I Am Zeus-Chapter 34: Hera’s Pact With Tartarus

The Pit of Tartarus – Hours After Typhon’s Fall

The darkness of Tartarus curled and pulsed like a wounded beast. The air was heavier than usual, like something massive had screamed and the echo never left.

Then—

A new pulse.

A golden portal twisted open.

Through it stepped Hera.

Her robes glowed faintly, her sandals barely touched the scorched stone floor. Behind her floated the massive, charred corpse of Typhon, twisted and broken—what was left of him after Zeus’s final storm. Blood still oozed from the shattered ribs. Black ichor dripped from the limp serpent heads.

Hera’s expression was unreadable. Calm. Maybe too calm.

She stood still for a moment, letting the silence throb around her like a drumbeat. Then—without flinching—she raised one hand.

Typhon’s corpse slammed to the floor of Tartarus like thunder striking the spine of the underworld.

It echoed everywhere.

Then, slowly, she said:

"I brought this to you. Courtesy of Zeus."

She tilted her head slightly, her tone dry, almost mocking.

"He said he was going to dump it back here. And..."

She looked around the endless dark.

"He told me to pass along a message."

She stepped forward.

Her heels clacked against the smooth black stone.

"He said—’if you want something done... get it done yourself.’"

The silence didn’t last.

It boiled.

The shadows surged. The floor cracked.

And then—

Tartarus rose.

Not in a single form. Not as a man. Not as a god.

He erupted like smoke and stone, a shifting monolith of rage. Molten cracks bled fire through his chest. His voice didn’t echo—it crushed.

"ZEUS...!"

His scream was thunder without sound. It rattled Hera’s bones. Her lungs locked for a moment. Her shield spell cracked on her shoulders.

Then suddenly—

The entire realm of Tartarus squeezed inward.

Hera gasped. Her body was lifted into the air. Not physically—but like pressure itself had become hands.

Tartarus suffocated her with presence.

"YOU DARE BRING ME MY FAILURE?" he growled.

"YOU DARE SPEAK IN HIS NAME—IN MY DOMAIN?!"

Her mouth opened, but no words came.

Her throat was tight. Her eyes watered.

Her barrier shattered.

The black stone beneath her split. Her feet dangled, and her hands sparked with golden magic trying to resist—but Tartarus was everywhere.

"You think I care for your theatrics? For your smugness? You think I need more reminders that the gods above still spit on me?"

"ENOUGH!"

She couldn’t breathe. Her chest cracked.

Then—she smiled.

Even in pain. Even choking.

And through clenched teeth, she whispered—

"But what if I help you burn him?"

The pressure froze.

Tartarus paused. His shadow tendrils coiled tighter for a second. Then looser.

Then gone.

Hera fell to the floor on her knees, coughing violently, magic flaring from her lungs just to stay conscious.

The pressure around her retreated like a beast reeling back from its prey, unsure whether it should kill or listen.

Tartarus’s voice returned. Quieter. But colder.

"...speak."

Hera wiped blood from her lip. Stood slowly. Looked up.

"I’m not loyal to Zeus. I’m tired of watching him do whatever he wants. Tired of being cast aside."

Tartarus didn’t answer.

She stepped forward. Her voice steadier now.

"You made Typhon to crush Olympus. And he nearly did. But Zeus... he always wins because people follow him. They believe he’s the center of everything."

Her eyes glinted. "I’m telling you... we change that."

She raised her hand, golden runes pulsing across her wrist.

"I have a plan. But you have to trust me."

"...Why?" Tartarus asked. "Why betray your king?"

Hera’s smile returned, bitter this time. Dark.

"Because I was never his queen."

She turned slightly, flicking Typhon’s broken body behind her with magic like a discarded scroll.

"I don’t want Olympus destroyed. I want it rewritten."

Tartarus stayed quiet.

The shadows shifted.

"You think your monsters are enough?" Hera continued. "They’re not. Zeus is adapting. Growing. The more you fight him head-on, the stronger he becomes. You’ve seen it."

She walked slowly in a circle, like a strategist mapping terrain.

"But from within? From the throne? From influence?"

She turned and faced him fully.

"I can give you that."

Tartarus’s form shrank slightly. Coiled around itself. Studying her. Measuring her heartbeat.

"...what do you propose?"

Hera’s magic flared.

"I feed him a vision. A warning of a war across realms. Something bigger than Typhon. He’ll panic. Gather gods. Grow desperate."

Tartarus’s shadows listened.

Hera leaned in.

"And in his desperation, I give him... a gift."

"A son."

Tartarus tilted his featureless head.

"A son?" he echoed.

"Yes," Hera said. "A child made with your power. Not entirely divine. Not entirely monstrous. Something between. Something made to live in Olympus... and one day tear it from the inside."

The silence after that stretched.

Then—

Tartarus laughed.

Slow, dark, and rising.

"You would raise a child of Tartarus in the home of the gods?"

"I would raise a god of chaos in a temple of order," she corrected.

"And I would do it smiling."

Tartarus leaned close. The heat behind his voice returned.

"You lie. But I believe you."

Hera smiled again.

"Then let’s make a deal."

The shadows circled her hand.

And Tartarus reached forward.

Their fingers met.

The Pact was made.

And Olympus would never be the same.

The storm had gone quiet.

Outside, Olympus still shivered with the memory of Typhon’s fall. Cracks scarred the golden tiles. The divine winds had not yet returned to their calm. But inside the king’s private chamber, all was silent.

Zeus lay on a marble bed carved from a single piece of cloud-tempered stone. The edges were lined with silver sigils glowing faintly with healing aura. His chest rose and fell slowly, deeply. Every breath rasped like thunder slowed to a whisper.

His right shoulder was wrapped in divine cloth. Burnt skin shimmered underneath. His ribs had barely reformed—Typhon’s last strike had been brutal. The monster had bitten into the sky itself, and Zeus had stood in the middle of it.

Now he was still.

Stripped of armor. Shirtless. Pale lightning veins flickered across his torso as the healing spells knitted him back together.

Beside him sat Metis.

Her hands glowed with soft blue light as she pressed her palms gently against his temples. She didn’t speak. She hadn’t spoken in hours.

Instead, she let the silence wrap around them like a blanket. The kind of silence that says: You survived. That’s enough for now.

She dipped her fingers into a small basin beside the bed—filled with ichor-stained water and crushed ambrosia petals—and dabbed his forehead.

Zeus stirred slightly. Eyes fluttered.

Then opened.

"...you’re here," he murmured.

"I never left," Metis said softly.

Zeus groaned faintly, shifting against the bed. "How long?"

"Three days."

He blinked slowly. "Did I win?"

Metis gave him a look. "Barely."

Zeus smiled faintly. "That’s still a win."

She sighed, placing a hand over his chest. "You’re a fool. You always go too far."

"You sound like Poseidon."

"I sound like someone who’s tired of dragging you back from the edge."

He didn’t answer right away. He looked at her hand over his chest, then up at her eyes. There was something unreadable in them. Something distant.

"Metis..."

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