The Nameless Heir

He shot toward the city and stopped.

Not because he meant to.

Something slammed into the ground with enough force to punch the breath out of the sky.

The explosion came right after—quick, brutal.

Heat tore through the city, burning across rooftops like Zeus had lost patience and thrown down lightning just to watch something burn.

His breath caught midway.

He didn't flinch.

Not from fear.

Just from the weight pressing in—thick and still, like the sky was holding its breath.

The smoke curled. The fire lingered. The ground wouldn't stop shaking.

It didn't feel like wrath. It felt like something made by men.

He'd heard gods tear the sky open. Felt the weight of divine fury in his own hands.

But this wasn't that. This wasn't holy or righteous.

This was human. Brutal. Designed to end lives.

This was… ugly.

One of those things came straight for him.

It moved fast—too fast for a mortal—but he caught it anyway, fingers closing around the metal with ease.

And then—

BOOM.

The explosion swallowed the air around him. Light. Heat. Smoke.

When it cleared, he was still standing.

Unharmed.

But the ground beneath him was ruined. A crater, wide and deep, scorched at the edges.

He stared down at it, unmoving. His jaw clenched once.

In his entire life—through divine battles, through wrath that split the sky—he had never felt something like this.

"This weapon…" he muttered, the words dry on his tongue. "It's useless against gods. Barely touches demigods."

His eyes swept across the burning streets. Mangled concrete. Bent rebar. Smoke rising like fingers trying to crawl out of the ground.

"But to mortals…"

His voice trailed off.

A beat passed before he spoke again, quieter this time.

"It's death."

His shoulders shifted. Not from pain. From realization.

"Loud. Flashy. Terrifying… but not efficient."

He exhaled—slow, steady. Something behind his eyes shifted. Not rage. Not awe.

Something colder.

He stood there, watching the sky, watching the machines move through it like shadows with teeth.

Then, under his breath, almost to himself:

"They didn't build this for gods. They built it for each other."

He let out a soft laugh. There was no joy in it. Just disappointment.

"Human nature… such a pathetic thing," he muttered.

His hand loosened at his side, still coated with dust from the blast.

"They crave control. Power…"

He scoffed, eyes tracking the burning skyline, the wreckage, the fear curling in the corners of every shattered building.

"But they can't even control themselves."

His jaw flexed. He took a slow breath, gaze cold.

"They built all this—to feel safe. To feel strong."

A pause. Something bitter tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"And now?"

He let out a dry, almost amused breath.

"This time, I didn't even have to tempt them."

His eyes narrowed on the chaos around him.

"They're dragging themselves to ruin just fine on their own."

The blasts stopped.

But the air didn't settle.

Something was still coming.

He could hear it—fast, sharp, tearing through the sky like the wind itself had been split open.

Then a shadow passed overhead. Thin. Unnatural. Too precise.

He turned, eyes following the sound.

There it was.

A black shape, narrow and cruel, slicing across the sky. It didn't flap. Didn't hover.

It moved like it didn't need permission.

A flying weapon.

No wings. No fire. Just speed and metal and something inside it he didn't understand.

It made no sense. It wasn't divine. It wasn't a beast.

It was built.

It looped once, then angled downward.

Not toward him.

Toward the edge of the city—toward the crumbling buildings where the wounded had been hiding.

A soft click echoed in the air.

And then they dropped.

Small, hard objects. No larger than his hand. But he didn't need to know what they were.

"A pure demigod could level this city faster than this thing ever could."

"Demigods playing gods," he muttered, almost amused.

"They ran from Olympus. Said they wanted freedom. Away from the gods.

But the moment they had power, they did the same thing.

Striking from the sky.

Passing judgment from a distance.

Building their own Olympus—just without the name."

His gaze darkened.

"Imitating gods, because they're too weak to become one."

His shoulders straightened as the helm of darkness folded into existence above him—piece by piece, like it had been waiting.

The air grew heavy. Shadows spiraled up his arms, coiling like smoke ready to strike.

His gaze didn't waver. Didn't rise.

He just tilted his head slightly, voice dropping to something quieter. Darker.

"Let me remind you what a real one looks like."

He shot upward like a spear, his body tearing straight through the metal shell of the flying machine.

The impact tore it apart. Fire burst from the core.

Steel and bone-white debris scattered like shattered wings.

Whatever was inside didn't even get the chance to scream.

He hovered above, coat dragging in the wind, eyes locked on the next one.

Not knowing what to do, their eyes darted outward, circling in panic.

They twisted through the sky, trying every angle, every path.

But it was no use.

He raised his hand.

From the ground below, the shadows shot up—fast and violent—latching onto the flying machine like a jagged vice.

It jerked in the air. It started to groan.

Then the shadows coiled around its wings and tore them off—brutal and clean, like ripping limbs from a body.

The broken shell of the thing dropped, smoking, spinning out of the sky.

The rest fled.

No plan. No formation. Just panic.

They scattered across the sky, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the monster in the shape of a man.

Kael didn't follow.

He snapped his fingers.

His dragon tore itself free from the pit of his shadow, like it had been waiting to be set loose.

Its body twisted through the air, shadow trailing behind it like a scar.

The wings beat once—hard. The heat from its breath melted the edges of the clouds.

He stepped onto its back without a word.

From this high, he could see the city in the distance.

Clean streets. White towers. Untouched.

It didn't look like this one.

No craters. No fire. No screams.

Just stillness.

Like it had never known war.

It looked like people were living peacefully.

He pointed.

"Let's say hello to our cousins."

The dragon opened its mouth.

The beam screamed through the air—a single, deafening line of light.

It carved through the fleeing machines without slowing.

Then it kept going—straight into the tallest structure in the heart of the city.

There was no explosion.

The building just vanished—ripped out of existence like it had never stood there to begin with.

Nothing left but scorched stone and a crater where lives used to be.

Then came the retaliation.

They launched more of those sharp things again.

But these were different.

They screamed louder. Moved faster.

Hissed through the sky like they were alive.

And they looked more dangerous.

Maybe it was the way they spun. Or the way their tips gleamed like fangs.

Sharper. Angrier.

Built not just to destroy—but to pierce straight through.

He snapped his fingers.

The shadows answered, rising to consume the city in darkness.

The explosives struck—but nothing followed.

No fire. No sound. Just stillness.

When it ended, he was floating above them, shoulders steady, expression unreadable.

They looked up. No one spoke.

A once godless world

now has one.

Not because it asked.

But because he chose.

The darkness didn't fade.

It stayed with them. Settling over the streets, clinging to the people like it belonged there.

His shadow had claimed the city.

And it would not let go.