December 24th, 2029 – Morning

In the heart of Mount Olympus, Hercules strode with unwavering purpose through the grand halls of the castle where the Twelve Olympians resided. The walls were adorned with carvings of heroic feats, glory, and tragedy—echoes of the gods’ golden age. Columns of white marble rose gracefully toward a ceiling that seemed carved from the very night sky, constellations glowing in their full splendor.

With his imposing frame and long reddish hair cascading down to his waist, Hercules breathed in the air, thick with divine power. His gaze was resolute, and he approached the great throne room doors with his head held high. There, two minor gods stood guard—figures with majestic silver wings—blocking his path.

They reminded him that only those formally invited by the Olympians could enter the throne room. But Hercules paid no heed to their warning and continued forward. When the larger of the two reached to seize him by the shoulder, a single strike was enough to hurl the god into a marble column. The other, stunned by Hercules’ sheer power, quickly stepped aside. The god of strength crossed the threshold.

As the doors opened, a soft, fragrant breeze swept down the corridor—thick with the essence of raw divinity. Inside, the throne room stretched out like a colossal dome, the twelve thrones arranged in a perfect circle around a ceremonial flame burning with the brilliance of the sun itself. Beside the fire, Hestia greeted him with a warm smile and a gentle wave.

Hercules stood tall before the empty thrones. His thunderous voice rang out:

"Gods! I demand an audience! I, Hercules—god of strength and son of Zeus—ask that you hear me now!" His tone was brazened, echoing through the chamber with enough insolence to offend even the most patient deity.

The floor trembled beneath him. A sudden surge of energy rattled his bones, sending a chill through his spine. One by one, the images of the gods began to materialize on their thrones, each settling into their rightful place.

Dionysus appeared first at the far left, lounging carelessly upon a throne of vines and ivy. Hephaestus took his place at the far right, beside his wife Aphrodite, while Hermes sat across from them. The twins, Apollo and Artemis claimed their opposing seats, as did Ares and Athena, the war deities. Poseidon and Demeter emerged near the central thrones—the grandest of all—where Zeus and Hera suddenly appeared in a flash of divine light.

The Twelve Olympians had answered his call, and now they faced him. Hercules knelt, bowing his head in deference. The gods studied him—some with contempt, others with curiosity.

"Well, that’s bold," muttered Apollo, twirling an arrow between his fingers, his radiant figure gleaming upon his golden throne. "Who would’ve thought a lesser god would dare summon us as if we were mere mortals?"

"I agree," growled Poseidon from his throne of seashells, clearly irritated by the interruption. "I say we cut out his tongue or rip out his liver."

"Like Prometheus?" snapped Artemis, her voice as sharp as the glare she threw at Hercules. "Try being a bit more original, uncle." She shifted in her throne of pelts and spears, crossing her legs with disdain. "Let’s chain him to a rock and have him drink hydra venom until he begs for mercy."

Athena exhaled in exasperation, her fingers drumming against the bronze of her shield.

"Like the Norse did with Loki?" she retorted, her eyes fixed on Artemis. "And you dare talk about originality."

Hercules struggled to remain calm. Even now, standing before them, the pressure was absurd—his fists trembled slightly, though he managed to hide it as he rose to his feet.

Artemis gripped the bow resting on her lap, her knuckles turning white. The tension in the room stretched thin, like a thread ready to snap.

"Silence!" Zeus’s voice cracked like thunder. His throne, formed from clouds and lightning, flickered with golden sparks. "You speak of my son. There will be no punishment today. There are more pressing matters than indulging your sadism."

Ares let out a harsh laugh, a sound that echoed through the hall and scraped against Hercules’s skin.

"Damn right!" he roared, shifting eagerly on his throne of bones. "A war is coming to the mortal realm, and I intend to savor it. Fresh blood, new heroes to crush." He leaned forward, grinning like a predator. "So why did we even answer a call from a mere demigod?"

Hera raised her arm and clenched her fist. The air froze. Even Ares fell silent, his fangs grinding shut.

"Hercules is no longer just a demigod," she declared, her voice icy. "He was ascended, like Dionysus."

Dionysus, sprawled lazily on his throne of vines, raised two fingers in a half-hearted peace sign toward Hercules.

"Therefore," Hera continued, "he is a legitimate god. And he will be heard."

Hermes smirked, tilting his head.

"Says the woman who tried to kill him, what—six times?" he muttered to himself, not particularly caring whether the others heard.

Hera didn’t dignify the comment with a response. Only her eyes—cold and hollow—turned to Hercules, giving him tacit permission to speak.

Hercules took a deep breath. The weight of every gaze pressed down on him heavier than a thousand mountains. He straightened, muscles taut like bowstrings, and raised his voice:

"I beg you, for everything the gods stand for… Reconsider your decision. Don’t take the mortal realm—or at least, not through such a vast genocide. Convince the other pantheons. There must be another way besides the one proposed by Buddha."

