Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 67: Theomachy (Part 7)

While Athena battled Hades in the shattered plaza beneath the broken throne, the rest of Olympus had become a warzone.

The floodwaters conjured by Poseidon still surged through the city, weaving through courtyards, temples, and divine halls. The once-pristine marble was cracked and blackened, soaked in divine ichor and shadowfire. The air reeked of ozone, sea salt, and burning ambrosia.

Above it all, the second wave of Nemesis forces had fully deployed.

Divine constructs—towering, golden-armored golems etched with crimson runes—marched through the lower tiers. Blades spun from their arms, and magical cores within their chests pulsed with stolen god-energy. Lesser deities enhanced by Hestia’s Forge fought alongside them, their bodies glowing with raw power, immune to celestial spells

They clashed against the defenders of Olympus in brutal, close-quarters war.

---

On the broken steps of the Temple of the Seasons, Demeter stood over a dozen fallen warborn, vines erupting from the ground with every stomp of her sandaled foot. Golden wheat twisted into iron barbs. Thorns impaled attackers in midair, and fruits of corrupted growth exploded into clouds of paralyzing spores.

Across from her, Hecate floated like a ghost, wreathed in violet fire. With a flick of her hand, a dozen skeletal wolves surged forward, jaws snapping with spectral flame. Her laughter echoed through the temple ruins as she summoned a miniature moon over the battlefield, bathing her side in blessed madness.

Demeter hurled a wall of roots at her—only for it to dissolve into black flame halfway across.

"Still hiding behind theatrics, Hecate?" Demeter growled.

"Still pretending to be a good mother, Demeter?" Hecate replied, her grin showing fangs that hadn’t been there before.

Their powers collided—earth and shadow, fertility and oblivion. The very temple shattered under their duel, pieces of ancient fresco falling into the growing crater beneath them.

---

Not far from there, Hermes blurred through the chaos, a silver streak weaving between explosions.

He zipped past a column as Eros, high above on ethereal wings, launched another volley of divine arrows into the sky. They rained down on the battlefield, each one shifting emotion: rage, terror, despair, lust, euphoria—waves of psychic pressure that shattered minds and turned gods against each other.

Hermes leapt from the rubble and landed on a rooftop just as Eros swooped low for another pass.

"Hey! Cupid!" Hermes shouted.

Eros smirked mid-flight. "Wrong name, dumbass!"

Hermes surged forward in a burst of godspeed and punched him out of the air.

Eros tumbled, wings snapping outward to recover at the last second. His eyes glowed bright gold, lips curled into a savage grin.

"Fine," Eros snarled, summoning a bow of radiant bone. "Let’s see if your heart can outrun me."

They clashed in midair, flitting through the sky like dueling comets, each movement a blur of afterimages. Arrows flew, daggers sang, time bent under Hermes’ heels as he danced between strikes.

---

Meanwhile, on the Path of Echoes, Dionysus strolled lazily through the carnage, wine spilling from his goblet and transforming into vipers that hissed and coiled around his enemies. Drunken laughter echoed around him as his presence twisted reality. Warriors dropped their weapons and began to dance madly, their eyes glazed with divine ecstasy.

A Nemesis flame-knight charged at him, blade glowing red-hot.

Dionysus didn’t flinch.

He sipped, snapped his fingers—and the knight collapsed, laughing hysterically until his heart gave out.

"You’re trying too hard " Dionysus muttered.

Then Artemis appeared in a silver blur, vaulting across rooftops with her bow already drawn.

She loosed three arrows in the blink of an eye—each one hitting Dionysus in the shoulder, chest, and thigh.

He staggered, shocked.

"I’m not playing," Artemis said flatly, landing atop a broken column.

Dionysus scowled, pulling the arrows out one by one. Wine bled from the wounds. "You always were the boring one."

She answered with silence and another volley.

--- novelbuddy-cσ๓

A little more farther was the garden of the Hesperides, on there Aegle stood her ground against Nemesis disciples. Her shield shimmered with sunlight, and her eyes were determined even as she bled from a wound to her side.

A disciple lunged—she blocked with her radiant shield and struck low with a blade of light.

Around her, Nemesis warriors fought in formation, protecting the nymph with synchronized movements. They fought with nails and teeth.

Above them, Helios, long thought absent on the war, descended in a chariot of flame, hurling spears of sunfire into the sky.

"Traitors!" he roared at the Nemesis cultists. "You burn today!"

He collided with an airborne hydra of black smoke conjured by Hesperia’s enemies, lighting the sky in crimson arcs.

---

And amid all this chaos, at the center of Olympus, near the exposed foundations of the divine throne, Akhon stood silent.

He had not moved since Athena intervened.

His gaze swept across the battlefield, eyes narrowed—not in fear, but in calculation.

He watched as powers beyond mortal comprehension clashed.

