Hercules had never truly questioned the Olympians—at least not the ones whose names didn’t start with
Hera
.
They had helped and cared for him since he was a child. Zeus had even tried to make him a god when he was still a baby… but Hera hadn’t exactly been thrilled at the idea of her husband’s bastard son ascending to the heavens. The twins had helped him once or twice, and he’d always shared a close bond with Athena.
And yet, even though he was
the
great Hercules—the one who accomplished feats even the gods deemed impossible—he had always felt something was off.
He wasn’t born a god. He was the result of Zeus’ deceit, conceived for the sole purpose of fulfilling a prophecy. He lived as a man among mortals—he hated many, loved a few—and when Hera finally apologized and allowed him to be reborn as a god, deep down, he knew the truth: he had never stopped being the gods’ errand boy.
"Guard the gates of Olympus."
"Build this."
"Slay that beast."
"Kill that god."
Still, it hadn’t bothered him that much. Being worshipped as a god, offered the hand of the goddess of youth the moment he arrived, having your name sung for centuries—glorified in every tale and epic—tended to quiet most existential nonsense.
Until he heard the gods’ intentions...
Those he had followed, those he had admired—ready to commit such cowardice without even trying another path. He was so furious that the gates of Olympus now bore fresh cracks… and a fist-shaped dent carved deep into the marble pillar.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Hebe, walking delicately down the marble steps of Olympus as she accompanied Hercules on the path to the Olympian castle.
"You know that even for
you
, trying to manipulate the gods is incredibly dangerous."
Hercules walked on without hesitation. He didn’t answer—he was already well aware of what this decision meant.
Hebe clenched her jaw, irritated by her husband’s silence.
"My father is brutal in every sense of the word. Even if you’re his favourite, that doesn’t mean you can just walk in there like it’s nothing—especially when..."
Still, Hercules didn’t look at her. Now openly annoyed, Hebe vanished—only to reappear moments later in a burst of water, like a geyser erupting before him. From the rising torrent, her figure emerged, floating above him in fury. Not a mark or wrinkle marred her perfect features; even with a scowl, her face remained classically beautiful, her round features now mere inches from his.
At last, Hercules stopped and faced her, returning her gaze with a silent challenge. Around them, divine beings quickly backed away, frightened at the possibility of a godly confrontation.
Hercules sighed.
"I
am
listening, Hebe. Believe me, I’m more aware than anyone of what could happen. I’ve attended more political meetings than I can count."
"And how many of those ended with you being chased or imprisoned?" she asked, her form gradually returning to normal as the summoned water disappeared.
"Well… I can’t count those on my fingers either," Hercules admitted, looking away with forced arrogance, slightly embarrassed.
"Or becoming the
sex slave
of a mad queen..."
"That was
one time!
" he snapped. Hebe crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed by the excuse.
"I’ve known my father for at least a thousand years longer than you," she began, her tone softening into something more intimate, though still heavy with worry. Hercules kept his eyes fixed on her expressions.
"I was raised at the summit of the gods. And yes, I care about humanity too—but I also
know
how extreme the gods can be. I know what might happen to you. How many guests have left that room as salmon, or scorched by lightning? And yet here you are, poking at the very thing I
fear
will get you killed, you idiot."
She struck his chest with her fist. Even for a goddess, it was like punching a mountain. Hercules exhaled, gently took her hand, and brought his other to her cheek.
"Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I don’t get vaporized. I’ll come back—to you, and to Alexiares and Anicetus."
He kissed her forehead, then released her and continued walking. Hebe watched him go and muttered a curse under her breath.
As he reached the doors of the castle, she added:
"And besides..." he said with arrogance, "they still owe me for saving their divine asses in the Gigantomachy."
That was how he’d entered—and how this entire mess had begun—only to end like this…
Hera, attempting to smooth the atmosphere, spoke firmly:
“Since this is a matter of great consequence, we will include the votes of both Hestia and Hercules. Any objections?”
Poseidon clenched his fists at the mention of this inclusion but said nothing—he could feel Zeus’s gaze burning into the back of his neck.
“Who stands against the war?” Zeus asked at last, his voice heavy as lead.
Hercules raised his hand, resignation etched across his face. Hestia, quiet beside the flame, lifted hers in complete silence. For a moment, uncertainty lingered in the room—until Dionysus let out a dramatic sigh and raised his hand.
“I promised to vote with you, strongman,” he muttered.
Apollo, after glancing briefly at his sister, raised his hand as well. Artemis scoffed dryly, not even trying to hide her disdain. Finally, Aphrodite, ever radiant, smiled faintly and raised her hand too, throwing a wink toward Ares, who shot her a glare sharp enough to cut stone.
“And in favour?” Zeus continued, his tone devoid of hope.
Ares raised his hand first, so quickly it might have been rehearsed. Poseidon followed, his expression carved in stone. Artemis raised hers without hesitation, eyes fixed on her twin in cold judgment.
Hephaestus hesitated, then lowered his eyes and voted in favour, clearly uncomfortable. Hermes merely shrugged and abstained, as did Demeter and Athenea, who kept her hands folded in her lap, brow furrowed, lost in thought.
“I’m sorry, Alcides,” Hera said at last, deliberately using Hercules’ mortal name—as if to remind him of the reason behind his defiance.
“But this is not a decision made lightly.”
