Imp to Demon King: A Journey of Conquest-Chapter 455: The Fall of Olympus 2

Hephaestus came at Adam like a falling star, his divine hammer wreathed in forge-fire that could melt adamantine. The god’s grief transformed his usual methodical approach into pure berserker fury.

"YOU KILLED MY WIFE!" he roared, bringing the hammer down with enough force to crack continents.

Adam sidestepped, his enhanced reflexes from the Monarch of Tempestuous Wrath making the blow seem sluggish. The hammer struck marble, and the entire temple behind them exploded into white dust and golden sparks.

"She was already dead," Adam replied coldly, his plasma blade humming with chaotic energy. "A trophy wife for a broken god. I set her free."

Hephaestus swung again, but Adam was already behind him, his blade carving a line of plasma across the smith-god’s back. Divine ichor sprayed across the pristine marble as Hephaestus stumbled forward, his forge-fire flickering.

"You’re too slow," Adam continued, landing another cut across the god’s arm. "Too predictable. You’ve been making the same swords for the same people for eons. Where’s the innovation? Where’s the evolution?"

While Hephaestus collapsed, clutching his wounds, Artemis had found her range. Silver arrows flew like shooting stars, each one guided by divine will and millennia of perfect aim. They should have been impossible to dodge.

But Adam moved like lightning made flesh, his fiery aura creating afterimages as he weaved between the projectiles. One arrow grazed his shoulder, leaving a line of silver fire, but his Verdant Crown authority healed it instantly.

"The eternal huntress," Adam taunted, appearing suddenly beside her as she nocked another arrow. "Tell me, when was the last time you actually had to hunt something that could fight back?"

Artemis spun, her bow transforming into a silver spear in her hands. "I am the goddess of the hunt! No prey escapes me!"

"I’m not prey," Adam smiled, grabbing the spear shaft. Chaotic energy flowed through his grip, corrupting the silver into black crystal. "I’m the apex predator."

His free hand drove the plasma blade through her chest. Artemis gasped, her silver eyes wide with disbelief as her immortal life flickered like a dying candle.

"Impossible..." she whispered, then crumbled to ash.

****

On the eastern slope of Olympus, Achilles found himself facing the raw embodiment of conflict itself. Ares towered above him, eight feet of divine muscle and bronze armor, his massive sword crackling with the essence of every battle ever fought.

"A mortal dares challenge me?" Ares laughed, his voice like clashing steel. "I am war incarnate! I have bathed in the blood of heroes since the dawn of time!"

The god’s first swing came down like a falling mountain. Achilles barely twisted aside, Jörmungandr’s Kiss spinning up to deflect the blow. The impact sent shockwaves through his invulnerable body—even with his improvements, the raw physical power of a war god was staggering.

"Fast," Ares grinned, his sword leaving a crater where Achilles had stood moments before. "But not fast enough."

The next attack came as a blur of bronze and divine fury. Achilles’ supernatural agility kicked in, his form becoming a dancing shadow that wove between Ares’ strikes. But each near-miss reminded him he was fighting someone who had perfected violence for eons.

Achilles darted in, Jörmungandr’s Kiss spinning like a drill. The spear’s Piercing attribute let it slip through Ares’ guard, the drill tip biting into the god’s thigh. Divine ichor sprayed, and Ares roared in surprise.

"Impossible! My armor is—"

"Outdated," Achilles finished, dancing back as Ares’ retaliatory strike shattered the marble ground. "Like your tactics."

But Ares was learning. The god of war adapted to combat faster than almost any being in existence. His next assault came from three angles simultaneously—sword high, shield low, and a kick that could shatter mountains.

Achilles took the shield bash on his ribs, feeling bones crack despite his Styx blessing. He rolled with the impact, using the momentum to drive his spear toward Ares’ exposed neck. The drill tip bit deep, and Reality Rend triggered—suddenly Ares was bleeding from a dozen identical wounds across his throat.

"WHAT SORCERY IS THIS?" the war god bellowed, stumbling backwards as phantom injuries opened across his divine form.

