I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

“Did you see that, brother?” Artemis asked, her voice tinged with disbelief, her mind still reeling from what had just transpired. Her eyes, usually calm and unshakable, now reflected the shock that coursed through her.

“I saw it clearly,” Apollo replied, his tone measured, but even he couldn’t hide the flicker of awe in his voice. His gaze remained fixed on the empty space where Nathan had stood mere moments ago, a spectacle of overwhelming might that defied even their divine senses.

In contrast to her siblings, Aphrodite remained silent, though a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She might not have voiced her thoughts, but inwardly, her heart brimmed with joy, amusement even. How she longed to witness the expressions on Hera’s and Athena’s faces right now.

The gods of wisdom and power, so accustomed to control and superiority, must have been seething in frustration as they watched Nathan’s overwhelming display—one they never saw coming.

It was obvious that in the end, neither of them had been able to pinpoint Nathan’s exact location. He had vanished, as if erased from existence itself.

“He’s gone,” Artemis muttered, frustration creeping into her voice as she scanned the city of Lyrnessus from their divine vantage point. Her keen huntress eyes searched desperately, but Nathan had disappeared.

“I’ve lost track of his presence as well,” Apollo admitted, though his eyes held a gleam of curiosity rather than irritation.

For the briefest of moments, both Apollo and Artemis had let their attention slip. Just a minute—less, even—and that was all it took for Nathan to vanish completely from their sights. They could no longer sense him anywhere in Lyrnessus. A feat that even gods would struggle to achieve.

Aphrodite suppressed a laugh, her thoughts swirling with satisfaction. “I should really thank Amaterasu for that,” she mused to herself, recalling how the Sun Goddess had taught Nathan the secret art of erasing one’s presence. But Nathan, like a prodigy, had mastered the technique in mere days—a week, at most. The boy was a monster in his own right.

His swift progression had only accelerated since he’d enslaved Amaterasu, drawing from her divine energy, and further bolstered by Khione’s power, his strength was growing at a terrifying pace.

Despite her inner glee, Aphrodite kept her expression neutral. Now wasn’t the time to reveal her connection to Nathan, let alone her role in giving the Princess of Tenebria the ability to summon a Hero. She had already gathered more enemies than she cared for. Best to play the part of an oblivious observer for now.

“I didn’t realize there was someone so powerful on our side,” Aphrodite remarked casually, glancing at Apollo with a sly, satisfied smile. “Did you, dear Apollo?”

“No,” Apollo replied, though his eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze on Aphrodite, suspicion flickering behind his serene façade. “But I feel like you know more than you’re letting on, Aphrodite.”

“What are you hiding?” Artemis added, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes narrowing as she regarded the goddess of love. “We’re all on the same side here, Aphrodite.”

Aphrodite waved her hand dismissively, her laughter light and melodic, as though the idea were utterly ridiculous. “Oh, please. I don’t know much more than you two,” she lied smoothly, “but shouldn’t we just be glad that he’s on our side? We could use another strong warrior, especially with Hector as our only other trump card.”

Apollo and Artemis exchanged glances, clearly not fully convinced, but neither could refute her logic. Nathan’s strength was undeniable, and at the moment, they needed every advantage they could get in the war that loomed ahead.

“Perhaps,” Apollo murmured, though his suspicions lingered.

“But if we truly want to win this war,” Aphrodite continued, her voice dropping into a more serious tone, “we need to use every advantage we have. You should meet with him in person, Apollo. I’m sure he would be quite flattered if the great god of the sun were to approach him directly with praise.”

Apollo regarded her carefully, the edges of his suspicion dulling at the thought. “Perhaps I will,” he said, nodding slowly, though he was still wary of the goddess’s motives. “When the time is right.”

°°°°°

In the grand halls of Olympus, within the towering marble walls of Zeus’s castle, the gods were gathered, their attention fixated on the aftermath of the battle in Lyrnessus. The air buzzed with a mixture of excitement and tension, their divine senses still tingling from the spectacle they had just witnessed.

“That was quite something, wasn’t it?!” Hermes exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. His winged sandals barely touched the ground as he paced, his eyes bright with the thrill of it all. The messenger god had always loved action, and the chaotic battle they had just observed, thanks to the great vision magic cast over the mortal realm, had not disappointed.

The start of the war had been far more exhilarating than any of them had anticipated.

“Amazing? Don’t overstate it,” Ares interjected with a low chuckle, though his fiery eyes gleamed with a mad intensity that betrayed his excitement. His broad frame seemed to vibrate with barely contained energy, his hands flexing as if already gripping an unseen weapon. “It’s just a war, after all. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But I won’t deny—seeing that much bloodshed, those glorious fights… It makes my blood burn! I’m itching for battle!”

Zeus, seated on his throne, sighed deeply. His usually commanding presence seemed somewhat burdened. He ran a hand through his thick beard, already feeling the strain of the conflict that had only just begun.