Silence fell like a slab of stone. The gods glanced at one another.

Poseidon scowled and snorted with disdain, his stormy eyes locked on Hercules. Ares tutted, visibly disgusted. Demeter lowered her gaze, her face pale. Athena held Hercules’ gaze, but her eyes already reflected resignation.

Hera turned her hand away and looked down—it disappointed her to see him make such a plea.

Zeus, seated on his throne of lightning, stared at his son with a heat that burned—not with rage or disappointment, but pity. He tapped his armrest slowly with one finger.

"You come here uninvited," Poseidon growled, rising to his feet. He looked like a Mediterranean king, with long black hair and a thick beard—strikingly similar to Zeus himself. "You summon us like servants... and now you

dare

to give us orders? Has divinity gone to your head that quickly, nephew?"

Hercules raised both hands in a gesture of peace, his voice hardened by desperation:

"It’s not an order. It’s a sincere request. We can’t simply destroy everything. Humanity still has much to offer. There’s still time to find another solution."

"Damn it, it’s already starting—even with us far from the mortals," Ares barked, slamming a fist into his throne, the sound echoing through the chamber. "And you want us to

miss

the war? This glorious bloodbath? After

centuries

in the shadows?"

Athena narrowed her eyes.

"He wants to keep the mortal world from burning," she said, her voice low but sharp. "After all, he once belonged to it." She glanced toward Dionysus, who idly played with his fingers while watching Hercules.

Ares turned to her, his grin crooked.

"And how does he plan to stop it? Beg on his knees to every supreme god?" He stood and stepped forward, planting himself in front of Zeus and Hera, deliberately turning his back on Hercules—who, in that instant, wanted nothing more than to snap his neck.

"With or without us, Asgard is marching. The Jade Palace is already rallying its armies. And Oxla… Oxlahun—?"

"Oxlahuntiku, you brute," Aphrodite interjected, her voice melodic but sharp as a whip, cutting in with effortless disdain.

The room tried not to laugh aloud.

And above them all, the ceremonial fire still burned—its flames casting long, creeping shadows, as if ready to devour the world.

"Exactly. Even those boring Hindu gods are joining in," Ares spat, his eyes locking onto Hercules. "And

you

—you want us to just stand by and watch while it all slips away?"

Hercules felt the rage rise in his throat but forced himself to hold it down. He knew that with gods, power alone wasn't enough—you had to play the game. He could still win, but only if he moved carefully, manipulating the right ones. He already knew which of them would never listen. So, he'd try appealing to the logic of the rest.

"And you," he said with disdain, his lips curling into a frosty smile, "why are you so eager to go? Every time you march off to war, you end up humiliated. God of

war

, isn’t that right?"

Ares raised his fist, his knuckles cracking like breaking bones. Zeus struck him with a glare—an invisible wave of divine force slammed into Ares. He slowly lowered his fist, though his burning stare remained fixed on Hercules.

"This is neither the time nor the place for stupidity, Ares," Zeus rebuked him sharply.

Ares folded his arms, seething.

"Hercules, my son," Zeus continued, his tone shifting suddenly into something calm and thoughtful.

To his other children’s present, it was painfully clear who the favorite was in that throne room.

"You, more than anyone, should understand how entertaining—and useful—humans can be. But in a few months, even being in this realm may become impossible."

Athena leaned forward, her fingers interlaced, her voice cutting through the air—tempered like steel.

"I believe we should at least consider the proposal," she said, weighing every word. Zeus watched her closely, awaiting her reasoning. "Claiming the Earth might be beneficial, yes, and it would be the fastest way to rid ourselves of this looming threat. But a war of this scale… we could awaken troublesome enemies. Clashing with other pantheons is no small matter. We could also consider other options—we didn’t even want to be and worked for centuries”

Her gaze drifted to Demeter, who remained silent, her eyes cast downward.

"Think of how this will affect the land you protect—in the name of Gaia" Athena whispered. Then she turned to Aphrodite. "And you, goddess of love… war should be the last thing you desire."

Hermes let out a quiet chuckle, and a small illusion of a golden apple danced between his fingers.

"Unless, of course, you feel the need to prove something..." he murmured.

Four pairs of eyes immediately locked onto him: Hercules, Athena, Aphrodite… and Zeus. Even Hestia let out a soft laugh from her corner by the fire.

Hermes raised his hands, and the apple vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Alright, I’m done. Just an observation."

Hercules seized the silence and turned his gaze toward the twins.

"Apollo," he said, his tone firm but not hostile, "you live for poetry, for the beauty of the human spirit. A massacre like this… what will be left of what you cherish?"

Apollo lowered his gaze and gave a quiet nod, his fingers nervously tapping against his knee.

Then Hercules turned his eyes to Artemis.

"Lady Artemis," he began, carefully measuring each word, "I know you’re not particularly fond of men, but I also know you respect me—as a hunter and as a god. And because of that, I ask you to consider listening to me."

