"So where are we going now, dumbass?" Medusa asked, her tone a blend of irritation and curiosity, her eyes narrowed while still peeking from under Tom's black clothes.
Tom smiled faintly at the nickname, clearly amused. "We are going to Norse mythology," he said with a dark chuckle. "But first... let's clean this Greek mess."
Medusa's expression shifted instantly. Her eyes widened with a flicker of fear. "Are you crazy or something!? You can't destroy Greece. You can't kill Zeus or any of them, you know!"
Tom let out a low, entertained laugh, full of arrogance and confidence. He turned his head slightly toward her hidden form. "Oh? Are you worried about me now?"
Medusa blushed faintly, her voice rising in flustered protest. "Of course not! Why would I care about a dumbass like you?!"
Tom's grin widened, and he slowed his pace slightly, amused by her reaction. "You're getting soft, Medusa," he teased. "I saw that little tremble in your voice. So cute. Are those tears of worry I see, or just the sand in your eyes?"
"Stop mocking me," she muttered, pressing herself deeper beneath his clothes, hiding her flushed cheeks.
"Come on," Tom said with a sly grin. "Admit it. You were scared I might get hurt. Was it the thought of me dying that scared you... or was it being alone again?"
"I was scared you'd fail and embarrass yourself, that's all," she shot back.
Tom laughed. "Liar. You've been clinging to me ever since I destroyed your kingdom. Shouldn't you be plotting revenge, not snuggling up against me like a pet?"
"I am not snuggling!" Medusa hissed.
"You literally slithered into my clothes, wrapped yourself around me, and now your face is beside my ear," he whispered, his voice dripping with amusement. "That's not exactly what enemies do."
She paused. "I... just feel safe here. I hate it, but it's true."
Tom's smile slowly faltered, replaced with a strange stillness. His gaze drifted forward. "Stay under my clothes until I say otherwise," he commanded suddenly, his tone shifting to cold authority.
Medusa's eyes narrowed. "I'm not your slave, you know! Just because I'm your wife doesn't mean I take your orders."
Tom gave her a charming, small smile. "Oh, my cutie pie, forgive me if I made you angry. But if you want to see a rain of blood and a brutal war… stay close to me. You might enjoy the show."
Medusa huffed and turned her head away, though her cheeks were still warm. "Fine. I'll stay."
Tom began chanting an incantation under his breath. "Vintus Vortex!"
Dark energy pulsed from his body. Two enormous, obsidian-black wings burst out of his back, feathers shining like blades. Wind howled around them as sand rose in violent gusts. The force of the transformation made the ground beneath him tremble. Medusa tightened her hold, wrapping tighter around his torso to keep from slipping.
With one powerful leap, Tom soared into the sky, his wings slicing through the air like a dragon diving toward its prey. The desert blurred below, endless golden sands that seemed to stretch for eternity.
Medusa, still tucked under his clothing, peeked out slightly. Her voice was softer now. "You're insane. And powerful. And... terrifying."
Tom chuckled. "Thank you for the compliments."
Minutes passed in silence. The sky shifted from golden to stormy grey as they approached the boundaries of the Greek realm. The towering mountain of Olympus pierced through the clouds, glorious and ancient.
Tom narrowed his eyes. "Vintus Nortox."
His wings evaporated in a blink, dissolving into shimmering particles. He landed gracefully before the foot of Mount Olympus, dust swirling around his feet as he touched the ground.
Tom stood before the grand mountain of Olympus, its peak swallowed by thick, swirling clouds and divine energy crackling in the air like sparks on a fuse. He narrowed his eyes, surveying the sacred ground where the gods ruled from their golden thrones.
"So, this is Olympus..." he muttered, tilting his head. "Not too beauti—"
Before he could finish, the air screamed with force. A burst of blinding golden energy roared toward him like a divine meteor. Tom's instincts flared. With a twist of his body and a sharp pivot, he evaded the attack effortlessly. The blast struck the earth behind him, tearing through the ground and leaving a smoking crater in its wake.
A slow, deliberate smirk spread across his face as he turned.
From the mist, a figure emerged—towering, battle-hardened, radiating the raw essence of war itself. Muscles carved like stone, eyes burning like molten fire, and his grip tight on a jagged, blood-soaked spear.
Ares.
The God of War stepped forward, dragging his weapon across the ground, each scrape echoing like a war drum in the sky. His eyes met Tom's, and the two forces—one divine, one defiant—locked in a silence so loud it felt like thunder had paused to listen.
But Tom didn't flinch.
Instead, he raised an eyebrow, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. "So the dogs of Olympus send their mutt first... How disappointing."
Ares let out a growl, the air rumbling with it.
Medusa, still wrapped tightly around Tom under his clothes, whispered into his ear, her voice trembling with thrill and fear. "Tom... this isn't just a god. This is war itself."
Tom's voice was calm, but laced with venomous excitement. "Then let's show war what true destruction looks like."
The wind exploded around them.
The air around the battlefield was thick with the oppressive weight of impending destruction. Tom stood tall, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with Ares, the God of War. The ground beneath them trembled, as if sensing the immense power of their looming confrontation. The heavens themselves seemed to darken, clouds swirling overhead in chaotic fury.
Ares sneered, his muscular frame radiating with divine energy, his eyes burning with the madness of battle. He clenched his fists, every muscle in his body taut and ready to strike. "You think you can stand against me, mortal?" His voice echoed like thunder, shaking the very air around them.
