Arlen stood motionless for several seconds, the echoes of Nomos’ final words still hanging in the air. Then he turned sharply.

  “Nyx. Grom. Aura. Let’s find Tethys.”

  They moved at once.

  Deep within the palace, behind layers of sealed corridors, they finally found her—

  the water goddess lay unconscious inside an iron cage etched with death-runes, suspended slightly above the floor as if reality itself refused to touch it.

  “Tch.” Arlen clenched his jaw. “Grom. Break it.”

  Grom stepped forward and brought his massive blade down with all his strength.

  CLANG.

  The impact rang through the chamber—but the cage didn’t even crack.

  Before anyone could speak, a voice echoed from everywhere at once.

  “You really do enjoy ruining my work.”

  The air itself seemed to sneer.

  “One hundred and fifty-four,” Mortis continued calmly. “That is how many breeding stocks you destroyed today. And on top of that… you eliminated Nomos.”

  Arlen’s eyes narrowed. “Show yourself, you coward.”

  Nyx bared her fangs. “Where are you hiding, god of Death?”

  Mortis laughed.

  “Hah… this cage is directly linked to my Throne of Death. No matter how hard you try, you will remove Tethys from it. And neither you can reach me.”

  Then—

  Footsteps.

  Powerful ones.

  Golden light flooded the hall as figures emerged one after another.

  Krios.

  Raijin.

  Hephaestus.

  Vulcan.

  Phantas.

  The remaining gods of Heaven.

  Their gazes immediately locked onto the demons—and then the cage.

  Hephaestus frowned. “How did demons breach the heavenly domain?”

  Vulcan’s eyes widened. “Tethys—she’s imprisoned! And… Dryas?” His voice hardened. “Why are you standing with demons?”

  Krios’ frost-blue eyes narrowed. “Strange. I sense no divinity from you, Dryas.”

  Mortis’ voice slipped in smoothly, like poison poured into wine.

  “Ah. Perfect timing, my fellow gods.”

  A pause.

  “This boy is the God Slayerprotect

  Tethys.”

  Arlen felt the shift immediately.

  Mortis continued, unfazed.

  “He wields a sacred relic capable of manipulating minds. Dryas and Tethys are under his control. That is why I was forced to restrain her.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Dryas stepped forward, shaking. “That’s a lie! Mortis is the one who manipulates memories! He even brainwashed Chronos—!”

  Phantas’ eyes glowed faintly. “It appears her will has been compromised. A controlled subject often defends their captor.”

  Mortis smiled unseen.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” he added lightly. “This half-demon also slaughtered Ianthe… and her child.”

  Silence.

  Then—

  Vulcan’s flames roared.

  “You abandoned your humanity,” he snarled, staring at Arlen. “You murdered a child. For that crime—”

  His fire ignited the air itself.

  “You will die by my flames.”

  Arlen stepped forward, his voice cold and steady.

  “Dryas. Don’t waste your breath reasoning with fools.”

  Before anyone could react, an obsidian portal

  “Finally…”

  A familiar, languid voice echoed with satisfaction.

  “With this many gods dead, I can come and go wherever I please. Sweet,

  freedom.”

  Cornea emerged from the portal, her smile amused, dangerous—her crimson eyes slowly sweeping across the gathered gods.

  “Oh?” she purred. “So many parasites gathered in one place. Are we having a party?”

  The gods’ expressions stiffened as the space behind her filled.

  One by one—then hundreds—then thousands

  A vast demonic army poured out, armour black as void, weapons humming with abyssal power. They lined up behind their queen in perfect discipline, their presence alone warping the air.

  Cornea tilted her head slightly.

  “I brought my own party.”

  Arlen smirked, eyes burning as he looked into the empty space where Mortis’ voice lingered.

  “Looks like the tide’s turned, huh, Mortis?”

  His grin sharpened.

  “Why don’t you come out and greet us properly? Or is hiding behind lies all the god of death can do?”

  For a moment—silence.

  Then Mortis’ voice rang out, sharp with forced authority.

  “Do not listen to his provocations!”

  “This is Heaven! Demons are weakened here!”

  He turned his words toward the gathered gods.

  “My fellow gods—slaughter them. Protect peace!”

  Arlen exhaled slowly.

  “No shame at all.”

  He turned slightly toward Cornea.

  “No need for the army.”

  Her brow lifted faintly in surprise.

  “I have a much bigger ace,” Arlen continued calmly.

  “This will end before a war even begins.”

  Then—

  Tap.

  A sound echoed through Heaven.

  A simple sound.

  A cane striking the ground.

  Tap.

  And reality .

  An ancient presence descended—old beyond memory, vast beyond comprehension. The air grew unbearably heavy, as if gravity itself had become sentient and hostile.

  Gods fell to their knees.

  Demons collapsed, teeth grinding.

  Even Cornea was forced down, her claws biting into the marble floor.

  The walls of Heaven bent

  Arlen also forced to drop on knees—but he smiled.

  An old voice echoed, carrying wisdom carved by eternity… and rage long restrained.

  “God of Death.

  The voice reverberated through realms.

  “Come out from your death throne domain and answer my call.

  The pressure intensified.

  Arlen’s smile widened, even as his bones screamed.

  “You’re late, old man,” he muttered.

  Then louder—mocking—

  “Now tell me, Mortis. Can you still hide?”

  Space tore open violently.

  Mortis emerged—not with dignity, not with power—but dragging himself forwardunwilling—to look up.

  A broken voice escaped his lips.

  “Why… why is the Gatekeeper here…?”

  Solon’s cane struck the ground once more.

  Tap.

  The sound alone made Mortis flinch as if struck.

  “God of Death,” Solon said calmly, each word carrying the weight of eternity,

  “did you try to force marriage

  Mortis froze.

  For the first time since his ascension, sweat poured freely from his body—cold, trembling, humiliating. His breath hitched. Around him, the remaining gods—still crushed to their knees—turned their wide, disbelieving eyes toward him.

  Mortis swallowed.

  “I—”

  His voice cracked.

  Before he could form another word, he forced himself to shout, desperation clawing through his pride.

  “Even if that were true!”

  “Why are interfering?”

  “You are the Gatekeeper! Your duty is to guard the relics!”

  “This has nothing to do with you!”

  The air exploded

  Not outward—but inward—compressing reality itself.

  Solon’s voice thundered, no longer restrained.

  “SILENCE, GOD OF DEATH.

  The heavens screamed in fear.

  “YOU WILL NOT SPEAK EXCEPT WHEN I COMMAND IT.

  Mortis collapsed fully, palms scraping against the floor as tears welled in his eyes—tears born not of sorrow, but of pure terror

  Solon took a step forward.

  “Someone worthy is temporarily guarding the Sanctuary in my absence,” he said coldly.

  “And do not presume to tell me what does or does not concern me.”

  His cane struck the ground again.

  Tap.

  “Then let me ask you one final question.”

  The pressure sharpened—focused—like a blade at Mortis’ throat.

  “I have recently heard this… from the God Slayer.”

  Solon’s ancient eyes narrowed.

  “Is it trueunworthy handsThrone of Aethel