I sat upon my throne, leaning forward with my chin resting on my knuckles, my gaze fixed upon the seven figures standing before me.
Machaelus stood at the front, his eyes burning with barely restrained excitement. His tall frame was adorned in his new armor crafted from Ploy-mythril gold and laced with silver veins.
Behind him, the six others stood in disciplined formation, each wearing a custom made armor and looking both nervous and excited as they stood at attention facing me. Selecting who was to take on the form of my Nyphlims was quite the difficult choice, but in the end I had selected those that I had found worthy... The seven of them, like the other Nephlims, had the ability to shift from their more human form to their pure Nephilim form, something that I had not expected them to be able to do.
Raphaelius, Gaiana, Sarphora, Urielus Remus, Rhaegara . My creations, finally alive after so long, to finally be able to see them here. I let the silence stretch, savoring the weight of the moment before I finally spoke. "You stand before me now as Nephilim, warriors reborn with power beyond mortal comprehension." My voice echoed through the chamber, heavy with finality. "You seven have been chosen to become the leaders of the other Nephlims. You shall-"
Before I could finish what I was going to say I was interrupted—
A sound.
A deep, bone-rattling horn bellowed through the air, the vibrations shaking the very stone of the Underworld. The war horn of the north.
Every head snapped toward the distant sound. My teeth clenched as I turned toward the throne room's massive doors, my divine senses stretching beyond this realm.
"The Norse," I muttered darkly.
I faced the Nephilim once more, my expression turning hard. "Go. Rally the others. War is here."
Without hesitation, they bowed and vanished into the shadows, their masked forms disappearing like wraiths.
But I did not wait to watch them go. I reached into the darkness, and in the span of a breath, I stepped through the void—
—And emerged above Greece, my wings unfurling with a deafening whoosh.
The wind howled around me as I hovered in the sky, my divine gaze locked onto the figure standing upon the jagged peaks at the border.
A Norse god, clad in fur-lined armor, his hands gripping the ancient war horn that still echoed through the land. Behind him, an army of Norse gods and warriors stretched into the horizon.
Their armor was a blend of metal and leather, their helmets adorned with the insignias of Odin and Thor. Their weapons—massive greatswords, axes, and war hammers—glowed with runic inscriptions, imbued with divine power. Wolves prowled between their ranks, and berserkers, their bodies painted in blood, howled for battle.
Yet they were not alone.
Beside them, distinct in their appearance and manner, stood the Celtic pantheon. Unlike the Norse, their armor was crafted of woven metal and enchanted wood, shaped like the ancient trees of their lands. Their warriors bore crescent-shaped shields, and their weapons—swords, spears, and enchanted bows—glowed with druidic magic. The gods among them were adorned in robes and furs, their bodies painted with glowing blue war markings. Unlike the roaring Norse, the Celts were silent, their movements precise, their expressions unreadable.
Two great armies. Two pantheons.
Both preparing to march upon Olympus.
I cursed under my breath, my hands lifting as divine energy flared around me. Ancient runes ignited along my arms, searing through the sky like burning constellations.
The land trembled beneath me.
A deep, guttural chant rumbled from my chest, the very essence of the Underworld answering my call.
Then—
From the ground, a massive wall of darkness erupted, stretching high into the heavens, encasing all of Greece in an impenetrable barrier. The very earth groaned under its weight, the shadows consuming the land in a suffocating embrace.
It would hold them back.
For now.
I exhaled, knowing this was only a temporary measure.
With a final glance at the two pantheons of war, I vanished once more—
—And reappeared in the heart of Olympus.
I stepped forward from the darkness, my arrival marked by a gust of cold air that swept through the chamber. Without a word, I took my seat, fingers pressing into the polished armrests. The council room silenced instantly.
My gaze swept across the Olympians, to my right was my wife dressed in a beautiful necro-steel armor that Brontes had crafted, though draped over her body was a long black cloak that bore some runes and stars on it. Sitting next to her was our eldest son Zagries dressed in an armor that was a simpler version of my own and having a robe similar to his mother.
Melinoe and Artemis were next and they wore matching poly-mythril steel armor with Melinoe having necro-steel engraving and linings and Artemis having silver. Both looking like a mix of Assassin and Hunter.
Abellona had on her normal chiton dress with her poly-mythril gold armor draped over it with her bow hung over her throne like her twin.
Athena had sat next to him and was dressed in the same armor she had worn when she had first come to Olympus. She was deep in thought and although she looked ready I could see that she was nervous for what was to come.
Poseidon sat at my left, his salt-stained hair slicked back, his trident rested against the table, the three prongs humming with energy. Triton sat next to his father dressed in the same Atlantean armor and his own trident leaning against the table like his fathers.
Aeolus sat on the next throne dressed in a simple robe and a breastplate staring at the thunderbolt on the table. Beside him, Hera, ever the regal woman, sat with her golden chestplate adorned with peacock feathers, her expression one of cold calculation. Their sons sat next to them looking ready if not more determined.
Ares, the God of War, leaned forward with his elbows on the table, his fingers drumming against the polished stone. The red streak in his dreadlocks stood out against his deep skin, the three claw marks over his left eye a stark reminder of battles long past. He smirked when he met my gaze—eager, impatient. He wanted blood.
Next to him sat Hephaestus, his metallic arm and leg glinting in the torchlight. Unlike Ares, his focus was not on the coming carnage, but on the weapons and machines of war that would give us the edge. He had already spent weeks forging arms, preparing artillery that could bring gods to their knees.
