Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 86: Theomachy (Part 23)

The battlefield crackled with tension while the war continued.

Crimson clouds swirled above, broken temples collapsing below. Chasms of shattered marble yawned open across the sacred mountain. Craters blazed with the magic of fallen gods.

And in the center of it all, Artemis ran—her silver armor bloodstained and her bow drawn taut, while her expression was cold because of the war.

She moved like a streak of moonlight through smoke. Every breath she gave was focused. Every heartbeat sharpened to kill.

She had already felled a dozen of Nemesis’s disciples, shadows, monsters and lesser gods.

Now, she hunted a new threat—one darting too quickly through the chaos, one she had only glimpsed briefly: a blur of speed, a glint of madness, a silhouette that didn’t match any ally.

She didn’t know it was Dionysus.

He was covered in ash and ichor, his robes shredded. His aura—normally flamboyant, intoxicating—was ragged and distorted. He stumbled through the battlefield like a drunk ghost, arms raised not to attack, but to calm the storm. He had just left Aphrodite behind in the rubble, promised to return with help.

The mist distorted his voice. Artemis never heard the words.

She only saw movement.

Enemy movement.

Si she had raised her bow and used it to kill the enemy.

A silver arrow shimmered to life in her hand—wreathed in divine energy, forged to pierce even gods.

She loosed it.

It flew silent and perfect, a streak across the sky.

It struck Dionysus clean through the chest.

His body jerked, feet sliding back from the impact, eyes wide in sudden clarity. The world around him slowed. His mouth opened—no sound escaped.

He looked up toward the heavens, as if questioning Olympus itself.

Then, he fell.

Artemis blinked.

She landed on the ledge above where he collapsed, bow still in hand.

When the smoke cleared, her stomach dropped.

"Dionysus," she mouthed, but no sound emerged.

Her brother in arms. Her chaotic friend. The god who brought laughter to even her coldest evenings.

Dead by her hand.

"What I have done?"

---

A scream suddenly tore across the battlefield—not a war cry, more like a pain cry.

A cry of grief.

The scream came from Aphrodite.

She sprinted into the ruins barefoot, robes ripped and glowing with magic. Her hair whipped wildly in the winds of Olympus’s ruin. She knelt beside Dionysus’s body, hands trembling as they hovered over the wound.

The arrow was still there gleaming.

The blood of Dionysus—vivid and purple-red—covered her hands as she tried to pull him back, whispering half-spells of healing, of resurrection, of desperate denial.

But he didn’t move, he couldn’t, he was gone.

Aphrodite looked up.

Artemis stood across the shattered stone, frozen.

"I didn’t know it was him," Artemis tried to say. "I didn’t see."

But Aphrodite wasn’t listening. Her lips trembled.

Then she curled.

Something inside her broke.

The goddess of love—wounded by war, by betrayal, by the deaths of her people—snapped.

She rose slowly, eyes aglow with pink fire so bright it distorted the air. Her grief twisted into fury. Her aura expanded outward like a rising tide of roses turned to thorns. Petals lifted in the wind and then turned black, burning mid-air.

Artemis stepped back, one foot slipping on broken marble.

Too late.

Aphrodite surged forward.

She didn’t move like the goddess of beauty and love, on that moment she moved like someone only wanting vengeance.

She closed the distance in a flash, her hand blooming with light shaped like a blade—not metal, not magic, but emotion given form.

She struck once—Artemis blocked with her forearm. The bracer shattered.

A second strike—Artemis dodged, but the wind pressure flayed skin from her cheek.

The third—landed straight into Artemis’s side.

She screamed, collapsing to one knee as golden blood streamed from her ribs.

She raised her bow in defense. Aphrodite shattered it with a single pulse.

"Please," Artemis mouthed.

But Aphrodite’s eyes only saw Dionysus. Saw him lying cold and alone in ruins.

She grabbed Artemis by the throat and lifted her.

Then kissed her forehead as a final farewell.

A curse and a benediction in one.

And then, she burned her from the inside.

Artemis’s body convulsed, glowing pink and gold, veins illuminating like rivers of molten love turned destructive. Her divine essence ruptured under the strain. Her scream echoed up the mountain and then vanished, swallowed by the wind.

She exploded in a pulse of radiance.

After a few seconds, the only thing that she grabbed was ash.

Nothing remained but dust of the goddess.

---

Aphrodite collapsed beside Dionysus again.

Her arms around him.

He was his friend. He didn’t have to die.

