Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 53: The Schism of Olympus (Part 13)

"WHAT?!"

The thunder in Zeus’s voice cracked through the hall. While the divine flames in the braziers flickered violently, as if cowering before their master’s fury.

Hermes stood calmly at the center of the great hall of Olympus, his winged sandals tapping once on the marble floor. His expression was unreadable, though the faint crease between his brows betrayed just how little patience he had left.

"I said," Hermes repeated, slowly, "Hades caught me negotiating with the Titans. And no, he wasn’t pleased. You’d think violating the most ancient prison in existence would earn a slap on the wrist, but apparently, he took it personally."

"Of course he did!" bellowed Zeus, slamming a closed fist onto the side of his throne. "He dares threaten me? He thinks I—"

"He doesn’t just think, Father," Hermes cut in sharply. "He knows what we are trying to do. And frankly, I don’t blame him. You went behind his back to make a deal with Demeter about Persephone, and now we try to free the Titans—his prisoners—without even a warning. Hades might be neutral, but he’s very much aware of what we are doing."

There was a thick pause.

Atena leaned forward in her seat, steepling her fingers under her chin.

’He’s not wrong. But the fool picked the worst possible moment to be right.’

Apollo let out a low whistle, reclining lazily against the arm of his golden chair. "So, to recap: not only did the Titans set conditions for their support, but now we also have Hades threatening war from below."

"Sounds like fun," muttered Artemis. ’The kind of fun that ends with the world on fire and us clawing for the scraps that are left.’

Zeus turned slowly, eyes glowing, toward Hermes. "What conditions did the Titans give?"

Hermes held up a scroll—new, fresh, and etched in the deep, angular lettering of ancient tongues. "Written by Atlas himself. They want guarantees. Freedom, yes. But they want it in writing. Tía demands protection. Océanos demands a return of his rivers. And most of them made it clear they won’t lift a finger unless they see the outcome is worth their chains."

Zeus stared at the scroll, as if it might bite him.

"And if I refuse?" he growled.

Hermes shrugged. "Then they sit out. Or on the worse scenario—they switch sides. You know how these games go."

Ares, silent until now, clenched his jaw. He looked more exhausted than usual, the fresh sting of heartbreak still flickering behind his otherwise battle-hardened gaze.

"The Titans are warriors," Ares finally said. "Weapons forged from the bones of chaos. If you don’t recruit them, someone else will, you . And it won’t take long. All it takes is one whisper from the right mouth."

Zeus didn’t answer immediately.

Hera, from her cold perch beside him, finally spoke. "You overstepped, husband." Her tone was cold, clipped. "Hades is no pawn, and neither is Persephone. Playing with his realm like a chessboard was reckless. The Lord of the Dead does not forget such slights."

Zeus turned to her, his voice low and harsh. "Do you think I care what he forgets? Do you think I can afford to wait for his temper to pass while enemies gather?"

"No," Hera replied. "But you should care about what he’ll do."

A heavy silence settled.

Then Zeus stood tall, his eyes crackling with restrained lightning, his voice sharp as a blade drawn in a storm.

"Fine," he said at last, every syllable measured, thunder coiled behind his teeth. "If the Lord of the Underworld is too insulted to speak, then we act without him."

His gaze cut across the room like a spear, landing squarely on Ares.

"You gave the suggestion," Zeus said. "Now carry it out. Free the Titans—all except Kronos."

Ares didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He had spoken of this very move with conviction, not as idle strategy but as inevitable escalation. Now, the god of war simply rose, slow and deliberate, as if the command had always been his to fulfill.

"Finally," he said, tightening the leather straps on his bracers. "I was beginning to wonder if you still knew what war demanded."

"You’ll need to be quick," Zeus added. "Before Hades moves to reinforce the gates."

"He’s already watching," Hermes muttered. "He felt me the moment I stepped near Tartarus. He’ll feel you too."

Ares glanced sideways at him. "Then let him. He’s not the only god with legions buried in darkness."

"Just don’t mistake bravado for control," Athena warned. "Remember the Titans are not soldiers. They’re ancient, hungry, and proud. You don’t command them—you walk beside them, hoping they don’t devour your spine."

Ares gave a single, harsh laugh. "Good. I’m tired of giving orders no one follows anyway."

He turned toward the gates of the Olympian throne room, but paused for one final glance at Zeus.

"You better be ready to honor what they ask," he said. "If they want thrones, temples, blood, or all three—you better not flinch. You set this in motion."

Zeus met his gaze without hesitation. "I will not flinch."