Tom's lips curled into a faint smile, a chilling expression that spoke of a deep, consuming confidence. His black robes billowed around him, but his stance remained perfectly still. "I am no mere mortal," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of finality. "And I am not here for a simple battle, Ares. This is the end of your reign."
Without warning, Ares lunged forward, his speed almost too fast to comprehend. His massive fist swung toward Tom, the air itself crackling with the force of the blow. But Tom was ready.
With a flick of his wrist, Tom summoned the power of his magic, his fingers dancing through the air with precision. Two glowing swords materialized beside him, their blades gleaming with an otherworldly light. The swords shimmered, forged from the purest essence of magic itself, imbued with the power of the "Imperial Rex"—the ultimate magic that only a being of Tom's caliber could control. Each blade radiated with a dark, foreboding aura, and the very air around them seemed to hum in fear.
Ares' fist collided with the ground where Tom had been standing, but Tom had already moved. In an instant, he raised his hands, and the swords followed his every movement, slicing through the air like extensions of his will. The blades twisted, glowing brighter with every motion as they soared toward Ares with deadly intent.
Ares barely managed to block one of the swords with his shield, the clash of metal ringing out like the bell of fate itself. But the other sword found its mark. With a swift, precise motion, it drove deep into Ares' side, its blade sinking into the divine flesh with a sickening crunch. Ares roared in pain, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What is this power?" he bellowed, struggling to dislodge the blade.
Tom's cold smile never faltered. "The power of a king," he said. "And you're about to learn the true meaning of destruction."
With a powerful thrust of his hands, Tom willed the swords to move again. The first sword pulled free from Ares' body, only to be driven down into his chest with unrelenting force. The second blade followed, cutting a deep gash across Ares' armor, tearing through it like paper. Blood, both mortal and divine, splattered the battlefield as Ares stumbled back, his body wracked with pain.
"You can't defeat me!" Ares shouted, his voice growing more frantic, the fury in his eyes shifting to desperation.
Tom did not reply. He moved with chilling precision, his hands never faltering, controlling the swords as if they were extensions of his own will. The blades moved in perfect synchronization with his movements, and with another fluid motion, he pulled them apart. Ares' body, once a symbol of divine strength, was now torn asunder. The swords carved through him like a hot knife through butter, cleaving his torso in two with a grotesque sound of cracking bone and tearing flesh.
Ares let out one final scream, his voice echoing across the battlefield, before his body collapsed into two distinct pieces, each one falling to the ground in a twisted heap. The earth beneath him seemed to shudder, as if even it was disturbed by the god's death.
Tom stood, his chest rising and falling slowly, his gaze never leaving the remnants of Ares' broken form. The air around him was still, the only sound the soft crackling of magic dissipating into the ether. The two magical swords hovered at his sides, their glow dimming but still powerful, waiting for his next command. He could feel the power coursing through him, the aftershocks of the battle reverberating in his very bones.
But as Tom gazed over the battlefield, a new presence made itself known. His eyes lifted toward the towering peaks of Mount Olympus, and there, standing at the very summit, were the gods—Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hera, Hermes, Hephaestus, and Helios. Each of them stood as an imposing figure, their gazes fixed on Tom, their faces twisted with a mix of awe, rage, and fear.
Zeus, the King of the Gods, stood at the forefront, his mighty form radiating power. His eyes, however, were not the regal, commanding orbs of a king, but the eyes of someone who had seen the impossible. He looked down at Tom with an expression that seemed to pierce the very heavens, his jaw clenched tight.
Poseidon, the God of the Sea, stood with his trident raised, his gaze unwavering. His form was powerful, like the very oceans he controlled, but even his unmatched strength could not conceal the dread in his eyes. He knew the threat Tom posed—one that even gods could not ignore.
Hades, Lord of the Underworld, stood off to the side, his dark cloak swirling around him like smoke. His face was inscrutable, but his eyes gleamed with an ancient knowledge, as if he had foreseen this moment for eons. He had seen many fall, but this was different. Tom was no mere mortal.
Hera, the Goddess of Marriage, stood beside her fellow gods, her eyes filled with both contempt and wariness. She had no love for Ares, but even she could not deny the power Tom now wielded. The balance had shifted.
Hermes, the Messenger of the Gods, hovered near the edge, his wings twitching as if ready to flee. His usual bravado was absent, replaced by a wary caution. He knew that Tom was no longer just a threat; he was the harbinger of destruction itself.
Hephaestus, the God of Blacksmiths, stood with arms crossed, his expression grim. He had forged many weapons, but the swords Tom wielded were unlike anything he had ever seen—made of pure magic, beyond even his craft.
Helios, the God of the Sun, was radiant in his golden glory, but there was no warmth in his light. His eyes burned with a dangerous curiosity, watching Tom as if trying to understand how one so powerful could have come into being.
The gods looked down from their perch atop Olympus, their faces hauntingly still, their presence overwhelming. The silence stretched on, thick with tension, as each god pondered the same question: Who was this mortal who could defeat Ares, the God of War, and challenge them all?
Tom's gaze was cold, unyielding, as he stared back at the gods. His hands dropped to his sides, and the magical swords vanished in an instant, their power fading into the air like mist. He did not speak; his presence alone was enough to send a clear message.
"I have come for you all," Tom's eyes seemed to say. "And I will not stop until the gods are no more."
The gods of Olympus stood in silence, their faces betraying a mixture of fear and defiance. They knew that the world was on the brink of a cataclysmic shift. And Tom Riddle, the mortal who had killed Ares, was the one to bring it.