Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 63: Theomachy (Part 3)

The skies above Olympus roared with fire and light.

Athena vanished into the fray, leaving me standing before the throne—aching, ashamed, and burning with something far worse than pain, regret.

But there was no time.

Below, the great plaza of Olympus had become a battlefield of gods.

A golden hail of arrows rained down from the heavens—Eros unleashed another volley from high above, his wings unfurled, haloed in starlight. Each shot cracked stone, shattered towers, and melted divine wards. Hermes was a blur of motion behind him, teleporting between points midair, blades drawn, intercepting arrow after arrow before they could strike Zeus himself.

Hecate had conjured a veil of violet flame across the central steps of the Acropolis, slowing the Olympian reinforcements. Her voice echoed through the battleground in ancient tongues, each syllable warping reality. With a sweep of her staff, the earth beneath the statues of Hera and Demeter fractured, and spectral chains rose to bind the defenders behind them.

Dionysus charged like a laughing storm, a jagged glass scythe in one hand, vines of madness erupting in his wake. He leapt onto a marble balcony and brought it crashing down onto a squad of silver-armored celestial guards. From the debris rose creatures—half-man, half-beast, wine-eyed, shrieking. They turned on their creators, drunk on chaos.

Apollo met him with a sunlance.

The golden light shot across the plaza and struck Dionysus in the chest, blasting him back through three pillars.

Dionysus rose laughing, golden blood dripping down his lip.

"That all you got, sunshine?" ƒгeewebnovёl_com

Apollo didn’t reply. He simply descended like an avenging star, bow already transforming into a bladed staff.

Their clash shattered the air.

Meanwhile, Artemis danced across the rooftops, raining moonfire on Nemesis shock troops. Her arrows found their marks with impossible precision—each one bursting with silver energy. But her advance slowed when Aphrodite met her on the main promenade.

The goddess of love moved with poetic violence. Blades of translucent rose-glass spun around her, deflecting Artemis’s shots mid-flight. Her armor shimmered, not to hide her beauty, but to weaponize it—each step a distraction, each glance a challenge to focus.

"Still cold and alone, sister?" Aphrodite taunted, her smile sharp.

"I have no time for your venom," Artemis replied, drawing two arrows at once.

The two goddesses clashed in a swirl of silver and gold.

Below the steps, the Nemesis vanguard finally surged through the shattered gates. Mortals blessed by divinity, former exiles of Olympus, spellcasters wielding forbidden magic. Some flew, some rode beasts summoned from other planes, and some walked calmly through the chaos, carrying relics meant to unmake the divine.

Zeus stood at the heart of it, untouched. Lightning circled him like hungry serpents. His body was a beacon of raw divine force—his eyes glowing like two stars trapped in mortal sockets.

"I see now," he said aloud, voice echoing through the entire mountaintop. "You do not seek justice. You seek ruin."

With a raised hand, he summoned the sky itself.

Thunder cracked. Clouds churned red with fury. From them came bolts so large they carved trenches into the marble with every strike.

One tore a tower in half.

Another struck a Nemesis dreadknight mid-charge, reducing him to ash.

A third hit the outer field, where Hecate’s circle faltered—momentarily exposing her to the Olympian counter-charge.

That’s when the second wave hit.

Behind the Nemesis line, new portals tore open the sky like fresh wounds in reality—and from them emerged the warborn.

Divine constructs of ivory metal and glowing runes, with flame pouring from their eyes and blades where their arms should be. Walking avatars of rebellion. They moved in silence, without fear, without hesitation.

Between them marched mortals touched by Hestia’s forbidden forge. Their bodies radiated molten heat, veins glowing like lava, each step leaving cracks in the marble. They were not godlings—they were weapons.

The Olympians recoiled.

A warborn construct impaled one of Artemis’ silver wolves mid-leap and hurled the twitching body into a column. The beast dissolved into stardust.

Another landed a strike on a demigod defending the palace gates, shattering his divine weapon in one blow.

Artemis shouted something I couldn’t hear and leapt back into the chaos, her hair glowing like silver fire, arrows raining in a deadly rhythm.

But the warborn didn’t fall like normal enemies. They didn’t scream. They didn’t bleed. They just kept moving.

One drove its blade-arm through a tower’s base, and the structure collapsed into the crowd—killing dozens from both sides. Screams rang out. Dust exploded in all directions.

Olympus was beginning to crack.

From the skies, Hermes broke free of Eros’ bindings with a flash of blue lightning. He blinked across the battlefield, sword trailing sparks, slicing through three Nemesis archers before stopping dead in front of one of the warborn.

