Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 76: Theomachy (Part 16)

Wind howled over the cracked amphitheater.

The air shimmered with the aftermath of godly blows. Columns burned. Statues bled golden light. The very sky above them flickered, unstable under the magnitude of divine power tearing Olympus apart.

Athena moved first.

Her fingers closed around the broken shaft of her spear. Not a weapon anymore—just jagged wood reinforced by her will. She rolled to her side, coughed blood into the dirt, and stood. Her shield was long gone, helmet missing, her silver breastplate dented and scorched.

Across the ruined plaza, Aphrodite rose as well.

She clutched her bleeding side where Athena had driven the shard into her. Her silk gown was reduced to tatters, her golden skin marred by burns and gashes. Her hair, once flowing and divine, now clung to her face in strands wet with ichor.

Neither goddess hesitated.

They charged.

Aphrodite’s blade swept in wide arcs, trailing ribbons of shimmering energy that distorted the light. Athena ducked, parried with the broken spear haft, then spun low and drove her shoulder into Aphrodite’s stomach. The love goddess gasped but twisted her body mid-impact, elbowing Athena’s temple with a sickening crack.

Athena stumbled, blood dripping from her ear.

Aphrodite pressed, striking downward with her blade.

Athena caught the weapon between both palms—burning her hands against the heat—and snapped it in two with a surge of divine strength. The explosion of energy sent both flying back in opposite directions, tumbling across the shattered plaza.

Athena landed hard against a fallen pillar. Bones screamed. She pushed up with shaking arms and grabbed a discarded helmet—any helmet—and hurled it like a discus.

It struck Aphrodite’s shoulder mid-rise and knocked her off balance.

Athena was already moving.

She slammed into her full-force, tackling her through a half-standing wall. Marble and rubble exploded outward. Dust choked the air.

Fists flew.

Aphrodite’s knuckles cracked against Athena’s jaw.

Athena’s elbow broke Aphrodite’s nose.

Both screamed without sound, without words—only rage and breath and the agony of a thousand years of unspoken resentment.

Aphrodite grabbed a chunk of broken stone and brought it down toward Athena’s skull.

Athena caught her wrist mid-swing.

The two goddesses locked in brutal stillness, muscles trembling, faces inches apart, blood mingling between them as their strength strained for dominance.

Athena twisted, breaking the grapple, and rolled away.

Aphrodite reached for her magic—hands glowing pink-red with raw emotional power—and unleashed a volley of barbed constructs, shaped like daggers of heartbreak and betrayal.

Athena ran straight through them.

The first two struck her shoulder and thigh—wounding, but not stopping her.

She drove a knee into Aphrodite’s chest.

The air left Aphrodite’s lungs in a wheeze. She fell back. Athena raised both fists and rained down blows—relentless, mechanical. One. Two. Three. Four.

Aphrodite’s beauty cracked with each hit.

Then, with a surge of desperation, she caught Athena’s wrist—and whispered a silent invocation.

A burst of pure emotional backlash erupted from her skin, flinging Athena across the platform in a wave of hot wind and glowing petals. The magic seared her skin, filled her lungs with impossible sorrow, tried to crush her under the weight of all she’d repressed.

But Athena didn’t fall.

She stood in the center of it, bloodied and barely breathing, hands clenched, eyes blank with wrath.

She charged again.

Aphrodite barely managed to bring up a barrier—a thin veil of magic in the shape of a rose shield. Athena shattered it with a punch that cracked the air. The shockwave tore open the stones beneath them.

They fought in silence now, bodies trembling with fatigue.

Every strike was slower.

But neither surrendered.

Aphrodite leapt, wrapping her legs around Athena’s waist and dragging them both to the ground. She bit, scratched, struck. Athena answered with headbutts and hammering fists.

Their divine auras, so different in color and feel, tangled around them—silver and violet, pink and gold, beauty and logic turned to chaos.

They rolled again and dust swallowed them.

When it cleared, Aphrodite was kneeling above Athena, hands around her throat.

Athena’s eyes bulged as she clawed at the grip, veins pulsing, divine ichor spilling from her lip.

But her arm reached blindly to the side—found a broken shard of column—grabbed it and stabbed it.

The fragment plunged into Aphrodite’s abdomen and on response, her grip loosened.

Athena twisted free, coughing, retching.

Aphrodite fell onto her side, curling in pain, body spasming.

But Athena didn’t move to finish her, neither she rised to gloat.

She simply crawled back until her spine hit a piece of broken altar, and then sat—panting, too broken to stand.

Across from her, Aphrodite did the same.

But they didn’t look at each other. They couldn’t.

Suddenly footsteps echoed over the shattered amphitheater.