Hestia and Kore were missing from the meeting, just like I had requested from them and were residing in the Underworld. They were both not fighters and in the long run would only get in their way. I had given Hestia full authority of the Underworld and I did hope that the citizens accepted her well.
I exhaled, standing from my throne. A slow, deliberate movement. The tension in the room solidified, every eye turning toward me. I let the silence stretch, let the weight of the moment sink into their bones.
Then I spoke.
"The Norse and the Celts stand at our borders," I said, my voice carrying through the chamber like a funeral toll. "And although I have erected-."
"Ha, erected." Poseidon snorted, causing Abellona, Ares, Triton, and Zagreus to snicker. Hera cleared her throat and they quickly shut up.
"As I was saying, I used a spell that Hecate taught me and made a barrier around Greece to give us some time to get ready and prepare for the war."
Ares grinned, his fingers twitching near the hilt of his sword. "Alright! I was getting bored just training for nothing!"
Hera shot him a sharp look. "This is not some skirmish, Ares. This is war on a divine scale. And I will not see Olympus fall because you were too eager to play soldier."
Ares scoffed but said nothing. He knew better than to argue with his mother when she used that tone.
I snapped my fingers, and in an instant, Thanatos materialized in a flurry of black feathers, his tattered robes billowing as he emerged from the abyss. The faint rattle of unseen chains echoed through the chamber, a whisper of death itself. His bone-white mask obscured his face, revealing only the cold, hollow gaze beneath. He bowed deeply.
"My lord?" His voice carried the weight of the grave.
I met his gaze, unflinching. "I trust you and your siblings have scouted the enemy. Tell me, what are we up against?"
Thanatos straightened, his presence as still as the void. "The Norse lead the charge. They come as one, both Æsir and Vanir, and number sixty-six gods in total. Thor commands their forces, with Tyr and Freyja at his side."
The Olympians exchanged glances. Expected, but still troubling. Thor was a warrior of renown, and Tyr's strategic mind was nothing to underestimate.
Thanatos continued, his voice like the whisper of a dying breath. "Their ranks are bolstered by one thousand giants. They have abandoned the old name and now call themselves the Jötnar. They are divided into three factions—Frost Giants, Fire Giants, and Mountain Giants—each led by one of their six generals."
Ares clicked his tongue, his fingers tightening around his sword. "Finally, some interesting opponents!"
Hera ignored him, her focus sharp. "And the Celts?"
"They have brought forty-three gods to the battlefield," Thanatos replied. "They do not fight as men do. Their druids weave nature itself into their weapons, their wraith-knights move like specters, and their spectral hounds are said to be born from the breath of the Morrigan herself. She leads them alongside Lugh."
The room grew heavier with the weight of the report. The Celts were not mere warriors—they were hunters, their magic unlike anything wielded by the Olympians.
Yet, one name had not been spoken.
I narrowed my eyes. "And what of Typhon?"
Thanatos hesitated for the first time. "There has been no sighting of him… yet."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The specter of Typhon's absence was more unsettling than his presence. If he had not yet revealed himself, then it only meant one thing—
He was waiting.
A low murmur spread through the chamber.
"And what about us?" Artemis asked, her silver eyes scanning the room.
"With the Underworld knights we have 28,000 strong men ready to march into battle." I said simply. "That does not include Briareus and Cottus, the Reapers, or the Cyclopes brothers."
"Atlantis has 26,000 soldiers, and I have 1,000 of my own men ready to join." Triton spoke up after a nod from his father. "Father and I plan to move and fight against the Norse and Celtic sea gods."
"Olympus has been training their own army and we have 15,000-" Aeolus said before Hera interrupted.
"25,000 soldiers, this includes the many minor deities and creatures that have joined us in the war." She said,
I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon my shoulders. Eighty thousand soldiers. A force that could shake the foundations of the world—yet against the Norse, the Celts, and the Jötnar, victory was far from assured. This was no mere battle. This was war, one that would determine the fate of Olympus itself.
Dark energy surged around me, swirling like an unholy storm. My armor manifested in a cascade of shadows, piece by piece clamping onto my form with the sound of metal forging itself anew. Midnight-black plate gleamed under the dim torchlight, runes of the underworld pulsing across its surface like veins of living darkness. My tattered black cape settled behind me, moving as if caught in an unseen current, and the air turned heavy with the scent of iron and death.
The Olympians watched in silence as I reached to my side and drew my sword.
Caliburn
Yes... I had named my divine after the sword in King Arthur's story, it felt fitting. This was my first time even admitting the name of my sword out loud and it... really worked.
I took a step forward, letting my gaze sweep across my kin. Each of them stood prepared—draped in war armor, weapons in hand, their divine might crackling in the air like a brewing storm. This was not the court of Olympus. This was the war council of gods.
"I see," I said at last, my voice carrying over the silence. "So we have eighty thousand soldiers. Then we will march to meet them—and we will win this war and we will protect our lands."
The room darkened, the shadows reacting to my rage. "The Norse, the Celts, the Jötnar—they think they can march upon our lands, bring ruin to our people? They believe Olympus will bend the knee?" I let the words hang, my next breath slow, controlled. "They will learn their mistake in fire and blood."
Ares grinned, gripping his spear, his scarred face alight with savage glee. Hephestus' metal hand clenched into a fist, steam hissing from the gears. Poseidon cracked his neck, his water-forged arm pulsing with raw power.
I pointed Caliburn forward, it's dark edge cutting through the thick tension.
"We march to war."