Theo ended the call without another word. For a few long seconds he simply stood there, still in formation among the rows of bronze-armored demigods. His spear rested grounded against the marble, chin lifted in the same rigid posture every other obedient soldier around him held.

  The illusion of perfection. He knew how to carry it well, even when everything inside felt jagged and utterly unbearable.

  'How much karma and divinity did he waste just to create this area,' Theo thought, and all for a single treasure. Tension coiled in his chest like wire pulled too tight. What if Hermes already possessed the weapon? What if the revolution he had waited so long to ignite failed before it even began, snuffed out in silence?

  The immortal had spoken far too calmly. That kind of certainty unnerved him more than any shouted threat ever could and those words of wastefull kinship.

  Find Peter...

  He rolled his shoulders once. The kid was useless in so many ways, too naive for his own good, too naive for the immortal's good, always charging ahead with that wide-eyed trust.

  'He should be below in the dungeons.'

  Theo stepped out of formation and walked forward. No one stopped him. In a city swollen with newly bred demigods and freshly imported divine troops, half-blood ranks shifted constantly, errands, rotations, inspections.

  One more moving piece with the same yellow hair and eyes blended seamlessly into the background noise of controlled chaos. He kept his head slightly lowered as he walked toward the inner palace.

  During his time here, serving as an avatar, as little more than a slave, the Olympian hierarchy had become easy to navigate once you understood its unspoken rules, the quiet currents of power.

  True bloods, those closest to the original gods in lineage, claimed authority at the upper terraces and administrative towers. Half-bloods filled the barracks, guard posts, and outer garrisons. Avatars and lesser vessels handled the errands no one important wanted traced back to their name or their hands.

  Theo had spent years memorizing that ladder. That morning he had stolen an identification crest from a high-ranking avatar in a crowded hallway, a simple shoulder collision, a quick slip of fingers beneath layered leather. Nothing dramatic. The crest now hung at his belt, more shinny than his own.

  He passed through the first checkpoint without issue. A bored guard glanced at the crest, then at Theo's face. "Rotation?"

  Theo nodded once. "Interior sweep."

  The guard grunted and waved him through. Theo suppressed a bitter smile. The gods might be brilliant in myth, but their children grew sloppy when they felt untouchable, arrogant in their assumed safety.

  That had been before he witnessed how they died, with a single flick from the immortal's hand. He had lost hope then. But no, all he had needed was patience. And that patience had finally been rewarded. During the time when he and the immortal had been alone, those words had come. Those very words.

  "Gods can bleed. Gods can die. You and I will put them down for good."

  The immortal had whispered them. And Theo believed it. He had to. Those words had reignited the hope he thought long extinguished, a spark in dead ash.

  Inside, the palace corridors gleamed with white stone veined in gold. Light panels floated overhead, powered by Hephaestus's rune technology.

  Two half-blood demigods blocked the stairwell. Broad-shouldered and yellow-haired bastards in that unnaturally uniform Olympian way, they wore bronze cuirasses polished to mirror shine. The taller one eyed Theo's crest.

  "You're not assigned to this sector," he said.

  Theo stopped at a comfortable distance. "Interior sweep."

  The second demigod snorted. "Wait… you look new."

  "Rotation changes daily. You already know the struggle here."

  "Yeah, we understand, but sweeps are prohibited down here. Father's orders."

  Theo felt the tension thicken. He kept his voice even. "You want to verify? Go ahead."

  The taller one stepped closer, inspecting Theo's face with open suspicion. "You half-mittens always try to sneak into places you don't belong."

  Theo's jaw tightened. His bruised knuckle from the earlier jostle throbbed faintly under the skin.

  He had expected suspicion. He had not expected the immediate, casual disdain. "Come on, don't be like that. We follow orders, just like you guys," Theo said.

  "Haha… you follow scraps," the second demigod replied lazily. "Half-bloods like us give orders, reign in peace. You just hope to be noticed."

  Theo knew, he had to stay silent here, stay collected, but his yellow eyes burned golden and something in Theo snapped.

  'they can bleed.' he thought.

  "Noticed?" he echoed softly. "You think you're special because your father bothered to visit your mother twice?"

  The taller demigod's expression hardened. "What did you say?"

  Theo stepped forward, anger flaring before he could contain it. "You're not gods. You're accidents. We all are."

  The insult landed like a thrown spear. He himself didn't know why he said it, but he said it and it felt good, too good.

  The taller demigod shoved him backward. "Watch your mouth."

  Theo knew what was too come, so he shoved back.

  The stairwell filled with the metallic scrape of armor as the second demigod stepped in. A fist swung. Theo ducked and drove his elbow upward into ribs. The impact reverberated up his arm. Pain exploded across his cheek as a counterpunch connected. His left ear rang sharp and insistent.

