Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 75: Theomachy (Part 15) - Wisdom vs Love

The war on Olympus raged like a living storm.

Columns lay in splinters, divine banners burned as ash on the wind, and shrines toppled in heaps of shattered marble and broken reverence. Amid the destruction, the battlefield was a blur of color and wrath—until a single silence spread across one corner of the ruined acropolis.

Athena was standing there, after his father have her the order to leave him fight alone.

Armor torn in places, her golden helm cracked, blood running down one temple beneath the aegis crown. Her spear rested heavy in one hand, shield raised in the other. Her eyes, always calm and calculating, now burned with grim fury.

Across from her, stepping through a haze of rose-petal mist and ruined stone, came Aphrodite.

Unburnt.

Untouched.

Beautiful beyond understanding, her skin shimmered like dawnlight on ocean water, her golden hair cascading down her back in waves too perfect for nature. But it was her eyes that burned brightest—eyes that held a los of emotions bur right now, one stode above the rest...

Hatred.

"Of all those who would still stand against me," Aphrodite said, her voice like silk pulled tight, "you are the one I most hoped would not."

Athena said nothing, she only raised her shield.

No words could undo what had already been set in motion.

Aphrodite’s expression twisted with sorrow and wrath. She extended her arm, and in a shimmer of pink light, a whip formed—braided strands of enchanted love and madness, tipped with barbs glowing crimson.

On response, Athena advanced.

They met not as symbols of beauty and wisdom, but as warriors.

The whip of the love goddess lashed.

But Athena dodged, shield angled low, spear darting up to strike. Aphrodite stepped aside with unnatural grace, her bare feet gliding across blood-stained marble. Her counter came fast: a burst of radiant charm-magic from her eyes, trying to overwhelm thought with lust and fire.

But Athena was mind incarnate.

The magic hit her like a wave—and shattered against her will. But she struck anyway.

The spear grazed Aphrodite’s arm, drawing the first golden blood.

The love goddess gasped—not from pain, but from surprise. No one had wounded her in centuries, after all.

Athena pressed the advantage.

Her movements were measured, lethal—an artisan of war in motion. She struck in rhythm: spear, shield, step. Each blow aimed not to kill, but to control. To corner. To outthink.

But Aphrodite was chaos in beauty’s form.

She twisted. Danced. Her whip encircled the spear, yanked it from Athena’s grip in a flare of glowing tension. Athena stepped back, shifting to hand-to-hand, driving a knee into Aphrodite’s side that landed successfully.

But then the whip struck her shoulder, wrapping around it with burning heat.

And Aphrodite yanked.

Athena flew sideways, crashing through a half-standing pillar.

Dust clouded the air.

Aphrodite walked forward, whip coiling at her side like a living serpent.

"You never understood love," she said. "You never even tried."

The rubble exploded outward.

Athena surged from the ruin, helm cracked open fully now, her eyes burning with radiant thought. She leapt forward, fists glowing with tactical magic—runic calculations etched into her skin by thought alone.

Her punch landed squarely in Aphrodite’s stomach.

The impact hurled the love goddess backward into the steps of a ruined amphitheater, cracking stone beneath her weight.

Athena advanced again.

But as Aphrodite rose, bleeding, she smiled.

"Even now," she said, licking blood from her lip, "you fight as if this is logic. But love is war, Athena. You just pretend it’s beneath you."

Then she raised both arms.

A surge of power pulsed outward—not a weapon, not an explosion, but a wave of pure, uncontrolled emotion and Athena faltered.

Her mind was a fortress—but even fortresses had weak points.

Desire and regret. All this emotions slammed into her in the form of visions.

The loneliness of Artemis, the bitterness of Hera, the defiance of Persephone—all of it, drawn from the depths of love corrupted and unreturned.

Athena roared and forced it down—pushing emotion aside with steel will.

Then, breathless, she grabbed a broken spear from the ground and hurled it.

Aphrodite spun, but she was too slow. The spear pierced her thigh.

She screamed, collapsing to one knee.

Athena approached, limping now, battered and bleeding but unyielding.

"You speak of love like it justifies all your treachery," she said, voice low. "But your love manipulates, conquers and enslaves."

Aphrodite’s gaze lifted—hollow now, and full of fury.

"I only give what mortals crave," she said. "I don’t lie to them about peace. You want obedience. I give passion. We both want control, Athena. I just admit it."

Their auras flared.

Athena’s white and silver, flickering with judgment.

Aphrodite’s rose-gold and deep red, burning with wrath and heartbreak.

The final clash came without warning.

Aphrodite lunged with a hidden blade—razor-thin, laced with divine poison.

Athena caught her wrist, twisted hard, drove a knee into Aphrodite’s gut again, then flipped her and slammed her to the ground.

The whip lashed around Athena’s neck.

