Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 78: Theomachy (Part 18)

"What a fucking disaster," said Akhon while walking through the ruins of Olympus.

The divine marble that once gleamed like sunlight incarnate now lay shattered in blood-slick heaps. Great columns—each once a symbol of eternal rule—jutted from the ground at broken angles, twisted like shattered limbs. Fires flickered between cracks in the ancient stone, painting the desolation with an eerie orange glow.

While the fighting still occurred in distant courtyards and echoing temples, Akhon had accomplished the unthinkable—he’d reached the heart of Olympus. The battle’s eye. The silence here was deceptive, heavy, almost sacred. But he didn’t slow down.

He stepped over a pile of armor—burned black, steaming. Whoever had worn it was long dead, reduced to nothing but melted bone and divine essence. His boots left dark footprints over the soot and golden ichor pooling across the fractured walkways.

His fingers twitched.

The system interface opened behind his eyes like instinct.

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🧿 Divine Name: Akhon

📜 Class: D — Divine Initiate

💠 Domain: Power (Advanced — 75%)

👑 Title: Guardian of Kaeron

🔥 Power Level: 1,310

❤️‍🔥 DIVINE VITALITY

• 🩸 HP: 8,940 / 12,500

• 🔥 Energy: 1,800 / 2,600

• 🌟 Divine EXP: 25,430 / 30,000

• 🧱 Authority: 270

🧠 Status: Cautious. Area unstable. Combat Probability: 67%

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Akhon dismissed the interface and raised his hand. A ripple of golden energy pulsed from his palm, scanning the debris like sonar.

There were survivors—he could sense them—scattered and hiding like insects under the wreckage of a god’s throne. Demigods, acolytes, injured Olympians... and not all of them were in the mood to surrender.

"Should’ve run," he muttered.

A scream echoed from the broken remains of the Hall of Seasons. Akhon turned, his steps calm but heavy, and approached the crumbled archway.

A demigod with cracked bronze armor staggered into view, dragging a glowing blade behind him. His helmet was gone. One eye swollen shut. But still, he roared and charged.

Akhon didn’t slow.

His sword came down with desperate fury.

Akhon caught the arm at the elbow.

His other hand ignited with divine force—and crushed the demigod’s chest in a single blow. Ribs caved. The scream choked out in wet gasps. Akhon let the corpse fall.

"One down," he whispered, eyes still scanning.

He moved onward, crossing a broken causeway now hanging over a void of abyssal clouds. The war had quite literally torn pieces of Olympus into the air, as if trying to erase the very idea of its perfection.

Another motion behind a pillar.

This time two—twin priestesses of Hera, both bloodied but chanting an incantation. Akhon raised his hand.

A beam of golden light lanced out, slicing the air clean.

The first priestess dropped mid-chant, skull split open in divine fire.

The second screamed and hurled a bolt of pink flame. Akhon stepped aside, letting it sizzle past his shoulder, and closed the distance in three strides.

She raised a barrier—he shattered it with a punch that cracked the pillar behind her.

Her body hit the ground with a dull crunch.

More movement.

To the left, behind a collapsed gate, a group of warriors—five at least—Olympian loyalists, wearing the mark of Ares. They hadn’t seen him yet.

Akhon crouched and extended his palm again.

The system lit up.

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🧠 Enemies Detected: 5

• Power Level Range: 500–720

• Alert Status: Low

• Position: Flanking formation

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He smirked and clenched his fist.

Golden chains erupted from the ground.

The warriors shouted, barely reacting before the bindings wrapped around their limbs and necks—dragging them to the ground. One of them managed to activate a blessing, his muscles bulging with divine force, but Akhon descended like a meteor and crushed his windpipe with a stomp.

One tried to plead.

Akhon burned his face off with a radiant flare before the words could leave his lips.

Silence returned.

The stones beneath his feet steamed from divine blood.

He walked forward again, deeper into the remains of the throne plaza, where golden steps lay split open and the sky above had been torn in a jagged wound that let stars—and something far darker—peek through.

All around him were reminders that nothing was untouchable. Not even the gods.

His system pinged again. A soft tone only he could hear.

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🧠 Warning: Presence Detected. Power Level: 1,250. Unknown Alignment.

• Identity: Masked

• Distance: 87 meters

• Approach Trajectory: Intermittent

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Akhon stopped.

He turned toward the direction of the anomaly.

Between fallen statues and smoke, he could barely make out the flicker of a cloaked figure—moving like a shadow, hands glowing faintly, but not attacking.

Who was it? A scout? A spy? A survivor?

It didn’t matter to him.

He raised his arm.

But before he could fire, the figure vanished with a blink—teleportation or divine veil.

Akhon narrowed his eyes.

"I don’t like that."

But he didn’t chase.