He observed how the Olympians responded. Their tactics. Their tempers. Their divisions.

He felt the tremors in the throne beneath him.

And he knew.

This was something without precedent. Something memorable to see.

But only if he lived long enough to see it.

Behind him, Hesperia stirred weakly, groaning as she tried to sit up.

"Take it easy Hes," Akhon said quietly, eyes never leaving the battlefield. "You’ve already given me more than I deserved."

She looked up at him, dazed. "What... what now?"

Akhon’s hand rested on the back of the throne, fingers curling around ancient stone, still warm from divine fury.

"Now," he said, "we wait until the gods finish beating the shit up of each other."

---

Thunder cracked again, this time far off toward the eastern spires. A towering column of fire rose like a second sun as Helios’ chariot exploded mid-air—shattered by a black lance of divine entropy conjured by Hecate. Flaming debris rained down on the battlefield, lighting the floodwaters with molten trails. A group of Nemesis disciples were instantly incinerated. A dozen more died screaming as the wreckage plunged into the lower temples.

And still... they kept fighting.

From the steps of the Throne of Zeus, Akhon watched in silence.

The seat behind him—the ancient seat of the king—was cracked now, spiderwebbed with fractures from the force of Hades’ earlier assault. Each blow had chipped not just stone, but history. Every crash, every power unleashed below, echoed through the throne like the dying heartbeat of a collapsing dynasty.

He watched Artemis leap across rooftops, leaving trails of silver as she dueled Dionysus in a battle of precision. She was bleeding now. So was he. Yet neither relented.

He saw Hermes still tangled midair with Eros, both divine forms blurred into glowing lines as they clashed again and again. At one point, Eros caught Hermes with a love arrow—not aimed at his heart, but his mind—and for a second, Hermes laughed hysterically before shaking it off and retaliating with a flash of pure velocity.

And he saw Athena still locked in combat with Hades, buying Zeus precious seconds.

Each of them was burning their essence faster than they could replenish it. Even the gods had limits. And they were all nearing them.

Olympus was dying.

And Akhon could feel it—not as grief, but as pull.

Each pulse of divine energy flooded his interface like an overwhelming tide of system alerts:

> ⚠️ [Divine Pressure Detected: Class S+]

⚠️ [God-Level Aura Surge Detected: Athena, Hades, Dionysus...]

⚠️ [World Equilibrium Destabilizing: 43%]

⚠️ [Authority Threshold Proximity: 92% – Divine Evolution Imminent]

That last one made his throat tighten.

He glanced at his hand.

It trembled.

Not from fear—but from the sheer, impossible weight of what he was witnessing. A thousand years of divine hierarchy unraveling in minutes. Every blow struck in rage or vengeance or desperation reshaped the rules that bound the world together.

And he was standing at the center of it.

"You’re pale," came a soft but tired voice from behind him.

Hesperia, still lying near the edge of the throne dais, propped herself up on her elbow.

"I’m thinking." Akhon murmured.

"You always are," she said, smiling faintly despite the blood on her lips. "What’s the plan?"

Akhon said nothing.

Because there wasn’t one yet.

He could defeat mortals. He could strategize against armies. But this?

This was the death spiral of gods.

This was chaos itself unleashed.

From the battlefield below came a sudden flare of gold—Zeus, finally rising to his feet, breathing hard, divine armor half-melted. Sparks danced around him again. His aura began to surge.

"I won’t fall," the thunder god roared.

Athena stepped back, breathing hard. "Then stand."

And he did.

With a savage cry, Zeus hurled a bolt of lightning not at Hades, but straight into the sky. It detonated in the clouds, lighting the heavens with gold.

The signal.

A massive gate opened above Olympus—his gate—and through it, the last reserve of loyal Olympians began to descend. Spirits of sky, war, and judgment—gilded and armed with forgotten relics, sealed since the last divine war.

The reinforcements hit the ground like stars.

Nemesis forces faltered.

But not for long.

Because through their own gates, Nemesis unleashed their final gambit—not more disciples, but titans.

Two enormous shapes emerged, imprisoned creatures bound in ancient times.

The first was Briareus, the Hundred-Handed, freed and fitted with armor pulsing with Nemesis sigils. Each of his hands carried a different elemental weapon—fire, ice, poison, shadow. He landed with a roar that shattered six towers.

The second was Pyros, the Flame-Eater—an ancient primordial beast made of cinders and hate. A living volcano with no mind left, only rage.

Nemesis said they were not using Titans but they were lying after all, thought Akhon.

And now, the battlefield tilted again.

Akhon swallowed hard and looked at Hesperia.

"We’re running out of gods," he said quietly.

She blinked, stunned. "Then what do we do?"

Akhon stared into the storm.

"Either we let them kill each other," he whispered, "or we find the courage to choose who gets to rebuild what comes after."

Far below, the gods collided again.

And Olympus burned on.

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