The Nameless Heir

"I know you're not dead, useless child of Zeus."

He twitched. Lightning cracked down his arm, sparking from his fingers. The moment he touched the shadow beneath him, it exploded—shattering like liquid glass.

But the shards didn't vanish.

They stretched, pulled thin like black threads, twisting midair into sharp, noodle-like strands that lashed down and wrapped around him, sealing him to the ground.

Kael didn't even blink.

His red eyes locked onto the others. His voice dropped—dark, steady, echoing like it had come from something deeper than the earth.

"Now… let's start from the beginning," he muttered, releasing the bind.

They stepped forward, one by one.

The first moved too fast for someone who'd just been bound. His chest was high, but his feet hesitated.

"Zeor. Son of Zeus."

Kael didn't blink. The boy's voice almost cracked.

The next tried sharper.

"Posra. Daughter of Poseidon."

There was pride in the way she stood—but it didn't reach her eyes.

A third, calmer.

"Demia. Born of Demeter."

She kept her voice level, but her fingers were shaking.

Then one with metal in her tone.

"Athra. Athena is my mother."

Too steady. Practiced. Kael saw the tension in her jaw.

Another stepped forward, golden eyes lit faintly.

"Aphel. Son of Apollo."

He avoided Kael's gaze. Said the words like they were lines.

Then the cold girl.

"Aria. Daughter of Artemis."

She barely opened her mouth. Her voice carried no weight.

Next came the one with burn scars along his arms.

"Heston. Forged by Hephaestus."

He met Kael's stare for a second, then looked away.

Then beauty, dressed as confidence.

"Phira. Blood of Aphrodite."

She moved like she'd been trained not to flinch. But it was there.

Chaos came without a smile.

"Dioxa. Child of Dionysus."

She spoke like she didn't want to.

Another, quicker.

"Hermin. Son of Hermes."

Said it fast. Swallowed the last word.

"Aros. Ares is my father."

He tried to sound like a soldier. The weight didn't hold.

Then silence.

The last spoke softer than the others.

"Thane. Born of Hades."

No stumble. But something in his shoulders shifted too late.

Kael said nothing.

They stood still.

Not disciplined—controlled. Afraid. Every breath they took felt rehearsed. Every stance too perfect, too tense, like they thought posture alone might save them.

None of them spoke.

He hadn't moved. One leg draped over the other. His cheek still rested on his fist. He looked like he'd been sitting there for hours. Well, he was sitting there for hours.

His eyes didn't shift. They stayed on them.

"Now tell me everything," he said. "From the beginning."

They didn't speak right away. One looked down. Another glanced sideways, like hoping someone else would speak first. But eventually, the words came.

"When we arrived… they didn't fear us. Not at first."

A pause.

"They worshipped us."

Their voices fell into rhythm, not rehearsed—but repeated. Like something they'd told themselves more than once.

"They said we were chosen. That their books spoke of twelve outsiders, born of gods, who'd carry the power to fix the world. They thought we were those twelve."

Another spoke up, slower.

"But the world wasn't broken in ways we could fix. Nations were already fighting. Not for survival. For land. For history. For flags. They bled over lines on maps and old grudges they barely understood."

"And over belief," someone else added. "Religion. Color. Names. The smallest difference was enough to divide them."

Their tones darkened.

"One group rose above the others. Not stronger. Just louder. They believed they were the only ones meant to rule. And when they saw what we could do…"

"They used us."

"They said our power proved their truth. That their god had sent us. That their way was the only way."

"They built armies in our name. Forced others to kneel. Called it prophecy. Said those who didn't believe… weren't worth the air they breathed."

"It wasn't peace they wanted. It was control."

"And we let them."

"Ok."

His voice didn't rise, didn't shift. Just the weight of it changed—like gravity pressing harder on the words.

"Why didn't you fight back… when you knew you were being used like before?"

Their silence cracked. One of them finally spoke, the words barely above a whisper.

"Because… we couldn't."

He saw it before they even said it. The way their shoulders dipped. The way no one met his eyes.

"Now this is very important," he said, flat and serious. "Where are your real bodies?"

Athra raked her hand through the air, like she needed something to do with it. Her eyes met Kael's, hesitation flickering just behind them.

"Talk," he muttered.

"They're being kept somewhere else," she said, her voice thinning. "They told us… this body is stronger. It runs on artificial divine energy—so it has no limit."

"You stupid halflings."

His voice came low, but filled with fury.

Each word landed heavy, sharp—like they were being carved into stone.

"You gave up your godhood for this?"

The shadow moved before they could even flinch—splitting the ground, ripping forward, and piercing through every one of them at once.

They jerked in place. Light flickered from their wounds. Then came the silence.

He got to his feet, eyes flat with disbelief.

"Why would you do something this stupid?" he said, voice low, controlled. "You gave your godly bodies to humans. Are you all dumb?"

He took a step forward, shadows curling behind him like smoke under pressure.

"Even Daedalus waited until his real body was completely useless before changing."

"You stupid, useless disappointments."

The words dropped like stone—flat, heavy.

Kael didn't shout.

He didn't need to.

His voice was low, carved from contempt, every syllable spoken like it cost him patience just to acknowledge them.

"You traded your birthright for machinery. Gave your gods' blood to men who barely understand it. And for what? Stronger limbs? Sharper weapons?"

He took a single step forward. The ground cracked beneath it.

"They will use your bodies to build an army. Not of soldiers. Of monsters. Carved from divine marrow, stitched together by ambition. You handed it to them."

His head tilted slightly, not in curiosity—but judgment.

"You've given mortals the keys to Olympus."

The shadows at his feet stirred, like smoke waiting for permission.

"And you didn't even ask why."

One of them managed to speak up, voice tight with shame.

"We didn't know," Athra muttered.

"They tricked us—and said if we didn't do as we were told, we'd never get our bodies back," Zeor added.

Kael looked at him like he was already dead.

"You didn't care."

His gaze swept across all twelve—slow, disdainful, as if the sight of them made the world beneath his feet filthier.

"You are not gods. You are not even half. You're waste."

The ground darkened. The air cracked. Shadows rose, thick and coiled.

"To the rulers of this world—this is your only warning."

His voice carried now—not louder, just deeper. Commanding.

"You have taken what belongs to the gods. Return the bodies. Or I will reduce your nations to gravel. I will break your palaces with my hands. I will walk your capitals until the earth forgets they were ever built."

Then he turned.

And the twelve demigods flinched.

He didn't speak again. Didn't grant them another breath.

His shadow surged upward like a blade.

Twelve black spears tore through their chests. No resistance. No delay. He wasn't aiming to destroy. He was taking what mattered. The soul.

Each scream was caught mid-throat as their bodies spasmed.

And then the tearing began.

Their souls were ripped from within their bodies. No ceremony. No goodbye. Just a violent, sickening pull as their souls were dragged from their shells like meat torn off the bone.

Some of them didn't even have time to understand what was happening.

They blinked—

—and were gone.

Their shells collapsed, empty, still twitching.

Kael didn't bother watching them fall. He turned away before their bodies hit the ground.

The Underworld would deal with what remained.

"Now I have to fix their stupidity."

He looked down at them, disgust bleeding through his tone.

"This world is broken. Flawed by design. Maybe the only fix… is to erase it."