I Will Stand Upon the Heavens
In the deepest chamber of Olympus lay the royal bedchamber.
There, Zeus writhed in agony far worse than the rumors had claimed, long past the point of sanity, while Hestia did everything in her power to ease his torment.
“Huuuurgh! Gyaaaaaaah!!!”
“You… who are you people… Hades!”
“Sister. I’ve returned.”
“What took you so long? And who are these—”
“I’ll explain everything. For now, just—”
At the sight of Hades, the wariness that had flared in Hestia’s eyes vanished in an instant. While he hurriedly filled her in on the situation, I tightened my grip on the axe and strode straight toward Zeus.
A weapon forged of titanium alloy and steel.
More than enough for the “surgery” that needed to be done. I glanced at it once, then turned my gaze upon the King of the Gods—my “father,” whom I was meeting for the first time.
“Gyaaah… aaaaaagh…”
Zeus screamed in pure agony, utterly oblivious to the world around him. Looking at him now, he seemed less like the ruler of all creation and more like a frail, thrashing patient. I let out a quiet sigh.
This, too, is the price of your sins.
I already knew the cause of his suffering. In the original timeline, this should have happened after the Titanomachy, in a relatively peaceful age. But the subtle discrepancies I had been noticing between the source myths and this reality had dragged the moment forward into the middle of the war.
Or perhaps, given how tangled and contradictory Greek mythology already was, this was the true sequence of events and the records had simply gotten it wrong.
Either way, it no longer mattered.
The pain that had struck him in the midst of battle was forcing Zeus to pay the full price for the worst crime a King of the Gods could commit.
Even so, I could not simply stand by and let Zeus—and Olympus—fall.
My deal with Hades. And the simple truth that miso is better than shit: if Cronus reclaimed the throne, the consequences for us—and for humanity—would be far worse. Better that Zeus remain the victor.
“Let’s go.”
“Yeah.”
We hoisted the thrashing Zeus onto our shoulders and set off exactly as planned.
“Heh heh… How delightful to meet you like this, my son.”
“Cronus, you bastard!”
“Hah… Is that any way to speak to your father? Though I suppose you’ve always been a foul-tempered brat, Poseidon. Made swallowing you a bit of a chore.”
“Grrrgh… uuuugh…”
Bound hand and foot, Poseidon ground his teeth. With Hades absent, he had thrown every last scrap of strength into holding the line alone—only to fall to the combined assault of Atlas and the Titans. Now he was a prisoner, arms and legs broken, divine power drained dry. Yet the hatred in his eyes still burned. In this moment, that rage was nothing more than a hollow echo.
“Rest easy. Once this is finished, I’ll send you somewhere even more bottomless than my belly. I hear Tartarus has been grinding his teeth over the gods of the surface lately. A prize like you should put him in a fine mood.”
“Damn you!!”
Cronus’s mockery dripped with genuine relish. His gaze then drifted to the burning citadel of Olympus before him. All its former glory was collapsing into ash. Rebuilding the place after conquering it would be a headache, but the sight itself filled him with deep, satisfying relief.
“The end is finally in sight. All that remains is to take Zeus’s head with my own hands.”
Beheading an immortal god would not truly kill him, of course. But severing a king’s head was the ultimate symbol that his world had been utterly broken. With the adamant scythe in his grip, Cronus would end this long war by dropping Zeus’s head to the ground.
And one more thing…
I will make you pay dearly, you insolent son who dared drive me out and steal my throne. This time you will suffer every last drop of what you deserve.
True vengeance had to be savored with one’s own hands. The craving to feel the blade bite through that arrogant boy’s neck himself burned hot in Cronus’s chest as he started toward the nearly subdued citadel of Olympus.
Then—
—“Well done, you fools.”
“?!”
“What…?”
A short, crystal-clear voice cut straight into their ears. The Titans, drunk on the taste of imminent victory, turned toward the source of the sound.
“L-Lord Cronus! Look there!”
“Hm?”
Atlas pointed urgently. Every eye present followed his finger.
At the highest platform of Mount Olympus—the very dais where Cronus and Zeus had once stood to address all creation—stood a figure. Because the place had been forged with Gaia’s divine power, every soul on the mountain could see and hear what happened there with perfect clarity.
And what they saw and heard turned every Titan’s face to pure shock.
“W-what… is that?”
“W-why is he here?”
An utterly unexpected presence—and one every high-ranking Titan knew all too well.
“That’s him! Oceanus’s right-hand man who once threw a punch at Lord Cronus!”
“No doubt about it. Who could forget that ugly face!”
“Hephaestus!”
“The god who brought down Tartarus!”
The ugly god stood tall, a massive axe in hand. After all his dazzling feats, the Titans recognized him at once. But what truly froze them was the scene itself.
Kneeling behind Hephaestus were Hades, Hestia, Hera, and even Ares. In stark contrast, Hephaestus’s companions stood armed and proud. And most shocking of all—
Lying collapsed at Hephaestus’s feet was the King of the Gods himself.
Zeus.
“Ghh… uuuugh…”
Zeus groaned in agony. One word rose unbidden in every Titan’s mind.
—Olympus has fallen into Hephaestus’s hands.
A single image carrying an unmistakable symbol. And that symbol ignited a deep, seething rage in the Titans—especially in Cronus.
“What in the blazes is that brat doing up there?!”
“What is going on? We are the ones who conquered Olympus! Why are they—?!”
It was as if a hunter, rejoicing over a successful kill, had suddenly watched an eagle snatch the prize away. Olympus was on the brink of falling, yet the most vital prize of all—Zeus—had been seized by a third force. The unthinkable truth sent shockwaves through the Titans, and most of all through Cronus.
Then—
—“Thanks to your hard work, I was able to take Zeus with my own hands. For that, you have my sincere gratitude.”
And with those words—
—“And now.”
Hephaestus raised the enormous axe high.
—“I will stand upon the heavens.”
“!”
The moment Cronus saw it, the confusion in his heart exploded into pure, electric fury.
—“Y-you… you bastard! What do you think you’re doing?! Stop this at once!”
Cronus poured every scrap of divine power into the roar. Coldly speaking, the act was purely symbolic. Even if they took the king’s head, they were only a handful of gods. The true victors of this war would still be Cronus and the Titan army that had stormed Olympus.
But Cronus could never allow Zeus’s head to fall by anyone else’s hand.
That privilege belonged to him alone.
As the final victor.
As the completion of his vengeance.
As the return of the true king.
That place was rightfully his—so how dare some upstart greenhorn snatch everything at the very end?
“You little shit! I told you to stop!”
—BOOM!!
“Huh?”
“L-Lord Cronus?!”
Blind with rage, Cronus rocketed upward on a pillar of cloud. The Titans’ faces twisted in shock, yet none could stop him. They, too, were drowning in the same chaos.
Thus Cronus soared alone toward the summit of Olympus, adamant scythe clenched in one hand, his killing intent a storm of pure terror—
Yet even so,
compared to the axe already descending toward Zeus’s head,
he was far, far too slow.
—“! N-no—!”
—CRAAAAASH!!!