Vol. III Epilogue: Clash of the Gods

The snow had turned red.

Between torn banners and lifeless bodies, swords clashed, armor shattered, and flames devoured flesh and iron alike.

The wind carried screams through the pine forests, mingling with the dull rhythm of war drums: 

Valdrik's army marching to the beat of death.

Tiberun’s banners fluttered in tatters against the frost. 

Men fell, magic cracked, and blood steamed upon the ice.

And above it all, standing on a steep ridge, were two sisters, clad in armor of fur and iron.

One stood barefoot in the snow, arms smeared with blood, her hair as white as the winter sky.

She giggled softly.

“How lovely the cries of the wounded… how sweet the sound of bones shattering in the snow. They die like plague-ridden cattle!”

Beside her stood her sister, tall, draped in a crimson breastplate.

Her cloak was made of chains, her bronze helmet crowned with a plume of black feathers, her eyes blazed red, like fire.

She smiled, broadly, almost tenderly.

“It’s beautiful here,” she murmured. “The cold keeps the meat fresh longer.”

Blood dripped from her war axe onto the frozen stone.

“But they still breathe. Still hope. That must not be.”

Then a man stepped from the mist toward them, bowing low, just before he threw himself into the snow before them.

Valdrik’s general, heavily armored, a greatsword strapped to his back, raised his voice:

“Oh divine mistresses of battle! We’ve encircled them. The hills are ours. Their supply lines are cut. Give the order, and we shall tear them to pieces!”

The white-haired sister shrieked with feral joy.

“Oh, please, let me, Enyo! I want to see their eyes when their hope fades!”

But Enyo raised her axe, and her shadow fell across the valley like twilight over a dying world.

“No, Eris, I will do it myself. I am the mistress of final breaths,” she said. “I will be their end borne in arms, the war-fury of our father.”

“Unfair,” pouted Eris. “You had the last slaughter too!”

Enyo raised her axe high, and a storm rose around her. 

With a thunderclap, a chariot of black metal, adorned with blood-red banners, emerged from the swirling air, drawn by two dire wolves, their fangs black as night.

Enyo leapt onto the chariot, and it raced to the cliff’s edge, above where thousands of Valdrik's soldiers stood, ready for battle.

When they saw the goddess atop the ridge, the warriors turned their faces upward.

“Soldiers of Valdrik!”

She stomped her foot. The earth shook.

“Charge into the maelstrom with me! No prisoners! No mercy! Only glory and death! Today, their weakness dies. Today, TIBERUN DIES!”

Valdrik’s soldiers roared like beasts. Their eyes burned with divine fire, her voice driving them into a frenzy.

They surged down the slope. Each step of the wolves cracked trees and split the snow.

The horde advanced, axes high, the wolf-banner waving above.

They were no longer men. Only hunger. Only fury.

Tiberun’s army braced itself. Exhausted mages summoned barriers. The frontline raised swords and spears.

“Hold the line!” a commander shouted.

Shields locked. Banners lowered. Incantations muttered, but fingers trembled. A young soldier began to pray, but his voice broke.

And then Enyo struck.

Like a storm, she crashed into them. A single blow from her axe shattered a dozen men; armor splintered like eggshells.

Her chariot plowed through the ranks, crushing limbs, hurling bodies like toys.

Magical bolts bounced harmlessly off her, absorbed by the blood-soaked metal of her chariot.

She laughed, mad, monstrous.

Men began to fall back. Some threw down their weapons and fled.

“That’s… that’s death herself!” one of the defenders screamed.

Enyo threw her head back and roared like a beast.

“Come! Come! I want more!”

But then, a note. High, clear, piercing. It silenced the world.

Something cut through the storm. A tear in the air.

A spear of light flew across the sky and struck Enyo’s chariot with godly force. 

It shattered and the wolves were crushed beneath the wreckage.

Enyo tumbled through blood and snow, her helmet torn away, but her axe still clutched in her hand.

Silence fell.

The soldiers froze, turning their eyes to the forest’s edge, where a golden glow shone through the mist.

Then, a figure stepped forth from the radiance.

Tall. Cloaked in white. Her golden helmet gleamed, its crest rising like a crown against the twilight. 

She held the shield, adorned with the Gorgon’s head, firmly in her left hand while brandishing another spear in her right, its tip splitting the battlefield like a rift in the sky.

There was no rage in her gaze. No madness. Only righteous wrath, ancient, measured, and final.

At first, the battered soldiers felt nothing. But then, a shiver.

Not of fear. Of hope.

One dropped to his knees.

“She kept her word… she really has come...”

They watched her walk among them, the icy wind tugging at her long golden hair.

Without a word, she approached Enyo, who rose slowly, hatred in her eyes.

“How dare you interfere!?” she snarled.

Athena pointed her spear at her.

“Beware, reckless spirit. You have always craved strife, battle, and discord. Had another god fathered you, corrupter of souls, you would lie already beneath the ruins of Uranus’s sons.”

“Blah, blah, blah! All you ever do is talk! If you want to drive me off, then fight me!”

They raised their weapons in the same instant, and collided like thunderclouds.

Discipline against fury.

The armies of Tiberun and Valdrik stood frozen, watching the clash of gods.

Enyo charged, screaming, axe raised high.

Athena lifted her shield. The blow struck like a hammer, and bounced away like steel off stone.

Another strike, precise and furious. But Athena spun and drove the back of her spear into Enyo’s temple.

The war-goddess staggered, her hair flaring like fire.

Athena stepped forward, shield raised.

“The bloodlust of my brother has no place in this world. Not while I stand.”

Enyo roared and leapt. 

One last strike, all her fury unleashed. 

Athena sidestepped. Her spear flashed like lightning, and drove straight into Enyo’s chest. 

The force hurled her against the rocks.

She rose slowly, fury blazing. 

But before she could charge again, her sister appeared, Eris, on a chariot of her own, extending a hand.

“Come, sister. We cannot best her.”

Enyo snarled, hesitated.

"This is far from over!" She hissed before she seized her sisters hand, and the two vanished into a fog of shadows.

Athena remained on the field, her gaze sweeping over snow, blood, and broken steel.

No warrior spoke.

Then she turned her chilling gaze upon the soldiers of Valdrik, standing in silence.

And they broke.

They turned and fled, slipping behind the mountain ridge.

Athena stepped forward to a shattered Tiberun banner, half-buried in snow. 

She lifted it, placed it in the hands of a trembling soldier.

Her voice rang across the field, the echo of another world:

“Soldiers of Tiberun. You were not forgotten. Your hope was not in vain. The gods have revealed themselves. Know this, Athena will not abandon you when bloodlust and fury threaten your republic.”

Then she turned, and vanished into golden light.

Only silence remained.

And a world that would never recover from that day.

The soldiers of Tiberun sank to their knees. Some wept. Others whispered prayers.

And one spoke, for them all:

“Praise be to Athena!”

END OF VOLUME III

Authors note:

Thank you all so much for reading! I really appreciate any feedback you could give me or if you liked or disliked the direction my story is going.

There are 2 more volumes to come, so stay tuned :)