The Gods of Greece—or rather, the Gods of Atlantis—had first descended from beyond the stars because the universe that birthed their civilization had run dry. With their energy depleted, they were forced to scour the boundless cosmos for a new power source—anything that might give them a chance to rebuild.
So their original form was a fleet that could sail the void.
A single fleet consisted of twelve starships of varying scale and purpose, plus a supermassive mothership—stellar in magnitude—capable of carrying, repairing, upgrading, and even manufacturing starships.
That mothership was "Chaos."
Chaos was the true origin of the Atlantean gods—an ancient existence that Greek myth defined as "primordial" and "chaos."
Back then, Chaos had paid an enormous price to drag the remnants of the fleet out of their dying universe. Now it retained only three percent of its energy—yet even so, it still unquestionably stood above Zeus, far beyond the rest of the gods.
Because that was three percent of a star.
And Chaos had always been Rovi's real objective.
After stepping down from the thrones of the Sea and Underworld, Poseidon and Hades returned to a purer state at last. Free of the burden of maintaining Sea and Underworld, they could join the sequence of Chief Gods Rovi had linked—without destabilizing ocean or earth.
Now Rovi unified Olympus's Chief Gods, using the wisdom of countless mortals as vast logistical computation. Through Kronos's body, he built a connection to Chaos and awakened the long-slumbering stellar mothership.
It was possible—because even though the Olympian Gods (save Zeus) had lost their bodies, they still carried the essential "signature" of third-generation units manufactured from within Chaos itself.
They could still constitute a "fleet."
And Kronos, the second-generation capital ship forged by Chaos, was bound to it more tightly than any of them.
High above, beyond the sky, the vortex-eye amid drifting nebulae made Zeus's steel frame go rigid. He hadn't felt anything like this in a very long time.
Ever since the decisive war against the interstellar vanguard—when he'd lost, yet narrowly preserved his body and Authority and then clawed his way step by step toward the threshold of an Omnipotent Supreme God—Zeus's sense of superiority had festered for millennia.
He looked on all things as ants, treated the gods as slaves. With power in hand, he no longer cared about the world at all; life and death were a whim.
But now—here, in this instant—he was the ant.
He was the one who should be crawling, waiting to be judged.
"You motherfucking Sage!"
Zeus bellowed in fury.
"Your mom isn't here," Rovi laughed, mocking. "But your ancestors are—right above your head. You didn't seriously think I came to duel you to the death, did you, Zeus?"
"You're too green!"
This had always been the plan.
Ripping Zeus off his throne and forcing a decisive duel might sound clean on paper. But no matter what, Rovi could never truly match Zeus—one step shy of being a Primordial, one breath away from Omnipotence.
So why not choose a death with a higher ceiling?
Dying by Zeus's hand would certainly etch the moment into myth.
But it was better—far better—to drag Zeus down and die together beneath Chaos's gaze.
Yes. A gaze was enough.
Supreme God or God-King, Chief God or not—before a presence that truly rivaled a star, they were no different from dust.
Death would take only an instant.
Absolute. Irrevocable. No room to turn the wheel.
That was why Zeus was terrified—and furious. As a Machine God, he didn't want to die. He still wanted to chase that last step, to push himself from "Primordial" to "Primordial plus one."
Rovi, meanwhile, laughed from the heart.
"That Primordial being beyond the cosmos—between nebulae, in the cracks of time—has already looked this way through the hole you opened."
Steel wings trembled as Rovi threw back his head and laughed. "Zeus. You and I are both in its sights!"
What would a newly awakened Chaos do?
It would gaze, instinctively.
And that gaze was an "attack."
...
"Making such a spectacle just to die. What nonsense," Gilgamesh chuckled in the Underworld. After accepting Hades's Authority, he had climbed back to his throne step by step, surveying the city as it grew emptier and emptier. He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, lips curling into a grin.
"Hmph. Bwahahaha—rabid mongrel. After a thousand years, you can still howl like that?"
"And after a thousand years, has the self-important golden mongrel started preening again?" a voice replied—right beside him.
Rovi's shadow appeared at Gilgamesh's side, seated in the chair that had been empty a moment ago.
"Rovi, Gil… it's nice," Enkidu's shadow appeared on the other side.
There was no doubt: Rovi stood in the high heavens. En stood between the waves.
They weren't here.
And yet the figures before Gilgamesh were undeniably real—projections of self, the manifestation of will and mind.
Outside, it was only an instant.
Here, it felt like forever.
"Mongrel. Will you come back?" Gilgamesh asked.
"I will." Rovi nodded.
"I'll keep waiting for you." Enkidu nodded gently.
They had waited a thousand years already.
What was another thousand? Ten thousand?
Because they were friends.
So neither Gilgamesh nor Enkidu would ever become a stumbling block on Rovi's road forward. They would be his support—quietly, steadily—waiting for his return.
"Then—let's make it a promise." Gilgamesh's expression turned solemn. "No matter how the years change, we will meet again."
He held out his fist.
Just like that day long ago, before they set out.
"No matter how the years change, we will meet again." Rovi and Enkidu exchanged a look, then smiled and raised their fists as well.
Their knuckles met.
The figures vanished.
Gilgamesh opened his eyes. and the world began to move again.
...
The Eye of Chaos grew larger and larger, drawing closer and closer to full wakefulness.
"Zeus," Rovi asked, "any last words?"