“There’s no fighting against humans, Ares,” Zeus said, his voice carrying both command and exhaustion. His piercing eyes momentarily flashed with frustration. The war had barely started, and already it was causing headaches. The devastation in Lyrnessus was staggering. The city was reduced to rubble, and nearly ninety percent of its people had been slaughtered in the chaos.

“Hades is going to be quite busy”, Zeus thought grimly. His brother would be overwhelmed by the surge of souls flooding into the Underworld, and with the war escalating, the number of the dead would only rise. The fields of Elysium and the banks of the Styx would be filled for centuries to come.

“It was impressive, though,” Dionysus chimed in, lounging lazily on a golden couch, swirling a goblet of wine in his hand. His lips curled into a playful yet sly smile as if he were already concocting a mischievous plan. “But I have to wonder… who was the one who cast that ice lance? The magic it wielded… that was no ordinary spell. Celestial rank magic?

How could a human possibly command such power?”

At his words, the air in the room shifted, tension settling like a thick cloud. Dionysus’s question hung in the air, drawing the attention of every god present. His playful demeanor belied the seriousness of the matter.

The gods were well aware of the ranks of mortal magic—humans measured their spells by numbers, from the simplest first-rank magic to the strongest cast twelfth-rank magic, for example Gwen used a 8th rank wind magic against Nathan.

But Celestial rank magic? That was a different realm entirely.

Celestial magic was the domain of demigods and gods. It was a force far more potent than anything the mortals could normally comprehend, let alone wield. The fact that a human had invoked such power was nothing short of astonishing.

Silence fell across the room. The gods exchanged uneasy glances. Dionysus was right to bring it up. Something about this war was far from ordinary.

“Perhaps a god taught him,” a calm voice cut through the stillness.

The gathered deities turned toward the entrance of the chamber. Athena strode in, her armor gleaming under the soft glow of Olympus’s eternal light. Her expression was sharp. Walking beside her was Hera, the queen of the gods, in an extremely bad mood.

“A god?” Ares scoffed, though there was a flicker of disbelief in his voice. “What god would teach a human celestial magic?”

But Athena’s words rang with truth.

Khione—the Goddess of Ice—was the one who had bestowed Nathan with such knowledge. She had taught him the arcane secrets of celestial magic, magic that was typically reserved for the chosen few, demigods and gods alike.

Of course, no one in Olympus truly understood the full extent of what was happening, save for one—Aphrodite. The goddess of love had long suspected the connection between Nathan and Khione, having caught glimpses of their strange and growing bond well before anyone else had even considered it.

“I bet it’s that bitch Aphrodite,” Hera spat, her voice seething with anger as she reclined on her throne next to Zeus. Her eyes blazed with fury, her mind churning with suspicion. “That’s why she seems so confident, so smug.”

It was highly possible, Hermes thought.

He smirked silently. Aphrodite had always been more involved in the affairs of mortals than most of the gods realized. But what Hera didn’t know—and what Hermes wasn’t about to reveal—was that Aphrodite had been the one to orchestrate the summoning of the Hero of Darkness. She had helped pull the strings that brought Samael into the fold, though few could connect the dots.

Hermes chuckled inwardly. He was the only god aware that the mysterious figure known as Heiron was none other than Samael—the Hero of Darkness himself. But keeping secrets was his specialty. He reveled in it. Besides, Hermes had no allegiance in this war. He was for no one, and everyone.

All that interested him was the spectacle, the entertainment, and Nathan was providing plenty of that.

In fact, if anyone in Olympus was truly enthralled by the chaos unfolding, it was Hermes. His attention was even more captivated than Ares’s, who lived for battle and bloodshed. But while Ares was driven by rage and the lust for combat, Hermes was fascinated by the game—the strategies, the twists, the unpredictable outcomes.

The Trojan War had become a divine chessboard, and Nathan was a piece no one had anticipated.

The gods had already chosen sides, though. On one hand, the Greeks were amassing a fearsome force, with legends like Agamemnon, Achilles, and the cunning Odysseus, all bolstered by the might of the two most powerful goddesses in Olympus—Hera and Athena. Their side carried the strength of Olympus itself, and on paper, they seemed unstoppable.

On the other hand, the Trojans were gathering their own heroes: Hector, Aeneas, Aphrodite’s son, favored by the gods; and Penthesilea, Amazonian queen. They had the backing of Aphrodite, Apollo, and Artemis. And, of course, they had Samael, the Hero of Darkness.

Hermes smirk only grew.

What truly intrigued him, however, wasn’t the battles between the expected champions—Achilles or Hector, Agamemnon or Odysseus. No, what captivated his attention was Nathan. On the very first day of the Trojan War, the human had unknowingly become the focus of the gods’ attention, overshadowing even the greatest warriors of legend.

Despite himself, Nathan had emerged as a central figure in this unfolding drama, drawing the eyes of both mortals and immortals alike.