The gate pulsed like a second heartbeat, casting pale violet light across the shattered floor of the Den.

  Hiro, still bound and suspended in serpents, blinked through the dizziness and venom fog. He heard her words echoing in his mind—replace your father.

  "What do you mean... replace my father?" he snapped, the pain cracking his voice.

  "I don't even know him! I didn’t know he was from the Underworld until moments ago!"

  Alecto chuckled—a low, almost maternal sound, if not for the venom behind it.

  "Ignorance doesn’t change inheritance. You think blood cares whether you’re ready? You think Hades would’ve been ready either?"

  She moved toward him, the serpents tightening just slightly as if reacting to her pulse.

  "You were born into a throne you never asked for. That’s fate, child. That’s godhood."

  Hiro shook his head, struggling to get loose, but she leaned in, tightening the serpents’ grip and sending another surge of venom through his veins.

  "You have potential, boy. You should be honored. You were supposed to die today... but I have found a purpose for your cursed life."

  "You will take his place. You will be the heir to the Underworld. And down there... we don’t play at being divine."

  "We shape monsters. We break the weak. We bury kings beneath the ones they failed to kill."

  She stepped back, arms wide, as if presenting Hiro to the gate behind her.

  "We’ll strip away your mortal fear and your mother’s lies. We’ll show you what real power tastes like—burning, bitter, and absolute."

  She snapped her fingers.

  The gate roared.

  "Welcome home, little heir. Time to earn your place."

  Hiro kicked and struggled, but it was no use.

  The serpents dragged him closer to the pulsing gate of the Underworld.

  Hiro’s breathing hitched.

  "Athena… where are you?"

  The gate pulsed once more—then stuttered, its glow flickering.

  A hush fell over the Den.

  And the world shifted.

  The air thickened. The wind stopped.

  Even Alecto paused.

  The crowd didn’t move. Even the glow of the gate seemed to dim in her presence.

  Then a gust tore through the arena—cold, divine, and absolute.

  The serpents flinched.

  The portal cracked.

  A shadow descended from above—slow, steady, crowned in silver light.

  Her cloak trailed behind like a falling stormcloud, silent and absolute.

  Athena.

  Her feet touched the ring like judgment made flesh.

  Her eyes locked onto Hiro, then Alecto.

  "What do you think you're doing with my son?"

  The weight of her presence alone sent a ripple through the stone.

  Alecto’s head tilted, amusement creeping back.

  "You just had to call your momma."

  Divine Disagreement

  Silence held the Den like a noose.

  The air between Athena and Alecto pulsed, thick with old history and divine disdain. The serpents that bound Hiro recoiled slightly, sensing the power in the ring had changed.

  The gate behind Alecto flickered, no longer stable — the presence of Olympus unraveling its tether.

  Athena took a single step forward.

  "Let the boy go. Now."

  Alecto turned fully, facing her with a smirk that bordered on reverence and ridicule.

  "You’re the reason we’re here today, Athena. You knew you and him couldn’t be together — but you did it anyway. And now look what you’ve made. This abomination."

  Athena’s eyes narrowed, her voice cold.

  "He’s not yours to judge."

  Athena took another step, voice colder now.

  "This is not your realm. And he is not yours to claim."

  “Why, that’s where you’re wrong,” Alecto said, her tone darkening. “You think we didn’t notice when his soul was ripped from the Underworld? When your little phoenix saved what should’ve stayed dead?”

  The gate behind Alecto pulsed again — weaker.

  Alecto tilted her head.

  "He doesn’t even know what he is. I’ll show him. I’ll carve it into him if I have to."

  She raised her hand — a thin, green serpent of smoke lanced toward Hiro.

  Athena moved.

  A blur of bronze and light — she intercepted the serpent mid-air, fingers closing around it like snuffing out a candle.

  "Lay another hand on him," Athena said, her voice sharp as her spear now forming in her grip, "and I’ll remind you what happened the last time you challenged Olympus."

  The ground quaked.

  Alecto smiled wider.

  Alecto stepped beside Hiro, her smirk deepening. She reached out — her fingers cold as judgment, brushing the side of Hiro’s face.

  "Look at you. Barely breathing. All that divine blood, and you're still crying for mommy to save you?"

  Hiro turned his face away, shame burning hotter than the venom in his veins.

  Then, without warning, she turned.

  Steel met serpent. Light met poison.

  Athena didn’t answer with words.

  She answered with war.

  The Ring of Gods

  The Den screamed.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Not in sound — but in shape. The stone twisted, melted, reformed. Pillars of serpents rose like monuments to madness, their scales black as pitch and wet with venom. Whirlpools opened across the arena floor, Not of water, but of poison—spiraling voids that hissed with breath hot enough to melt steel.

  Alecto stood in the eye of it all, her cloak whipping like a banner in a storm of her own making. The snakes moved with her pulse. The earth obeyed her fury.

