Aron felt the karma pouring in. He relished it briefly, the heavy weight lifting a little. "Haaa….." He exhaled a long breath of relief.
[Olympian Pantheon: 235,895⬇️]
[Olympian Pantheon: 235,935⬆️]
"...Only a smudge, huh." he muttered. He didn't like the outcome, but that was all he had taken from them. Just as he had given to Peter, he could also take. And that was his plan: he would take and take and take from these wretched pagans who used humans—his children, the descendants of Adam and Eve—like tools to sustain their power.
And bring balance, he thought as he noticed movement in the corner where he had thrown the axe-wielder. He had put considerable force into that blow, so he was intrigued to see the demigod not only alive but moving.
"You're a tough nut to crack," he said, pacing toward him.
"...Mon..ster," Ron rasped, finishing a symbol drawn in his own blood.
Aron realized Ron had been alive the entire time—even while he had killed the sister. He was there, he saw it all, crafting his spell. He didn't interrupt; he let the demigod complete his work. Crouching closer as he examined it.
"A call sign…hmmm… You're knowledgeable, I'll give you that. Ancient spellcraft."
Ron's breathing grew labored; he knew he had lost too much blood. His gaze drifted to Lacy's broken, twisted body, which was already unrecognizable, and to his dear sister. Which she always bragged about, utterly smashed.
A single tear fell from his moist eyes. It was his fault—entirely his fault. Yet the boiling rage only blamed the man before him. But he could do nothing, nothing except pour what remained of his divinity into the blood spell, which would summon every other half-blood around. That was all he had left, and he gave it. In the name of revenge.
[Proximity Alert: Multiple HIGH Divinity Signatures Converging]
[Estimated Arrival: 10 minutes]
[Proximity Alert: Multiple HIGH Divinity Signatures Converging]
[Estimated Arrival: 8 minutes]
[Proximity Alert: Multiple HIGH Divinity Signatures Converging]
[Estimated Arrival: 6 minutes]
"...Die," he muttered, glaring at Aron.
"....Quite the bloodlust," Aron replied, ignoring the notifications. "But…It doesn't matter." He raised his fist. Gripping it tight.
Bang!
The blow drove through Ron's skull, blood splattering Aron's knuckles and face.
"No matter how many come—"
Bang!
"..I will end you all. Your pagan fathers—"
Bang!
"....will fall before me and your mothers, too—Every. Divine. Parasite."
He couldn't stop. The body was already lifeless, yes but he didn't stop, he couldn't stop as the memories surged: loved ones slaughtered before his eyes. Uriel's final moments, Khorn's last wishes, haunted him deep.
Bang!
The pagans had stolen everything—his peace, his family, his world.
"I will erase all of you," he said, fist poised to strike the corpse again. "Never again will I let you wreak havoc freely."
"My lord!" a voice echoed from above.
Aron froze, fist suspended mid-air. He looked up. Peter was conscious again.
"Peter," he called. "You're… all right."
"Yes, my lord… something's coming... again," Peter whispered, the words scraping out of a throat gone suddenly dry. He didn't dare speak of what he had truly seen. He swallowed again, harder, tasting iron at the back of his tongue though no wound bled. Memories of the alley returned: he had nearly met the same fate if his daughter hadn't intervened.
Aron drew a deep breath, steadying himself. He tensed his legs, gathering force until the ground trembled slightly, then launched upward, leaving a crater behind.
He soared—more like flying—passing the wrecked floors, rising above the roof, and descending with a gentle landing. He turned to Peter, his eyes telling it all.
"Peter, I'm sorry you had to see that," Aron said.
Peter remained silent, only nodding. He didn't want to lie. If he hadn't feared and respected the man who protected him, trusted him, and wielded strength like an endless void… "No, my lord… I'm still nai—"
"Naive as ever," Theo cut in sharply. "....This one craves the power but rejects the blood it demands. Wants to rise but clings to weakness." His yellow eyes burned with contempt as he brushed past Peter and approached Aron, mind racing—freedom from old masters dangled close, yet aligning with this slayer terrified him.
Peter looked down, saying nothing. He already knew; he didn't need reminding. His will remained too weak to withstand even a fraction of his lord's strength, his intensity.
"Slayer, I held the line as promised. Now fulfill yours—heal this arm, fix my karma," Theo demanded, voice edged with desperate calculation. Revenge was fulfilled, knowing; this ancient force might finally…finally break his chains.
Aron scanned the horizon, seeing what they could not. "Worry not. I remember our bargain clearly. But we have company, so I need your patience more than your complaints." He readied himself for another fight.
[Proximity Alert: An INTENSELY HIGH Divinity Signature Converging]
A different notification appeared, with no timestamp. Meaning, It wasn't approaching. It was simply…there. Which tickled his curiosity.
"...What's this?" Aron muttered. He leaped to the railing, gazing across the blazing night city and beyond, sniffing the incoming scent. he was awaiting something Olympic but it was something …familiar— something fierce, burning, like home.
