The Nameless Heir

He stood in the wreckage—shattered stone beneath him, the ground soaked in blood. One hand hung loose at his side. The other hovered forward, just enough to remind the silence who it belonged to.

His eyes swept across the ruined horizon.

Then he spoke.

"Rise."

The shadow at his feet pulsed once. Then again. And from it, like smoke being pulled into shape, they began to rise.

The first were the Sins—each one dragging power behind them like gravity, their faces half-hidden in dark folds, their presence pressing in from behind Kael like a curtain of dread.

Then came the rest.

Undead soldiers by the thousands.

Some had just fallen. Their skin still carried the warmth of death. Others were brittle—pulled from the earth with nothing left but cracked bone and the smell of soil.

Armor clung to them in pieces. Shields scorched black, blades notched or broken, helmets hanging off half-shaped skulls. They didn't match. They weren't meant to.

But they all stood.

Some had died in foreign wars. Some in their own homes. None had been remembered. Until now.

They rose from the ground without noise or command, as if they'd known exactly where to be. No banners. No chants. Just the weight of what pulled them back.

They didn't serve the gods.

They served the one who called them.

Kael.

"All of you—scatter," he said, his voice calm, the words cutting through the stillness. "Form your groups."

His jaw clenched. A cold breath left him.

"Kill anyone with the blood of Olympus."

The earth tensed under his feet, shadow crawling like veins across the surface.

His hand dropped.

"If anyone gets in your way…"

Another pause. A flicker of disdain pulled at his brow.

"…kill them too."

The army moved without a word. No roar. No battle cry. Just motion—quiet and obedient.

And still Kael stood there, alone above them, like a judge more than a general.

His gaze didn't lift. It didn't have to.

"We will cleanse this world."

The undead slipped into shadow and scattered across the world. Chaos followed.

He didn't look back. He walked through the ruins, blood soaking the ground beneath him.

His eyes were set on one place.

Berlin.

He stepped into the city.

The streets were cracked, fires already licking up the sides of half-broken buildings.

People saw him coming. They didn't wait.

Gunfire echoed from windows. Missiles fired from rooftops. Someone screamed for backup. Another just screamed.

The bullets hit him—and dropped.

The missiles exploded in clouds of smoke and concrete, but he didn't slow down.

Every step forward felt like something breaking.

Above him, the clouds tore open.

Baal came down like a storm. His wings stretched wide, blocking out the light. The heat from his breath turned air to flame.

The dragon didn't aim. He just burned.

Buildings fell. Stone cracked. The skyline dropped as if the earth had given up trying to hold it.

He didn't flinch.

A soldier tried to crawl away, bleeding from the stomach. His eyes met Kael's—then rolled back.

The body froze. Twitched. Jerked upward. Then stood.

One more undead, pulled from death without a word.

Dozens followed. Then hundreds.

They didn't scream. They didn't groan.

They just moved.

Behind him. Beside him. Through the fire and ash.

People ran. Mothers dragged children. Old men limped for cover.

Some didn't make it.

The roads buckled where Baal landed. Shockwaves rippled through the buildings like thunder.

A quarter of the capital was gone—flattened or burning.

He kept walking.

And across the world, the dead brought chaos.

He could feel it through the ground—the blood of demigods seeping into the earth like oil. A pulse. A stain.

Every step he took dragged ruin behind him. Buildings cracked. Roads split. The sky burned without apology.

Then the ground shifted beneath his feet.

His legs sank into the stone. Shadows crawled up his body, trying to hold him in place.

A voice followed.

"That's enough."

He didn't turn. He didn't need to.

Thane's body stood ahead—but the voice inside wasn't his.

Something else wore the shell now.

Kael's eyes narrowed, the shadows coiling tighter around his body. The air turned colder. He didn't move as the darkness pressed in, but his voice came quiet, sharp.

"Who gave you permission to take over a divine body?"

The man didn't answer.

Just smirked—like it meant something.

Kael's eyes darkened. Shadows pulsed at his feet, rising like smoke from the cracks in the stone.

