The God of Underworld

Thunder crashed.

But it was not Zeus who summoned it.

It was Alcyoneus, the strongest of the Giants born of Gaia's spite—gripping the struggling form of Poseidon, god of the seas, and slamming him into the marble ground of Olympus with earth-shaking force.

CRACK.

Marble shattered beneath Poseidon's back, the sacred platform groaning beneath the impact.

The god of oceans coughed blood, trident knocked far from his grasp, his limbs twitching from the force of the blow.

"Is this all the God of the Seas has?" Alcyoneus sneered, his voice like a boulder grinding against another. "You're less than the tide I piss on the ground."

He raised Poseidon again and smashed him down, again—again—until cracks veined through the mountain, and golden ichor spilled across the sacred stone.

"D...Damn you!"

Poseidon roared in fury, water bursting from his hands in tidal waves, but Alcyoneus absorbed them, laughing, holding him down with terrifying ease.

"Useless!" Alcyoneus roared, "I am the greatest of giants! Not even the seas could stop my power!"

Elsewhere, in what remained of the divine throne room, Zeus was being torn apart.

Porphyrion, the King of Giants, the dark sun to Zeus' faded lightning, held the Father of the Gods by his beard and hurled him across the sky like a discarded doll.

Zeus hit the side of the mountain with a thunderous boom, breaking through a colonnade of pillars before tumbling into the dirt.

Porphyrion landed beside him with an effortless leap, the shadows of ruin and fire dancing across his massive, armor-plated form.

The heavens trembled with every step he took, and his eyes burned like twin suns twisted into madness.

"Pathetic." Porphyrion stared at him indifferently, "Gods speak of your victory against the Titan Cronus, but it seems tales of your strength has been greatly.... exaggerated."

Zeus tried to rise, his divine aura flickering weakly, electricity arcing in shallow bursts along his cracked skin.

But his breathing was ragged, his thunderbolt, once enough to bring Titans to their knees, lay forgotten at his side.

Porphyrion knelt, grabbed Zeus by the throat, and raised him high.

"You're the king?" he hissed, voice filled with scorn. "You are the ruler of the skies? Heh, in my eyes you're nothing. A relic. An old spark in a new world order. Just like how you replaced the Titans, we will replace the Olympians."

Zeus tried to respond, but blood choked him. His fingers twitched for a bolt that would not come.

"Look around," Porphyrion forcefully turned Zeus head towards the scene around Olympus. "This is what happened when you try to defy us."

Around them, the battlefield was painted in despair.

Gods fled, their shrieks echoing. Divine spirits burned, torn apart like paper by claws and teeth.

Temples crumbled, monuments fell.

The sacred groves were set ablaze with cursed fire. The golden domes of Olympus were cracked and blackened, its streets flooded with divine blood.

Ares was getting beaten up by the two giants, struggling just to defend himself.

Dionysus lay unconscious beneath a toppled statue, a giant laughing wildly while standing before him.

Athena still fought, but her movements slowed, shield shattered, spear broken at the haft.

The giants were winning. No—they had already won.

And in that moment, with Zeus gasping like a dying ember, Porphyrion raised his obsidian blade.

"This ends now," he said. "With your death, the world shall welcome the new order!"

Zeus tried to struggle, but was no match for Porphyrion's strength.

But, at that moment, before the blade could fall—

Porphyrion froze, his eyes widened in shock and fear.

The space was engulfed in silence, as if everything was swallowed by a vacuum. He felt a presence so massive, so ancient, that even the Giants who feared no gods felt it.

Porphyrion, slowly, tremblingly, raised his head to the sky.

A tremor passed through his titanic form, a reflex from the soul rather than the flesh.

He knew. Even if the presence was still far away, he knew that this battle was already over.

Nyx is coming.

The Primordial of Night. The Mother of Shadows. The Ancient Darkness older than the sky itself.

If she decided to intervene, not even the combined might of all giants would be enough to even put up a resistance.

She will tear them apart as easily as tearing a wet paper.

She wasn't hailed as the strongest being in the cosmos for nothing.

Porphyrion's fingers twitched around his sword.

Inside him, something primal, ancient, and buried deep, the presence of the "entity" from the outside, suddenly twitched.

Porphyrion took one step back.

Then another.

"Retreat!" he bellowed suddenly, voice edged with rage and uncertainty. "Back through the shadows! Retreat before that woman gets here!"

His command echoed like thunder.

The other giants, spread across Olympus, hesitated—still roaring, relishing on their victory.

"Now!" Porphyrion shouted.

They reluctantly obeyed.

One by one, two by two, the giants melted into the darkness, vanishing like ghosts at dawn.

Alcyoneus hurled Poseidon aside and faded into shadow.

Mimas and Pelorus vanished in mid-step.

Ephialtes and Otis, who had been cackling in the sky as they overwhelmed Artemis and Apollo, were dragged into the void by unseen hands.

And then, only Porphyrion remained.

He looked down at Zeus, then back at the approaching Nyx.

"You are lucky. But this won't happen again." he said coldly.

And disappeared.

*

*

A beat after Porphyrion and the giants vanished, Nyx descended like a silent comet.

Her feet did not touch the ground, and yet Olympus shook.

She was tall, her cloak darker than black, her eyes two galaxies swallowed by void. Her hair spilled behind her like ink bleeding across the sky.

Her gaze scanned around.

Not at the ruins.

Not at the fallen and injured gods.

But at something else. Something beyond them.

Zeus, coughing and broken, stared at her in awe. His heart thudded against the ribs he thought were crushed.

He didn't need to ask her name.

He knew.

The way mortals know silence after sound. The way fire knows darkness.

"…Lady Nyx," he whispered.

She turned her gaze to him at last. He felt no warmth, no malice. Only indifference. The vast, uncaring chill of space. The mother of dreams, sleep, death, and more ancient things.

"Thank you," Zeus said hoarsely. "Without you, we would've died."

She tilted her head slightly, as if puzzled.

"I have no need for thanks." She stated, "Helping you isn't my intention. Nor will this happen again."

Zeus shook his head, "Even so, I have to thank you. Your presence drove away those giants."

She looked out into the distance, far past the world, as if staring through layers of reality.

"Giants huh," she whispered. 'I can feel Hades' essence along with Gaia from them. That boy...what is he thinking procreating with that woman?'

Zeus tried to rise again, trembling. "...Lady Nyx, may I ask if you are willing to aid us?"

Nyx's gaze turned back to him, sharper than a blade.

"No. I care not for your kingdom," she said. "Or your thrones. Or your pride."

She turned, her form already fading into the darkness that birthed her.

"Do not expect even a shred of help from me."

And she was gone.

Just like that.

The sky closed behind her.

And with her, the pressure lifted. The weight of pre-creation retreated.

The gods were left amidst the silence of their shattered home, broken, bleeding, but… alive.

Olympus had survived.

Not through victory.

Not through strength.

But by the whim of the night.

And as Zeus lay among the rubble, staring up at the stars—he felt no triumph.

Only the cold truth that the world had changed. The old rules were no longer absolute.

Even gods could be prey.

And that fact made Zeus completely fall into despair.