The pillars falling down- chapter 36
The cave behind them closed like a mouth.
Ethan blinked into a blinding bronze light — the air here was heavy, dense with power. Before him stretched a city of giants. Obsidian towers the size of mountains pierced the clouds, each carved with runes that shimmered like molten gold.
A deep voice rolled through the air. "Welcome to Ermad, the Land of the Pillars."
The man they had met earlier — the one who'd laughed at Ethan's lack of a b'sard — gestured for them to follow. Ethan and Clarita did, their steps echoing like drums against the marble roads. The farther they went, the more the world bent around the rhythm of labor — the clang of steel, the grinding of stone, the thunder of muscle and will.
At the heart of the city stood the Ruler of Ermad, a figure so immense he seemed carved from the same darkness as the pillars themselves. The giant seized a column thicker than a fortress tower, lifted it with one hand, and drove it deep into the earth. The ground roared. Dust spiraled toward the heavens.
"The new generation of Ermad!" he bellowed, voice shaking the ground. "This is the test — our tradition! Strength is everything. Knowledge is nothing! Arso's lies have weakened your blood!"
He crushed the top of the pillar between his palms as if snapping a twig. The crowd erupted in a primal cheer.
Ethan felt Clarita's grip tighten around his arm. "He's… terrifying."
"Yeah," Ethan muttered, watching the king's eyes sweep across the audience.
They stopped — on him.
"You there, boy. Come forward."
Ethan froze. He could feel his ADHD clawing at the inside of his head. Every thought blurred. He stepped forward slowly. "Uh… yes?"
The ruler's shadow fell over him. "Which family are you from? You're new — your clothes are foreign."
Ethan opened his mouth — nothing came out.
Before the silence grew dangerous, the man from before stepped forward and bowed. "King Radon, he's part of my family — a visiting son of our house."
The king's laughter boomed across the square. "Then it's your lucky day, noble's son! You'll be the first to raise a pillar this season. And since you bear noble blood, you'll raise two."
Ethan swallowed hard. The crowd roared approval.
Guards brought him a set of obsidian armor and a black bracelet that shimmered faintly — the mark of the Pillar Trial. The moment he clasped it around his wrist, his clothing melted away into darkened battle-gear, his mortal skin humming with unfamiliar strength.
He walked to the pillar. It was heavier than anything he had ever seen — solid stone, thrumming with heat from the planet's core.
"Begin!"
Ethan gripped the base. His body screamed. Every vein bulged; his heart thundered so hard it felt like his chest would split. He tried again — nothing moved.
The crowd began to murmur. "Too weak… Noble blood indeed…"
Clarita's eyes widened. "Ethan—"
He didn't hear her. The heat in his arms began to rise — an echo of something deeper.
Battle Spirit.
It ignited like fire in his blood, the ancient inheritance of Ares. The stone groaned under his next pull. A shockwave rippled through the square. He lifted — and the pillar rose.
The people gasped.
Then, as he slammed it into the ground, a glowing mark burned across his skin — the b'sard, the scar of the pillar-bearers.
Radon grinned wide, clapping his colossal hands. "Impressive, boy! Better than my disappointment of a nephew, Arso!"
The name fell heavy across the crowd. Arso — the messenger of the god Arcaary, lord of knowledge. To Ermad, that name was treason.
Radon's laughter echoed. "Let him come again with his warnings of thirty days and divine doom! Ermad does not bend to false gods or riddles. We build with hands — not words!"
Ethan stood there, chest heaving, feeling the ache of the new mark burning deep into his arm. He didn't realize that far above them — unseen by the mortals and giants alike — threads of golden fate shimmered faintly, tightening.
Because this Ermad was no world at all.
It was a memory caught inside the Loom of Fate, repeating itself forever — and Ethan had just stepped into its heart.
That's ain't end though as pov changed to Arthur
The world around them wasn't a world at all.
Arthur had learned to stop asking what kind of place he ended up in — the multiverse always found new ways to twist space into nonsense. But this one felt… empty.
The horizon bled light. The ground had no color. Even the air tasted forgotten.
He sat with Noah and the Divine Spawn beside a dying ember of fire.
The silence wasn't peaceful — it was watching them.
Divine Spawn was the first to move. His eyes flickered between blue and gold and black, as if three souls were wrestling inside. His voice came out layered — Abyss, Spector, and something raw beneath them all.
"Arthur… it's not safe here."
Arthur frowned. "When is it ever safe with you around?"
Then the shaking began.
From the cracks in the pale earth, black ichor oozed upward, thick as tar. Demons began forming — not summoned, not born, but vomited out by the world itself. Their screams sounded like broken glass and prayer.
And then, above them — a shadow larger than mountains.
The Behemoth.
Noah stumbled back. "You've got to be kidding me—"
But before he could even finish, the Behemoth bowed.
The ichor around them crawled into shape, forming a dark figure whose face was made of fog and reflection — reality folding around him.
Even the air refused to move.
When he spoke, the words were a curse.
"Farewell, son of Aether. You will not live to see Heaven."
