The Nameless Heir

Zeor, son of Zeus, stepped forward.

The air thickened.

Gravity surged.

His foot started to sink into the ground, as the weight pressed down on him, trying to keep him sealed to the earth.

Beside Zeor, Posra—daughter of Poseidon—raised her hand.

The pressure in the air deepened. Subtle at first, like the breath had been sucked from the room. Then heavier. As if something unseen had leaned into the world and refused to let go.

The ground beneath Kael shifted.

It didn't crack or break. It moved.

Slow. Controlled. Liquid stone sliding around his legs in thick bands. Each loop settled in place, then hardened—tightening as it rose.

Aros, son of Ares, threw his head back and let out a cry that shook the air. It wasn't for fear. It wasn't for pain. It was war.

Power burst outward from him, invisible but felt—an echo that raced through the others, heightening their stance, sharpening their eyes, filling their limbs with something feral.

Demia, daughter of Demeter, stepped in. The ground responded like it knew her name.

Kael stood in the center of it all.

Still silent. Still watching.

But now… the trap had begun to close.

"You greedy humans."

He took a step forward, pulling himself free from the bind.

The Helm of Darkness unraveled from around his head, shadows slipping back into the air.

His tone shifted. Each word thickened the silence, pressing weight into the space between them.

"You think this will stop me?"

Phira, daughter of Aphrodite, stepped forward. Her gaze lingered on Kael, soft at first, then honeyed. A faint glow lit her eyes.

"Please… put your weapon down," she said. Her voice was low, almost gentle.

But something in it was off.

Too smooth.

Not kindness—calculation. The kind that slid beneath your guard and made you think it was your idea.

Seductive, in a way that had nothing to do with desire.

He didn't react at first. But slowly, his fingers started to loosen around the hilt of his blade, and then it slipped out of his hand. It hit the ground with a dull clatter.

She smiled, just slightly.

Then Kael spoke.

"You're first," he said. "For trying something like that."

Phira's face shifted. The smile dropped.

"Do something!" she shouted, turning sharply.

Heston, son of Hephaestus, stepped forward. He didn't speak. Just raised his arm, revealing the device strapped across his wrist. It clicked once, and the weapons they'd each been given lit with power—custom-made for their hands.

Dioxa, daughter of Dionysus, moved next. She closed her eyes, and the change was immediate. A pulse spread outward, quiet but strong. Kael felt it too—the sudden spike in their presence.

They'd just doubled their strength.

And they were all looking at him.

Hermin moved first.

He darted in, fast hands aiming strikes from every angle. It might've looked impressive to the others—quick bursts of speed, each punch trying to break through Kael's guard.

But Kael didn't flinch.

This wasn't real speed.

Not to him.

Not after fighting Hermes.

Maybe twenty percent of what Hermes had used. Predictable. Rushed. Desperate.

Kael waited. Watched.

Then, as Hermin stepped in again, he shifted.

Just slightly.

His hand caught the punch mid-air. Tight grip. One smooth twist. The bones in Hermin's arm gave with a snap.

Before the demigod could react, Kael's foot slammed down on his leg.

Another crack.

The knee bent the wrong way.

Then a hand to the throat. Another twist. Simple. Precise.

Hermin's body dropped, limp.

It hit the ground with a dull weight.

That was when the others paused. No one spoke, but something changed in the air. The silence wasn't shock.

It was realization.

They had no idea what kind of being they'd picked a fight with.

Aria, daughter of Artemis, loosed an arrow mid-motion. Aphel, son of Apollo, followed—light flaring from his bow. Their arrows came fast, overlapping in rhythm.

Kael didn't raise a hand.

The shadows moved before he had to. They rose like ropes from the ground, slapped the arrows from the air, crushed them mid-flight. None of it touched him.

Then Phira stepped forward.

Daughter of Aphrodite. Her eyes glowed faintly, lips parting in a soft breath.

"Please," she whispered, voice laced with charm. "Put the sword down…"

Kael did.

For a second, the blade lowered—like the words worked.

Then he stepped forward and drove the sword through her throat.

No warning. No change in his face.

She choked once. Blood filled her mouth. The glow in her eyes vanished.

Kael pulled the blade free.

She collapsed at his feet.

And just like that, another one was gone.

Lightning crawled across Zeor's shoulders as he charged, veins glowing like something barely held together. He raised his sword and swung straight for Kael's neck.

The blade never made it.

It shattered on contact—splintering into shards that sprayed across the field like broken glass.

Before Zeor could even process the failure, something struck him.

One of Kael's shadows lashed out—thick, coiled like a tendon—and sliced clean through his arm.

The severed limb hit the ground with a dull thud.

Zeor stumbled backward, clutching the wound, blood pouring between his fingers.

His hand sparked with lightning, crackling as if divine power alone could seal the bleeding.

But it didn't.

His face twisted—not just from pain, but from disbelief.

Across the field, Posra moved.

She lunged with her spear, fast and sure, going for the ribs. Her breath hitched, already expecting the kill.

