reappearing at its shoulder. His fist struck once, and the giant’s head shattered into rubble. Sparks tore through the wound, detonating its body into fire and stone.

The second giant caught him mid-strike, both arms wrapping around him, crushing. The pressure split the air, stone groaning as if it would snap his ribs. Zeus’s eyes flared white. Lightning erupted outward, spearing through the giant’s arms, splitting them apart from the inside. He pulled free, storm pouring from every pore, and punched through its chest. The explosion tore half the mountain away with it.

The guardians poured faster. Rivers of molten gold surged up from the ground, trying to drown him in their tide. Zeus’s storm flared brighter, brighter than the false sky above. He raised both arms, and lightning fell like rain. Each bolt split the tide apart, each strike vaporized whole swaths into steam. Thunder rolled until the mountains themselves cracked under the weight of it.

But Zeus didn’t stop. He pressed forward, his storm spreading across the realm. The land buckled, the sky rippled, the guardians broke under his fists and lightning. For every strike he threw, the realm screamed louder, as if Pangu’s bones themselves remembered the one who had ended him.

This was no longer defense. No wall to hold, no brother to protect.

This was war brought to their doors.

Zeus would burn Pangu’s realm to its roots. And every other that thought to stand with the Primordials would know: Olympus was done waiting.

The storm marched forward. And the realms would fall.