I Am Zeus
Chapter 65: Then strike

Chapter 65: Then strike

A soft breeze rolled through the upper balcony, brushing against the marble like a quiet breath. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet—its light spilled halfway over the edge of the spires, casting long golden streaks across the floor.

Zeus stood at the edge of the balcony with his hands behind his back. The air was still, but something in the tension of his shoulders told a different story. His dark cloak swayed faintly around his boots, untouched by wind.

Behind him, Metis stirred.

She blinked, still wrapped in sheets, the scent of herbs and lavender thick in the morning. She sat up slowly and looked toward him.

"You’re up early," she murmured.

Zeus didn’t turn. "Couldn’t sleep."

There was silence for a moment. The kind that stretches without needing to be filled.

Metis shifted to the edge of the bed, wrapping the light robe around her bare shoulders. Her voice was soft but knowing. "What are you thinking?"

Zeus didn’t answer at first. His eyes were locked on the vast horizon, where Olympus towered over all creation, regal and silent. Below, the courtyards slowly came to life—priests lighting incense, dryads stretching near the fountains, heralds preparing their scrolls for the day’s decrees.

Finally, he spoke.

"I’m thinking about what I’m about to do."

Metis watched him for a long second, then nodded once.

She already knew.

He turned toward her now, and though his expression was calm, his eyes held that storm glow again. Quiet thunder. Wrath not yet spoken.

"They tried to kill you," he said. "It doesn’t matter if they failed. If I let it slide, they’ll only grow bolder. Next time, they’ll succeed."

Metis stood, bare feet brushing the cold marble. She didn’t argue. "Good."

Zeus studied her.

"You’re not going to tell me to be cautious?"

"No," she said simply. "You’ve already chosen. Besides... they made their move first."

Her eyes flicked toward the balcony, toward the mountain stretched below.

"Make them regret it."

He stepped forward, leaned in slightly, and pressed his forehead gently against hers—just for a moment. Then, with a breath, he vanished.

A single flash of lightning cracked across Olympus, streaking through the skies like a god’s blade. The air sizzled. Every bird in the high branches scattered.

And then, silence.

Far below, past the eastern towers and gilded halls, the wing of Hera’s private court stood quiet. Too quiet.

Inside, the conspirators had gathered again.

Kratos sat upon a carved basalt throne, one arm resting lazily on the armrest, the other gripping the pommel of the massive black axe that leaned against his side. His dark bronze skin shimmered faintly in the torchlight, his gaze unreadable.

To his left, Bia knelt—stoic, motionless. To his right, Phobos leaned against a broken pillar, idly flipping a blade between his fingers. He hummed a low, tuneless sound.

Icelus drifted along the back of the chamber, his white robes fluttering behind him. The dream mist clung to his body like a second skin, and the symbols he’d drawn in the air still hung there, flickering.

The scent of blood still clung to the air from the last attempt.

"We failed," Kratos said simply, voice flat like cold steel.

"But not for long," Phobos muttered, cracking his neck. "She won’t stay hidden forever. Eventually, she’ll be exposed again."

Bia’s gaze didn’t waver. "The longer she breathes, the more dangerous she becomes."

"Dreams don’t die," Icelus whispered to no one in particular. "But we can make them forget how to wake."

That was when the doors cracked open.

Not with ceremony.

Not with noise.

Just... opened.

And the air in the room dropped by several degrees.

They all turned.

And saw him.

Zeus stepped inside, lightning flickering beneath the surface of his skin. His cloak had changed—he wore the black raiment of war, etched in gold and thunder, no crown on his brow, just stormlight in his eyes.

Phobos straightened. "Zeus. We weren’t expecting—"

"Silence," Zeus said.

The word rolled like thunder.

Phobos flinched, and the dagger in his hand melted into molten slag.

Zeus’s gaze didn’t move from Kratos.

"You knew what you were doing," he said quietly. "You knew she was alone. You knew I was in Asgard. And you thought you could move while I wasn’t looking."

Kratos rose slowly, his massive form towering even over Zeus. "We serve Olympus. Not just your desires. Metis is—"

"You tried to kill the mother of Olympus’s future. And you dare speak to me of loyalty?"

Kratos said nothing.

The hall flickered. The torches dimmed. Outside, the skies began to churn.

Icelus floated closer, dream-smoke thickening. "This isn’t wise, my king. Shadows strike from within. Always have. Always will."

Zeus stepped forward.

"You think you know shadows? You think you can walk in them without me seeing you?"

He raised his hand.

And the storm answered.

A crack of thunder split the roof. Lightning shot through the ceiling like a spear of wrath, striking the marble floor in front of them. The stone shattered—molten heat spilled across the cracks.

Bia was already moving—her blade out, eyes locked—but Zeus didn’t even look her way.

He flicked his fingers.

And she dropped.

A bolt pierced her shoulder, and the shockwave slammed her against the far wall.

Phobos snarled, trying to vanish into the shadows—but they wouldn’t take him. Zeus had sealed them.

He tried to run.

He made it two steps.

Lightning coiled around his ankle, dragged him back, and slammed him face-first into the floor.

Zeus turned to Icelus next.

The dream-weaver didn’t move. He merely stared, trembling.

"I... saw this," he whispered. "But I thought it was a dream..."

"No," Zeus said. "It was a warning."

The air twisted—then a sudden flash, and Icelus was gone. Banished. Stripped of his power. Sent into the void between dream and death, where even gods fear to linger.

Only Kratos stood now, motionless.

Zeus walked up to him, slow, eyes level.

"I trusted you."

Kratos’s jaw clenched. "I serve Hera."

"You serve Olympus," Zeus said coldly. "And Olympus has made its choice."

He raised his hand one last time.

But Kratos didn’t flinch.

Instead, he lowered his gaze. "Then strike."

Zeus looked at him for a moment longer... then turned.

"I don’t need to," he said, his voice like rain over stone. "You’re already broken."

The air surged again.

And Zeus vanished in a flash of lightning—leaving scorched marble, stunned silence, and a storm that would not calm for days.

Back in the high balcony chamber, Metis stood in the doorway, watching the clouds churn in the distance. Her hands were folded, calm, quiet.

She knew.

He had done what needed to be done.

And Olympus... would remember.