The fall of hercules, The rise of a Titan

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The air was thick with smoke, the ground littered with the ruins of shattered gods. Blood—both divine and mortal—stained the earth, mixing with the broken stones and burning embers. From the devastation, one figure stood untouched, his cloak torn and ragged, but his aura—darker than the void itself—shone ever stronger.

Tom Marvola Riddle.

The world seemed to bend around him, as though it feared him. His presence commanded the elements, and even the gods themselves recoiled in the face of his growing power.

And around his neck, coiled like a living whisper of desperation, was Medusa, her snake form trembling violently against his skin.

Her body—her entire being—shuddered with fear, every tiny hiss of her serpents the sound of silent terror. Her breath, sharp and fast, caressed Tom's ear as her voice trembled, breaking the air with its desperation.

"Please, Tom..." Medusa whispered, her voice barely audible over the relentless sounds of battle. "Please... I don't want to die here... finish them all... save me... kill them all... please, Tom..."

Her words were broken, filled with an aching plea. Fear permeated every syllable, wrapping itself around Tom like a tangible thing. But still, he remained motionless. His crimson eyes closed, his face expressionless, as though the very fabric of time itself had stopped for him. His mind was quiet, serene even, but beneath that cold calmness, a darkness burned—a storm of unimaginable power.

The silence was shattered.

BOOM!

The earth trembled under a monstrous impact as Hercules—gigantic, furious, bleeding, but still alive—hurtled himself toward Tom like an avalanche of rage. His massive fists blazed with divine energy, each one heavy enough to shatter mountains, capable of bringing entire civilizations to their knees.

Without warning, Hercules unleashed a storm of punches, his blows fast and furious, a relentless barrage that seemed impossible to avoid. His fists moved with the speed of the gods, each one slamming toward Tom with the force of a thousand cataclysms.

CRASH! BOOM! THOOM!

The very air screamed as Hercules' fists tore through it, creating shockwaves that flattened everything in their path. Trees, mountains, and rivers vanished beneath the tidal wave of divine fury.

And yet, Tom's eyes stayed closed. His face remained a perfect mask of emotionless calm. He moved with terrifying grace, each motion more fluid than humanly possible. It was as if reality itself bent to avoid the blows, twisting and shifting with inhuman precision.

Medusa clung tighter to his neck, her small scales shivering uncontrollably. She could hear the fists slicing through the air, feel the world tremble with the devastation that followed each punch. But Tom… Tom simply danced through it, untouchable.

The ground cracked beneath their feet. Rubble rained from the sky like falling stars. Still, Tom remained untouchable.

Hercules' roars grew louder, more desperate. His voice shook the heavens above them, and his rage seemed to fuel the very destruction he wrought. "You can't dodge me forever, you bastard!" he howled, his voice like thunder. "Face me!"

The ground split open beneath them as Hercules slammed his fists harder, faster, creating thunderous shockwaves that cracked the earth in deep chasms. The world itself seemed to buckle under his fury.

Tom tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a ghostly smirk. It was a smile that promised nothing but ruin.

Then, with one final, earth-shattering punch, Hercules drove his fist straight toward Tom's face.

It was too fast—almost instantaneous. The air itself couldn't react in time. The ground beneath their feet exploded outward from the sheer force.

Medusa screamed.

The fist was about to connect with Tom's skin—

—but Tom vanished.

A whisper of dark mist. A flicker of impossibility.

Hercules' fist slammed into nothingness.

Before the giant god could even register what had happened, he felt an intense pressure against his back.

CRACK!

Tom materialized behind him and, with brutal precision, slammed his foot into the center of Hercules' massive back. The sound was bone-shattering, like a tree snapping under the weight of a thousand storms. Hercules screamed as his spine cracked, splintering like brittle wood beneath Tom's crushing power. Blood gushed from his mouth as he was sent hurtling through the air, crashing into a stone wall with enough force to shatter it into pieces.

The world around them seemed to hold its breath as dust and debris clouded the air, the aftermath of their violent clash hanging in the atmosphere like a storm waiting to break.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then, with an earth-shaking roar, the wall exploded outward, and Hercules, broken but far from defeated, staggered to his feet. His massive frame was a grotesque mosaic of blood and fury, his breathing ragged, his face twisted into a mask of unholy rage.

"You son of a bitch!" he roared, spitting blood onto the ground, his voice shaking the very earth around them. "HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?!"

His rage was palpable. His divine energy surged again, rising like a storm on the horizon. Without warning, Hercules summoned a colossal magical axe, the weapon crackling with the power of Olympus itself. It shimmered with divine energy, its jagged blade sharp enough to slice through the very fabric of existence.

