The Nameless Heir
Chapter 72: Son Of Zeus

Chapter 72: Son Of Zeus

"By what right do you wield the weapon of Kronos—a god?" Hermes asked, his voice unsteady—cracking beneath the weight of disbelief.

The world held its breath around Kael. Even the clouds stopped drifting, like time itself had stopped.

For the first time, Hermes didn’t move.

He staggered back a step—eyes wide, breath caught, something pressing hard into his chest. Cold. Dense. Too heavy to be natural.

It felt alive.

Something deep inside him whispered—Run. But his pride kept him frozen, chained to the moment by a god’s refusal to bend to a demigod.

"The moment I plunged my sword into his chest..."

He raised the weapon—slowly—letting it roll once across his palm before closing his fingers tight around the hilt.

It spun in his grip. Smooth. Light. Like it wasn’t just ready to be used... but eager.

The air shifted—just slightly. A sharp hum followed—thin, high, unnatural.

The blade tore through the air, clean and fast, like it had done this a thousand times before.

Kael’s voice came low. Cold.

"You spoke of chaining my mother..."

Chains began to coil around the scythe, slow and tight, as if responding to his words.

"Let’s see how your mother reacts—when she sees her son sent back in pieces."

Using the chain, Kael started to spin the scythe.

The blade circled to his side like a wheel sharpened for death, each rotation flashing light off its edge as if it were hunting something.

Then he threw it above him—high into the air.

When it reached its peak, Kael yanked the chain, bringing it down.

The weapon snapped downward—fast, precise—the sharp end aimed straight for Hermes.

He froze—too shocked to move.

But instinct kicked in.

Hermes reacted just in time, raising his staff to block. Metal clashed with a crack of force.

Kael yanked the chain, hard. The scythe snapped back toward him, steel clattering as it slapped into his palm.

A low hum vibrated up his arm. The metal shimmered—warping midair, shrinking down into something tighter, sharper... like it remembered a different shape. One meant to kill.

A sleeker version of itself, built for control, not reach. A reaper’s fang, now compact enough to control mid-air with deadly precision.

Without missing a beat, Kael swung the chain again.

The blade spun wide around him, picking up speed—each pass sharper, tighter, more dangerous.

The wind didn’t just howl—it ripped at the edges of his coat, dragged at his stance. The chain followed, uncoiling farther than it should have... like it wasn’t just obeying him anymore.

Then—he struck.

Kael lashed the chain toward Hermes like a whip.

Hermes twisted in midair, spine coiling as the iron links sliced past him—close. Too close. But he didn’t flinch.

His staff shot out in a blur, catching the chain and smacking it to the side with a metallic thud. The impact redirected its momentum sharply, forcing the weapon to spin wide and off course.

Kael’s stance faltered.

His center was open—and Hermes saw it.

The god vanished from sight—then reappeared in front of Kael, closing the gap in an instant.

His staff rose high, then came down fast—a brutal vertical strike, aimed straight at Kael’s chest.

But Kael saw it coming.

He pulled the chain inward—tight—raising it just in time to intercept the blow. The staff slammed into the chain, but Kael didn’t stop there. He twisted his wrist. The chain snapped tight around Hermes’s staff, coiling like a serpent ready to strike.

Locked.

Kael didn’t wait. He lunged—ripping the weapon toward him—and drove his knee into Hermes’s gut with a savage thud.

Hermes choked. His breath snagged in his throat—eyes wide, body buckling midair like something had cut him loose from the inside.

Before Hermes could recover, Kael yanked the chain again. The scythe shot back toward him, and as it flew, its form expanded—regrowing to its full, menacing size.

Kael’s fingers twitched—subtle, sharp. The scythe snapped into his palm mid-spin, steel slapping against his palm. He didn’t wait.

In a single, brutal motion, Kael brought it down—fast and savage—the blade carving through the air with a shriek, tearing across Hermes’s shoulder like the sky itself had been ripped open.

But then he turned to light.

Hermes vanished in a flash of blinding light, reappearing far across the sky. His shoulders heaving, smoke rising from the wound across his body as divine flesh struggled to put itself back together, like even his regeneration was beginning to fail.