  This was no longer a battlefield.

  It was her altar.

  Then came the sound of a step — not loud, but final.

  Athena entered the storm without armor flaring or shield raised. She didn’t need spectacle.

  She was the reminder.

  The ground beneath her feet did not break — it obeyed. Stone settled. Air stilled. And the serpents, for a breath, hesitated.

  She walked forward like someone who had never lost a war.

  Alecto snarled and hurled a wave of serpents at her — a writhing wall of fangs and poison.

  Athena raised her shield.

  It didn’t crash or shimmer.

  It radiated.

  A golden pulse erupted from its surface, divine and absolute. The serpents struck it — and were unmade, not destroyed but nullified, like a curse remembered and then erased.

  The wave collapsed into nothing at Athena’s feet.

  She didn’t blink.

  The crowd — warriors, survivors, even Damaric — said nothing. Some mouths hung open. Others bowed their heads, unsure if they were witnessing a battle or a revelation.

  Even the serpents didn’t return right away.

  Phinx stirred beside Hiro — wounded, scorched, but alive.

  He growled low in his throat, not from rage... but awe.

  Even his flames seemed subdued in her presence, flickering gold instead of red.

  Hiro, still wrapped in snakes, couldn’t tear his eyes away. This fight wasn’t a clash.

  It was discord made manifest.

  And yet Athena stood in the heart of it, calm.

  "Hiro," she said without turning, her voice cutting clean through the chaos. "Let me teach another lesson."

  Light gathered at her palm — not summoned, but released. Divine energy surged, not like lightning or fire, but like memory becoming truth.

  Alecto sneered. "Lesson? You going to bore him to death with your wisdom?"

  Athena’s spear shimmered into her hand. She twirled it once — smooth, effortless — and hurled it with terrifying calm.

  It sailed like a sunbeam — not toward Alecto, but toward the far side of the arena, where Hiro and Phinx lay bound.

  The impact hit like a divine decree.

  The snakes that held them were severed mid-coil, disintegrating into smoke and ash. Hiro fell forward, coughing, free for the first time since the storm began.

  Phinx flared beside him, wings unfurling with a weak but rising flame.

  "Let me remind you," Athena said, stepping through the smoke, her hand snapping out as another spear shimmered into form, "why the gods feared me before Olympus ever crowned a king."

  Alecto screeched and darted forward, summoning two jagged blades of writhing scale and bone.

  Athena met her charge with a flash of gold — the spear splitting into twin swords, radiant and ancient.

  Steel clashed with serpent.

  Order clashed with chaos.

  The gods did not dance.

  They devoured.

  Blades blurred — too fast for mortal eyes.

  Sparks rained like falling stars, and with each strike, the ring cracked further beneath their feet.

  Alecto laughed — shrill, wild, unhinged.

  Athena said nothing.

  She answered only with steel.

  Alecto lunged upward, kicking off the writhing spine of a serpent-tower. Her blades descended in a frenzy — Athena ducked beneath the first, parried the second, and sidestepped as Alecto spun midair, landing on a platform made entirely of coiled vipers.

  Athena countered, slashing one blade upward. A cracked pillar beside them exploded as the strike deflected, shards spraying like shrapnel. She used the debris — launching herself off a collapsing stone wall, twisting midair, swords flashing like arcs of moonlight.

  Alecto laughed again, summoning a nest of serpents to cushion her fall.

  The Den was no longer just a battlefield.

  It was a weapon being wielded by two gods.

  The Goddess of War & Strategy

  The serpents hissed, the pillars trembled, and Alecto surged down like punishment itself.

  Athena raised her head—calm, calculating, inevitable.

  She stepped through the falling debris, not dodging it—letting it break around her. There was no fear in her stride, no hesitation in her eyes.

  Athena’s voice cut through the ruin—measured, low, final.

  “My turn.”

  And then the world changed.

  With a whisper of divine will, her aura flared—loud, but precise. Glyphs ignited around her in concentric rings, hovering in the air like ancient sigils plucked from forgotten temples.

  The first owl appeared behind her.

  Not summoned. Unveiled.

  Its wings opened wide, bone-white and silent—Tyto, the Seer Owl. Its eyes flashed silver, locking onto Alecto.

  “The future folds,” Athena murmured, “and I’ve already seen your end.”

  Alecto launched forward, twin serpents lashing like whips.

  Tyto moved—cutting across the air in a blur. Athena's golden eyes were watching with calculation. Alecto’s strike missed, veering off course by inches.

  The goddess sidestepped through the opening, not attacking, just forcing error.

  Another glyph bloomed—a glowing bronze spiral beneath Athena’s feet.

  “Glaucus, orbit and deflect.”

  Glaucus shimmered into existence—a golden pygmy owl with a circular barrier of sigils orbiting its wings.

