To Make Gods Kneel

The winds howled across the desert, kicking sand into furious spirals. The remains of Olympus shimmered like mirages on the horizon. Sarai stood in the heart of the battlefield, her body still buzzing from the previous fight, her knuckles sore, her pulse steady.

Before her, the air shifted.

Two shadows stepped forward from among the watching gods, Poseidon and Hades, their armor catching the burning sun, their expressions wildly different.

Hades bowed his head slightly, amusement glinting in his dark, unbothered gaze.

“I’ve no wish to fight you,” he said plainly, the edges of his mouth curving upward. “You’ve proven more than enough. Even the dead whisper your name with reverence now.”

Sarai’s chest rose and fell. She gave him a small nod of thanks. Hades had seen her. Trained her. Trusted her.

But beside him, Poseidon scoffed, stepping forward and dropping the trident from his shoulder with a heavy thud into the sand.

“That’s cute,” he said dryly, his voice echoing with waves and thunder. “But I came for a real fight. No hesitation. No mercy.”

Sarai’s lips curved into a wicked grin.

“I never intended to hold back.”

The crowd stirred, tension crackling like static.

Hades stepped aside. “You’re making a mistake,” he murmured toward Poseidon.

From the high ledge of sandstone, Zeus sneered. “No, brother. You’re making the mistake by stepping aside.”

Hades said nothing. He only smiled knowingly as he melted back into shadow, next to Nyx and Hecate, who watched with hands folded and eyes sharp.

The duel began.

Poseidon surged forward, faster than expected for a war god of the sea. His strikes were heavy, meant to crush, and his trident moved like a current, sweeping in relentless, precise arcs.

But Sarai danced around him, her movements lithe and coiled with purpose. Her sword met the trident once, twice, then she let it go, baiting him with dodges, flips, feints.

Poseidon snarled. “Running already?”

“Waiting,” she said simply.

Then she plunged her palm into the sand.

A tremor rolled out beneath them like thunder underground. The ground split; wide, circular, deliberate. A crater.

And from its heart, water erupted, surging upward in a geyser, ancient and cold.

Poseidon laughed, triumphant. “Water always answers to me, girl.”

Sarai only tilted her head, her voice low like a promise.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Poseidon raised his trident, commanding the water to spiral around him in a towering whirlpool shield, his body protected in a cocoon of seafoam and storm.

And that was her trap.

The air shimmered again.

Magic twisted.

From the depths of Poseidon's own terror, she reached into his subconscious, just like Hades had taught her.

And she summoned it.

Typhon.

The sky darkened. The wind died. From the shifting sand, a mountainous silhouette rose, titanic, multi-headed, fanged and shrieking. Its form was made of boiling mist and dark water, shaped by Poseidon’s own fear.

The sea god’s eyes went wide. He staggered.

“No. No. That…he’s sealed!”

“You know what they say,” Sarai purred behind him, her voice suddenly at his shoulder. “Our minds betray us long before our bodies do.”

CRACK.

A punch to his ribs. Another to his gut.

Poseidon spun, swinging.

She ducked under the trident and planted a blow to his temple, spun low, and swept his legs from under him.

Poseidon slammed into the sand.

Before he could rise, she stood over him, glistening with sweat and power, and drove a final fist into his jaw.

Out cold.

The swirling Typhon illusion burst into foam, vanishing like a waking nightmare.

The water collapsed harmlessly around her feet.

Sarai lifted Poseidon’s trident with one hand and spun it once before stabbing it into the sand beside him.

The watching gods were silent.

Nyx’s lips twitched upward. “That one was mine,” she whispered to Hecate.

Hecate raised a brow. “Illusions so real they touch the senses? No, love. That trick was mine.”

Hades smiled, dark and full of pride. “And the fear? That was all me.”

From the other side, Artemis crossed her arms, eyes narrowed with reluctant awe. Apollo let out a low, impressed whistle. Ares just grunted with a crooked grin. “Uncle never saw it coming.”

They weren’t ready for what came next.

Because the true gods of old were stepping forward now.

Zeus.

Odin.

The kings.

The sky seemed to still as they moved, step by step, into the ring of cracked stone and drifting heat.

They stood across from her like titans of judgment, arms crossed, expressions unreadable.

“You’ve bested our blood,” Zeus called, voice like a lightning storm.

“You’ve faced our sons,” Odin added, calm and calculating. “But we are not them.”

Sarai met their gaze without flinching.

“I never expected you to be.”

The wind stirred her hair, sand glinting like embers in the strands. She lifted her sword, the blade of star-forged steel gifted by Nyx herself, and pressed it to her shoulder.

A quiet smile touched her lips, calm and deadly.

“Let’s see what makes gods kneel.”

And the gods, those who ruled thunder and time, readied their weapons.

Because now, the end had truly begun.