The Last God

The police station burned with golden fire.

Not real flames. Something worse. Divine energy poured from Marcus like water from a broken dam, melting steel, cracking stone, warping reality itself.

He could not stop it. Could not control it. The mark had taken over, and Ares's rage consumed everything.

"Marcus!" Athena's voice cut through the chaos. "Focus! Pull it back!"

He tried. The power ignored him, flooding out, searching for something to destroy.

The Vesper laughed from the shadows. "Look at him. A mortal body cannot contain a god's essence. He will burn himself to ash within minutes."

She was right. Marcus could feel it. His skin was too hot. His heart beat too fast. The power was killing him from the inside.

"Help me," Marcus gasped, falling to his knees.

Athena moved fast. Her spear flashed, and she drove it into the ground beside Marcus. Lightning erupted from the weapon, forming a circle around him. The energy crashed against the barrier, contained but not stopped.

"Listen to me," Athena said, kneeling beside the circle. "The mark is not your enemy. It is responding to your emotions. To your rage and fear. You must find calm."

"I cannot!" Marcus shouted. His vision blurred. Blood ran from his nose. "It is too much!"

"Then you will die," Athena said simply. "And Ares's gift will be wasted on a coward."

The words hit Marcus like a slap. Coward. He had heard that word before, whispered in Viktor's basement, muttered by guards who thought he was too weak to fight back.

But he had fought. Had survived six months of hell. Had jumped from a building and lived. Had stood before goddesses and refused to kneel.

He was not a coward.

Marcus closed his eyes. Stopped fighting the power. Instead, he listened to it. Felt it. The rage was not his own. It was Ares's final emotion, the fury of a god being torn apart by his enemies.

But beneath the rage, Marcus found something else. A memory. Ares had not marked him out of cruelty. The god had seen Marcus save a child and recognized something worth preserving.

Courage.

Marcus grabbed that thread and pulled.

The golden fire flickered. Dimmed. Slowly, reluctantly, it began to flow back into his skin. The symbols on his arms faded from burning white to dull gold.

The power settled. Not gone. Just sleeping again.

Marcus collapsed, gasping. Alive.

Athena's barrier vanished. She pulled her spear free and studied Marcus with new interest. "Impressive. Most mortals lose themselves the first time the mark awakens fully."

"He is not most mortals," a new voice said.

Everyone turned.

A man stood in the ruined doorway. He wore a simple black suit, hands in his pockets, looking completely out of place among the destruction. His face was handsome but cold, like a statue of something that had once been human.

His eyes were pure silver.

"Hermes," Athena said, her tone wary. "What brings the messenger to Chicago?"

"Official business." Hermes walked through the debris without looking down, his shoes somehow never touching the rubble. "The Greek Council has issued a summons. They want Marcus Chen brought before them immediately."

"Absolutely not," Athena said. "He needs time to adjust. To learn control."

"He needs to answer for carrying Ares's mark without permission." Hermes finally looked at Marcus, his silver eyes unreadable. "The Council believes he stole the god's power. That he murdered Ares during the Crimson Night."

Marcus felt ice in his stomach. "That is insane. I was human. Powerless. How could I kill a god?"

"An excellent question," Hermes agreed. "Which is why you will come explain yourself. Unless you prefer we assume guilt?"

The Vesper emerged from the shadows, solidifying into her human form. "The Norse will object. Odin has claimed rights to him."

"Odin's game ended at dawn," Hermes said, checking his watch. "Which was four minutes ago. The mortal survived. His debt to the Norse is paid." He turned back to Marcus. "Now he answers to us."

Athena stepped between them. "I have offered him sanctuary. He is under my protection."

"And I am here on the Council's authority, which supersedes your personal claims." Hermes smiled, sharp and dangerous. "Unless you wish to challenge the Council directly?"

Athena's jaw tightened. For a moment, Marcus thought she might actually fight. Then she stepped aside, her expression bitter.

"Go," she said to Marcus. "Answer their questions. But remember, the Council does not summon mortals for conversation. They are judging you."

Hermes extended his hand. "Shall we?"

Marcus looked at the hand, then at Athena, then at the Vesper who watched with hungry eyes. He had no good choices. Only different flavors of danger.

But if he ran now, every pantheon would hunt him. At least the Council offered a chance to explain.

Marcus took Hermes's hand.

The world twisted.

Reality folded like paper, and suddenly they were somewhere else. A massive chamber carved from white marble, columns reaching toward a ceiling lost in shadows. Thrones sat in a circle, and on those thrones sat beings of terrible beauty and power.

The Greek Council. What remained of the pantheon after the Crimson Night.

Apollo. Artemis. Hephaestus. Demeter. And at the center, the largest throne, sat a man whose presence made the others look like candles beside the sun.

Zeus.

King of the gods.

"Marcus Chen," Zeus's voice rolled like thunder. "You stand accused of deicide. Of murdering Ares, god of war, and stealing his divine essence. How do you plead?"

Marcus felt every eye in the chamber fix on him. Felt the weight of immortal judgment crushing down.

One wrong word, and he was dead.

"I plead..." Marcus took a breath, meeting Zeus's gaze. "I plead that I am telling the truth. Ares marked me with his last breath. He chose me. I did not kill him. I honored him."

Silence.

Then Apollo leaned forward, his beautiful face twisted with hate. "Lies. My brother would never mark a mortal. You murdered him and now you pretend to be his heir."

"Bring in the witness," Zeus commanded.

Doors opened at the far end of the chamber. Guards dragged someone forward.

A girl. Maybe twelve years old, dirty and terrified.

Marcus's heart stopped.

He knew her. The child from the Crimson Night. The one he had saved.

"Tell us what you saw," Zeus said to the girl. "Tell us what happened the night Ares died."

The girl looked at Marcus, her eyes wide with fear.

Then she spoke.

"He killed the god. I saw him do it."