"That blade..."

The words barely left his mouth.

Hermes staggered, clutching his shoulder, his voice cracking under the weight of confusion.

"It’s messing with my healing... how?"

His eyes narrowed, disbelief crawling across his face.

"How can someone use Kronos’s blade’s ability?"

His voice dropped, confused—almost afraid.

"No one else is supposed to be able to wield it... not even the gods."

He shook his head, breath ragged.

"Even in Father’s hand, it was nothing more than a bronze blade... just a useless relic. A weapon with no power."

He spun the scythe in reverse, the blade humming with quiet menace.

"It doesn’t belong to him anymore," Kael said calmly. "Because I gave it purpose."

He paused—eyes locked on Hermes.

"Its new name is God Slayer."

"Let’s see you block this."

He rose higher into the sky. Shadows surged around the scythe, coiling like smoke with a mind of its own.

Kael gripped it with both hands—and swung.

Each strike came with brutal intent. The blade tore through the air again and again—every swing releasing a dark wave of energy that rippled out like a slash of black fire.

It wasn’t just pressure. It was power—visible, alive, and violent.

The energy looked like curved blades of darkness—each one flying forward in wide arcs, tearing across the sky as if trying to cut the clouds themselves.

Then, on the last—

Kael drew the scythe back, shadows coiling tight around his arms, black energy spiraling along the blade’s edge. The weapon began to glow faintly—its form expanding, as if the scythe was feeding on his rage.

The blade pulsed once.

Then again.

And with it—grew.

A massive, phantom arc of shadow energy formed along the edge—twice its size, then triple. It shimmered like ghostfire, humming with screaming souls and dripping with a deathlight that made the world flinch. The kind of energy that didn’t just kill flesh... it silenced existence.

He charged it with everything—power, rage, purpose—

And brought it down.

Hard.

The final swing unleashed a colossal crescent of black energy—like a guillotine made of shadows—ripping through the sky toward Hermes with all the wrath of a god.

Hermes raised his staff—just in time.

The first strike came fast.

He didn’t flinch.

His staff snapped to the side, knocking the energy away with a burst of divine force. The second followed instantly—but Hermes spun, catching it on the edge of his weapon and twisting his body with the blow, letting it roll past him harmlessly.

The third came low and wide.

He stepped into it—slammed his staff downward, the wave scattering like dust on stone.

The final blow didn’t make a sound.

Just pressure—heavy and invisible—the kind that crushed the air before it ever reached bone.

He couldn’t dodge. Couldn’t deflect. Not this time.

Hermes braced himself, and he raised his staff and poured everything into it—divine light flaring down the length of the weapon as he summoned the full force of his will.

And then it hit.

The impact cracked the sky.

Hermes dropped like a comet, trailing sparks and golden residue.

His body hit the ground hard enough to rupture it. Cracks tore outward. Stone and dust burst upward in a shockwave of violent light.

Kael landed seconds after, knees bent, his boots slamming down hard as the earth spiderwebbed beneath him.

Ahead, Hermes lay crumpled in a smoking crater—his arms twitching, blood thick in his breath.

Still... the god moved. Bearly hanging on to life.

Slowly, he reached one trembling hand toward the sky.

Above, the clouds twisted.

Then—light split the sky in two.

A massive bolt of golden lightning tore down through the heavens and struck him where he lay. The impact shook the earth.

Smoke exploded outward, thick and blinding, swallowing the crater whole.

For a moment—nothing.

Then, with a single flap of wings—

The smoke scattered like ash in the wind... and Hermes emerged.

His body was wrapped in gold—radiant, molten, almost too bright to look at.

Each plate shimmered as it formed, spreading over him like fire poured from a forge. It didn’t look crafted. It looked willed into shape.

From his back, wings tore free with a crack—wide and jagged, shaped like candle flames stretched by the wind.

They glowed with a pale, yellow heat that made the air feel heavier... like something holy had just stepped into the world.

That light didn’t comfort. It made the air feel heavier... holier.

And suddenly, the battlefield didn’t feel like a place of blood and death.

It felt like a temple.

A temple of war.