Arthur's hand instinctively called his light. Radiance burst from his skin — the Sword of Aether forming, shimmering with white flame.
He gritted his teeth. "Look, I know Aether's technically my father or whatever, but I've never met that guy. I'm not interested in family drama—so leave before you get hurt."
The figure didn't reply. He simply moved.
The ground split in half. Every molecule screamed. Arthur blocked the blow — the impact crushed the mountain beneath them. His sword trembled in his grip. The force wasn't just strength — it was fear itself, raw and primal. Even the stone beneath his boots feared the being.
Arthur's eyes widened. "That… feeling—"
His voice trembled. "Fear itself. You're—"
The figure's fog rippled, voice deepening.
"You begin to understand. I am the Boogeyman's host."
The Divine Spawn roared. A dozen voices at once. He shoved Arthur behind him, body cracking with power. "You're not taking him!"
Behemoth lunged — the clash of monster and spawn tore open the fabric of the void. Their fight spiraled into the far horizon, two godlike beasts colliding in fury.
Arthur turned to Noah. "Go!"
Noah hesitated, fists clenched. "I'm not leaving you—"
Arthur grabbed him by the collar and threw him toward the distance. "Not a debate."
Light particles burst from Arthur's skin, forming angelic soldiers — echoes of his father's creation — to catch Noah midair. The angels surrounded him, shimmering shields raised as they carried him away.
The Boogeyman's host laughed softly, the kind of laugh that made the soul recoil. "Protecting mortals again? Just like your father. You light-born things never learn."
Arthur's aura exploded.
"Funny, I get told that a lot."
The host spread his arms. "Then die like he should have."
Reality bent — his Terror Domain expanded.
Colors vanished. Sound bled out of existence.
Only the thrum of dread remained.
Arthur's eyes burned with white flame as he pushed back. "You think fear scares me?"
He called his own domain — Aetherom.
Half of existence turned radiant. The other half remained void. The two realms clashed, folding reality like glass. Every breath felt like creation being rewritten.
The Boogeyman's host moved through the void like a shadow untethered. Arthur swung his sword — bursts of light carved through the dark, each strike blooming into divine prisms. Rays of light refracted endlessly, slashing through the domain like divine razors.
It didn't hurt the host—
until one of the prisms grazed him.
The figure hissed — black smoke burned off his body.
Arthur smirked. "Oh… so that hurts."
"Corruption," the host whispered. "You wield your father's flaw."
Arthur didn't care about philosophy anymore — he wanted the thing gone.
But even with every swing, he was being pushed back. The host was faster, older, certain. Fear itself guided his blows.
Arthur's knees trembled. His blade cracked. The light around him began to dim.
And then—
the Aetherom spoke.
> "Someone from your father's creation seeks entry."
Arthur blinked, sweat pouring down his face. "What? Who?"
> "He bears your father's sword. The Holy Knight."
Arthur almost laughed mid-battle. "Holy what now? Out of what fantasy—"
The host lunged. Arthur's light shattered. "—Fine! Whatever! Just summon him!"
The Aetherom split open above them.
A single ray of absolute light descended — blinding, purer than truth.
From within it stepped a man in shining white armor, carrying a sword that glowed like morning itself.
The Boogeyman's host stopped.
The Behemoth howled.
Arthur fell to one knee, shielding his eyes.
The newcomer's voice was calm, cold, divine.
"Step away from the son of Aether."
Arthur exhaled, trembling.
"So that's the Holy Knight, huh? Great timing, I guess."
The Knight raised his blade, and for the first time, the Boogeyman's host hesitated.
as he nods the host spoke"maybe later"as he disappeared the two dimensions sepreated as Arthur cancelled his own so now their back in normal world
Pov back to ermad
The sun—or what passed for sun in Ermad's ever-shifting sky—was barely a glow against the obsidian towers. Ethan and Clarita had spent the last four days navigating the brutal city, training with its titans, and learning the language of strength where muscle spoke louder than words. Time here was strange, accelerated, like a river running through a prism. Four days in the mortal sense barely registered in Olympus.
Their guide, the giant who had first saved them, had given them a small shelter—an outpost carved from obsidian stone. It was crude but safe. At night, Clarita would train, testing herself against animated dummies and the city's ever-shifting gravity. Ethan, exhausted from the pillars trial, usually collapsed before she finished.
On the fifth day, Arso appeared. Calm, deliberate, with a tone that made even the bravest tremble. He spoke of divine wrath—a force that could level mountains and obliterate Ermad's pillars alike.
"My uncle may think he's a god," Arso said softly, his eyes distant. "Pride… that's his sin. If he truly were divine, even kings would bow—but he won't."
Ethan listened, silent, heart pounding. Arso's words were warnings, but they were also riddles. He left without another word, leaving Ethan to wonder how much of the danger was real and how much was theater.
That night, Clarita trained alone in the arena. She had hoped Ethan would join her—turn practice into a sparring date—but he was too tired, drained from the pillars and their trials. The dummies fell one by one to her echoed strikes, each movement precise, each thought focused.
