I Am Zeus

The mountain roared as though it were alive.

Olympus shook from its roots to its peak, the stone screaming under the weight of gods and Primordials clashing. What had once been the shining heart of the Greek realm now twisted into a battlefield so savage it would never look the same again.

Zeus's storm split the skies open, rivers of lightning pouring down in endless torrents. The marble courtyards crumbled, statues shattered into dust, rivers boiled where thunder fell. Each strike was not just a weapon—it was the rewriting of the land itself.

Erebus's void pushed back, an ocean of shadow rolling over every crack of light. Where his darkness touched, reality bent, marble turning to ash, trees withering to dust, rivers bleeding black. His voice rolled across the battlefield, low and venomous.

"You blind yourselves with sparks, but all flames die in night!"

Zeus answered with no words—only action. He tore through the air, his fist blazing with the storm's full wrath, and when it collided with Erebus's chest, the void shattered in waves that cracked Olympus's very spine. Entire cliffs fell into the sea. Peaks splintered like glass.

And still, the fight raged.

Tiamat's five heads struck in fury, her roars drowning out thunder. One head vomited fire, rolling down the mountainside like molten rivers that swallowed shrines whole. Another spat ice, freezing rivers and shattering them into jagged shards that skewered gods and monsters alike. The venomous head sprayed Olympus's gardens, reducing them to hissing black pools. The thunder-head clashed with Zeus's storm, each roar collapsing clouds into explosions. And the screaming head never stopped—its wail cracked stone, burst eardrums, left minor gods bleeding from eyes and nose.

But the gods held.

Ares was at the front, his sword glowing like a red star, carving through shadows and brood alike. He moved like he was born for this chaos, flames leaping from his blade in arcs that split entire battalions of wraiths. His laughter echoed through Olympus, savage and unstoppable.

"Is this all the night has to offer? Weak!" he roared, his blade cleaving through a serpent three times his size.

Hermes blurred beside him, streaks of gold slashing through the battlefield faster than sight. He darted onto the backs of serpents, cutting wings before they could rise, whispering in Erebus's ears only to vanish before claws could strike. His illusions spread, confusing the Primordial's army until they struck at ghosts while Hermes slit their throats.

Apollo stood higher, his bow drawn so far it hummed like a lyre string about to snap. Each arrow left his fingers as a star—sunfire burning hotter than dawn itself. The sky turned into a rain of meteors, every shot splitting into dozens more, each one detonating against brood or shadow, painting the heavens gold.

Artemis moved in tandem, her arrows silver and sharp, each one following Apollo's fire like a second heartbeat. Where his flame scorched, her shafts pierced, finishing what he began. A serpent that ducked Apollo's blaze found Artemis's arrow in its skull. A shadow that slipped through his barrage was pinned by her silver light. Together, they were harmony—sun and moon, fire and silence.

Below them, Gaia struck with the fury of the world itself. Roots thicker than towers tore through the battlefield, splitting the ground and binding serpents in crushing coils. Her hands lifted and mountains rose in answer, blocking the brood, reshaping Olympus into walls and traps. Each step she took remade the land.

Rhea's Titan light blazed beside her, golden spires erupting into the sky, detonating in bursts that tore holes in Tiamat's wings. Her voice rang like a hymn, commanding even as she fought, each word driving the younger gods forward.

"Olympus does not bow!"

Oceanus surged from the tide, his wave so vast it blanketed the horizon. His trident clashed with Tiamat's heads, each strike shaking the sea. He bound her with currents like chains, each one dragging, twisting, pulling her heads apart. She shrieked in fury, but Oceanus roared back, his body a storming sea made flesh.

And in the center, Themis glowed. Her scales of law bent Erebus's darkness, forcing his void to unravel piece by piece. Each time his shadows surged, they snapped like broken ropes against her authority. Her calm voice rang steady, even as the mountain cracked under her feet.

"You are bound, shadow. Even nothing must obey."

Erebus roared, his form swelling into a towering wound of black, trying to smother her in endless dark. But Athena was already there.

Her spear shone with Zeus's storm, every thrust a command, every strike piercing through the chaos. She held the line, weaving order into the madness. When a serpent broke through, she cut it down herself. When the ranks faltered, her voice steadied them. She was the mind of Olympus, the blade that cut where weakness showed.

"Push forward! Together!" she cried, and the line moved, unyielding.

Zeus struck again, his storm exploding across the battlefield. He drove Erebus back, his fists now weapons of the sky itself. Each punch was thunder, each step lightning, each word silence broken by fury. His storm no longer tore only at the shadows—it tore at Olympus itself. Peaks shattered. Valleys split open. Lakes boiled dry.

The landscape was changing.

Every clash left scars too deep to heal. Mountains cracked, rivers shifted, valleys collapsed into chasms. The perfect marble halls of Olympus fell, replaced by jagged cliffs and rivers of molten stone. The mountain itself was no longer the same Olympus it had been—it was becoming a battlefield carved by gods and Primordials alike.

Tiamat shrieked again, her heads writhing. One struck for Athena, jaws wide. But Ares leapt into its mouth, his blade burning, splitting its skull from the inside. Blood sprayed across the field as he burst free, roaring with laughter.

"More!" he bellowed, drenched in gore. "Give me more!"

Apollo and Artemis loosed together, twin lights spiraling into Tiamat's central head. The blast lit the skies brighter than day, tearing scales apart. Oceanus's wave crashed into the wound, Rhea's spires detonating within it. Tiamat screamed, staggering back as her brood faltered.

Erebus's shadows surged again, striking for Themis. But Hermes darted through, slicing the tendrils apart, his voice mocking. "Missed again, old man!"

Athena thrust her spear through the gap he opened, her strike piercing Erebus's chest. Lightning followed it, Zeus's storm amplifying her thrust until the void itself cracked, fragments of shadow scattering like glass.

Zeus roared, his voice thunder. "This is Olympus!"

His storm erupted, blanketing the battlefield in light so bright it split the skies. Erebus staggered, Tiamat shrieked, the brood wailed. The mountain split down its center, rivers redirected, forests burned and regrew in seconds under Gaia's desperate effort to stabilize the land.

The battlefield was no longer Olympus—it was something new. A scarred land of peaks split by chasms, seas boiling against mountains, skies cracked with endless storm.

And in that chaos, gods and Primordials clashed, neither yielding, each strike a wound not just to each other, but to the world itself.

The first true battle of the Primordial War had ended Olympus as it was known.

And what rose in its place was a scar that would never heal.

A scar the world would remember forever.