Hades- The King of the Gods

Seven years.

That's how long we've fought.

It felt like a lifetime carved out of eternity—one endless blur of blood, dust, and the grind of war. Seven winters of sieges and ambushes, of skirmishes in valleys and assaults atop craggy mountain passes. Of building, breaking, and bleeding.

We were still here, somehow.

Still breathing.

Still fighting.

Our base on Mount Olympus was crude by all standards. A skeleton of what it once aspired to be—sharpened pillars of stone lashed together by bronze plates, support beams still held with ropes, cracks never repaired. Most of the furniture was mismatched, patched, or outright scavenged from the wreckage. It was no shining palace like the songs one day might say.

It was a fortress. A scar.

And it was home.

I stood at the edge of the outer terrace, gazing out into the grey skies over Thessaly, the sharp mountain winds biting against my exposed cheek. My breath plumed like smoke. Behind me, I could hear the low hum of the war council gathering—Zeus, Hera, Rhea, Metis, Brontes, Themis, and the others who still had strength enough to carry on.

But the truth was—none of us were whole anymore.

I turned as the doors opened and Moros entered. His robes hung heavy on his form, darker now, layered like burial shrouds. He nodded at me, silent, as always, and took his place at the long stone table. His left arm remained wrapped in black silk—burned down to a tendon from a battle with Naia the Dreamer, a wound that never fully healed.

"So…" Zeus dropped into his seat across from me with a grunt, running his fingers through his tangled hair. "Another year."

"Yeah," I replied, after a while. "Another damn year."

He gave me a look, one I'd grown used to—fatigue and fire mingled behind his eyes.

"Report?" I asked, glancing around.

Metis adjusted her silver-plated bracers as she conjured a simple projection of our current situation with a flick of her wrist. Shadows and light twisted across the table, forming images.

"In seven years," she said, "we have successfully captured or eliminated fifteen of Cronus's lieutenants."

I watched the glowing faces appear one by one.

"We have captured several of Cronus forces and although many of us have been injured, if we continue as we are we will be able to take down sooner than we think."

She continued, "Naia has not been seen in three years, likely in hiding or aiding Cronus directly. Theia is blind after her last battle with Hera. Mnemosyne has withdrawn from the field entirely—her mind fractured from a psychic backlash Hestia unleashed after…"

She trailed off.

We all knew why.

Hestia hadn't fought since the Fourth Autumn. That battle had broken her. Her flame had flared too bright in one final act of devastation and burned out. She now resided deep beneath Olympus, in a chamber guarded by Oizys and the Hecatoncheires—recovering, they said. Healing.

I wasn't so sure.

Demeter had taken a spear through the stomach in Year Five, and while she had mostly recovered, the wound hindered her body. She rarely joined us on the front now, preferring to focus on strategy, supply lines, and tending to the wounded.

Phoebe had vanished.

One day, she simply left—refusing to speak to anyone. We all knew that the betrayal of her friends had gotten to her. 

And Poseidon...

Still missing.

The silence around his name lingered in the room like rot beneath marble.

Zeus shifted in his chair. "We're winning."

Metis raised an eyebrow.

He pressed on. "Cronus is holed up in Mount Othrys. He has fewer loyal Titans than ever. His army's fractured. The traitors he recruited—those new generation titans?—they're dead or scattered. We can win this."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself," I muttered.

"Maybe I am."

The stone doors creaked open and Brontes ducked through, his broad shoulders covered in soot, his hammer strapped to his back. "Armor's ready," he said to me, then added, "The last of the new weapons too. We'll have to make do with what we've got. Resources are low. Polymythril's near dry. Adamantine's down to powder. Necro-steel's holding out… for now."

I nodded.

"Anything new from the Underworld?" Zeus asked.

I turned slightly, shadows curling around my fingers as I spoke. "Moros and Thanatos report fewer souls returning. The battlefield's nearly emptied of Cronus's fodder. It's the core titans left now."