Artemis closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

"Alright, little brother," she said at last. "I’ll hear you out this time. Speak."

Hercules allowed himself a brief smile of relief. His labours had, after all, earned him

some

rewards.

"In this war, millions of women—the very ones you claim to protect—will die. It’s something you should at least take into account."

Artemis narrowed her eyes, her voice sharp as frost.

"I’ll gladly welcome them among my huntresses."

"That only includes the fraction of the population who follow your strict laws of chastity!" Hercules burst out. He hadn’t wanted to lose his composure, but he was counting on Artemis to be at least somewhat reasonable.

"Son," Zeus warned. Hercules realised his breach of decorum and quickly bowed his head in apology.

"Of course.

He

doesn’t get called stupid," Ares muttered childishly.

Artemis leaned forward, a fleeting smile crossing her face—cold and unreadable, like her gaze.

"The rest of the women are not my concern," she said. "I may not like it, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I

will

save many young girls, and they’ll guide the generations to come."

Hercules clenched his fists, feeling the frustration gnaw at him. Then his eyes searched for Hestia. The goddess, in the form of a young girl, sat near the ceremonial flame. Her eyes—calm yet sorrowful—met his. He pleaded silently.

Hestia inhaled deeply and spoke, her voice gentle but weighted with ancient wisdom.

"I believe… that so many deaths will bring not just sorrow, but ruin. They can be avoided. Leaving alive only the ‘necessary fraction’ to repopulate is arbitrary—even by Olympus’ standards. And if we stoop to that for survive, how are we any better than the Titans?"

Some gods glanced at one another—Hestia had struck at the pride of Olympus. Hercules almost envied her ability to do so.

Ares let out a dry, scornful laugh.

"And who gives a damn what an old woman thinks—especially one who doesn’t even sit at the high table anymore?"

But Hercules smiled to himself. Hestia—who almost never took sides—had spoken. And with that, he knew he had gained a small advantage.

Dionysus, who had remained silent until now, rose lazily from his throne of vines with a crooked smile.

"Hey… what about me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You don’t see me here, do you? Just another ‘peaceful’ god—like the ones Hercules and Athena have so cleverly appealed to. Shouldn’t

someone

ask me what I think?"

Hercules cursed under his breath. Dionysus had caught on to his strategy. Even Zeus, who until now had allowed his son’s eloquence to flow uninterrupted, furrowed his brow.

"We’ll… invite you to the peace treaty party," Hercules replied. "Besides, without human society, who would you party with? Ares?"

"Perfect. You’ve got my vote, strongman." Dionysus smirked coldly. His tone was drenched in sarcasm, leaving no doubt about his indifference.

"You see? Many of you would lose something in this war," Hercules said, turning back to the group.

"And many would gain," Poseidon added, his expression calculating. Zeus eyed him with growing interest.

"Not only would this finally eliminate the problem of Chaos' shroud once and for all…"

Hercules felt a dark chill ripple through him—but didn’t let it show.

"Hephaestus will thrive. Weapons and armour will be forged like never before. Artemis can recruit as many women as she likes and hunt the beasts that emerge."

"At last, something in this stupid conversation I can agree with," Artemis muttered, not even looking at Hercules.

"The gods of war will finally have the stage to prove themselves. Athena, just imagine using your tactics to conquer territory from the other pantheons—you’d love that, wouldn’t you?" Poseidon smiled, his gaze sweeping across the room.

Athena sighed and gave a reluctant nod. She hated agreeing with Poseidon, but she couldn’t deny the logic.

"The seas will rise in all their glory, purging the filth of humankind," Poseidon went on, now locking eyes with Zeus and Hera—their votes were the most critical.

Zeus met his gaze steadily as Poseidon made his final move.

"My siblings, just think what the other pantheons will say. They won’t see it as an act of mercy. As Ares said—even the Hindus are joining in. They’ll see it as…"

"Cowardice," Zeus finished, his voice serious, as Poseidon smiled in triumph.

"So tell me, brother," Poseidon pressed, his tone now sharp and mocking, "are you really willing to surrender the land that is rightfully ours, Just to humour the plea of your pansy son?”

The insult rang out like a slap. The contempt in Poseidon's voice was unmistakable.

Hercules clenched his teeth, feeling the ground slip from under him. In a single stroke, Poseidon had turned the debate. Even Athena now seemed swayed toward war.

Zeus looked at his son, waiting for him to speak—but Hercules said nothing. Frustration burned through his chest. What else was there to say? He had tried appealing to the gods' compassion in every way he could.

At last, Zeus let out a long sigh and leaned back into his throne, visibly drained by the weight of it all. His eyes turned to the sky, where a dark rift had opened on the horizon, laced with crimson lightning—

Chaos

. Even if there was another way, there was no time left.

"If there is nothing more to say," Zeus declared, "then let us vote."