Chapter 214: Invasion 3
The obsidian ring in the courtyard pulsed like a sick heart, a constant, ugly reminder of the breach. Around it now stood figures who rarely gathered in one place, their combined presence making the very air of Olympus feel dense and ancient.
Zeus and Odin stood shoulder-to-shoulder, one the embodiment of a storm, the other of deep, cold wisdom. To their right was Hades, a silent pillar of finality, and Poseidon, who smelled of deep trenches and restless tides, his trident glinting. To their left stood the Jade Emperor, his robes of imperial yellow a stark contrast to the others, his expression serene but his eyes holding the weight of celestial bureaucracy. A few other powerful figures from distant pantheons lingered at the edges, their forms shimmering with distinct, foreign magic.
They were a council of war, assembled from broken threads of different tapestries.
"So this is the wound," the Jade Emperor said, his voice calm and measured. "It feels... impatient."
"It is a gateway," Zeus confirmed, his eyes fixed on the swirling red energy within the obsidian frame. "Nothing more. But a gateway to a place that should never be connected to here. We cannot destroy it from this side without risking a catastrophic backlash. But we can seal it. We can lock the door."
Odin’s single eye studied the structure. "It resists my sight. A thing of pure spite, not prophecy." He looked at Zeus. "You believe you can do this?"
"I must," Zeus replied. He turned to the others. "I will need you not to help me, but to guard me. The act will be... noticeable. It will be like shouting in the silence of their prison. They will feel it."
Hades gave a single, grim nod. Poseidon planted his trident on the marble, a low rumble echoing from its tines. The Jade Emperor simply folded his hands into his sleeves, but the air around him solidified with intent.
Zeus stepped forward, alone, until he stood directly before the portal. The red light played across his face, highlighting the grim lines of his brow. He took a deep breath, and for a moment, became utterly still.
Then, he raised his hands.
It started not with a roar, but with a hum. A deep, resonant frequency that made the marble underfoot vibrate. Tiny motes of light, like captured stars, began to swirl from the air around him, gathering before his outstretched palms. They were not the wild sparks of lightning, but something older, more fundamental—the raw stuff of creation itself.
He pushed his hands forward.
The starry light flowed toward the portal, not as an attack, but as a gentle, inexorable tide. Where it touched the obsidian ring, the black material didn’t crack or shatter. Instead, it began to change. The malevolent sheen dulled, taking on the rough, textured grey of unworked granite. It was as if he was persuading the gateway to forget what it was, to return to a state of inert stone.
The red energy within fought back. It seethed and lashed out, but the advancing wall of cosmic light absorbed its hatred, neutralizing it into harmless, fading sparks. The process was agonizingly slow. Sweat beaded on Zeus’s forehead, his arms trembling with the strain. He was not fighting a beast; he was rewriting a law of reality.
A shrill scream, felt more than heard, erupted from the portal. A clawed, shadowy hand, vast and terrible, shot out from the diminishing red vortex, aiming for Zeus’s heart.
It never reached him.
Poseidon’s trident moved faster than a striking serpent, its points intercepting the claw. There was no clash, only a silent dissolution. The salt of the deepest ocean, the pressure of the abyssal plain—these concepts embodied in the god’s weapon—unmade the infernal manifestation on contact. The shadow-hand evaporated with a hiss.
A wave of psychic despair, meant to shatter their wills, washed over them next. The Jade Emperor, unmoved, simply breathed out. A complex pattern of golden script flared in the air before him, a decree of order that unraveled the chaotic emotion before it could touch them.
Zeus did not flinch, his focus absolute. The starlight from his hands was now sheeting over the entire portal, smoothing the obsidian into featureless, dull rock. The red light within was barely a flicker.
With a final, grunting push, Zeus brought his palms together with a soft clap that echoed with finality.
The last speck of red vanished.
Where the terrifying gateway had stood was now a solid, seamless plug of grey stone, utterly ordinary and silent. The oppressive weight in the courtyard lifted. The hum was gone. Only the faint, acrid smell of ozone and defeat remained.
Zeus lowered his hands, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. He turned to the assembled rulers, his face etched with a profound weariness.
"It is sealed," he said, his voice hoarse. "For now."
He then looked past them, to where Hermes stood, uncharacteristically still and watching.
"Hermes," Zeus commanded, his voice regaining some of its old thunder. "Your fastest run. Not a message of gossip. A warning. To every god, in every temple, in every hidden realm. Tell them the walls of Hell have been breached. Tell them the war of the First Fall is upon us. Tell them to ready their armies, fortify their domains, and look to the skies. The peace we have known is over."
Hermes, for once, didn’t smirk or joke. He met his king’s gaze, understood the monumental gravity of the task, and slammed a fist against his chest in a sharp, Spartan salute.
"It will be done," he said, his voice tight with purpose.
In a flash of gold and a gust of wind that ruffled the robes of emperors and gods alike, he was gone. The greatest messenger of the gods had become the herald of a coming apocalypse.
The leaders looked at each other, then back at the sealed stone. It was a victory, but a small, fragile one. They had managed to close one door. But everyone in that courtyard knew a terrible truth: when a prison finds its walls can be breached, the prisoners do not stop at one door.
They simply look for a weaker wall.