"Just the worst of them," Rhea murmured, arms crossed over her chest. "Just Cronus."

"And Iapetus," Zeus added. "Who still refuses to speak a word. Even in chains."

My jaw tightened.

"And Oceanus?" Metis asked quietly.

I hesitated.

"No word," I admitted. "We haven't recovered Poseidon's body. And Oceanus's waters are too deep for even my shadows to track. If he's alive, he's not near the coast. If he's dead..."

The room sat in silence, I couldn't even finish saying it.

I finally said what we were all thinking. "This can't drag on another twenty years. We don't have the numbers. We don't have the supplies. We don't have the time."

"So we finish it," Zeus said.

I met his gaze.

"We have to march before the next moon," I said.

"Good." He grinned. "I'm tired of waiting."

Behind us, thunder rolled through the distant clouds, and the ground trembled slightly beneath our feet.

War wasn't done with us yet.

But soon… soon, we would be done with it.

Even if it killed us.

☼

The morning came like the pale light before a storm.

I sat alone in the shadows of the war tent, my bident balanced across my knees as I wiped the blade clean of old blood and ichor. The metal gleamed in the thin dawn, dark runes flickering softly down its shaft. Each rune whispered fragments of power into my senses, soothing and deadly all at once.

Outside, the camp buzzed with quiet movement—soldiers preparing meals, smiths hammering out the last repairs to dented armor, scouts reporting their final intelligence. But it was subdued, heavy with a sense of inevitability.

Today, it will end.

Zeus paced back and forth across the tent, armored shoulders tense beneath his silver breastplate. Sparks leapt from his curls every few seconds, his eyes flicking toward me, then back to the flap of the tent, as if waiting for someone to burst through with news that the Titans had already marched upon us.

"Sit down before you wear a trench through the floor," I muttered, not looking up from the bident.

"I can't," he snapped, but there was no heat in it—only fear and frustration. "We're leaving everyone here? Hera, Demeter, Hestia… all of them?"

"That was your choice," I reminded him calmly. "You wanted them safe."

He let out a bitter laugh. "Safe. As if there's such a thing anymore."

I set the bident aside and looked up at him, really looked at him. My brother, King of the Sky, Thunder-Lord… he looked like a boy today. A boy wearing the armor of a god, pretending to be strong enough to carry it.

"They'll be fine," I said quietly. "Rhea will keep them grounded. Prometheus has his plans if things go wrong. They're not helpless."

Zeus's jaw clenched. He rubbed the back of his neck, where a streak of lightning scar coiled down his skin like a brand. "I know. I just… gods, I hate waiting."

"Then don't," I said, standing and lifting my bident. "It's time."

His eyes flicked to mine, blue-gold and sharp with determination. "Mount Orthys."

I nodded once, stepping out into the dim dawn. The sky was bruised with purple clouds curling low around Olympus's peaks, as if even the heavens were holding their breath.

My horse, Alastor, stood waiting beside the path, his black coat gleaming like oil in the flickering torchlight. His four eyes blinked at me sleepily, each pupil a thin vertical slit of molten red. Had I not mentioned it before, do apologize. My mind was distracted by the war.

I stroked his muzzle, feeling his warm breath huff against my chest. "Ready, old friend?"

He snorted, tossing his mane, and stamped his front hoof, eager for battle.

Zeus spread his arms, gathering the storm winds around him. Lightning crackled up his arms and across his chest, coiling around his torso like serpents. With a gust of rising wind, he lifted from the ground, hovering a few feet above me.

"Try to keep up, brother," he called down, a flicker of his old grin returning for a heartbeat.

I swung onto Alastor's back, settling into the familiar leather saddle and gripping the reins. Shadows curled from my fingers into his mane, binding us together in thought and movement.

"Just don't get yourself killed," I said, nudging Alastor into a gallop.