The construct reacted too fast.

It parried his blow, its blade screeching against Hermes’ divine steel, and then fired a blast of energy point-blank into the messenger god’s chest.

Hermes hit the ground hard.

Dionysus caught him before he could recover—grabbing his ankle, swinging him in a wide arc, and slamming him through a marble fountain. Water burst skyward, mixed with blood.

"Move faster, pretty boy," Dionysus laughed.

Hermes coughed up blood and vanished in a flicker, retreating to regroup.

Elsewhere, Hecate raised her staff, and a black sun formed above the battlefield. Gravity bent. Light disappeared. Dozens of Olympian guards were pulled upward, screaming, before vanishing into the orb like drops into a void.

Zeus shouted her name, voice thunderous—and hurled a lightning spear across the field.

It passed over me like a comet, and struck Hecate full in the chest.

She screamed. Not from pain—but from rage.

She crashed backward into a column and vanished into a swirling portal before she could fall.

That was Zeus’ opening. He began to ascend.

Lightning coiled around him. His body blazed with raw, ancient power. As he rose, the skies darkened again, thick clouds of storm and judgment curling overhead. For a moment, it looked like Olympus itself would rise with him.

And then came Aphrodite.

She stepped directly into his path, sword drawn.

Her eyes glowed with inner fury—not love, not seduction, but something older. The air warped around her—like reality was struggling to define what she was. Each step cracked the ground with divine pressure.

Zeus didn’t hesitate. He raised his hand.

But Aphrodite moved faster.

She threw her sword, and it spun end-over-end before piercing Zeus’ left shoulder, knocking him off balance mid-ascent.

He snarled and ripped the blade free, hurling it back with such force that it exploded in midair before reaching her. The shockwave destroyed an entire courtyard behind her.

Columns fell. Statues were pulverized. Civilians—yes, I saw some—ran screaming into the ruins.

The home of the gods was dying.

Apollo soared across the battlefield like a comet. He dove straight at Dionysus, golden blade shimmering, and the two collided in a blinding clash of sun and madness. Laughter and light. Fire and frenzy.

Their fight carved trenches in the marble walkways. Every time Dionysus struck, vines wrapped around buildings and collapsed them. Every time Apollo parried, solar pulses ignited gardens and courtyards.

One pulse went too far.

It struck the upper balcony of the Hall of Concord, where demigod scribes once recorded divine law and the whole structure caved in.

No one was inside anymore—but I imagined the weight of it. The history behind that building...it was a huge lost for them, for sure.

Below the throne, Artemis was limping. Her armor cracked and her quiver was nearly empty. But she fought like a cornered beast, striking down wave after wave of Nemesis warriors with silent fury.

And she was bleeding.

She glanced up at me once—only once—and I felt her gaze pierce through my core.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

I stood frozen at the throne, surrounded by shattered columns and unconscious allies. Hesperia hadn’t stirred. I didn’t even know if she was breathing.

And for all my effort—for all the sacrifice—I had no control.

I had opened the gates, and now Olympus was falling.

Zeus descended again, this time straight toward Aphrodite, who braced herself and summoned a dozen spinning blades made of love-forged energy. But they couldn’t pierce his storm. They shattered on contact.

He slammed into her shield with a bolt of skyfire, sending her skidding backward, carving a groove through the stone floor.

Behind her, the palace steps were now cracked and burning.

A warborn hurled itself at Artemis—only to be intercepted midair by Eros, whose bow split into two glowing daggers. He stabbed the construct once in the neck, once in the chest, then kicked it down the mountain.

"Where’s your rhythm, people?" Eros shouted, wings flaring. "Let’s move!"

More warborn dropped dead around him—cut down by a woman in white-and-silver, her face masked, her blade drenched in divine ichor.

Was that... Hestia?

No. It was one of her champions. A mortal given divine fire.

She pointed her sword at Zeus, but he didn’t even glance at her.

He simply raised his hand—and called the Skybreaker.

A column of lightning ten times the size of any before it.

It struck the mountain itself.

The ground beneath me heaved. I staggered back. The throne cracked. Debris rained down from above.

From far below, the roots of Olympus—its spiritual anchor—shimmered with energy. And now, they too were fracturing.

"Stop!" I whispered, though no one could hear me. "Please... stop..."

But there was no stopping it.

The gods had chosen destruction and they were sure gonna do just that.

The war would not end with talking, that’s for sure.

It would end in fire, and stone, and thunder.

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