Facing my destiny (2)

{Tartarus, Unknown Time}

Kronos POV

It started with the arrows.

Three of them, hissing through the dense air of Tartarus like angry hornets, cutting through the chaos before any of us could blink. The monsters didn't even have time to react before they hit their mark. The arrows shattered on impact, releasing a strange, diluted green liquid that splattered across the rocky ground.

I narrowed my eyes. The Cyclopes blinked stupidly at the puddles forming around their feet, while the Empousai hissed, their mismatched legs halting mid-stride. Even the Minotaur snorted in confusion. The liquid shimmered, pale green, like sickly water under moonlight, and for a split second, everything went still.

Then it came.

From above, a flaming arrow descended, glowing with the intensity of Helios' chariot. It hit the puddle with a soft whoosh—and the battlefield exploded.

Fire erupted across the ground, igniting the green liquid like oil on water. The flames leaped up in a violent wall of heat and light, engulfing the monsters nearest to the arrows. Their screams filled the air, high-pitched and guttural, as they writhed in agony, their bodies disintegrating almost instantly in the blaze. But it wasn't just the flames that did the damage.

The fumes.

Thick, poisonous fumes began to rise from the liquid, swirling into the air like a deadly mist. The monsters inhaled it in panic, their breaths ragged as the poison went to work, eating away at their insides. Cyclopes clutched their throats, their single eyes bulging as their flesh crumbled into dust. The Empousai shrieked, their bodies convulsing as they disintegrated, skin and bone turning into golden dust within moments.

Even Ladon, my loyal many-headed serpent, reared back, his heads hissing and snapping in confusion. The great serpent's golden green scales gleamed in the firelight, but not even he was immune.

From somewhere beyond the flames, another projectile—a manticore's tail spike, sharp and jagged—came screaming through the air. It struck Ladon square in the chest, sinking deep into his flesh. For a moment, his heads thrashed wildly, hissing in pain, but the poison did its work quickly. The once-majestic creature shuddered, then crumbled into golden dust like the rest.

I felt the faintest flicker of irritation.

The battlefield had turned into a slaughterhouse. My monsters—those mindless, loyal beasts that I had spent eons molding to serve me—were dropping like flies, their bodies turning to ash and smoke. The air reeked of burnt flesh and poison. It was almost unbearable, even for me.

Almost.

The Titans around me stirred. Iapetus shifted his grip on his spear, his gaze fixed on the firestorm below. Hyperion, his sword blazing like a miniature sun, watched with a frown, clearly annoyed that someone else was playing with fire. Koios and Krios, ever the silent sentinels, stood still, their eyes scanning the battlefield for the source of this ambush.

And Luke, my mortal pawn, tensed beside me, his hand hovering over Backbiter. His face was drawn, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pinpoint where the attack was coming from.

But I, the Titan of Time, had already sensed it.

The arrows, the flames, the chaos—it was a distraction. A carefully orchestrated one, at that. Someone was out there, pulling strings, keeping my monsters busy. I felt a tug of curiosity, my mind racing as I pieced together the puzzle. The precision of the strikes, the way the arrows were laced with poison, the timing of the flaming arrow—it was no accident. Someone knew exactly what they were doing.

And then I saw him.

The boy they sent to kill me.

Amusing.

Standing at the edge of the plateau, silhouetted against the chaos of burning monsters and swirling shadows, was a boy. He was tall for his age, maybe six feet, his build lean but solid. His dark hair, pitch black like the void, clung to his head, and his eyes—those eyes—glowed a deep, unsettling purple. There was something wrong about him, something unnatural. His right arm pulsed with the same purple energy, shadows swirling around it like a living thing, coiling and shifting.

Odysseus.

The shadows clung to him like a second skin, and with each step he took, they moved with him, dark tendrils that flickered and darted, ready to obey his every command.

But it wasn't just him. No, behind him, like a wraith gliding through the darkness, was a woman. Melinoe. Daughter of one of my traitorous children. She was half ink-black shadow, half skeletal-white death, a grim reaper in all but name.

