I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Nathan stood, barely holding himself together, the weight of his injuries dragging his body into an agonizing slump. Diomedes’ previous attack, bolstered by Poseidon’s divine blessing, had left a gruesome gash stretching across his chest. Blood poured out in unrelenting streams, pooling at his feet, staining the earth beneath him. His trembling hand pressed futilely against the wound, but no amount of pressure could stem the crimson tide.

“F…fuck…” Nathan muttered, his voice barely a whisper, laced with pain and frustration. His breathing came in short, labored gasps, every inhale a sharp reminder of his mortality.

Nearby, Hector’s panicked shout shattered the tense silence. “Heiron!!” His concern was genuine, the desperation in his tone undeniable, but before he could act, Chiron gripped his arm firmly, restraining him. The wise centaur shook his head, his expression grim, as if acknowledging the inevitability of what was unfolding.

Diomedes stood tall, the blade in his hand still shimmering faintly with the divine glow of Poseidon’s blessing. His voice, steady and resolute, cut through the chaos like steel. “I will end you now. You’re too dangerous, just as Odysseus warned.” His eyes burned with the same intensity as his blade, an unyielding determination to finish what he had started.

Nathan’s mind raced. He knew another blow like the last would end him—there was no escaping that truth. Yet, his gaze was not fixed on Diomedes, not on the blade poised to deliver his demise. Instead, his eyes lifted skyward, locking onto an unseen figure beyond mortal comprehension.

“Poseidon…” Nathan rasped, his voice low but brimming with venom. His lips curled slightly, his expression darkening as pure, unfiltered hatred surged within him. Few had ever stirred such animosity in his heart, the Divine Knights being the rare exceptions. But Poseidon—Poseidon had harassed Khione, toyed with her existence, and now this god dared to meddle directly in his life, to stand as an obstacle in his path.

If only he were stronger. The thought burned in Nathan’s mind, a bitter wish, a cruel reminder of the gap that separated him from the deities who toyed with mortals like pawns. If he had the power, he would have struck Poseidon down without hesitation, made him pay for every transgression. But for now, the gulf between them remained too vast to bridge.

Up above, Poseidon frowned, the weight of Nathan’s gaze unmistakable. “Oh? You can see me? Strange…” His voice carried a mix of curiosity and annoyance, his brows furrowing as he studied the mortal below. At first, he considered the possibility of coincidence, but that look—those piercing eyes filled with unyielding hatred toward him—made it clear. This was no accident.

Mortals weren’t supposed to perceive gods unless granted the privilege. Yet here Nathan was, glaring directly at him, challenging his authority with nothing more than his gaze. The realization unsettled the sea god, though he masked it with feigned amusement.

Hera, who had not been present for the earlier events, was taken aback. “Is this a joke?” she blurted, her voice sharp with disbelief. Her sharp eyes darted between Poseidon and Nathan, searching for an explanation.

Athena, however, remained calm, her analytical mind already piecing together the puzzle. Her eyes lingered on Nathan with quiet intensity, as though assessing a specimen of particular interest. “I think he could see us from the very beginning,” she said finally, her tone even, though a flicker of intrigue danced in her gaze.

Hera scowled, her disbelief morphing into suspicion. “Who the hell is he?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Athena replied dismissively, though her calm exterior did little to hide the subtle tension in her voice. “He’s going to die today.”

Her words were not a mere observation but a command. A faint whisper escaped her lips, carried by an invisible thread to Diomedes’ ears. Kill him.

Diomedes’ eyes glinted with a golden light, his resolve hardening as the divine order took root in his mind. With renewed fervor, he lunged toward Nathan, his sword aimed to deliver the killing blow. The force of his charge caused the ground to tremble beneath his feet, a storm of dust and divine energy marking his path.

Nathan’s arm trembled as he weakly raised it, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be enough to block the incoming strike. Diomedes surged forward, his blade radiating with Poseidon’s divine power, ready to deal the killing blow. Nathan braced himself, teeth gritted, his blood-soaked fingers clenched into a defiant fist.

But just as the sword came down, a jet of water, sharp as a blade and faster than an arrow, tore through the battlefield. The torrent struck Diomedes square in the chest, the sheer force of it driving him backward and breaking his advance.

Nathan’s eyes widened, a flicker of relief washing over him as Charybdis emerged, her presence commanding and unyielding. Her skin shimmered with a blue hue, a clear sign that her control over herself was slipping. The primal, raging force within her was beginning to surface, and Nathan could see the strain in her eyes as she fought to keep it in check.

“Charybdis…” Nathan muttered, clutching his bleeding chest with one hand as he reached out to her with the other. “I… I need to get out of here.”

Charybdis flinched, her bloodlust momentarily giving way to clarity as Nathan’s weak, desperate plea grounded her. She nodded sharply, her expression hardening with resolve. Without another word, she moved to support him, her strength and determination the only things keeping him upright as they began their retreat.

But the danger wasn’t over.

“I won’t let you escape!” Diomedes roared, his voice cutting through the air like a war drum. The Greek King, undeterred by the earlier setback, charged at them again, his movements swift and deadly.

Nathan’s heart sank. He couldn’t outrun him, not in his current state. Just as the killing edge of Diomedes’ blade came dangerously close, a blur of motion intercepted him.

Hector.

The Prince of Troy appeared in the nick of time, delivering a thunderous punch to Diomedes’ abdomen. The impact sent the Greek warrior hurtling backward, crashing into the dirt with such force that even Poseidon’s blessing couldn’t dull the pain.

Diomedes clutched his stomach, his face contorted with rage and disbelief. “What is Chiron doing?!” he spat, turning his gaze toward the centaur.