"Evolution," Achilles gasped, the Styx’s water already knitting back his broken ribs together. "Your problem is you fight like wars never change."

Ares pressed his advantage while Achilles healed, his massive sword carving through marble pillars like they were made of sand. But now the god was bleeding, his perfect bronze form marred by wounds that wouldn’t close—the spear’s Cursed attribute preventing divine regeneration.

The battle intensified. Ares fought with the fury of ten thousand battlefields, but Achilles fought with something the god couldn’t understand—freedom. Each exchange saw the mortal hero adapting, learning, and becoming something more than he had been moments before.

Just as Achilles landed another blow with his reality-rending spear, golden light blazed across the battlefield. Athena arrived in her full war aspect—owl wings spread wide, her bronze armor gleaming with tactical inscriptions that shifted and changed as they analysed the combat.

"Enough!" she commanded, her voice carrying the authority of perfect strategy. "Ares, you fight like a berserker. This mortal uses unknown variables—we must adapt."

Now Achilles faced two gods simultaneously. Where Ares was raw fury and strength, Athena was precision and calculation. Her spear work was flawless, each thrust and parry executed with perfection, while her owl-eyes tracked seventeen different potential futures of the battle.

"I’ve calculated your movement patterns," she declared, her spear suddenly there as Achilles tried to dodge, forcing him to block desperately. "Your enhanced agility follows predictable acceleration curves, just like during the Trojan War. I know everything about you, Achilles."

Her shield work was equally masterful, deflecting Jörmungandr’s Kiss with angles that dispersed its drilling force. For the first time since the battle began, Achilles found himself truly pressed.

Ares came at him from the left while Athena attacked from the right—a perfect pincer movement that should have ended the fight. But Achilles did something unexpected: he stopped trying to fight them separately.

Instead, he used their coordination against them. As both gods struck simultaneously, he dropped low and spun, his spear’s Reality Rend triggering as it carved through both their ankles. Suddenly, both gods were bleeding from multiple phantom wounds at their feet, their perfect formation broken as they stumbled.

"Impossible," Athena gasped, staring at wounds that hadn’t existed a moment before. "I calculated the probability of that technique succeeding at 0.0003%—"

"You calculated based on mortal physics," Achilles replied, pressing his advantage. The spear spun faster now, its cursed nature making each wound permanent. "But chaos doesn’t follow your rules."

Ares roared and charged, but his wounded legs betrayed him. Achilles sidestepped, driving the drill tip deep into the war god’s back. The Reality Rend created a cascade of identical wounds, and suddenly Ares was collapsing, his divine constitution finally overwhelmed.

"This is impossible!" the war god gasped, ichor pooling beneath him. "I am eternal! I am war itself!"

"You’re yesterday’s war," Achilles said quietly, then turned to face Athena alone.

The goddess of wisdom stood her ground, but for the first time in her existence, her calculations were failing her. How could she strategise against a weapon that rewrote the fundamental rules of cause and effect?

"My knowledge tells me you should be dead," she admitted, raising her spear in a final defensive stance. "Every tactical analysis, every probability matrix—they all say a mortal cannot defeat gods."

"Then maybe," Achilles said, his spear beginning to spin again, "your knowledge is incomplete."

The final exchange lasted only seconds. Athena’s perfect technique met Jörmungandr’s Kiss in a shower of sparks and impossible geometry. When the light faded, the goddess of wisdom knelt on the marble, her spear broken, her armor shattered by wounds that existed in multiple dimensions simultaneously.

"How?" she whispered, her owl-eyes dimming.

"Because I decided to never be your toy again. The Trojan war was a humiliating play, and you, dear Athena, laughed in the public, waving fake blessings even as Apollo’s arrow found its way to my heel." Achilles replied and ended her confusion with a final thrust. "You’ll all die today."

The Soul Splitter passive had triggered during that last exchange—not just wounding Athena’s body, but fracturing something fundamental in her divine essence. As she fell, some of her accumulated wisdom scattered like golden leaves in the wind, leaving behind only the shell of what had once been perfect strategic knowledge.

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