"Especially one that carries the blood of Hades," he said, voice flat.

His hand shot forward, ripping through Thane's shadow like it was nothing, and clamped around his throat.

Thane gasped, but no sound came. Kael didn't loosen his grip.

His hand stayed firm, fingers wrapped like iron around the man's throat.

Thane's eyes twitched—wide, uncertain. There was fear in them now. Not panic. Something colder. Like he'd just realized who he was facing.

"Where are the others?" Kael asked.

The man opened his mouth, instinctive—but Kael's grip tightened. The shadows curled tighter around his wrist.

"I didn't say you could speak."

He watched him. No shift in his stance. No rush. Just steady pressure.

"Just nod. Yes or no."

The man's jaw clenched. A beat passed. Then a single nod—short and stiff.

"Are they coming?"

Another nod, slower this time.

Kael didn't react. He just drove him into the ground.

The stone cracked on impact. The man's body jerked, shadows scattering beneath him. His eyes stayed open, staring past Kael now, like he didn't know where to look anymore.

Then he started to sink—slowly, trying to escape. A smear of darkness pulled him downward, shadows slithering like oil beneath his skin.

Kael didn't move at first.

He just watched.

Watched the man try to sink into the ground like it would save him. Watched the shadows coil and slither, trying to drag him out of reach.

Then his boot came down—hard.

The stone didn't shake. It broke.

A sharp crack split the ground beneath him, loud enough to silence even the wind. The shadows froze mid-motion, caught in disobedience.

They expelled him, sudden, casting him across the stone without care.

He landed hard. Limbs twisted. No dignity in the fall. Dust clung to his skin.

For a moment, he didn't move.

Then his chest rose—shaky, uneven.

His eyes darted up, wide and searching, like he was still trying to understand what had gone wrong.

He tried again—reaching out, calling them. But the darkness refused. It recoiled from his hand like it had been burned.

Panic flashed in his gaze.

He raised one arm and fired a streak of shadow at Kael. It hissed through the air—

—then turned.

The black tendrils curved, then wrapped around him instead, coiling tight around his limbs and chest. Not attacking Kael.

Binding the other.

Thane's stolen body trembled as the shadows pinned him to the ground.

They weren't just binding him—they drove him down.

His knees hit the stone. They didn't rise again. The shadows held him like it knew who he'd tried to impersonate. He couldn't rise. Couldn't move. The weight of the darkness kept him kneeling, head tilted upward in forced submission.

Kael kept walking, step by step, no urgency in his pace.

He stared down at him.

There was no anger in his face. No fire. Just the kind of stillness that made the air feel heavier.

"You thought you and I were alike because that body and I share the same blood."

His voice was flat. Emotionless. Almost bored.

"You thought you had a chance to stop me because you can do what I can do."

His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. Every word landed with a weight.

"You thought that power made you my equal. That the shadows obeyed you because you earned it."

He reached down, grabbed him by the hair, and yanked his head back, forcing him to meet his eyes. Thane flinched. The shadows didn't move to protect him.

Kael crouched slightly, gaze steady—not out of respect, but to show him just how far beneath he truly stood.

"Your greatest weakness," Kael said, voice low,

"was being born inferior to me."

Fear clung to him like damp cloth.

He tried to speak.

A plea, maybe. A defense.

The words never came.

Kael moved before they could.

The blade cut clean. No pause. No resistance.

The head dropped.

A moment later, the body collapsed beside it, still twitching, like it hadn't realized it was dead.

He didn't look down.

He turned instead, eyes already drawn to the tremor in the earth.

They had arrived.

Eleven figures dropped from the sky with the weight of gods. The ground cracked beneath their landing. The wind recoiled. Power gathered behind their silence.

They stood where the last had fallen, and for a moment, none of them moved.

They looked at the body. Then at Kael.

He didn't move much. Just turned his head—slow, measured, like they weren't even worth lifting a blade for.

"Who's next?"

The words came low and heavy.

His blade still dripped, the blood tracing down its edge like time ticking away.