Not yet.

Instead, he pressed onward. Toward what had once been the Council Spire.

He stood still.

The haze curled at his feet, rising from the heat of ruptured divine veins running beneath Olympus. Around him, broken thrones and severed banners whispered in the wind, a ghost choir of a world undone.

Then, behind him—a ripple.

Akhon spun.

The mysterious figure emerged not with noise but with absence. Where it stepped, the sound dropped away. Smoke recoiled. Even the dying fires dimmed in its wake.

It wore no armor, nor crest.

Only a black cloak that moved like a curtain under water. Its face was masked in shimmering obsidian, carved with runes in a forgotten dialect. And its hands—bare—crackled faintly with streaks of dark violet lightning.

Power Level: 1,250.

Almost equal to his.

No name. No title.

No divine signal the system could read.

"You’re not with Olympus," Akhon said, slowly raising his hands, golden energy coiling along his fingers. "And you’re not with Nemesis."

The figure didn’t respond.

Instead, it tilted its head slightly, like a predator curious about a new kind of prey.

Then it charged.

Faster than Akhon expected.

He barely got a barrier up in time.

The first strike was a hammering palm to the center of his shield—a blast of force that cracked his defense in half. The air shattered like glass, and Akhon flew backward, smashing through a fractured statue of Hera.

He landed hard, rolled, and came up with both arms glowing. "Alright."

He launched himself forward with a radiant burst, golden trails flaring behind him. He struck low and fast—knee to the ribs, elbow to the throat, a blinding combo of strikes trained from divine battleforms and Kaeron’s street fighting.

The figure dodged the first blow, blocked the second—and vanished mid-motion.

"Teleportation?" Akhon muttered.

He twisted—

Too slow.

A boot crashed into his spine, sending him sprawling across the stone. He barely managed to flip mid-fall and fire a beam of compressed divine light over his shoulder. It caught the figure mid-advance and blew its mask clean off.

The figure flew back, skidding through marble, slamming into a crumbled column.

The mask clattered to the ground.

And for the first time, Akhon saw the face.

A young woman. Sharp jaw. Pale skin. Black tattoos pulsed beneath her eyes like circuitry. Her expression didn’t flicker. She simply stood and wiped blood from her lip.

No recognition in her gaze.

Just... curiosity. And resolve while she raised her hands.

Dark energy spiraled around her palms—tendrils of void and storm converging into a blade of crackling violet. Akhon read the aura.

Unknown Divinity. Mixed Source. Forbidden Core Detected.

"Not a demigod," he muttered. "Not Olympian. Not Nemesis. What the hell are you?"

She didn’t answer.

She ran at him again—silent, perfect in motion.

Akhon summoned his own weapon. A golden glaive formed from raw Authority, its edges vibrating with raw kinetic potential. He met her charge with a horizontal slash.

The impact shook the plaza. Sparks and darkness erupted in every direction.

She twisted beneath his follow-up and aimed for his throat.

Akhon ducked, kicked her legs out, spun, and swept his weapon upward.

She caught it mid-air with bare fingers—and shattered it with a pulse of concentrated magic.

Akhon blinked. That wasn’t divine strength—it was something else. Something borrowed. As if her body had been tailored for killing gods... without being one.

She struck him square in the gut.

He staggered, coughing ichor.

Then she opened her other palm.

And a wave of voidlight exploded point-blank against his chest.

Akhon was launched through the air, skipping like a stone across fractured stairs until he crashed through what remained of the Temple of Memory. The rubble swallowed him.

And the dust rose on silence.

Then—there was light.

Golden light burst from the ruins as Akhon stood, panting, glowing, veins lit with energy. His cape burned away, armor cracked, but his gaze was focused now.

His lips curled into a snarl. "Fine."

He lifted his hands, his fingers flaring.

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[Skill Activated: Divine Charge]

[Cooldown: 30s]

[Status Effect: Superposition Boost — Next 3 strikes ignore 70% defense]

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He ran.

Not flew—ran. Boots pounding broken ground, a comet of light gaining speed.

The woman turned and raised her blade—

But he was already there.

The first strike cracked her weapon.

The second struck her ribs, sending her flipping end over end through a row of statues.

The third—

He roared, driving his palm into her chest with a blast of radiant might.

She hit the floor with enough force to crater it.

But she still moved and rose fast to her feet.

Half her face was bloodied. One eye burning violet while her breath ragged.

She lifted her hand again—

And vanished into a swirl of black smoke. She was gone.

Akhon stood alone again in the wreckage, his chest heaving, while his glow flickered.

And this time, he felt cold. Not from exhaustion, not from fear—but from the weight of a new, unseen enemy on the field.

"Who the hell sent you?" he muttered.

He didn’t get an answer.

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