The axe glowed with deadly intent, and with a primal scream, Hercules swung it toward Tom, the blade cutting through the air like a lightning strike.

With a deafening roar, Hercules charged, swinging the axe in wide arcs that could cleave mountains in half. The very ground trembled with each swing, and the air itself seemed to distort in the presence of its terrible power.

Tom shifted backward, his movements a fluid blur of grace and precision. Each step was calculated, effortless. The axe grazed dangerously close, slicing through the air with lethal force, but Tom never faltered. He danced, an ethereal figure amidst the chaos, his eyes glowing with a cold, unfathomable fury.

Medusa, her voice barely a whisper of fear, coiled tighter around Tom's neck as the axe's edge came perilously close. "Tom…" she gasped, her voice trembling with terror. "Please… don't let it…"

Tom's crimson eyes snapped open, and for the first time, a flash of pure, cold rage flickered within them. The air around him seemed to freeze as his aura grew heavier, darker, more oppressive.

He darted back, putting distance between himself and the raging Hercules. The earth trembled under his every movement, the very world bowing before his power.

Without turning his head, he spoke softly to the terrified creature wrapped around him, his voice low and filled with an emotionless, cold calm: "Are you hurt, Medusa?"

Medusa's voice, trembling with fear and a growing sense of awe, answered him, barely audible, "Please, Tom… I don't want to die… please kill them all… please…"

Tom's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing into a cruel, monstrous gaze. His power surged, wild and untamed. He lifted his hand, and his staff came to him with a deafening whoosh, as if the very winds themselves obeyed him.

Without hesitation, he stabbed the staff deep into the earth, the impact sending ripples through the ground, splitting the stone beneath his feet.

A dark light erupted from the staff, choking the air and swallowing the battlefield in darkness. The world itself seemed to wail under the weight of the darkness, as if it could not bear to exist in such a presence.

Tom's voice, a guttural snarl, echoed across the wasteland as he chanted:

"Rentis Veontis!"

A dark, swirling magic unlike anything the gods had ever known poured out of him, the skies blackening, the ground itself writhing with the chaos he unleashed. Reality itself seemed to bend and break under the force of his power.

Raising his free hand, Tom clenched his fingers into a tight fist—

—and Hercules was wrenched upward, suspended in midair by invisible chains of dark magic, struggling helplessly, his divine power crackling around him like a desperate storm.

Tom's crimson eyes locked onto the struggling god—and he squeezed his fist.

BOOOOM!

Hercules' body exploded midair in a gruesome shower of blood, bone, and divine essence. The shockwave was so violent it flattened everything in a thousand-meter radius. Mountains cracked, rivers reversed their flow, and the world itself seemed to howl in agony at the destruction.

The battlefield fell silent once more.

Medusa whimpered softly against Tom's neck, her tiny form soaked in divine blood, her serpents trembling in fear. But she clung to him tighter, her fear slowly transforming into awe. The gods were falling before him. They were nothing. And he, he was unstoppable.

Tom stood amidst the devastation, untouched, unbent, his aura so dark and heavy that even the light itself seemed unable to reach him. The stench of death, of gods defeated, filled the air, but he remained unshaken, a figure of absolute power.

But the silence was broken.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Each step shook the ruined earth like the end of days.

Tom slowly turned, his eyes narrowing, his mind already calculating the next move.

A figure approached, impossibly large, impossibly ancient.

Cronos.

The Titan of Time.

The son of Gaia.

His body was colossal, his skin like cracked stone, his eyes burning with cold, endless hatred. Each step he took shattered the earth beneath him. Entire sections of the sky seemed to tear open in his wake.

Cronos raised one massive hand, and from the cracks of time itself, he drew forth a colossal, jagged scythe—the weapon of the apocalypse. The blade shimmered with an ethereal light, the very essence of destruction incarnate.

The air grew colder. The world itself seemed to darken as the Titan of Time approached. He was ancient. He was unstoppable. He was a force of nature itself.

And Tom, standing alone amidst the ruins of gods, cracked his neck lazily and smiled—a smile so dark, so cruel, that even Cronos hesitated for a moment.

The battlefield lay silent, save for the distant crackling of embers and the low hum of the wind. The bodies of fallen gods littered the ground, their divine blood staining the earth beneath Tom's feet. But now, his gaze was fixed upon the colossal form of Cronos, the Titan of Time, who towered over him like a mountain.

The very earth seemed to tremble as Cronos' massive, cracked stone body moved closer, each step a tremor that shook the very foundation of existence. His eyes—burning with cold, endless hatred—pierced through the smoky haze, locking onto Tom with the weight of countless ages behind them.

