"Our defenses are solid." Freya's finger traced a slow line across the war table, over a map of Orario and its surrounding plains, where carved wooden figures marked the two armies in stark white and black. "We've scouted their demigods. Most read as Level Five equivalents. Our own army matches them in both size and quality." She paused, her golden eyes clouding with something closer to real worry. "What troubles me is the gods. By your count, there are thirty who've fully assimilated and received an avatar."
"Leave the gods to me," Damien said.
Loki's head snapped toward him. "Damien. Thirty gods. All with their divinities restored. Even you can't fight them all."
"Most of them don't have divinities suited for combat." He traced a finger along the table's edge, following the line where the plains met the forest. "And even so, I don't need to face all thirty, just most of them. The Generals can each handle one god, easily. My two strongest shadows can take one or two between them. The rest are mine." He met her eyes. "You don't need to worry about that side of it. I have a plan for the gods. You handle the army."
Freya exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Understood. For the demigods, I've prepared several contingencies. This isn't a large scale war, not really. At most they field ten thousand. Our elites come to about six thousand, but we hold the defensive position and the stronger mages. We're not at a real disadvantage."
"Where do we expect them to come from?" Loki asked, studying the terrain.
"South," Freya said without hesitation. "The forest gives them cover to mass an army before they strike."
"North," Damien said.
Freya's brow furrowed, her gaze lifting from the map to him. "The north? No one attacks from the north. It's open plain, they'd be sitting ducks for our mages, and we'd see them coming hours in advance."
"Exactly. That's the whole point." His smile was thin, almost lazy. "We're not facing a strategist here. We're facing Zeus. He'll come from the north specifically because it's the obviously wrong move, to prove a point, to make a statement that he doesn't need subtlety to win. He's arrogant. And he's a fool."
Loki let out a short laugh, equal parts amusement and old, hard won familiarity. "You know, you're right. He didn't even consider that Freya and I might team up to push him out of Orario, years back. He genuinely believed our Familias were beneath him, that he could just absorb our people into his own because he's supposedly the 'King of Gods.'"
"We can sit here theorizing," Freya said, "but yes. That's exactly the kind of thing Zeus does."
"Even with Odin, Poseidon, and Hera in his ear, all genuinely excellent strategists," Loki added, shaking her head. "He'll ignore every one of them."
"Exactly my read." Damien straightened, rolling his shoulders. "Now, let's finalize preparations. They're only hours out. Let's protect our kingdom."
He turned to leave the meeting room when Vritra appeared in the doorway, her golden eyes catching the lamplight.
"My Lord. A messenger has arrived."
Damien paused. "Zeus sent a messenger? Now that's interesting."
"Very surprising," Loki murmured.
"Well." His smile sharpened. "Let's go meet him."
....
The throne room was quiet when Damien took his seat, the torchlight throwing long shadows across cold stone. He studied the figure already waiting before him and felt the divinity radiating off the man even through whatever restraint held it leashed. Tall, slender, almost delicate in build, with small wings sprouting from his ankles and a slim staff held loosely in one hand. His eyes were sharp. His smile was sharper.
"Ah, so you're the famed Shadow Monarch." Hermóðr's tone dripped with condescension dressed up as pleasantry. "I am Hermóðr. Messenger God of the All Father Odin, and herald of the rightful King of Gods, Zeus."
"Is that so?" Damien leaned back in his throne, unhurried. "And what does the messenger of gods want with me?"
"I come bearing the grace and mercy of Zeus himself." Hermóðr spread his arms theatrically, the staff catching torchlight as it moved. "He has sent me to offer you the chance to surrender, an offer he will accept, in his boundless mercy, provided your head rolls for it. Nothing more is required."
"My head." Damien's smile didn't waver. "Quite the opening demand. Funny, though, he and I have never even met. I wonder what exactly earned me this much of his attention."
"Are you a fool, or merely slow?" Hermóðr stepped forward, irritation bleeding through his composure. "I know mortals aren't known for sharp thinking, but even you should grasp this much. You stole the title of God King. You claimed to stand above us. That is not a thing we can allow to stand unanswered." He gestured broadly, staff sweeping through the air. "You will be made an example of. Your head will roll. The people of Orario, however, will be spared, most of them. Zeus has his eye on a few particular women here. He intends to expand his demigod program, and he'll need them once the dungeon falls to us."
"Already planning the dungeon's conquest." Damien's tone stayed light, almost conversational. "You people really believe you can just walk in and take Orario."
"Obviously." Hermóðr laughed, the sound thin and bright. "What, are you deluded enough to think you stand a chance? We are gods. Our powers have returned in full." He spread his arms wider still. "I alone could kill most of what you call an army."
Damien went quiet for a moment, his gaze settling on the god without heat, without urgency, just a flat, patient stillness.
"Alright." His voice, when it came, had lost all its earlier lightness. "I'm going to stop you right there."
Hermóðr's grin faltered. "What?"
"I'd genuinely rather not kill a messenger. You've said a number of deeply insulting things already, and I've let every one of them slide." Damien's eyes met his, cold and unblinking. "One more disrespectful word, and Zeus gets his answer back in the form of your head. Are we clear?"
Hermóðr's composure cracked entirely, his face twisting into open rage.
"What? Who in the hell do you think you are, mortal? I am a god, I will..."
His head was already in the air.
It struck the marble and rolled, coming to rest near the base of the throne. He'd been a messenger god renowned across every pantheon for his speed, and in the half second it took to die, his last coherent thought wasn't fear, or even anger. It was simple, bewildered disbelief. He genuinely hadn't seen the strike coming. Hadn't seen anything at all.
Damien looked down at the god's collapsing body, then at the head resting against the throne's base, without any particular satisfaction.
He summoned the Night Owl. It descended from the rafters on silent wings, talons closing gently around Hermóðr's severed head.
"Take this back to Zeus's camp," Damien said. "Let him know the Shadow Monarch received his message."
The owl rose and vanished into the dark beyond the throne room's high windows.
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