I Am Zeus-Chapter 30: Typhon

Olympus — Temple Gardens

The sun hovered lazily over Olympus, draping golden light over the palace roofs and marble paths. The gardens buzzed quietly, a place meant for peace—until now.

Metis stood beneath the olive tree by the fountain, arms folded, her expression calm but unreadable.

Across from her, Hera’s smile was anything but soft.

"When Zeus returns," Hera said, stepping closer, her golden sandals brushing against the grass, "he’ll have to choose his queen. And I will be the one he chooses."

She tilted her head, green eyes glittering. "But don’t worry, Metis. I won’t take away your right to see him. I’m generous like that."

Metis didn’t move. She just blinked once.

"Generous?" she said, voice quiet but cutting. "You sound confident."

"I am." Hera grinned wider. "You were just a means to an end. A tool to help him rise. But now the throne is real. Olympus is real. The gods are gathering. He needs more than a whispering oracle at his side. He needs presence. Power. A goddess worthy of the heavens."

"And that’s you?" Metis asked.

Hera raised her chin. "Who else?"

Metis finally stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberate.

Her eyes, clear as moonlight, met Hera’s.

"You speak like a queen," Metis said. "But you forget something."

She stopped, just a step away.

"Zeus has already chosen."

Hera’s smile faltered.

Metis kept going.

"And I’m sorry to crush your delusion, but it’s not you. It was never going to be you."

Hera’s fingers twitched at her sides.

Metis tilted her head just slightly, voice still calm.

"Yes... you’ll be one of his women, I don’t doubt that. You’ll scream and rage and tear apart Olympus until he gives you what you want. And he will, because sometimes giving a storm its space is easier than stopping it."

She leaned in.

"But the Queen of the Sky? The one who holds his heart before his throne? That’s not you. It never will be."

Hera’s grin cracked.

Her breath hitched.

And then it twisted.

"You—"

"Because deep down," Metis cut in smoothly, "you know he pities you. He sees your need to be worshipped. And it disgusts him."

Silence.

For half a second, Olympus held its breath.

Then—

Crack.

The wind surged.

Boom.

A column of air exploded outward as Hera snapped.

Her eyes flared, her voice became a snarl, and divine energy burst from her skin like wildfire.

"You smug little witch—!"

She lunged.

A pulse of blinding gold tore through the air as she raised her hand to strike Metis across the face, a goddess’ wrath surging through her veins.

But before her fingers landed—

The sky screamed.

A thunderclap shattered the air.

Lightning tore the sky open.

And Zeus descended.

Like a comet of pure fury, wrapped in arcs of stormlight and raw power, his cloak flared behind him like living storm clouds. Thunder rolled across the heavens as he landed between them, slamming down with a force that cracked the marble beneath his feet.

Hera stumbled back.

Metis didn’t even flinch.

Zeus stood tall, electricity crackling across his skin, his golden eyes burning with heat. His gaze shifted once—to Hera.

"What do you think you’re doing?" he said, voice low and heavy, like the air before a storm.

Hera tried to recover, straightening her back. "I was just—"

"I heard you from the sky," he said. "All of it."

That silenced her.

Zeus turned slightly, just enough to look at Metis. His face softened. A little.

"You alright?"

She nodded once. "Fine."

Then he turned back to Hera.

But this time, there was no softness. Just lightning.

"I don’t care who you think you are," he said. "But raise your hand against her again and I’ll remind you what the Queen of the Sky means."

Hera’s mouth opened, then shut.

Zeus stepped forward, not threatening—decisive.

"Metis is not just my wife," he said. "She is Olympus’ first. The one who stood beside me before any of this was carved from war. The throne exists because of her."

A pause.

"And yes," he said, voice ringing louder, echoing through Olympus, "she is Queen of the Sky."

Hera’s hands clenched. Her pride bled from her eyes. But she didn’t speak.

Not this time.

She turned away, fury burning inside her chest like a slow storm, and vanished into the wind.

Zeus let out a slow breath. The sky began to calm. The crackling air settled. The storm softened behind his eyes.