  He staggered, tasted copper.

  The fight escalated fast, too fast. A fist grazed his temple. He retaliated with a clean, sharp hook across the second demigod's jaw. Bone cracked. The taller one roared and tackled him. They slammed against the stone wall.

  Theo felt something stir inside him, a subtle warmth, controlled and precise.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Aron's blessing. Not overwhelming like the heralds he chose. Not flashy even. Just enough, enough to kick some Olympian ass.

  He shifted his weight at the exact moment the taller demigod tried to overpower him. The movement was too precise for someone of his supposed rank. He twisted free, used leverage instead of brute strength, and drove the demigod face-first into the steps.

  The half-blood gasped.

  Theo nearly followed through with a finishing strike. Nearly.

  "Enough."

  The word carried weight.

  Three figures descended from above, radiating an aura unlike anything he had felt until now, true bloods. Their armor was darker, more ornate. Their presence alone quieted the air.

  The taller demigod scrambled to his knees.

  Theo stepped back immediately and lowered his gaze.

  One of the true bloods studied the scene. His eyes lingered on Theo longer than necessary.

  "You," he said.

  Theo bowed slightly. "Sir."

  "You nearly overpowered him."

  Theo kept his breathing steady. "I simply reacted, sir. Nothing more."

  The true blood's lips twitched faintly. "You reacted well then."

  "Sir, he is nothing but a wea—" The injured half-blood started to protest, but a sharp look from the true blood silenced him.

  "Return to your post," the true blood ordered the two demigods.

  They obeyed instantly. They had to. That was the power of blood and rank. The stairwell emptied. Only Theo and the three true bloods remained.

  The one in front stepped closer. His features were sharp and composed. His hair was not the common blond but a darker gold. His eyes were calculating.

  "Name."

  "Theo."

  "Rank."

  "High avatar auxiliary."

  The true blood tilted his head slightly. "Auxiliaries don't move like that, son."

  Theo said nothing.

  The man's gaze sharpened. "I saw something," he murmured. "A hint of something more."

  Theo's spine stiffened.

  "A talent," the true blood finished. "Something raw. Undisciplined right now. But still there."

  Theo bowed deeper. "I train when I can sure."

  "Under whose authority?"

  Theo hesitated just enough to seem honest. "My own."

  The true blood studied him another moment. "Hmmm...Interesting."

  He reached out, brushed a finger across Theo's stolen crest. A faint rune pulsed once—tagged. "You may proceed. But this crest will be reviewed later. Don't wander too freely."

  Theo did not question it. He descended the stairs calmly, though his heart hammered against his ribs and his ear still rang. Luck, or the immortal's blessing—or now a hook waiting to pull him back when he least expected it.

  The detention level was colder. Stone walls. Narrow corridors. No decorative gold. Just iron bars and rune locks humming with containment spells. Theo followed the faint scent of blood and rot. Most of the figures hanging in chains were already dead. Only a few clung to their last breaths. And among them, he found him. Finally.

  "Peter!"

  For a moment he stopped breathing.

  Peter hung suspended by rune-forged shackles that pinned his wrists and ankles apart. His shirt had been torn away. Bruises bloomed dark across his ribs. One shoulder sat wrong in its socket. Bone pressed visibly against skin at his left forearm.

  His head hung forward.

  Theo's first instinct was anger.

  "…Idiot," he muttered, the disdain not directed at Peter but at those responsible.

  He stepped closer.

  "Hey, Peter."

  The young herald's eyes fluttered open slowly. They were still clear.

  Theo swallowed.

  "You look in great shape," he muttered, taking in the many wounds. "They do give special attention to heralds."

  Peter's lips twitched weakly into a simple smile. "I've had worse."

  Theo almost laughed. Almost. "Little herald is getting delusional. I see."

  Peter winced as he tried to shift. He had hoped to see golden hair instead of yellow, but even this was more than he had dared wish for. "He came?"

  "He's coming."

  Peter exhaled shakily. Relief flickered across his face.

  Theo leaned closer. "Next time you volunteer for martyrdom, consult someone first."

  Peter tried to smile. It faltered. "Didn't think… there'd be a next time."

  Theo wanted to scold him, to berate him. He had known this day would come. It always happened when the weak tried to be strong, especially naive and kind men like Peter. He saw the tremor in Peter's hands.

  And something tightened in his chest. He hated martyrs. They made him remember himself too clearly.

  "Hang on," Theo said quietly. "We'll get you out."

  Peter's eyes suddenly sharpened.

  "Theo…"

  Theo followed his gaze.

  A shift in the air.

  Divinity.