"Last words?" Zeus lowered that enormous, head-shaped body. "Fuck your motherfucking last words!"
"I already told you, your mom isn't here," Rovi snapped back. "Only your ancestors are up there."
Zeus seethed.
Seethed beyond seething.
But as a "third-generation flagship" manufactured from within Chaos, he understood Chaos's power.
One look, and everything evaporated. No one could dodge it.
Yet the God-King was still the God-King. Since he knew his ending, he wouldn't degrade himself into pathetic begging.
So he lowered his body.
Beneath that colossal head, limbs and a torso extended—
Just like Kronos.
If he was going to die, he'd beat Rovi to pulp first.
Ten thousand bolts of lightning scattered and fell.
Rovi raised his fist to the sky.
Iron wings shuddered. Second-generation Machine God and third-generation Machine God slammed into each other and fought in the storm.
Fist to fist. Force to force.
"Fuck you, Sage!" Zeus roared, lightning like wildfire.
Rovi answered with only a savage laugh. "Hah! Zeus, all you can do is rage—and you're still too weak!"
Authority over the Sky, Sea, and Underworld gathered in his body.
Add to that the myriad lights of the mortal world.
With all of it, Rovi could finally—barely—cross the threshold and contend with Zeus, who now carried a crushing pressure in his heart.
Yes. Even in a last-ditch battle before death, Zeus's mind was covered in a fog.
He still feared death. His nature let him bury that fear so it wouldn't show—but once doubt entered his fists, flaws inevitably followed.
Rovi, by contrast, had no fear at all!
He surged forward. Fists crashed together. In the same motion, Rovi twisted aside, joints rotating, and raised his left leg—whipping it out.
Zeus raised his leg to block. With a BOOM, gale winds detonated. A crimson storm instantly pierced Zeus's frame, colliding with the lightning wrapped around him.
And in that instant, Rovi increased his output.
Zeus—stepped back.
Rovi only grew stronger the longer he fought.
He pressed Zeus down.
"What—" Zeus gasped, stunned.
And like that, held under Rovi's pressure… Rovi spread his palm and laughed out loud.
Then, with a crash, he slammed Zeus into the ground.
With human will, with the power of all things—
In the final moment...
Man defeated God.
"RAAAAAAA!"
Zeus bellowed as that colossal body smashed into the earth, stamping out a vast crater. Cracks spiderwebbed outward in layers. He steadied himself and looked up.
This time, Rovi stood above.
And Zeus had to look up.
For a momen...
All sound died. Between heaven and earth, there was only the clash of Man and God.
Rovi raised his hand and swung it down.
"Fall."
"God of the High Heavens!"
Above his head, the Eye of Chaos finally opened to its widest.
Molten firelight churned; the vortex of cloud streamed and turned.
HUMM—!
The world seemed to freeze in that instant.
A streak of light dropped straight down, bathing Rovi and Zeus. Along that beam's path, monstrous energy descended—coming for them.
The gods rose.
The multitude fell silent.
All would witness the fall of the King of Gods.
And then—
And then what?
...
[SECOND-GENERATION FLAGSHIP "ROVI." THIS IS CHAOS.]
A cold mechanical voice rang in Rovi's ears.
He froze, then jerked his head up toward the Eye. And in that Eye, he seemed to see—
Amusement.
[I AM CHAOS, THE INTELLIGENCE CREATED FOR THE RESTORATION OF ATLANTEAN CIVILIZATION.]
[ACCORDING TO THE ATLANTEAN RESTORATION PLAN, I WILL GRANT YOU THE SEED OF CHAOS. YOU WILL BECOME THE BEARER OF ATLANTEAN CIVILIZATION.]
[Y0U WILL DIE HERE, AND ENTER A STATE NEITHER LIVING NOR DEAD.]
[INTERSTELLAR LAW REMINDER—]
[ALL THINGS ARE BORN AND PERISH. INHERITANCE IS ABOVE ALL.]
Under the Eye's gaze, Rovi could feel his body melting—yet at the same time, another kind of vitality rose.
A glint of light.
A piece of "chaos."
Why…
Why?!
Rovi didn't understand. He only wanted to die—he didn't want to be some inheritor of Atlantean civilization…
[RETRIEVAL COMPLETE. RESPONSE—]
[BECAUSE YOU POSSESS THE POWER OF STARS. THE STELLAR FURNACE CAN KEEP THE SEED OF CHAOS BURNING WITHOUT END.]
Stellar Furnace...
Tartarus?
Rovi tried to ask more, but Chaos shut down its intelligence at the same time.
Zeus melted away in the light, vanishing like dissolution.
Rovi vanished with him.
But...
He opened his eyes.
Before him stretched the endless Sea of Imaginary Numbers. He lowered his gaze to see that he still had a machine body—and at his chest, a tiny spark burned, flickering like firelight.
That was the fusion of Tartarus's spark and the "Seed of Chaos" Chaos had spoken of.
Rovi was, in truth, already dead.
He should have disappeared completely.
But that Seed of Chaos let him endure—undying—in this state.
A dead man's body, lingering in the present.
Only because the energy of Chaos's gaze repelled him into the Sea of Imaginary Numbers.
"I… I'm done." Rovi pressed a hand to his forehead.
"Aaaaa—!" At the same time, a crisp cry rang out from deep within the Sea.
Tiamat opened her eyes. Sensing Rovi's return, she came rushing over—openly, happily, and worried sick.
---
T/N: LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
is he finally giving up