Chapter 38: Sickles and Mirror

On the other side.

Adanus smirked, rolling his shoulders as he stared down Demeter.

"You should've stayed out of this, goddess," he taunted. "Fertility? Harvest? You think that means anything in war? You're nothing compared to your brothers. Nothing but a feeble caretaker."

Demeter did not react.

Her eyes remained calm, her expression stoic as she tightened her grip on her twin sickles.

The blades, each shaped like a crescent moon, shimmered under the dim sky, exuding a strange, paradoxical energy.

One blade radiated nourishment, warmth, and growth, capable of granting life to the most lifeless soil.

The other blade pulsed with decay, famine, and ruin, capable of draining life itself.

Her aura flared, but unlike the oppressive and suffocating darkness of Hades, the raw destructive force of Zeus or the crushing depth of Poseidon, hers was… different.

It was not a storm, nor an earthquake.