Beneath the crimson sky, Iapetus stood atop a raised obsidian platform outside his grand temple, overlooking the vast army assembled before him.
Titans, gods, and divine spirits alike stood shoulder to shoulder, their weapons gleaming under the dimming light of dusk.
The air crackled with tension, with anticipation, as they awaited the words of their commander.
Iapetus raised his arm, and silence fell over the gathered forces. His eyes blazed with fury as he surveyed his soldiers.
Then, in a voice that shook the very earth, he spoke.
"Brothers! Sisters! Warriors of the old gods! Too long have we tolerated these parasites!" His voice thundered across the battlefield. "These ungrateful wretches who dare call themselves gods! These mongrels who spit in the faces of the very beings that birthed the cosmos! Who twist fate to their favor and believe themselves worthy of the throne!"
The army roared in agreement, their rage fanned like flames upon dry wood.