[Proximity Alert: Converging HIGH Divinity Signatures Erased]
[Estimated Arrival: 0]
[Proximity Alert: Converging HIGH Divinity Signatures Erased]
[Estimated Arrival: 0]
[Proximity Alert: Converging HIGH Divinity Signatures Erased]
[Estimated Arrival: 0]
Even Peter and Theo felt it: the approaching demigod auras snuffed out one by one. Overwhelmed by something more intense, more ferocious.
Theo felt it deepest— he knew this feeling, he could never forget it, his old trauma crashing back. "...I'm getting out of here," he said.
"What? You don't want healing?" Peter asked.
"Why do you care? I just need to go—NOW!" Theo tossed the spear back and started away, until Aron appeared before him.
"You'll want to stay," Aron said with a faint smirk, hand on his shoulder.
"Bu—"
"Stay," Aron commanded. Theo gritted his teeth and obeyed. "Don't forget, you orchestrated this."
[Proximity Alert: An INTENSELY HIGH Divinity Signature Converging]
[Estimated Arrival: 5 seconds]
'Now she's coming,' Aron thought as the night sky ignited with flaring stars streaking over the city, coming directly toward their rooftop.
"Slayer—no, my lord—this enemy… we can't defeat her. She's undefeatable. I tried. Even the gods tried, let alone their half-witted brats," Theo protested.
But Aron only stood firm as they arrived.
[Estimated Arrival: 0 seconds]
Doom!
Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom!...
The roof shuddered in the half-burnt building as they landed around him. Dust and debris rose in clouds. From the smoke stepped a fiery red-haired woman in a tight black military-style outfit, eyes burning with fierce intensity.
"Enchanted smoke!" she ordered one of her men, throwing a silver ball onto the floor. It burst, puffing toxic smoke everywhere—a smoke so corrosive it ate through whatever it touched, specially crafted to weaken demigods.
Theo pulled his shirt up over his mouth, covering half his face, then tugged his hoodie back on. He dropped to his knees, one hand raised as if surrendering before she'd even fully emerged.
"…Stay down!" she shouted—no, commanded—stepping out of the smoke with a knife ready to kill. She was the only one without a mask; her men wore them as they surrounded Theo and Peter, forcing them to the ground and producing scanners.
"…Olympian signature confirmed," one reported, aiming the device at Theo, who was already kneeling.
"…Herald signature detected," another said, pointing at Peter without touching him.
A third scanner approached Aron, but before it could register anything, it shattered and fused.
"What the… anomaly detected," the man muttered, drawing two small knives.
Aron watched the masked soldier advance.
"Child, you don't want to do this," he warned. Still, they closed in—three more appearing behind him with enchanted knuckles, swords, and shields.
Aron didn't want to hurt them; their scent and divinity echoed his own. He simply flexed his fingers and flicked the air. A sheer gust of wind shoved them back. He searched for her through the smoke, but his vision stayed clouded. Then he felt a sting at his side—his waist sliced, though only his clothes were damaged.
Only one person could sneak up on him like that.
He turned as another slash came, then another and another. Yet Aron stood unharmed.
"…What are you?" she demanded, emerging fully from the smoke, eyes hidden behind goggles. In her hand, a revolver aimed straight at his chest.
"…It's me, Khorn," he said at last, a faint smile touching his lips.
"What? How do you know my real name?" she asked, edging closer, cautious.
"Oh…it's been a hundred years. With my hair and beard like this, no wonder you didn't recognize me," Aron replied, stepping toward her.
"Stay back. I'm warning you—these bullets are enchanted, solid gold," she said.
Aron only walked forward until the barrel pressed against his forehead, letting her see him clearly. And she did: the golden hair, the golden eyes, unmistakable up close.
"…You…m…My lord?" Her voice broke. Her commanding tone crumbled. "Is that really you?"
The smoke still irritated him, too thick for her to see properly. He brought his palms together and—
Clap!
The sound cracked like thunder. The heavy smoke dispersed upward through the roof as if it had never been. Finally, she saw him clearly. She removed her goggles, amber eyes wide on the man standing before her in the flesh.
"It's really you…My lord…Aron," she whispered, stunned.
"Yes, yes—for the final time, it's me," he replied.
She couldn't help it. Her gaze stayed locked on him as the revolver slipped from her fingers and clattered to the concrete.
"Chief…" one of her men called.
She ignored him.
"Chief, what are you doing?" another asked.
She ignored them too, stepping closer. She raised a fist—the universal signal.
Stand down.
Before Aron could speak, she dropped to her knees, head bowing until her forehead touched his shoes, crimson hair spilling across his feet.
"What the hell…?" her men muttered, watching the woman they respected and feared kneel before a stranger.
"It's a ritual," Peter said quietly, witnessing the reunion. He understood what she felt—the emptiness she'd buried. Now she could finally release it. "A ritual of reunion between a master and his herald."
Aron smiled, truly smiled, after a long, long time. "…Stand up, Khorn," he said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently pulling her to her feet.