They rolled across the stones, a tangle of violence, blood, and fury.

By the time the dust cleared, both lay bruised and gasping.

And yet, neither rose.

The silence after impact lasted only a second.

Then both moved at once.

Athena rolled to her feet, eyes narrowed, shield raised. Her cloak had been torn, her armor dented and bloodied, but her stance was unshaken. She advanced methodically, like a chessmaster mid-match—calculating distance, momentum, breath.

Aphrodite sprang up with a dancer’s grace, pain visible but ignored. Her leg bled from the thigh, staining the white silk wrapped at her hip, yet she stood tall—shoulders back, hair wild and burning with divine light. The whip snapped to her hand again, longer now, laced with barbs dripping golden ichor.

They circled one another.

The wind surged, kicked up dust, rose petals, and ash. Olympus groaned beneath them—columns cracked and swayed, statues collapsed in slow-motion ruin. Around the arena, distant battles echoed like thunder in a valley.

Aphrodite struck first.

The whip snapped across the air in an arc too fast for mortals to see. Athena ducked under it, rolled, and came up with a punch powered by divine momentum. It connected with Aphrodite’s jaw, sending her staggering back, one foot dragging through the marble.

Aphrodite retaliated with a spinning kick that glowed with enchantment. The impact cracked Athena’s chestplate and hurled her across the floor, sliding in a shower of sparks and broken tile.

Athena skidded to a stop, then leapt back up.

She sprinted forward, shield low, then feinted left and twisted into a shoulder charge.

The two collided with a sound like clashing thunder.

Aphrodite’s whip wrapped around Athena’s leg, jerking it from under her. She fell, but even falling, she turned it into a blow—shield slamming into Aphrodite’s ribs, hard enough to crack them. The love goddess gasped, twisted, and drove an elbow into Athena’s temple.

Athena’s world flashed white.

She caught herself on one hand and kicked backward, sending Aphrodite sprawling across the stones.

Both scrambled to their feet.

Aphrodite’s aura surged—rose and crimson energy spiraled around her body, pulsing with emotion-charged power. She raised both hands, and a wave of raw desire exploded outward.

Athena countered with a dome of logic-forged light.

The wave struck the barrier, dissolving like fog against steel. But the force pushed Athena back, heels carving twin furrows into the ground.

She lowered the shield and charged again, blood dripping from her jaw.

Aphrodite let the whip vanish, instead summoning twin blades shaped like petals of molten gold. She met Athena head-on.

Steel met beauty.

The weapons clashed, sparked, blurred. Each strike a breath away from fatal. Athena’s movements were tight and efficient—each thrust with intent, each parry mathematically perfect. Aphrodite’s strikes flowed like music, unpredictable yet elegant, rhythm shifting mid-beat.

Athena landed a knee to the gut. Aphrodite answered with a headbutt.

Both reeled.

They locked eyes.

Aphrodite lunged low, cutting across Athena’s thigh. Blood flew. Athena gritted her teeth and elbowed her in the collarbone. Bones cracked.

Aphrodite staggered.

Athena pressed.

A flurry of jabs drove the love goddess back. Then a spinning strike, shield-edge slamming into Aphrodite’s arm. The golden blade clattered to the ground.

Athena raised her spear, ready to impale—

But Aphrodite opened her mouth, and from it came a pulse of psychic anguish. A soundless scream, raw and heart-wrenching, filled the space between them.

Athena hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.

And Aphrodite tackled her.

They crashed through a statue of Nyx, fragments flying, and rolled down the crumbling stairs of the amphitheater.

When they stopped, Athena had Aphrodite pinned.

She raised her gauntleted fist.

But Aphrodite’s hand surged upward and touched her chest—not with violence, but with magic.

A wave of emotion surged through Athena’s mind.

Memories.

A thousand regrets. Missed moments. The solitude of battle. The coldness of command.

It was Aphrodite’s true weapon—vulnerability.

Athena’s strike faltered.

Her hand trembled.

Aphrodite kicked upward with all her strength.

Athena flew off her, crashing into a fallen column. She slid down its side, coughing, divine blood painting the stone.

Aphrodite rose slowly, limping.

She retrieved her blade and limped toward Athena, breathing ragged.

Athena gripped a shard of her own broken spear.

They locked eyes once more.

Then they charged.

No elegance remained.

It was raw, brutal, close.

Aphrodite slashed wildly. Athena blocked with the shard, then used the broken length to stab into her side. Aphrodite screamed, twisting the blade deeper to get close enough to land a vicious palm strike to Athena’s throat.

Both collapsed.

They lay side by side, bleeding, chests rising and falling in erratic rhythm.

Above them, Olympus cracked again as another section of the palace collapsed into the void.

Still, neither goddess moved.

The ground beneath them was soaked in ichor.

And the battle between love and logic had no victor yet.

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