"I am sorry."

---

Far above, the Loom trembled again.

The threads of Artemis and Dionysus wrapped together for a brief instant—one mistake, one revenge, one fate.

Then vanished from the weave.

The Fates could not speak.

They only watched.

---

Apollo stepped over a fallen statue of Hebe, one hand glowing with healing light, the other clenched into a fist.

His golden armor was scratched, dented. His bow was broken. His sword lost. Still, he moved with urgency—desperation in every stride.

"Artemis," he muttered again, scanning the battlefield.

He could sense her presence. Or had, although very briefly. A flicker of her light had danced through his soul like a heartbeat. And then—it was gone.

That was what terrified him.

He crossed a scorched courtyard where vines had been torn from the earth, their roots blackened. Pools of divine blood shimmered between the rubble. Apollo paused only to look at the shadows around him—seeking a silhouette or a sign.

Instead, he found Athena.

She stood atop the edge of a shattered staircase, spear resting across her shoulder, shield on her back. Her hair was tangled with sweat and blood. Her face was tight with grim determination, but her eyes betrayed exhaustion.

She turned when she heard him.

"Apollo."

He exhaled relief. A familiar face. Maybe help.

"I’m looking for Artemis," he said quickly. "Have you seen her?"

Athena didn’t answer right away.

Her silence chilled him.

"Where is she?" he pressed.

"I... don’t know," she replied. "She was near the eastern slope last time I saw her."

"I felt something," Apollo said, voice low. "Something wrong."

The silence between them grew heavier.

And then the ground shook.

Footsteps approaching them.

Apollo spun, already preparing a light arrow from thin air. Athena dropped into a ready stance, shield materializing in her hand.

From the mist of divine smoke and blood-steam, two figures emerged.

Poseidon.

Hades.

Their bodies were torn, burned, leaking ichor, but they still stood tall—undeniable. The air warped around them, charged with power that had tasted victory.

Athena narrowed her eyes.

"What have you done?"

Hades said nothing.

Poseidon spoke with cold finality. "It’s over. Zeus is dead."

The words hung there, too vast to grasp.

Apollo blinked. "What?"

"He’s gone," Poseidon repeated. "We ended it. He would have destroyed everything. The war was consuming all of Olympus. We did what had to be done."

Athena’s breath caught. Her grip on her spear tightened. "You... murdered the King of Olympus."

Apollo staggered back a step.

"I came here to stop Nemesis," he said, voice trembling. "To protect Olympus. To find my sister. And now you say—Zeus is dead?"

Neither Hades nor Poseidon moved.

The stillness was unbearable.

"You don’t understand," Poseidon began, softer now.

But Apollo didn’t want to understand.

Rage took root. Grief bloomed instantly.

He raised his hand and summoned the full brilliance of the sun. Light flared outward in golden arcs, forming into a spear of flame.

Athena stepped forward beside him.

Together, the two gods stared down their uncles—two Titans of power, gods of death and sea.

They were outmatched. They knew it.

But it didn’t matter.

Because this war had taken everything.

Because Artemis might be dead.

Because Zeus was their father. Their king.

And now—

Their wrath.

Apollo launched the solar spear with divine velocity. It screamed across the rubble like a comet, aimed straight at Poseidon’s heart.

Athena surged forward beside it, a blur of silver and bronze, her spear streaking ahead like a lance of judgment.

Poseidon raised his trident, catching the spear mid-air. The impact forced him back a step. freёnovelkiss.com

Hades caught Athena’s strike with the flat of his glaive, the blow shaking the ground. He slid back—but didn’t fall.

Apollo summoned a storm of radiant bolts, raining solar fury down like a god gone mad. The sky turned gold, then white, then fire.

Poseidon absorbed the first with a roar.

The second cracked his armor.

The third cut into his side—but still he held.

Hades moved fast, darkness coiling around him. He vanished, reappeared behind Apollo, and struck—but Athena turned, blocking the glaive just in time. Sparks flew.

The courtyard became a storm.

Four gods clashed, powers colliding in flashes too bright for mortal eyes. Craters opened beneath their feet. Ruined columns shattered. The ghosts of Olympus screamed.

Athena fought like a blade honed by centuries—every move precise, every strike meant to kill.

Apollo burned with grief.

His light pulsed brighter with each passing second, his cries silent but his fury deafening.

But Poseidon and Hades did not fall.

They had already survived the impossible.

And they would not yield now.

Not even to blood. Not even to kin.