He lunged forward, hooves striking sparks off the stone as we burst down the winding path. The shadows wrapped around us, swallowing sound and light, carrying us faster than any mortal steed. Above, I glimpsed Zeus as a streak of silver and blue in the dark clouds, the rumble of thunder following in his wake.

The world blurred past in streaks of black and gray as we descended Olympus and crossed the plains. Ancient olive groves whipped by in seconds, rivers gleamed like threads of silver, and distant villages slumbered unaware beneath the dying night.

In less than an hour, Mount Orthys rose before us. The Titans' stronghold loomed, its stone towers stabbing into the roiling clouds above. The mountain's peak was carved into vast battlements and towering spires, streaked with old blood and ash. Fires burned in braziers along the walls, illuminating the colossal statues of Titans long dead, their hollow eyes watching us approach.

I dismounted at the base of the stairs leading to the throne hall. Alastor snorted and stamped his hooves, shadows curling protectively around his legs.

"Stay here," I told him softly, pressing my forehead to his. "If I don't return… run to Olympus. Protect them."

He whickered low in his throat, eyes narrowing with reluctance. But he obeyed, stepping back into the shadows as I turned to follow Zeus up the massive steps.

The great doors to the throne room were already open, dark stone slabs wide enough to fit a hundred men abreast. A cold wind blew out from within, carrying the scent of old blood, rust, and something deeper—something that smelled of grave dust and rotting time.

We entered together.

The hall was vast, lined with black columns carved with shifting runes. Torches burned in sconces along the walls, but their light was dim, as if swallowed by the oppressive darkness hanging over everything.

At the far end sat Cronus.

The Titan King reclined upon his throne, the seat carved with screaming faces that twisted and writhed as the torchlight flickered across them. He wore no crown, but his presence filled the hall with a suffocating gravity. His armor was crude, plates of bronze and blackened steel bolted together, like it was made in a very rush job. At his side leaned his scythe, the blade as long as a mortal man, its edge shimmering with pale green light.

He smiled as we approached, revealing teeth that looked far too creepy. His once bright and powerful golden eyes were now pale and looked weak. Father looked horrible, his body was frail and boney. Looking as if he had been starving himself for quite some time. He looked so pathetic, as if he had given up on everything.

"Zeus. Hades," he rumbled, his voice echoing through the hall like falling boulders. "My sons. You have come at last."

Zeus clenched his fists at his sides, lightning crackling up his arms and shoulders. "This ends today, Father."

Cronus chuckled low in his chest. The sound vibrated through my bones, unsettling something deep in my core. "Ends? No, little storm. This is merely the beginning. Did you think victory was within your grasp?"

"We have defeated your armies," I said, gripping my bident tighter. The shadows around me stirred, curling into ghostly shapes that hissed and snapped at the Titan King. "Your siblings have fallen. Your allies are already imprisoned and surrender, and we may show you mercy."

Cronus leaned forward, his gauntleted fingers tapping the arm of his throne. "Mercy? From you? My oldest child dares offer mercy to the Lord of Time?"

His gaze flicked to me, and for a moment I felt it—the crushing weight of his power. Time itself bent around him, the seconds stretching and contracting with each breath. My knees buckled slightly before I forced myself to stand tall.

"You are nothing but worms gnawing at the roots of eternity," he continued, rising slowly from his throne. The ground shook beneath his feet as he lifted his scythe. "Children playing at war. You dare challenge me, your maker? Your devourer?"

Zeus stepped forward, his aura crackling with stormlight. "We are not your children anymore. And we will never be your meal again."

Cronus tilted his head, regarding us with that inhuman smile. "Then come, little gods. Show me the strength of your rebellion."

He raised his scythe.

The shadows around me shivered, hungry for the coming blood. Lightning sparked from Zeus's shoulders, illuminating the dark hall in flashes of brilliant white. Cronus's armor creaked as he shifted his stance, the blade of his scythe humming with lethal intent.

I lifted my bident, its twin prongs glowing with darkness and emberlight.

The final battle had begun.