Her hands hovered over the piles of golden dust that had once been my monsters, sifting through them as though gathering the remnants of their souls. A whistle, delicate and deadly, floated in front of her lips, ready to summon the dead with a single note. Her eyes—one black, one bone-white—glimmered in the firelight as she moved in eerie silence behind Odysseus.

They made quite the pair.

Odysseus took another step forward, his spear gleaming at his side, dripping with the venom a powerful one, if the fumes of said poison were anything to by. His purple-shadowed eyes locked onto me, unwavering, filled with a mixture of determination and something far darker. His lips pressed into a thin line as he scanned the battlefield, no doubt assessing the situation, calculating how best to bring me down.

Amusing.

The Titans stirred beside me. Iapetus growled under his breath, clearly eager to get fight like his barbaric self always wanted, it was unbelievable that two of my smartest subjects, Atlas and Prometheus had come from him. Hyperion's sword flared, a halo of heat surrounding him, but even he hesitated. Koios and Krios remained stoic, their weapons ready but unmoving, waiting for my signal. Luke, however, didn't wait.

"That's him," Luke muttered, his voice tight with tension. "Odysseus. He's behind this."

I smiled at that. "Indeed he is."

Luke's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white. His expression was hard, determined, as he took a step forward, ready to attack. But I raised a hand, stopping him.

"Not yet," I said, my voice calm.

Luke glanced at me, confused. "He's killing your monsters. Shouldn't we—"

"Let him come," I interrupted, my eyes never leaving Odysseus.

Luke hesitated, but he stepped back, though his grip on the blade didn't loosen. I could feel the tension, the fear radiating off him, the barely-contained frustration of a mortal who wanted to prove himself. But this wasn't his battle. Not yet.

Odysseus stood just thirty yards away now, his spear held at the ready. His breath came in short, heavy bursts, his body slick with sweat from the effort of cutting down wave after wave of monsters. And yet, his purple-shadowed eyes still burned with that same determination. He thought he could kill me.

How delightful.

I watched him for a moment longer, my golden eyes narrowing slightly as I considered him. He had grown stronger since I last saw him, his control over the shadows far more refined, far more dangerous. But he was still just a boy. A boy playing in my palms.

Behind him, Melinoe's fingers danced over the remains of my fallen army, drawing their essence into her. She moved with a quiet grace, her skeletal hand grazing the air as the last bits of golden dust were absorbed into her being. She didn't look at me. She didn't need to. Her focus was on the dead.

And still, I smiled.

I took a step forward, my golden eyes gleaming in the firelight. I could feel the power thrumming beneath my skin, the raw, ancient energy that had once ruled the cosmos. This was my moment.

My time.

I raised the Master Bolt.

Odysseus' eyes flickered, widening slightly, but he didn't move. Brave. Foolish, but brave. He had faced gods before, but this was different. This was me.

With a flick of my wrist, I sent the Bolt soaring into the sky. It crackled with raw power, splitting the blackened ceiling of Tartarus with a deafening roar. The shadows recoiled, writhing as the lightning carved through them, sending shockwaves through the air. The ground trembled beneath my feet, the very essence of Tartarus shaking in response to the Bolt's power.

Odysseus stood his ground, but I could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes. He looked so dumbfounded that I hadn't shot at him.

I couldn't help but smile.

I stepped forward, my gaze locking onto his.

"Cousin," I said, my voice low and commanding, echoing through the now-silent battlefield, "the golden age has begun."

Then, the sky began to crack, and then a part of it fell, revealing it, my escape just at the other side was Kampe, one of my most loyal servants her flushed face, disturbing even for me. 

It had been for this the reason, I hadn't acted. Kampe and I needed to strike the exit way at the same time, produce enough force. Something we had done with the bolt and a monster famed for his strength, a hundred handed, a Hecatoncheires, one of the treasonous bastards.