Chiron, however, was preoccupied, locked in combat with Atalanta and Aeneas. His calculated movements and deadly precision were keeping the two occupied, but it was clear that the distraction wouldn’t hold forever.

Nathan, watching the chaos unfold around him, clenched his jaw. Every second they lingered was a second closer to death. He doubted Hector or the others could hold off the Greeks for long, not when their fury was directed squarely at him.

“Hector!” Nathan croaked, his voice filled with both urgency and guilt.

Hector barely glanced back, his golden aura blazing like the sun itself. “Charybdis! Take him and go!” he commanded, his voice a mix of authority and desperation. Without waiting for a response, Hector drew his sword and turned his full attention to Diomedes, his expression darkening.

Charybdis wasted no time. Summoning her strength, she lifted Nathan effortlessly and bolted from the battlefield, her movements swift and calculated.

“Don’t let him escape!” came the cries of the Greeks, their bloodlust reignited as they realized Nathan’s weakened state.

“It’s Heiron!” one of them shouted, the rallying cry spreading through their ranks.

“I’ll be the one to take his head!”

As the Greeks surged forward, Charybdis unleashed a torrent of water in every direction. The streams of liquid tore through the air, impaling her pursuers with ruthless precision. The battlefield turned into a chaotic mess of blood and water, her deadly control over her element leaving no room for mercy.

“He cannot escape us like this!” Hera’s voice thundered from above, her fury palpable.

But Athena, kept her gaze fixed on the duel unfolding below. Hector, now fully immersed in his battle with Diomedes, was a sight to behold. The Prince of Troy’s body radiated a golden brilliance, his strikes swift and devastating. Each swing of his blade caused shockwaves that rippled through the battlefield, reducing the ground beneath their feet to rubble.

“Kill him!” Hera demanded again, but even her divine authority couldn’t mask the growing concern in her voice as she watched Hector carve through her chosen warriors with ease.

“This… this monster…” Diomedes muttered, his voice quaking with disbelief. Even with Poseidon’s blessing coursing through his veins, he found himself completely overwhelmed. Hector’s strength was otherworldly, his rage unrelenting.

For Diomedes, the realization struck hard: Hector was no ordinary warrior. He had lost Sarpedon, his closest ally, and now that pain and fury had become a blazing inferno, fueling him beyond human limits. Hector fought not just for Troy, but to ensure that no one else dear to him would fall that day.

“I can’t let him win!” Diomedes roared, his voice filled with desperation and fury. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his sword tighter, every muscle in his body trembling with unyielding resolve. Channeling the full force of Poseidon’s blessing, he gathered the divine energy into a single, all-encompassing strike. His blade shimmered, glowing with an ethereal blue hue that radiated power, its brilliance rivaling the heavens themselves.

Across the battlefield, Hector stood still, his sharp eyes narrowing as he assessed the immense threat before him. He could feel the pressure emanating from Diomedes, the weight of Poseidon’s divine favor pressing down on him like a tidal wave. Yet, Hector showed no fear.

Closing his eyes for a fleeting moment, he murmured a prayer under his breath. “Apollo, lend me your strength. Let me protect my people… and my city.”

Golden light erupted from Hector’s sword, a dazzling, radiant aura enveloping the weapon. It blazed with the fiery intensity of the sun, the warmth of Apollo’s blessing filling him with unwavering resolve.

The battlefield grew silent, the air charged with an almost suffocating tension. Time itself seemed to pause as both warriors readied themselves for the final clash, their weapons shining with divine power.

Then, in an instant, they moved.

Both Hector and Diomedes surged forward, their feet pounding against the ground with the force of an earthquake. The gap between them closed in a blur, their weapons raised high, each one ready to deliver a decisive blow.

BADAM!

The clash of their swords erupted in an ear-shattering explosion. The shockwave tore through the battlefield, scattering dirt, rocks, and debris in all directions. Soldiers nearby were thrown off their feet, their cries of alarm drowned out by the roar of the collision. Even the air itself seemed to tremble, rippling outward in visible waves from the sheer force of the impact.

Hector staggered backward, blood erupting from his mouth as a deep gash tore across his side. Diomedes’ blade had cut him, the divine energy of Poseidon’s blessing leaving a wound that burned like fire. Blood poured freely from the injury, staining Hector’s golden armor and the earth beneath him.

Diomedes, however, didn’t look triumphant.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he glared at Hector. He had struck, but he had failed—his blade had not claimed Hector’s life. The realization settled heavily on his face.

“You missed,” Hector growled through gritted teeth, his voice a mix of pain and defiance. Blood dripped from his lips, but his grip on his sword remained steady.

Diomedes said nothing, his silence laced with bitterness. He had put everything into that strike—all of Poseidon’s divine favor, all of his strength—and it hadn’t been enough.

Hector’s eyes burned with fury as he leveled his gaze at Diomedes. The man before him wasn’t just an enemy; he was an old companion, a fellow student once under Chiron’s tutelage. The shared history made this battle all the more painful, but Hector knew what had to be done.

Tightening his grip on his sword, Hector swung it in a powerful, fluid arc. The blade whistled through the air, cutting with such precision and speed that the air itself seemed to part before it.

Diomedes’ eyes widened as he saw the blade coming. In that split second, he understood that this was the end.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, bittersweet and resigned. “At least… I die as a warrior,” he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the chaos.

BADAM!

Hector’s sword connected with terrifying finality. The force of the blow was absolute, severing Diomedes’ head cleanly from his body. The headless corpse crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as blood pooled beneath it.