Then, without warning, time itself froze. Her muscles locked mid-motion. Her eyes widened as her mind raced. Someone had stopped the flow of time.
Clarita's fingers went to her hair accessory—a simple comb clip, but it was no ordinary ornament. It glimmered faintly, resonating with her aura. Through it, she could perceive layers hidden from the naked eye. She focused and, in the frozen world, a face emerged in the shimmer: Lance. Her childhood friend… turned enemy.
He smirked, poised, emanating raw temporal power. "The gods have ruled too long," he said, voice calm in the frozen silence. "It's time the demigods took control. You've been deceived."
Clarita's mind raced. She analyzed his stance, his energy. "Judging from your time power… Kronos," she whispered. "He promised you rule, but he'd kill anyone to regain it."
Lance's jaw tightened. "You don't understand anything."
Clarita's heart skipped—then a memory flashed, sharper than pain: Abyss Isad. Harmonic. The name she had long suspected but never fully confirmed. Before she could speak, Abyss appeared in her mind, cutting through the fog of doubt.
"Harmonic Cythera," he had said, calm and firm. "I know it's me."
The memory washed over her, a wave of emotions she couldn't contain. She clutched herself, tears forming, but there was no time to dwell on nostalgia.
Back in the frozen arena, Lance's grin widened. Time snapped forward violently, and the countdown to the divine wrath decreased—Ermad itself trembling as the temporal anchor shrank from 60 minutes to 50.
Clarita sprang into action. Every strategy she had, every technique she had gleaned from observing monsters and demigods alike, surged through her. Her power—Warrior of the Mind—activated fully. She mirrored the energy of the beasts and warriors she had encountered, letting it flow through her strikes.
Yet Lance was overwhelming. Each blow she deflected carried the weight of divine will. Each dodge and counter demanded more from her than she thought possible. Her body ached, her mind strained, but she refused to yield.
Ethan, watching from the sidelines, clenched his fists. Even in exhaustion, he recognized the magnitude of the fight. Every second here was more than life or death—it was a trial of wills, of adaptability, of pure survival against a force that could bend reality itself.
Btw I cutted the flashback between Clarita and abyss short because it had why too much lore drops to left alone
But in different place in loom of fate
The chamber of the Fates hummed with tension, threads of destiny quivering like taut strings under unseen fingers. Mira leaned back on her chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at the flickering threads of Ermad.
"A trial in Ermad?" one of the Fates finally spoke, voice clipped with urgency.
"Yes," Mira replied, rolling her eyes. "Who is doing this introduction?"
The sister hesitated, then said, "A… harbinger force is trying to enter the loom of Ermad."
Mira's eyes widened. "Why are you still looking at me? Shoot it down. Now."
The loom shuddered violently. Threads tangled in panic. The countdown from fifty minutes, carefully measured for Ethan's trial, collapsed in an instant—now only ten minutes remained.
Mira's fingers moved over the threads like a storm, severing connections, weaving barriers, locking the trial in a temporal cage. "You will not ruin this test," she hissed.
Clarita and Ethan POV in ermad of course
Clarita froze mid-step as a voice echoed clearly in her mind, calm yet commanding: "Take Ethan and leave now."
A powerful arrow, charged with divine resonance, pierced through Lance, who let out a hiss of frustration before vanishing. It was a temporal defeat, not permanent, but enough to halt his assault for now.
From the sky, a small object tumbled into her hands—a simple hairbrush. She barely had time to recognize it before instinct took over. Sprinting across the shattered terrain, she slammed the brush into Ethan's hands, the familiar artifact activating the portal spell they had practiced in secret.
The world blurred. Stones, pillars, and the titanic figures of Ermad dissolved into streaks of black and gold as they were flung outside the collapsing city. Behind them, divine wrath consumed Ermad in a maelstrom of light and shadow. Towers crumbled, pillars shattered, and the air itself screamed as if mourning its fallen inhabitants.
Even as the city was obliterated, the Loom ensured it would repeat—an endless memory of brute force and divine trial—but Ethan and Clarita were already safe.
If you haven't guess the harbinger and voice speaking was Elysium hehe
Fate Sisters' Loom POV again
Back in the loom, the threads of Ermad pulsed faintly, the harbinger force having been driven away by Mira's intervention. One of the sisters leaned closer, voice soft and tense: "Since you shut down the test… did Ethan pass or not?"
Mira exhaled, her hands hovering over the threads. "He did… good enough." Her gaze flicked over the temporal echoes of the city, of pillars lifted and the King's judgments. "But I wished he'd been able to convince the people there… King Radon to actually listen to Arso."
Her eyes hardened as the loom vibrated faintly. "That harbinger force forced me to stop the test early. Fate is never clean. But Ethan… he survived, adapted, and learned enough to pass, even if it wasn't perfect."
A quiet hum filled the chamber, the loom settling into uneasy silence. Threads still quivered with potential—trials yet unfinished, futures yet unmade.
Mira leaned back, finally allowing herself a faint smirk. "Not bad… for a child of Olympus." as she thinks for next trial what persus said is true fate would aid you but test you with cruelty