The ash swirling through the wind parted like mist as Dionysus emerged, his silhouette cloaked in ivy and smoke. He wore no armor—just the loose robes of revelry, torn and dirtied by battle. A crown of thorned grapevines sat askew on his brow. His eyes, so often brimming with mirth, now held the quiet seriousness of a storm cloud ready to break.

Behind him, walking barefoot over molten stone and still-smoldering ground, came Hestia.

Her flame danced not with warmth, but with quiet fire. Her presence alone steadied the cracked marble she stepped on, leaving no ash in her wake. She moved like a ghost from a forgotten age, her aura heavy with silent purpose.

Aphrodite lay broken near the shattered steps. Her breath came in tremors. Blood—golden and luminous—poured from her side where Athena’s improvised weapon had struck deep. Her divine beauty flickered like a dying rose.

Athena rose slowly, but her body screamed in protest. Her right arm dangled, her shoulder half-dislocated. Her lip was split, one eye nearly swollen shut. But her spear was in hand again. Her feet were firm and her will, was still unbroken.

Dionysus crossed the ruins without a word, each step deliberate.

He knelt beside Aphrodite and gently touched her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open. A mix of emotions Washington throug her eyes on that moment

Recognition, relief and shame. Shame for not being able to do more.

But he said nothing. She didn’t speak either anyway.

Then he began wrapping his arms beneath her, ready to lift.

Athena stepped forward.

But Hestia met her before she could do anything.

There was no flash of violence—just the flicker of fire as Hestia’s foot struck the earth, leaving a burning sigil behind.

Athena’s spear crashed against a barrier of flame.

The ground beneath her feet ignited in a perfect circle—blue-white fire rising in a spiral. She stepped back, just enough to avoid the heat searing her skin.

Hestia’s gaze held hers across the flames while Athena lunged through the fire.

Her armor smoked instantly—divine metal groaning under heat as Hestia’s flame licked her greaves and breastplate. But she did not stop.

Hestia moved like a snake.

She caught the spearshaft with both hands, and the force of Athena’s charge split the stone beneath them. Sparks flew. Their auras clashed—logic and order against hearth and mercy.

Athena twisted the weapon, trying to unbalance.

Hestia responded with a surge of power through her palms, igniting the spear with divine heat. Athena yanked her hand back—skin blistered, grip slipping. The weapon clattered to the ground, partially melted.

The two goddesses clashed hand-to-hand.

Athena struck low, then high, fists sharp and brutal. Hestia blocked each blow not with counters but with radiant flame that curved like ribbons around her forearms, shielding her from impact.

Athena moved faster but Hestia burned hotter.

They spun through the ruins like dancers—pushing each other across the platform, divine power bleeding from every movement. Athena launched a sweeping kick; Hestia deflected with a burst of fire from her heel, creating an explosion that launched both backward.

Athena slammed against a broken wall.

Hestia rolled to a stop, breathing hard, sweat streaking her ash-covered face.

Meanwhile, Dionysus had lifted Aphrodite in his arms.

His usually relaxed gait was replaced by something heavier—protective, cautious. Vines wrapped around his legs as he moved, supporting his stride across unstable rubble. Aphrodite’s body trembled, still leaking ichor, her divine aura faint and erratic.

Athena saw him.

And despite the pain, despite the exhaustion... she moved.

She retrieved the broken half of her spear, and hurled it toward them in a blur of motion.

A streak of gold through the smoke.

Hestia’s eyes narrowed, so she turned and raised one hand. Igniting the air.

A column of flame consumed the spear mid-flight, vaporizing the weapon before it could reach its mark. The blast of heat knocked Athena back a step, though she did not fall.

Hestia didn’t speak.

She simply stood between the war goddess and her target, a wall of living fire in her wake.

Athena rushed her again.

This time, she came in low, feinting, then leaping high for a crushing blow.

Hestia raised both arms and met her mid-air with a cyclone of flame that wrapped around Athena and hurled her sideways like a burning comet. Athena smashed into the base of a collapsed altar, creating a crater on impact.

She lay there for a moment.

Bleeding. But still rising, even when she was exhausted becausw of all the fighting.

However, Hestia didn’t attack further as her work was done.

Behind her, Dionysus vanished into a corridor of smoke and stone, Aphrodite safe in his arms, her wounds already beginning to close in the warmth of his divine presence.

Athena leaned against the broken altar, gripping her side.

She could no longer pursue.

Not now.

Her shield was gone, her spear shattered and her armor blackened.

She watched the fire fade where Hestia had stood.

Alone now.

She stared at the spot Aphrodite had occupied, and her jaw clenched while her fists trembled.

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