CHAPTER 148: THE FALL OF A REALM

The ground of Pangu’s realm shifted like it was alive. Each step Zeus took rattled mountains into avalanches, each breath made rivers surge like they were afraid. His storm coiled around him, but it was no ordinary lightning anymore. This was the storm that had swallowed Tartarus, split Ymir’s skull, burned through Erebus, and drowned Tiamat’s brood.

The guardians of Pangu poured without end. Giants of stone, taller than city walls, tore themselves out of cliffs. Creatures of gold crawled up from rivers, their bodies flowing like molten metal, reshaping with every wound. Winged beasts dropped from the red sky, their wings sharper than swords, feathers raining down like endless blades.

And then, the gods came.

From the highest ridge walked Fuxi, serpent-bodied and human-faced, carrying a long staff etched with the runes of order. His eyes glowed steady, his presence old as the first laws. Behind him stepped Nuwa, her form radiant, hair falling like streams of living silk. She carried clay in her palms, shaping life with every gesture, her power pressing like creation itself.

To their sides came Shennong, his body wreathed in green flame, herbs burning in his grasp, the lord of agriculture turned warrior when his realm was threatened. And behind them strode Di Jun, crowned with sunfire, each step blazing the earth beneath him. His light made the false sky above flare, challenging Zeus’s storm with its own brilliance.

They were not mortals, nor minor gods. These were pillars of the old Chinese heavens, legends sung before Sun Wukong would even dream of rebellion. And now, they stood in Pangu’s absence, ready to defend his realm.

The air bent with their presence.

Fuxi’s voice carried first, low and deep. "You do not belong here, thunderer."

Zeus didn’t answer. His storm was already climbing his skin.

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They struck together.

Di Jun hurled suns. Blazing spheres of fire cascaded from his hands, each one brighter than Apollo’s arrows, hotter than Hephaestus’s forge. They fell like meteors, scorching mountains into glass. Zeus lifted his arm and the lightning answered. Bolts screamed from his palm, each one splitting a sun apart before it reached him. Explosions swallowed valleys, thunder and fire shaking the land in unison.

Nuwa’s hands molded clay, and from it rose warriors—armies of living statues, each wielding spears of hardened earth. They surged forward in waves, thousands strong, their weapons glowing with primordial life. Zeus blurred, his body flickering into streaks of storm. His fists shattered statues by the dozens, lightning arcs tearing through their ranks. But for every one that fell, Nuwa shaped another, her clay burning bright as she reforged them endlessly.

Fuxi raised his staff. Symbols flared across the sky—trigrams of power, ancient runes of order and destiny. They bound Zeus’s storm, weaving nets that tried to lock his lightning into stillness. For a breath, the storm faltered, caught in lines older than Olympus itself. Fuxi struck, his staff crashing into Zeus’s chest, the runes detonating into chains of light.

Zeus staggered—but only for a breath. His veins flared white-blue, the Primordial storm roaring out of him. The chains shattered like brittle twigs, and his fist met Fuxi’s chest. The serpent-bodied god was hurled across a valley, smashing through mountains, his runes scattering like broken glass.

Shennong roared, his green flame bursting. He crushed herbs in his palm, his fire reshaping into smoke that slithered like serpents. Each tendril bit into Zeus’s skin, spreading poison through the storm itself. Zeus’s vision blurred, his veins burning black for an instant. Shennong charged, his fists wrapped in green fire, striking again and again into Zeus’s ribs.

But the storm did not bow. Zeus grabbed his arm mid-strike, sparks bursting through his grip. Lightning swallowed the poison, burning it into steam. His other fist swung upward, catching Shennong’s jaw. The crack echoed across the land, the herbal flames scattering into ash.

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The four gods regrouped. Di Jun’s suns hovered at his shoulders, Nuwa’s clay warriors swarmed in thousands, Fuxi’s staff burned brighter with new runes, and Shennong’s fire gathered once more. Their combined aura pressed so heavy that mountains buckled and rivers dried under the weight.

They came at once.

Di Jun’s suns rained like a storm. Nuwa’s army surged, their spears glowing. Fuxi’s trigrams stitched into the air again, forming a cage of light. Shennong’s green fire surged into a wave, poison and flame mixed into a storm of death.

For a moment, it seemed even Zeus’s storm might drown.

Then he showed them why he was feared above all.

The storm erupted.

Not just lightning, not just thunder—everything. Surtr’s fire blazed in his veins. Tartarus’s abyss coiled in his shadow. Ouranos’s sky split wide above him. The Primordial Storm unleashed itself.

The suns shattered before they touched him, torn apart by a wall of lightning that split the sky in half. Nuwa’s warriors melted into dust, their clay boiling away in a flood of sparks. Fuxi’s trigrams screamed as Zeus’s storm bent through them, the lines unraveling under the weight of his power. Shennong’s fire surged forward, only to be swallowed by abyssal night, smothered into nothing.

Zeus moved.

One step, and he was behind Di Jun. His fist struck, thunder exploding through the sun god’s chest. Di Jun roared as his body blazed brighter, his crown cracking under the blow. He fell back, fire spilling across the ground.

Zeus blurred again, appearing in front of Nuwa. His hand caught her wrist mid-gesture, lightning bursting into her clay. The warriors she had shaped cracked apart, collapsing into lifeless dirt. She gasped, her power sputtering as he hurled her across the battlefield, her body smashing into a mountain that collapsed over her.

Fuxi tried to bind him again, his staff glowing, runes bleeding into the air. Zeus’s storm surged brighter, arcs tearing through the patterns, corrupting them into sparks. He slammed his fist into the staff itself, and it snapped, breaking into fragments of burning light. Fuxi reeled back, ichor spilling from his mouth.

Shennong was the last, his fire surging into one final wave. He screamed as he poured everything into it, green flame bursting across the valley like a sea of poison. Zeus walked into it. The storm burned hotter, brighter, cleaner. Each flame that touched him was swallowed, consumed, erased. His fist struck once, and Shennong’s body was thrown into the air, smashing into the fractured sky itself.

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Silence fell for a moment. The four lay scattered across the battlefield, their power broken, their bodies battered. The mountains groaned, the rivers boiled, the false sky cracked under the storm’s weight.

Zeus stood at the center, his body wrapped in lightning that refused to dim. His storm did not just fill the land. It rewrote it. The ground split, the air burned, the sky itself bent to his will.

Every realm had its thunder gods, its sky lords, its sun bearers. But here, in the bones of Pangu’s domain, they learned why the name Zeus carried farther than all of them.

He was not simply a god of thunder.

He was the storm that broke creation itself.

And Pangu’s realm would be the first to fall.