But Kael wasn't there.

He vanished.

By the time she turned, he was standing over Hermin's body.

Right where it had fallen.

Their eyes met.

Fear crept into their stance—tight shoulders, uneven breaths, feet shifting like they suddenly weren't sure where to stand.

Kael let out a low, broken laugh. It scraped from his chest like dry stone cracking.

"You thought you had a chance," he said, voice steady. "You thought wearing their skin would make you gods."

No one spoke.

Zeor dropped to one knee, clutching the bleeding stump. His breath came fast, shallow. The blood wouldn't stop.

Aros moved next—fast, reckless. He roared as he charged, swinging a fist the size of a hammer down toward Kael's head.

It never landed.

A shadow-tentacle speared through his stomach before the blow connected.

The sound was thick—wet, final.

Aros's mouth opened. Nothing came out but blood.

The shadow lifted him like a corpse on a hook and hurled him back toward the others.

He crashed into the dirt at their feet, body limp, armor cracked.

"Why are you doing this?" Zeor asked, voice raw, broken between breaths.

He coughed, blood dribbling down his chin, but still tried to lift his head.

"You think we're any different from the Olympians?" he rasped. "They wanted kingdoms—they took them. Desired women—they claimed them. Made their own rules. Why can't we?"

Kael didn't blink. Didn't even flinch.

He just… laughed.

Not loud. Not amused. The kind of laugh that didn't reach his eyes. Like hearing a dog bark and thinking it understood power.

"We should be free to do whatever we want," Zeor went on, chest heaving. "We have divine blood too. Why do you care what we do here?"

Kael tilted his head slightly, as if truly considering it. Then his tone dropped—soft, unreadable.

"I don't care," he said.

"I would've let you rot in this world. Let you play king. Rule your little empires. Bathe in all the filth you desired."

Zeor's breath caught. He tried to speak again, but Kael cut him off with a step forward.

Slow. Cold. Unhurried.

"But then you dragged Olympus into it."

Kael crouched a little, just enough to meet his gaze.

"And you think that makes you free?" he asked. Then he let out another laugh—shorter this time. Meaner. "You think wearing a god's skin makes you more than a man?"

"It's not freedom. It's not power. It's just arrogance. The same kind that always leads to the same end."

His eyes dropped to Zeor's broken form, unmoving beneath him.

"No matter how much power you gain… it's never enough. You reach higher. You take more. And every time you do—"

A pause.

"But know this every time men like you try to reach for the stars…"

His voice dropped to a cold whisper.

"…there's always someone like me waiting up there to kick you back down."

He took another step forward.

The earth groaned beneath him.

"You talk like a god. But you're not."

Kael's gaze hardened.

"You're just a thief in divine skin. Pretending."

A flicker of breath escaped Zeor's lips. Fear, maybe. Or regret. But it was too late.

"You touched what wasn't yours," Kael said, his voice lowering again. "You took a body marked by Olympus. You played with blood you were never worthy of."

He stopped above him. Looming. Final.

"And that's where you ended it. Not with the weapons. Not with your greed."

His eyes narrowed.

"But when you reached for what belonged to a god."

Their lips trembled. One last breath of defiance, maybe. But Kael had already turned his gaze away.

"Before I kill you all, let me tell you a story."

Kael didn't raise his voice. Just spoke.

"There was a man once. Ixion. A mortal. They say he was the first to kill his own kin and walk free."

He glanced at them—at the bodies they wore like stolen thrones.

"The gods gave him a second chance. A place at their table. He should've stayed grateful."

His gaze didn't shift.

"But he looked at Hera and thought she should be his too. That's what greed does. Makes men believe wanting something means they deserve it."

A beat passed. The silence wasn't empty. It waited.

"Zeus didn't kill him. He made an example. Bound him to a wheel of fire. And let him spin forever. Reaching. Burning. Forgotten."

Kael took a step few step backward.

"That's what you are."

His eyes moved across their faces, one by one.

"Mortals who wanted more. Politicians who played gods. Men with money who thought they could buy divinity. Racists who needed to believe their blood meant something. Puppets of empire, drunk on borrowed strength."

He tilted his head, slightly.

"You didn't rise. You climbed over corpses and called it ascent."

His voice dropped lower. Just above a whisper.

"You wear divine flesh like it will change what you are."

He stepped closer.

"But in the end, you're still Ixion."

A pause. Measured. Cold.

"Still reaching. Still burning."

"You could've ruled your little world without me."

Kael's voice was low, almost quiet.

"I wouldn't have cared. I would've let you play god."

His eyes darkened as he stepped forward.

"But you reached for more. You dragged the divine into it. Took bodies that weren't yours to touch."

He stopped in front of him.

"That was your final mistake."

A pause.

"Hope the taste of power was worth it."

The Helm of Darkness dissolved into smoke, sinking back into the shadow beneath his feet. A slow, malicious smile crept across his face.

"Absolute void."

The world dimmed. Shadows bled into the sky until even the sun vanished—devoured, as if his will alone had swallowed the last light from existence.