Nicholas prepared. He could not risk his real body. He crafted a puppet from packed earth and enchanted wood, animating it with a sliver of his will. It looked like a simple traveller, a neutral vessel.
He needed a lure. A direct approach was needed, one Hercules would not ignore. He took a sheet of parchment.
He wrote in flawless Ancient Greek. The message was simple. An invitation for a discussion, a place and a time. A remote valley, far from any mortal road.
Then, he enchanted it. He channelled the authority of his artifacts into the parchment. From the Book of Probability, he wove a thread of undeniable significance, ensuring the letter would feel important and be able to reach Hercules using his fate threads as a guide.
From the Anemos Staff, he breathed a spark of unyielding will for the wind to carry the letter to its destination.
From his Cloak, he layered a whisper of absolute secrecy, so that the letter may remain unseen and undetected by anyone other than Hercules.
And through it all, he pulsed his own gathered faith, the raw power of belief, to power the requisite enchantments.
He sent it through the winds, a magical dispatch that would find its recipient.
The letter appeared on a marble temple upon Olympus, where Hercules sat. The hero picked it up. He felt the power radiating from it. The mix of authorities wasn't a combination he had ever felt before from any of the deities he had met.
His curiosity, buried under thousands of years of boredom, was stirred.
Then, Nicholas prepared for failure. He layered the meeting ground with dormant spells. A circle of binding, etched deep into the mountain stone.
A ward of silence, ready to snap shut.
If Hercules refused and attacked, the puppet would be destroyed, but the real Nicholas would remain safe, with his secrets hopefully intact.
The puppet waited by a mountain stream as dusk fell. The air shimmered. Hercules appeared, not with a crash, but with a flash of golden light. He looked at the simple puppet, his expression weary.
Hercules's eyes narrowed. "A puppet? Why does a fearful coward call me here?"
"Prudence is not fear," the voice replied. "I offer you a conversation your master's would not approve of. It wouldn't do for them to unmask me. Well… At least not yet."
Hercules stilled in shock, it had been a long while since anyone dared to challenge the Olympians so blatantly "Speak."
"You have the strength to shatter mountains and crack continents. You have the faith of millions. Yet you stand guard. A watchdog for a mortal. Is this the reward for your labors and your devotion to the Gods? Hell you even named yourself after someone who tried to kill you!"
A flicker of anger crossed the hero's face. "I am a God. That was my reward."
"Are you?" Nicholas's voice was calm. "Dionysus holds a throne. He has status, and he guides mortal hearts. He shapes worship. What is your domain? Strength. A fine tool. But a tool does not sit at the table. It is used, then put away."
Hercules was silent fury colouring his features, the truth of the words hitting a deep, old wound. Hercules used to get lost in the monotony of his eternal life, but now his old scars were being reopened.
"I offer you a new path," Nicholas continued, ignoring the furious God.
"Not to serve me. To join me. To found a new pantheon. I offer you a way to expand your domain. Beyond strength, I offer you a new domain and, most importantly, a seat at the Table. You would be fueled by the faith of millions. Do you want to go the way Pan went?"
He made the final offer. "I will swear this on the River Styx. A binding oath. You will have an equal voice. You will grow beyond the cage they built for you."
Hercules stood for a long time, the wind whipping his lion-skin cloak. He looked at his own powerful hands, then out at the vast world below. He thought of endless guard duty, of being a relic.
"The oath?" he rumbled.
Nicholas then spoke the words, a vow sworn on the Styx, promising partnership and a shared rule.
Hercules gave a single, slow nod. "I am tired of being a tool," he said. "I accept your offer. What is it you need from me?"
The puppet did not smile. "Roosevelt must fall. But it cannot be traced to us. We will create a divine accident."
Later, in the sanctuary, Nicholas explained the plan to his inner circle, Hercules' astral form also flickering among them.
"Hercules is now with us. Now, we remove the last son of Zeus. To do so, I will use a ritual. We will kill a demigod, a son of Poseidon. We will use the demigod's body in a ritual to forge a signature of power, a scent that points directly to the Sea God."
He looked at them, his gaze cold. "We will frame Poseidon. We will make it seem like the Earth-Shaker, in a fit of envy over Zeus's God King authority, lashed out. The death will look like a rival god's wrath. A coincidence of divine politics. Hercules will confirm the 'evidence' of Poseidon's power at the scene. No one will look for a mortal hand. They will see only the old squabbles of Olympus."
They moved. Nicholas, cloaked and hidden, hunted. He found his target in Britain, where the mortal children of Poseidon were congregating.
He used the Anemos Staff, calling a cloud cover to kill Poseidon's child in what looked like a freak Lightning Strike accident to the mortals, but to Poseidon would imply something else entirely.
He took the body, leaving behind a mere smattering of ashes designed to look like the body was burnt to a crisp.
The ritual was performed in his sanctuary. They channelled vast amounts of faith into the body, twisting it into an artifact that would allow for one attack of Poseidon's authority to be mobilised.
They chose the moment. Roosevelt was on a yacht, a public event. Nicholas, from a great distance, unleashed the artifact. A massive creature made out of the seawater, smelling of salt and divine fury, rose from a calm sea. It smashed the yacht, tearing it apart.
Hercules was there but pretended to be overpowered as he allowed the wave to hit.
Afterwards, he reported to a furious Zeus. "The power was Poseidon's," he said, his voice grim. "One of his spawn was responsible, it is undeniable"
Zeus's rage was a storm that shook Olympus. He confronted his brother. Accusations coming from both sides, and denials were met with thunder. The divine family fractured.
Nicholas watched from his sanctuary. The last pin was gone, he had gotten rid of the last obstacle in his way.
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