  The next lash hit the shield and rebounded—backfiring into Alecto’s own chaos. One of her summoned towers collapsed from the ricochet.

  The Den groaned.

  “You’re making a fool of yourself,” Athena said. “You came for a slaughter. But this is a game of gods.”

  Alecto screamed, wings of serpents flaring again. She spun and hurled a serpent-laced blade.

  “You don’t get to lecture me!”

  But by the time her blade landed, Athena was already gone.

  From behind a rising glyph tower came Strix, the Execution Owl, in a spiral dive. Its feathers gleamed black and red as it ignited mid-flight.

  Boom.

  A controlled explosion burst against Alecto’s chest, sending her tumbling through her own summoned fangs.

  The Den rumbled. The crowd flinched.

  Hiro, half-kneeling, whispered:

  “She’s reading and dismantling her attacks…”

  Phinx growled low beside him, wings twitching—still weak, still alert. The phoenix’s fire had reignited—golden, calm, kindled by hope.

  Across the rubble-strewn arena, Darius stirred. His massive frame shifted with a groan, eyes blinking open, pain flaring across his features. But when he saw Athena, when he saw the storm of strategy unfolding—he spit.

  "Gods in my pit," he growled, dragging himself to one knee. "When did this arena become Olympus’ playground?"

  Not far behind, from a shadowed alcove littered with shattered glyphs, Damaric emerged—bloodied but alive. His steps were slow, but his stance remained steady.

  He limped over to Hiro’s side and gave a slight nod. "Still breathing, huh? Good. We’ll need you if this turns worse."

  In the arena’s heart, Athena stood alone, untouched. Three owls circled her—like thoughts in motion. The gate behind Alecto pulsed again, deeper this time—like a heartbeat beneath the earth.

  The snakes began to retreat—not all, just some—as if unsure which goddess they now served.

  Alecto snarled, blood on her lips.

  “You call this strategy? Dressing up cowardice with pretty glyphs and pets?”

  Athena extended one palm forward.

  “No. This is war.”

  Glyphs rippled from her fingertips and carved into the ground—forming a sigil of binding beneath Alecto’s feet.

  She tried to leap—too late.

  Chains of golden logic wove into place, freezing her movement for half a breath.

  That’s all Athena needed.

  She blurred forward. Twin blades reformed in her hands—carved of radiant energy and memory.

  And then—she stopped mid-swing.

  The Den went silent. The earth vibrated. From the gate came a sound not of snakes, not of wind—

  But of voices.

  Two.

  Whispers. Melodic. Harmonized in hatred.

  Alecto’s eyes widened—not in fear. In relief.

  “Finally,” Alecto whispered, as the shadows deepened. “My sisters.”

  From the mouth of the gate, shadow thickened—oozing like tar, not falling but _crawling_. No light flickered in the Den; there was nothing left to flicker. The darkness wasn’t absence—it was presence. A slow, suffocating thing that swallowed breath and thought alike.

  And then they stepped through.

  Not walked—_glided_.

  Two figures, veiled in mourning black and crimson sheen. Their eyes burned—not with flame, but with blood. Ancient. Bitter. Boundless.

  The taller one whispered first, her voice honeyed with decay.

  “Another trial, sister?”

  The smaller smiled—head tilted, eyes gleaming like blood-wet rubies.

  “Or a gift. She’s softened the prey.”

  Alecto, still bound in golden glyphs, exhaled a shuddering breath.

  “You’re late.”

  Megaera approached first, trailing venomous silk. With each step, the ground beneath her feet _cracked_ with silent judgment.

  “Late? Sister, we were savoring your symphony of defeat. We only join at the crescendo.”

  Tisiphone followed, her arms outstretched like a priestess mid-curse.

  “A war goddess in the Den... how poetic.”

  Athena didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Her owls rotated tighter. The light around her sharpened.

  “Megaera. Tisiphone,” she said calmly. “You're far from your depths.”

  Megaera’s smile widened. “And yet here we are.”

  Behind them, the gate sealed with a hum—its pulse slowing, not stopping.

  For a moment, nothing moved.

  Megaera raised one hand—and the glyphs binding Alecto shattered. Not broken—dismissed.

  Alecto gasped, staggered once, then straightened. Her lips curled—not with gratitude, but anticipation.

  Across the Den, Hiro froze.

  Those voices. That presence.

  He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Phinx felt it too—the phoenix’s wings flared, feathers bristling in golden static.

  It was them.

  The ones from the lightning storm.

  The ones who stood at the edge of death—silent, watching.

  The ones that made this journey begin.

  Phinx let out a low, rumbling cry—part flame, part memory. A sound Hiro hadn’t heard since that night beneath the mountain.

  Hiro’s fists clenched, sparks crackling across his skin.

  He didn’t say their names.

  He didn’t need to.

  Athena watched in silence—her blades still at her sides, but her grip had already chosen who to cut first.