Tom stood unmoving, his expression as cold as the darkness that surrounded him. His crimson eyes flickered with a cruel amusement, as if the very presence of the Titan was nothing more than an inconvenience to him.

For a long moment, the two beings—one a god-like Titan, the other a twisted figure of unimaginable power—stared at each other. The tension in the air was suffocating. Finally, it was Cronos who broke the silence, his voice a low growl, like the rumble of an earthquake.

"So," Cronos' voice boomed, vibrating the very air, "You think you can challenge me? You, a mere mortal who believes himself a god?"

Tom's lips twisted into a wicked smile. "Mere mortal?" He let out a soft chuckle, almost as if he were amused by the absurdity of the notion. "You think so? I suppose you would. You're so stuck in your ancient ways, aren't you? All those years of ruling, of watching everything crawl beneath your feet… yet here you are, still clinging to that illusion of power. Still pretending that time is your ally."

Cronos' eyes flashed with a glimmer of fury, his massive hands tightening into fists. "You dare mock me, child? I am the beginning and the end. Time bows to me. All that you have ever known, everything that ever was or will be, is within my grasp. You are nothing before me."

Tom took a step forward, his gaze never leaving Cronos' eyes. "Yes, you are time itself. But what are you without it? What are you when you've ruled for so long that the very essence of time has rotted away beneath you? You're a king of a dying world, Cronos. And you know it." His voice lowered to a whisper, like the cold wind sweeping across the battlefield. "You know that you're nothing but a relic now, a shadow of a god."

Cronos let out a growl, and the air seemed to crackle with his rage. "You dare speak of things you don't understand, boy. You think you know what I am? You think you know what it means to be a god? I have crushed more than you can imagine under my heel. You are nothing but a fleeting moment, a speck on the endless timeline that stretches before me."

Tom tilted his head, the corners of his mouth curving upward. "Fleeting, you say?" He stepped closer, his voice now sharp, cutting through the tension. "Is that how you see me? How quaint. You're right, I am fleeting. But that's the beauty of it, isn't it, Cronos? Your reign over time, your eternal rule... it's all coming to an end. I'll be the one to bring it down. Not you. Not your endless grasp over this world. And I'll make it quick. Quick enough to make you feel every moment of it."

The Titan's eyes narrowed, a fire burning in his gaze. "You think you can destroy me? You? A mere mortal with delusions of grandeur? You're nothing but a parasite feeding off the remnants of gods. And when I crush you, it will be as though you were never here."

Tom's smile only grew darker, his eyes gleaming with something that was almost pity. "You think you understand destruction, Cronos? You think you've seen what it means to be broken, to lose everything? You're wrong. I'm not just going to destroy you. I'm going to take everything you hold dear—everything you've ever believed in—and watch as it falls apart, piece by piece."

The Titan's rage reached a boiling point, and his voice boomed like the sound of thunder. "I will end you, Riddle. I will erase you from existence itself. You will be nothing. A forgotten whisper in the dark corners of the world."

Tom didn't flinch. He stood there, eyes still locked with Cronos' burning gaze, as though he were challenging him to try.

"And yet," Tom said softly, "Here you are, talking to me. Here you are, facing me. After all this time, after everything you've done... I'll be the one to tear it all down. And you'll watch. You'll watch as the world you've built collapses. All your precious time will be meaningless when I'm done."

Cronos let out a guttural laugh, but there was no humor in it. "You are nothing. A shadow. A fool who thinks he can rise above his station. You'll regret this, Riddle."

Tom's voice turned deadly, his eyes narrowing. "No. You'll regret it. Because when I am done, Cronos, there will be no more gods. There will be no more time. Just... nothing."

The air grew even colder, the tension unbearable. The Titan of Time, ancient and terrifying, and the dark, twisted figure of Tom stood face to face, each one locked in a battle of words that cut deeper than any blade.

Cronos let out a final, low growl, his massive form looming over Tom, his voice dripping with venom. "You think you're the end of me? You think you can destroy what I am? You're nothing but a fleeting thought, a speck on the timeline. And when I'm finished with you, not even the winds will remember your name."

Tom's expression remained cold, unmoved. "We'll see about that."

The battlefield was silent once more, the tension thick in the air. The only sound was the distant crackling of burning remnants, the world itself holding its breath. Tom and Cronos stood, staring each other down—one consumed by the weight of time, the other by the promise of its destruction. Neither moved, but the air between them crackled with the understanding that words were just the beginning. Soon, fate would decide which one would remain and which would fade into oblivion. And neither was ready to accept the end just yet.