With a flare of scarlet flame and glinting bronze, Ares vanished.

Hermes folded his arms, lips tight. ’And so the line is crossed. The war has started with this. Let’s see who falls first.’

Apollo stood from his seat, stretching with deliberate casualness. "If he fails," he said lightly, "you’ll need a Plan C."

Zeus’s eyes burned toward him. "Then start writing it."

Artemis turned on her heel. "I’ll be in the wilds. If a war’s coming, I’d rather not watch the first pieces bleed."

Athena remained seated, still and composed, watching Zeus with eyes that missed nothing. ’So. You’ll burn the ancient laws before you bend to another will. Interesting, but now the gods will move. One way or another.’

Only Hera lingered behind, eyes locked on her husband.

"Just remember this," she said. "You may light the fire. But you don’t get to choose who it burns."

Zeus said nothing.

(Meanwhile on the Underworld...)

The air around Tartarus was dense. Each step Ares took toward the blackened gates echoed like a war drum in the bones of the world. The deep growl of iron chains groaning against their eternal weight filled the chasm. Ancient power lingered here like a predator waiting for its moment.

In the abyssal dark beyond the gates, the Titans stirred, they had probably felt him coming.

With each step, his crimson cloak dragged cinders behind him. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, not in caution, but in respect — as one god of destruction might carry himself before older monsters of the same craft.

A rustle of movement rippled through the shadows. And then, one by one, they emerged — silhouettes carved from mountain and night: Coeus, Hyperion, Crius, Iapetus, Themis, and the immense figure of Atlas, towering at the center like a pillar still holding the edge of the sky.

"You returned faster than expected," Hyperion murmured. His voice burned, like sunlight filtered through dying embers.

"Zeus accepted your terms," Ares said, his tone blunt, unceremonious. "The war council is forming. Olympus sharpens its blades. You wanted your chains broken — now you get to decide who dies first."

The Titans stirred with a collective tension, the old hunger rising again.

Atlas tilted his head. "He accepted them all? Even the ones that cost him power?"

Ares smirked. "He knows this is a war of survival. Pride’s not worth much on a corpse."

Themis, voice cool and ancient, stepped forward. "And Kronos?"

Ares’s eyes narrowed slightly. "He will remain locked away. That was and is still the limit. You want the rest — you get it. Freedom, autonomy, worship, if you want it, you can have it."

"Then do it," Coeus said, stepping closer to the gates, his body flickering between form and cosmic shadow. "Break the seals. Open Tartarus and let us feel the sky again."

Ares raised his gauntleted hand, power crackling at his fingertips. The first circle of divine wards began to fracture under his will.

But then—a new pressure filled the void.

A cold, precise, and suffocating pressure that seemed to hide a presence.

From the dark behind him, a voice coiled like a noose around his spine.

"What are you doing, nephew?" freewebnσvel.cѳm

Ares froze.

The air chilled. The void itself seemed to retreat, shadows drawing inward to make space for the presence of the King of the Underworld.

From the mist, cloaked in obsidian robes that moved like smoke and grief, stepped Hades and he didn’t seem happy.

His eyes burned with wrath.

"You thought I wouldn’t notice?" He continued, walking forward, every footstep shaking the dead stone beneath. "You think I would not feel Olympus clawing at the gates of my real again like rats searching for food?"

Ares turned toward him, slowly.

"This isn’t about you, Hades."

Hades gave a cold laugh that echoed far too loud in the pit.

"Everything is about me now, Ares. Ever since your father decided to make pacts in my realm without my consent. Demeter slinking down here, whispering about Persephone behind my back. And now this?"

He gestured to the nearly-broken seals — the only thing keeping the Titans from rising.

"You come into my house. You threaten the balance of death and time. You try to unleash what I and the resto f my brothers, except for Zeus apparently, have spent ages containing — and you do it without my permission."

"I didn’t come for permission," Ares said flatly. "I came for recruits for the war. And they’re ones now, so step aside."

Hades’s eyes narrowed.

"I’ll give you one chance, boy. Turn around and leave this place. Because if you take one more step, you’ll never leave the Underworld again."

The Titans behind the gate remained still, watching with predatory amusement.

"Looks like we’re the prize now," Crius said under his breath. "Everyone wants a piece."

Atlas’s deep voice followed. "Let them fight. Let’s see which generation survives the fight, the old or the new?."

Ares clenched his jaw. His hand remained crackling with energy, hovering near the gate.

"I’m not afraid of you," he said.

"No," Hades replied, stepping closer, with his shadows reaching for him like loyal hounds. "But you should be."

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