  Peter's pupils flared faintly with light. His remaining strength surged for a brief, desperate second. Theo felt something brush over him, soft, almost invisible. A rush of divinity from Peter himself—an old herald trick. Neglect glamour, not true invisibility.

  His body turned invisible.

  Peter's voice was barely a whisper. "Don't… move."

  Theo froze.

  The corridor temperature rose. Footsteps approached. The density of divinity was much higher, much more than half-bloods, much more than even true bloods. Which could only mean one thing.

  Hermes?

  Theo thought as he became fully invisible.

  Hermes entered without spectacle. No thunder. No grand explosion. Just the sheer presence of existence. Pure, distilled divinity radiated from him—not diluted demigod aura, not borrowed power.

  God.

  He walked slowly toward Peter's suspended body, shining yellow hair immaculate, eyes bright and unblinking.

  "You're stubborn," Hermes said conversationally.

  He raised one hand. Light poured from his palm into Peter's broken shoulder. Bone slid back into place with a wet, sickening sound.

  Peter gasped as the pain reversed, then immediately returned as Hermes twisted the healed joint sharply out of alignment again.

  "Aaaaaaa!!!" Peter huffed, the faint warmth of healing stolen away once more as the scream tore through the chamber.

  Theo's nails dug into his palms. He heard it all but controlled himself. His body shook from the presence alone—nothing but fear.

  "You see," Hermes continued mildly, "I lost my treasure because of you."

  He healed Peter's ribs. Then drove his fist into them.

  Crack.

  Hermes paused. Instead of repeating, he pressed a glowing rune needle against Peter's temple—probing for memories, for karma threads, searching the favor the immortal had granted.

  Peter convulsed, teeth grinding.

  "What did you sacrifice," Hermes asked softly, "to gain the immortal's favor? Tell me…"

  Peter's jaw clenched.

  Blood spilled from his mouth.

  "I asked you something."

  The needle pulsed deeper. Peter's eyes rolled back for a heartbeat.

  "…noth…ing."

  Hermes tilted his head. "Nothing?"

  Peter gazed back at the god in his truest form—eyes shining, body glowing. It was rare and horrifying to see such power up close, but Peter just spat.

  The saliva evaporated inches from Hermes's face.

  Hermes smiled thinly.

  "You're lying."

  He leaned closer.

  "When I find my daughter," he murmured, voice dipping into something colder, "the one born with talent that skipped me in inheritance… when I hold her by the throat…"

  Peter's breathing hitched.

  "You will tell me where she is," Hermes continued. "And I might consider letting you live."

  Peter's eyes flared defiance through tears.

  "Never…"

  Hermes's expression did not change. He withdrew the needle. Then slowly drove his hand through Peter's abdomen.

  Not enough to kill. Just enough.

  Peter bit his lip until it bled, trying not to scream, trying not to satisfy the sadist before him. He held it, held it long, but he could not.

  He screamed.

  Theo's ear still rang from the fight, copper taste thick on his tongue. The fire inside him blazed, but he needed to control it, to control himself. It was not time for emotions, but he could not handle it any longer. He stepped backward, unable to endure another second.

  He ran. Down the corridor. Out into the hall. Then turned sharply and sprinted back.

  He burst into the cell chamber and dropped to one knee.

  "God among gods, Hermes!"

  Hermes paused mid-torture.

  Theo bowed deeply, forehead nearly touching stone. "There is an emergency," he said steadily.

  Hermes did not look at him at first. "What kind of emergency justifies interrupting me?"

  Theo kept his face hidden. "High divinity detected at the shore of the city," he said. "Strong. Very strong."

  A long silence. Then Hermes laughed, soft, delighted, as though his eyes knew more than simple mortals could ever comprehend.

  "Oh?"

  Theo felt the air shift.

  "So," Hermes murmured, withdrawing his hand from Peter's body and letting him collapse back against the shackles, "the immortal has come."

  Glee lit his eyes.

  He turned toward the exit.

  "You're fortunate," he told Peter casually. "I'll finish this later."

  And just like that, Hermes vanished. The pressure evaporated.

  Theo stayed kneeling until his heartbeat stopped screaming in his ears. Then he rose and rushed to Peter's side.

  Peter's body trembled violently.

  Theo grabbed his shoulders carefully.

  "Come on, little herald. Stay with me."

  Peter blinked through tears. "Is he…?"

  "He's gone."

  Peter sagged slightly.

  Theo swallowed hard.

  "Don't worry, this hell will be shunned. The tyranny as well. He's here," Theo whispered. "Your lord. So hang on. The era of gods will drown soon enough."

  Peter tried to smile again. It almost worked.

  Theo looked at the broken boy, then toward the palace corridors. His hands were shaking, shaking hard, but he clenched them into fists.

  "Just a little longer," he murmured.

  *****

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