She rose slowly, cheeks flushed, eyes brimming with tears, gaze soft as if her greatest purpose had finally been fulfilled.
"Lord Aron, you're really back…after so, so long."
Seeing her like that, Aron felt a weight settle in his chest.
"We searched for you…" she said, brushing away tears.
"…I know," he answered gently.
"I…searched for you everywhere, every corner…" Her voice cracked.
"…I know." He stepped closer.
"…For years and years…" she continued, trembling.
"…I know." His arms encircled her.
"…I missed you." She wrapped her arms around his back, tears soaking his coat.
"…I missed you too." He patted her back. "I missed you too."
Her soldiers—hard men and women she'd led from peace to chaos and back to victory, who knew her only as stone-faced and emotionless—watched her finally show humanity. One by one, they lowered their weapons, seeing their chief truly happy for the first time.
One approached Peter. "…So he's the Golden One? The immortal?"
Peter nodded, eyes fixed on the scene. "Yes. The one and only. Brother of Adam, guardian of humanity, slayer of all evils. Aron. The Golden One."
Aron gently released her, his coat damp. "You grew strong," he said, having watched her dispatch demigods with ease and lead a team flawlessly.
"…I had to," she replied. "Had to fill the gap you left. And it still wasn't enough."
"…What about the others? Percy, Jason…the rest of the Eleven? Where are they?" he asked.
Khorn fell silent, gaze dropping. She opened her mouth, but no words came. "…A lot happened, my lord. A lot…after you were gone. The peace you held…"
She couldn't finish. Her throat closed. Sirens approached—police, fire department—people streaming into the building.
"…Let's continue our reunion at my home, lord," she said. "We have much to talk about."
Aron nodded. "Indeed."
One of her men dragged Theo forward by the collar. "Chief, what about this Olympian scum?"
"…He's with me," Aron said.
"Him? But he's an apost—" The soldier stopped at Khorn's glare, releasing Theo instantly.
Khorn turned back to Aron. "Let's go, My lord…" she said, as the roar of rotor blades grew overhead, wind whipping through the broken structure.
"Where to?" Aron asked, seeing a chopper coming down.
She pointed to the tallest tower in the city. "…My home. No—our home."
.
.
With the echo of the chopper fading into the distance, something stirred beneath the rubble of the burnt building. As police and firefighters stepped carefully through the debris, something moved at the edge of the basement where three bodies lay.
Or had death itself been denied?
The three demigods had poured everything into that final ritual. They had succeeded—barely—because Aron's own abysmal karma and cursed luck twisted probability just enough to let it happen when it should have been impossible.
And like all miracles, it said no to the rules of the world. No to life. No to death itself.
Ron's corpse glowed faintly with the remnants of that miracle. Why him? Perhaps because he was the last to fall. Perhaps because his siblings had instinctively focused the final surge on him, intending one last devastating blow. Whatever the reason—blame Aron's luck—it took hold.
His ruined body boiled with unnatural heat. Flesh knit. Bone reformed. The smashed skull slowly regained its shape.
He lay still, eyes closed, as flashlight beams swept the basement.
"Bloody hell," an older officer muttered. "I thought everyone got out safe. But we've got bodies down here."
Another officer approached the girl's corpse, shining his light on the pulped remains of her face. "Christ… look at this. Her face is just… gone."
"This started as a fire call," a younger officer said uneasily. "Why are people dead?"
"That's our job to figure out, dipshit," the older one growled. His flashlight beam moved across the floor and landed on the third body—the man who looked almost untouched compared to the others. He hurried over and pressed fingers to the neck.
Pulse.
"He's alive! Call the medics!" he shouted.
You see, there was a reason divinity drained karma so deeply. Divinity was not magic, not mere power, not some expendable energy. It was reality itself—raw, unfiltered imposition of pure will upon the world. And the world despised it.
Those who wielded divinity bent reality, twisted it, forced it to obey. The greater the divinity, the more violently reality resisted. When multiple sources of divinity combined—multiplied, fused, poured into a single purpose—making a singular miracle.
And that miracle burned onto Ron, as his eyes snapped open.
His hand shot up, seizing the officer's wrist. Rage—pure, blazing rage—burned in his gaze.
"Don't touch me, filthy human," he snarled. "Your kind means nothing to gods."
A single savage motion, and the officer's head parted from his shoulders.
Blood sprayed. A younger officer fumbled for his radio, stammering, "We need backup—suspect alive and hostile—"
Ron's glare silenced him forever.
Screams echoed. The massacre stretched in crimson chaos.
When it ended, the charred remnants of wood and plaster were drenched in fresh crimson. Ron stood among the bodies, chest heaving, blood dripping from his hands. He looked down at his siblings.
"Lacy… Eli…" His voice cracked. "Rest well in Hades' realm. May he grant you new paths, new lives."
Moonlight poured through the massive hole overhead, bathing him in silver.
He gazed sharp at the moon.
"I will have our revenge."