CHAPTER 98: “SHOW YOURSELF.”

The throne room was still burning.

Cracks ran across the marble. The divine sky above Olympus twisted in shades of black and crimson. The gods—Odin, Tsukuyomi, Thoth—they stood behind shimmering shields, saying nothing. Watching.

Ares—no, the thing that had taken him—stood still. Chains of shadow curled off his limbs like smoke. His eyes were bottomless pits. Tartarus had taken hold.

Zeus stepped forward through the dust, his voice cold.

"Show yourself."

No answer.

He stepped again. Thunder sparked at his heels.

"I said, show yourself, pit."

The chains slithered. The air turned heavy.

And then—Ares’s mouth opened. The voice that came out was layered. Not one. Not human.

"You finally speak to me directly."

Zeus narrowed his eyes. "Took my son to get my attention. That’s weak. Even for you."

A soft, rumbling growl echoed from within Ares. "Don’t act like you’ve ever shown me respect. You throw gods and monsters into my depths like they’re broken toys. Like I’m nothing but Olympus’s garbage pit."

Zeus didn’t flinch. "Because that’s what you are."

The room went dark.

Every torch in the hall died at once. A cold wind slithered through the cracks.

Tartarus laughed—slow, hollow.

"You forget. I chose to exist where no one else dared to. I took in what the gods could not kill. Held what they couldn’t look at. But you? You made me into a sewer."

Zeus said nothing.

Tartarus continued.

"I stayed silent through the First War. Through Cronus. Through the blood-soaked rise of Olympus. But after the Titanomachy, you started tossing them to me like scraps. Hyperion. Koios. Krios. Even Oceanus. Gods who once ruled the stars, dropped into my gut without even a word."

"You were the only place strong enough to hold them," Zeus replied.

"I didn’t agree to be your cage."

Zeus took another step forward.

"You never disagreed either."

The shadow behind Ares grew wider—twisting like it wanted to reach for the walls themselves.

"After the Titan War, I warned you," Tartarus said. "I told you I would not be your pit forever. You laughed. So I created Typhon."

Zeus’s fists clenched. He remembered.

"You sent him to tear Olympus from the sky," Zeus said. "You tried to end everything."

"I tried to remind you I wasn’t your servant."

"Typhon failed," Zeus snapped. "I buried him. And I buried him in you."

The voice inside Ares hissed.

"And you didn’t learn a damn thing."

Zeus’s face darkened. "You’re nothing but a memory of what came before. A void. You were meant to hold monsters. That was your role."

"That’s not a role," Tartarus spat. "That’s a sentence."

"You should’ve stayed buried."

The thing inside Ares laughed again—but it was darker now. More vicious.

"Say what you want, Zeus. But I’ve already won."

Zeus’s eyes sparked. "You think possessing my son is victory?"

"He’s not just possessed," Tartarus whispered. "He’s mine now. The moment Hera brought him to me as an infant, I branded him. I fed him pieces of myself."

"She was jealous," Zeus said, almost to himself. "So jealous of Metis... of everything."

"She gave him to me," Tartarus continued. "She let me in. And now, look at him."

Zeus’s face tightened.

"You used my wife. Used my son. Because you’re too weak to face me yourself."

"I don’t need to face you," Tartarus growled. "You’ll fall by your own hand."

Zeus’s power flared.

"I’ve heard enough."

He pointed a single finger forward.

A bolt of lightning shot across the room, crashing into Ares’s chest. The explosion tore through the throne hall, blasting the pillars apart and throwing ash into the wind. The floor split down the center.

But when the light faded—

Ares was still standing.

Black fire licked around his body. The cracks in his skin had widened, glowing deep red. His face was distorted now—part god, part void. His aura warped gravity itself. Chains spun around his wrists like vipers.

Zeus raised both arms.

The clouds above Olympus tore open.

BOOOOOM.

A thunderstorm unlike anything the heavens had seen descended in a spiral of light. Lightning hammered down again and again, each bolt carrying divine judgment, striking the floor, the shadows, the body below—

Still standing.

Ares moved.

He blinked once—and then appeared right in front of Zeus, faster than thought. His chain lashed out.

Zeus caught it with one hand—but the impact sent him skidding backwards, leaving glowing trails across the floor.

"Still pretending you’re in control?" Zeus muttered.

Tartarus’s voice cut through Ares’s mouth. "I’ve been patient for eons. That ends today."

Another chain shot forward—this time wrapped in molten black. Zeus raised his hand, called on the wind—and the air exploded outward, blowing the chain off-course.

Then he vanished.

Reappeared behind Ares.

And struck.

CRACK!

A punch laced with raw lightning hit Ares across the jaw, sending him flying into the far wall. The impact crushed the stone, dust pouring down from above.

But when the dust settled... Ares rose.

His bones reset mid-movement. His body jerked upright like a puppet. His mouth grinned—but it wasn’t Ares’s smile.

Zeus walked toward him, every step shaking the hall.

"I don’t care how much of my son you’ve swallowed," he said. "You think you’ve won?"

The air began to hum.

"You forget who I am."

Tartarus laughed.

"No, you forget."

Ares’s body floated into the air. The chains wrapped around him like armor now, spinning faster, coiling tighter. His aura began pulling the light inward—dimming the torches, the sky, the very sun above Olympus.

The gods in the hall stumbled. Odin reached for Gungnir. Tsukuyomi vanished into shadow.

But Zeus didn’t move.

He raised his arms.

A swirl of gold, silver, and sky-blue spun around him.

The Divine Storm answered his call.

Thunder and light wrapped around his body like a cloak. His eyes shined like stars. His voice dropped low.

"Last chance," Zeus said. "Let my son go."

Ares opened his mouth—but it wasn’t a voice that came out.

It was a growl.

A roar.

A beast’s.

And then—

Snap.

Every chain wrapped around Ares’s body sunk into his flesh.

And Tartarus took over.

Fully.

Ares’s skin turned black and cracked. Horns grew from his head. His chest split slightly open—revealing a red, pulsing core. Wings of ash unfurled behind him, wide as the sky.

Zeus whispered, "No..."

But it was too late.

Tartarus had him.

The thing that looked at Zeus now was no longer a god.

It was a monster wearing a god’s skin.

And it smiled.