She raised her hand. The room thickened with silence. Five to five.
All eyes turned toward Zeus.
The king of the gods, for the first time in a long while, seemed small upon his throne. He looked at his son, and something like pity flickered behind his stormy eyes.
“I’m sorry too, but—”
“Wait!” Hercules interrupted, his voice strong, but laced with urgency.
The air froze. Every gaze snapped to him.
Hercules knew what he was about to say was dangerous. Even if he somehow survived this room, Hebe might kill him herself for being such an idiot. But it was his last card.
Poseidon had appealed to Zeus’s pride.
He would appeal to something far more powerful—his fear.
“You’re forgetting something important,” Hercules said slowly, each word falling like a slab of stone. “
He
will be there.”
A chill swept across the chamber.
Even the sacred fire of Hestia flickered uneasily. The goddess stared at him in stunned silence, unsure whether he had a death wish… or was simply a madman.
Zeus went pale, lightning beginning to swirl around his form like a storm barely held at bay.
Ares let out a nervous chuckle—sharp and hollow.
"W-What are you talking about?" he growled, trying to sound confident. "That bastard killed himself—don’t you remember? He did it when he sealed this place off."
But his hands were shaking.
"Only his body died," Hercules replied, his voice steady as stone. "But it wouldn’t be the first time a soul found a way to escape the Underworld."
Athena and Hestia exchanged a glance thick with dread. Even Hermes—normally the picture of composure—swallowed hard. Just speaking of
Him
was a taboo, a threat that loomed not just over Olympus, but across every divine realm in existence.
"Nonsense!" Poseidon roared. But there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice. "Buddha would’ve never allowed it!"
Hercules stepped forward, his shadow stretching long across the marble floor.
"I believe you’re all aware of a certain… secret mission my father once entrusted to me."
Zeus straightened in his throne, his voice now tinged with both fury—and something far darker.
"Boy… mind your words."
But Hercules didn’t stop.
"I was ordered to destroy the reincarnation of that being—and to bind his soul permanently. But… I failed."
Silence.
One by one, the gods who had voted for war lowered their gazes. Hands that had once risen proudly now fell with the weight of unspoken dread.
"From what I know, his last incarnation died around eighteen years ago," Hercules continued. "So he’s likely around that age by now."
"Still..." Artemis tried to regain control of the room, though her voice trembled slightly. "He wouldn’t be foolish enough to take on all the pantheons at once."
Hercules fixed her with a hard stare, his tone now cold—razor-sharp.
"Why not? He already did it once. And that time, he was alone. Now, he'll have anyone who stands against the invasion rallying behind him."
"But without his original body, he’d be nothing more than a mortal," Hermes countered—finally taking a clear stance for the first time.
His words fell heavy in the room. Then, he turned—pointing directly at Zeus, whose eyes were glowing faintly with silent lightning.
"When he destroyed the Jade Palace… and you, father, went to face him..."
His voice dropped, each syllable like a blow.
"You came back wounded. Defeated. Didn't you?"
Silence.
"And now… now he has the perfect chance to return. To take revenge. To claim the throne that was once denied him."
“Enough!” Hera roared, her face twisted with the fear that had begun to spread among the gods.
But Hercules no longer felt fear. What needed to be said—he would say. No matter the cost.
“Tell me, Father…” he pressed, eyes blazing with defiance, “Are you truly ready to risk it all? Ready to face him again?”
A pause.
“The one they call the Great Sage Equal to Heaven?”
The silence was absolute.
All of Olympus seemed to shudder. The columns vibrated. Hestia’s sacred fire flickered, as if it might vanish.
Then Zeus rose.
The ground quaked beneath his feet. Cracks split the marble floor at Hercules’s heels. The sheer force of divine energy pouring from Zeus made the very throne room tremble. Thunderbolts rained down, tearing through the temple, blasting the dome, fracturing statues and pillars as the King of the Gods advanced with fury.
Hercules trembled. Even with his strength, it was hard to hide the terror. Looking at his father, he felt like a child again—watching a hurricane descend, powerless and afraid.
“You’ve gone too far, boy,” Zeus growled, his voice the low roll of thunder barely restrained. “And make no mistake: the only reason I don’t smite you where you stand is because my blood runs through your veins.”
His eyes bore into Hercules’s like blades.
“Leave this hall. The decision is made. The war will proceed.”
“Zeus!” Hephaestus protested, rising with a horrified expression. “I… I take back my vote. We can’t—”
“This is no longer a matter of votes!” Zeus thundered, silencing all dissent. “It is my will that rules now!”
He turned back to Hercules.
“Go to Hebe. Make sure neither of you interfere. The gods will descend upon the Earth. It is our right—and our duty—to the beings who dwell in the heavens.”
“But—”
“Silence!” Zeus roared, and the echo of his voice rattled the very bones of the mountain.
“I do not fear the gods of other pantheons…” His eyes shifted briefly toward Poseidon, who swallowed hard.
“…and certainly not a damned stone monkey.”
Hercules clenched his fists but said nothing more. He turned, spine rigid, and walked out—never once looking back.
Hera stepped beside Zeus, whispering something no one could hear.
He didn’t answer her. His expression darkened, and in a voice meant for no one but himself, he muttered:
“We will go to war… for our land. Let him come—or any other. It won’t matter.”
End of Chapter.