Metis stepped up beside him.

He didn’t look at her right away.

But she looked at him.

And smiled.

"I didn’t ask you to come down like that," she said softly.

He snorted. "You didn’t have to."

Then he turned, finally meeting her gaze.

"Some things... I don’t let slide."

She brushed his arm. "So dramatic."

He shrugged. "I’m the god of storms."

She leaned in.

"And you’re mine."

He smiled—just a little.

And for now, the heavens above Olympus were calm again. But beneath it all, one truth remained:

The sky had a queen.

And she wasn’t going anywhere.

The Depths of the World – Tartarus

The ocean above was still. But far below—past the reach of light, past the reach of gods, past even the whispers of death—something stirred.

A voice rumbled.

Low. Ancient. Not just sound... intention.

"I guess the gods are also flawed."

It echoed through the marrow of the planet. Through bedrock. Through the bones of titans long buried.

"They seal monsters here like trash. Forgotten. Unwanted. Like I’m some kind of pit... not a primordial."

The voice grew louder.

"But I am not a prison. I am not their punishment. I am a being."

The walls trembled. Chains rattled. Fire surged in the cracks of the abyss.

"I am Tartarus."

And Tartarus was angry.

For too long, the gods had thrown their enemies into his flesh—chained them in his guts, bled them into his rivers of magma, never once asking if he agreed. Titans. Giants. Monsters. Cronus himself.

And Tartarus was done.

"Time to act."

A pulse rippled from the center of his being. Like a heartbeat made of molten hate.

"I will make something worse than all of them. Something to remind Olympus that depth is deeper than sky. That darkness is older than storm."

He didn’t need Gaia’s blessing.

But he would take it anyway.

Deep Beneath Gaia’s Core – Where Sky Never Reached

The earth above groaned.

Gaia stirred from her slumber. Her presence stretched down to meet him, hesitant.

"What do you want, Tartarus?"

"Justice," he growled.

"Or revenge?"

"What’s the difference when they all end up screaming?"

Gaia hesitated.

"You’ve been silent for eons."

"And you’ve been betrayed," Tartarus said. "Zeus put your children in me. He put you in chains without touching you."

Her silence was all the answer he needed.

So Tartarus reached into himself.

Into the filth. Into the rage. Into the unspoken.

He clawed into his own essence—his primordial flesh—and tore something loose. A core of raw destruction. It pulsed like a second heart. Like something that should not exist.

And from it...

He began to shape.

Birth of Typhon – The Curse Made Flesh

No wind.

No sky.

Just screams.

The earth cracked open and a shadow with ten thousand limbs surged out like a living nightmare. His legs were snakes that twisted and snapped with their own hunger. His hands ended in claws that could tear the stars. His wings—when they unfolded—blotted out everything.

His head split into dragon maws, each one howling a different kind of storm—plague, fire, poison, thunder, silence.

Typhon was not born.

He was built.

A body forged from Tartarus’s own wrath.

Eyes forged from the last light of fallen Titans.

Lungs filled with the black smoke of Gaia’s deepest pits.

He opened his mouth.

And screamed.

The sound shattered caverns.

It made even the dead stir.

Gaia flinched. Her presence recoiled.

"What have you done?"

"What you couldn’t," Tartarus said.

"You’ve made a god-killer."

"No," he rumbled. "I’ve made a god’s reckoning."

And as Typhon rose—

Rivers boiled.

The earth bled.

Even Olympus... heard it.

Above the Sky – Mount Olympus Trembles

Zeus stood at the balcony, a cup in hand.

The sky flickered.

Thunder trembled on its own.

His brow furrowed.

"What was that?" he muttered.

Metis stepped beside him, eyes narrowed.

"That wasn’t thunder."

Zeus turned toward the southern horizon.

He could feel it now.

A presence older than war.

A weight crawling up from the edge of reality itself.

And in the deepest part of his storm-filled soul...

Zeus knew.

Something was coming.

Something he couldn’t reason with.

Something that didn’t care who wore the crown.

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