"Ah... yes... I suppose you are Odin." Damien turned to face him, his gaze cold and unyielding. "The skinny, sly son of a bitch."
The other members of the Seven bristled with indignation, their faces twisting with anger. But Odin simply laughed....a dry, rasping sound that carried no warmth.
"I see you have been hanging around Loki, huh?"
"Something like that." Damien's eyes narrowed. "But I still do not see why you are here, old man. Do you speak for these people?"
"Something like that." Odin's single eye gleamed. "I am their god."
"Oh?" Damien's hand moved to his sword. "So these people must be your Familia, correct?"
"Yes. You could say that."
Before Odin could finish his words, Damien was in his face, his blade pressed against the old god's throat. The movement was too fast to track, too sudden to react to.
"So I take it you are the one who gave the order to attack Orario?"
"DON'T YOU DARE POINT THAT AT OUR GOD!" one of the Seven shouted, stepping forward with fury in his eyes.
Odin raised a hand, silencing him without looking away from Damien.
"Boy." The old god's voice dropped, hard and cold. "You do realize that the punishment for attacking a god is death. No matter which level you are."
Damien's grin widened. "Oh? And who will enforce such a rule on me?"
He leaned closer, his magic flaring. His eyes shifted...from their normal dark hue to a swirling, multicolored glow that radiated power beyond mortal comprehension.
"Also... all that wisdom of yours, and you cannot see the obvious?" Damien's voice was silk wrapped around steel. "I am a god too."
Odin's single eye widened. For a moment, the ancient god was silent, processing what he had just witnessed.
"You ascended..." he murmured.
He studied Damien, his gaze sharp and knowing.
"I see. I should have realized that sooner. Especially since you killed the Dragon."
He sighed, a long, weary exhale, and turned to Rayla.
"Pay the man his war reparations. He has earned them."
He began to walk away, his staff tapping against the stone floor. Then he paused, looking back over his shoulder.
"Boy... soon, the world will change quite a bit. All because of you." His voice carried a weight that pressed against the room. "I hope you are ready. And I also hope... you choose our side."
He walked away, his form disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
Damien narrowed his eyes. He was about to press the old man for more information—but he chose not to. It seemed the old god had secrets, and Damien did not want to create a new enemy now. Not with Orario still recovering.
Rayla, still shaken, provided Damien with half of Altena's treasury. He threw it into his storage without a word, then turned and left.
The kingdom of Altena had been humbled. But Odin's warning lingered in the air like a storm yet to break.
...
Rakia. The kingdom where Ares was god, and King Martinus Rakia—nicknamed the Foolish King—ruled with an iron fist wrapped in delusion. It was a kingdom of war. Constant, extreme, unrelenting war. They understood no language other than the language of battle.
And Damien knew that well.
So he had no qualms about how he would handle them.
He dropped into their castle like a meteor, crashing through the roof and landing in the center of the throne room. Stone and dust exploded outward. The courtiers screamed. The guards scrambled.
"WHO DARES!" Martinus bellowed, rising from his throne, his hand already on his sword.
"I do." Damien looked up, his eyes cold and unyielding.
He noticed Ares standing beside the throne, his divine presence crackling with excitement. "Are we under attack! Prepare for war! This will be fun!" the god shouted, his voice booming across the chamber. Then he locked eyes with Damien.
"YOU! YOU DARE..."
He did not finish.
His head was already flying through the air, his body collapsing in a heap. Ares didn't even have a second to realize he was dead. The god of war, the eternal thorn in Orario's side, was no more. His soul was already returning to Heaven.
"NOOOO! GOD ARES!" Martinus screamed, his face twisting with rage. He pulled his sword from its sheath and charged.
The soldiers followed. They moved as one...a tide of steel and fury...all rushing to kill the intruder who had just killed their god.
All died.
Damien moved through them like a shadow, his blades singing. Bodies fell. Blood sprayed. The throne room became a slaughterhouse.
Martinus was the last. He never even managed to rise from his throne. He opened his mouth to shout, to order, to beg—but a blade had already pierced his throat. He choked, his hands clawing at the steel, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Ugh... Why...?" he gurgled, then went still.
The doors burst open.
Prince Marius Victrix Rakia rushed in, his sword drawn, his face pale. "FATHER!" he screamed.
He froze. His eyes took in the carnage. The bodies. The blood. His father's corpse slumped on the throne.
"Don't... Don't die in vain..." Damien said, his voice calm.
Marius dropped his sword. It clattered against the stone floor. He fell to his knees, his body shaking with fear.
"I knew it..." he wept, his voice cracking. "I knew a day like this would come..."
Damien wiped the blood from his blades, the steel gleaming under the torchlight. He walked to Marius, his steps measured and deliberate.
"Send half your treasury to Orario." His voice was flat, leaving no room for argument. "And do better. Be a better king....not like your father. Or I will come after you too." He paused, his eyes meeting the young prince's. "Do not make me kill you as well."
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.
Marius knelt in the silence, surrounded by the dead, the weight of his new kingdom already pressing down on him.
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