Imp to Demon King: A Journey of Conquest
Chapter 459: The Fall of Olympus 6

Chapter 459: The Fall of Olympus 6

For a moment, the battlefield fell silent except for the distant sounds of the Hecatoncheires battling the three strongest Olympians. Achilles stood perfectly still, Jörmungandr’s Kiss held loosely in his grip, its drill tip still stained with the ichor of war gods.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady as granite. "I remember the pain, yes. The confusion of a wound that shouldn’t have been possible piercing my protected flesh." He began to walk toward Apollo, each step measured and deliberate. "But most of all, I remember the lesson."

Apollo nocked an arrow of pure sunlight, its radiance painful to look at directly. "And what lesson was that, little hero?"

"That gods," Achilles said, his spear beginning to spin lazily in his hands, "are just bullies with better weapons."

The Sun God’s first arrow flew faster than thought itself, but this wasn’t just guided by divine will—it was a concentrated solar flare given form, carrying enough energy to punch through the earth’s core. The very air ignited around its passage, leaving a trail of superheated plasma in its wake.

Achilles tilted his head slightly to the left, but the arrow’s proximity was so intense that his hair caught fire from the radiant heat.

"Better," Achilles admitted, patting out the flames, "but still too slow."

Apollo’s perfect expression flickered, but he wasn’t done. "Let’s see you dodge this!" He drew three arrows simultaneously, each one blazing with different aspects of solar power—one contained a solar wind that could strip atmospheres, another held the crushing gravitational force of stellar cores, and the third burned with the nuclear fusion of newborn stars.

All three flew at once, their combined energy output equivalent to a supernova concentrated into arrow form. The marble beneath them began to melt from the radiant heat alone.

Achilles stomped forward, defying the crackling arrows. "You’ve been shooting the same way since the dawn of time. Perfect technique, flawless form, guided by divine calculation. But you know what you’ve never had to account for?"

He suddenly accelerated, his agility turning him into a blur of motion that weaved between Apollo’s frantically fired arrows. Each shot was perfect by every measurable standard, but Achilles moved with something beyond technique—he moved with freedom.

"Chaos," Achilles concluded, appearing directly in Apollo’s personal space. Jörmungandr’s Kiss spun like a tornado, its Reality Rend ability activating as the drill tip sought divine flesh.

Apollo barely managed to interpose his bow, the crystallised sunlight meeting the cursed spear in a shower of golden sparks. The impact sent shockwaves through both weapons, but where Apollo’s perfect form absorbed the energy, Achilles rolled with the momentum and used it to fuel his next attack.

"You fight like every battle is a performance," Achilles observed, his spear work becoming a flowing dance of strikes and feints. "Every move calculated for maximum dramatic effect. But real combat isn’t art, Apollo—it’s survival."

Apollo snarled, his supercharged form blazing even brighter as he tapped deeper into his accumulated solar reserves. "I am the god of archery, music, poetry, and prophecy! I have absorbed the power of a thousand suns and seen your death in a million visions!" Solar energy coursed through his divine form like liquid fire, his bow now radiating heat that turned sand to glass beneath his feet.

"Then you know how this ends," Achilles replied, his spear finding its mark despite the blinding radiance.

The drill tip bit into Apollo’s shoulder, but this time, the god. The Reality Rend ability still triggered, creating phantom wounds across his body, but his accumulated solar power began healing them almost as fast as they appeared.

"You see?" Apollo laughed, golden ichor sealing his wounds with crystallised sunlight. "I told you I had time to prepare! Solar regeneration, mortal—something your little spear trick can’t overcome when I have the power of stellar cores flowing through my veins!"

"Evolution," Achilles said simply. "Something you immortals forgot was possible."

Apollo’s wounded form blazed brighter, his solar radiance becoming so intense that the very air began to burn. "If I cannot defeat you with skill, then I’ll simply overwhelm you with raw power!"

The Sun God’s true form began to manifest—not the beautiful youth with golden hair, but the solar deity in all his terrible glory. Heat that could melt adamantine radiated from his body, and his bow became a blade of compressed starfire that left trails of plasma in the air.

"Behold the power that drives back the darkness!" Apollo roared, his solar flare attack turning the entire battlefield into a miniature sun. "Let us see how your mortal flesh handles the temperature of stellar cores!"

The attack was overwhelming, absolute—the kind of divine power that had ended pantheons and reshaped continents. Any mortal should have been vaporised instantly.

Achilles stood in the center of the solar storm, Styx’s water gushing from his pores only to vaporise into thick mist, and his skin to burn like dried wood.

"You know," His spear spun slowly as he approached the shocked Sun God, his wounded skin healing, then burning again in a maddening cycle. "There’s something you never understood about the Styx."

Apollo’s solar flames flickered with his confusion. "The river of the underworld? What does that have to do with—"

"It doesn’t just make you invulnerable to physical harm," Achilles continued, his form casting no shadow in Apollo’s blazing light. "It makes you invulnerable to anything that comes from outside your will. And your little light show?" He smiled, that same confident grin that had once driven his enemies to despair on the plains of Troy. "That’s definitely outside my will."

The realisation hit Apollo like a physical blow. His perfect features twisted with something no god should ever feel—genuine fear.

"No," he whispered, backing away as Achilles advanced through his useless solar storm. "You’re mortal. You’re supposed to bow before divine might. You’re supposed to—"

"Die?" Achilles asked, his spear now spinning fast enough to create a whirlwind of displaced air. "Not again, not from your hand."