Cronus' system: Against the gods

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Rex wrenched Damocles free from the corpse of the final Shadow Empousa, his breath ragged, his chest rising and falling like a forge's bellows.

The blade, cloaked in writhing black flames, hissed as it devoured the dark blood spilling from his opponent's body, consuming flesh and spirit alike in a grotesque, spectral inferno.

The stench of burning essence filled the air, clawing at his senses, but Rex didn't flinch. Instead, he glared into the darkness ahead, his sweat-soaked face set in a determined snarl.

"Still not done, huh?" he growled, his voice a mix of frustration and fiery resolve. His amber eyes burned with a light that could rival the infernos around him as he looked past the crumbling remains of his foes.

Before him stretched an endless expanse—a twisted landscape of jagged cliffs and shadowy crevices that seemed to mock his every step. It was a battlefield without end, a labyrinth of torment designed to break lesser warriors.

But Rex wasn't lesser.

He tightened his grip on Damocles, the dark blade pulsing in his hands as if feeding on his raw determination. His lips curled into a smirk, though it was tinged with exhaustion. "Damn it. Just how far does this place go?!" he spat, his voice echoing across the vast, unyielding expanse.

The thought gnawed at him—this was nothing like his first venture into Tartarus. Back then, clearing the first gate had been a challenge, but it hadn't felt like dragging his soul through molten steel.

Now, every step was a battle, every breath a victory. Yet, deep in his heart, Rex couldn't help but relish it. The hotter the flames, the sharper the blade forged within.

"Well," he muttered, his voice dripping with defiance, "what else should I expect? Higher levels mean tougher battles, right?" He wiped the sweat from his brow, the fire in his veins rekindling. "Bring it on, you lousy simulation. Let's see who breaks first!"

A booming chuckle echoed in his mind, cutting through his thoughts like a blade.

"Thou speaketh boldly, Harbinger," Cronus intoned, his voice dripping with amused disdain. "Yet bold words cannot mask thy fragility. Thou art naught but a fledgling, unfit to contend with the true bosses of this domain."

Rex's smirk faltered for a heartbeat, replaced by a flicker of unease. He turned his head sharply, scanning the shadows around him. "Bosses? What bosses?"

"The guardians of this level," Cronus replied, his tone ominous and unyielding. "Thou must face none other than Thanatos, the God of Death, and Hypnos, the God of Sleep."

The names hit Rex like a hammer, and for a moment, the air seemed to grow heavier. He clenched his jaw, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he stared into the oppressive darkness.

"Thanatos and Hypnos, huh?" he murmured, his voice low, like the growl of a predator sizing up its prey. His heart pounded against his ribcage, but he refused to let fear take hold. Instead, he laughed, a sharp, fiery sound that rang out like a war cry.

"Good! Let them come!" he shouted, his voice reverberating with unyielding determination. He raised Damocles high, the blade's black flames roaring in response. "Gods or not, I'll cut them down like everything else in my way! This isn't their domain, it's my battlefield now!"

Cronus chuckled once more, his voice a mixture of approval and bemusement. "Such audacity, Harbinger. Let us see if thy fire can truly rival the gods themselves."

Rex slammed Damocles into the ground, sparks flying as he planted his feet. His muscles burned, his wounds screamed, but none of it mattered. His hot-blooded defiance was the only thing keeping the crushing weight of Tartarus at bay.

With a fierce grin and a firestorm of resolve in his eyes, Rex gazed into the abyss. "Thanatos, Hypnos, your turn's next," he growled. "Come and get me!"

Rex let out a sharp breath and dismissed Damocles, the dark flames snuffing out with a hiss. He flexed his fingers, the residual heat of battle coursing through his veins. "Alright, great! Enough of this morale-boosting nonsense!" he barked, shaking off the tension in his shoulders.

"I mean, let's face it, I'm definitely not ready to tangle with gods yet, so I'll pass for now!" He laughed, though it carried the edge of frustration, as he waved his hand to pull up his system panel.

Name: Rex Xander

Level: 39

XP to Next Level: 300,000/2,000,000 XP

Race: Human (Hero of Time)

Class: Cerberus Slayer (Effect: Gains 2x more XP from wolf-like creatures)

Strength: 260

Agility: 284

Endurance: 196

Intelligence: 226

Aether: 185/185

Available Ability Points: 15

He had noticed that when his intelligence received a massive boost recently, his Aether had become more potent. Ever since, he had been ignoring this stat because he didn't really know what it did but now "Ten stat points to intelligence!"

Intelligence: 226- 236

The sudden surge of energy prickled through his body like a lightning strike, leaving his mind clearer, sharper, as though every shadow in Tartarus had turned to crystal clarity.

"Now, as usual," he muttered with a smirk, "the rest goes to agility. Can't have these gods catching me, can I?"

Agility: 284-289

As the points locked in, Rex rolled his shoulders, his grin widening into a full-on wolfish smile. He slammed his right fist into his left palm with a sharp crack, a fiery glint in his eyes.

"Oh, hell yeah! That's more like it! Nothing quite as satisfying as a good power-up. But now..." He turned, gazing one last time at the endless expanse of Tartarus behind him. "I think I've earned a break. Time to head home, cookies and rewards await!"

A familiar notification popped up, the words glowing ominously against the dark backdrop:

<Dost thou want to exit Hades?>

Rex grinned. "Absolutely!"

The world around him shimmered and began to fade, the oppressive darkness of Tartarus dissolving into a comforting haze. The usual sensation of being pulled between worlds tickled at his senses, like being swept up in a warm current. And then—

His untidy room materialized around him, the familiar chaos of cookie crumbs, empty wrappers, and hastily discarded gear greeting him like old friends. The stark contrast between the bleakness of Tartarus and the cluttered comfort of his sanctuary was almost jarring. Almost.

Rex flopped onto his chair, grabbing a half-eaten cookie from the desk and tossing it into his mouth. "Now this," he said between bites, crumbs scattering onto the keyboard, "is the kind of reward I'm talking about. But..." He leaned back, a gleam of anticipation sparking in his eyes.

"That new general promised me something big. Wonder what it'll be. Better not disappoint me, or I'm taking more than my fair share next time."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

He stretched, the tension from Tartarus finally ebbing away, replaced by the warm satisfaction of victory and cookies.

************

The courtyard was silent, save for the mournful wail of the wind sweeping through the towering obsidian spires of the Military HQ. Soldiers in crisp uniforms stood in rigid rows, their faces carved with solemnity. The massive crowd stretched far beyond the gates, an ocean of humanity gathered to honor the fallen.

At the center of it all lay the grand casket, adorned with golden laurels and draped in the Military's emblem, an eagle clutching lightning bolts in its talons. Torches burned fiercely around it, their flames casting wavering shadows across the platform where the new General stood.

He gripped the edge of the podium, his knuckles white, as he scanned the sea of faces before him. Some gazes were filled with grief, others with distrust, and a select few glittered with thinly veiled calculation.

The air was thick with expectation, every breath laden with unspoken questions about whether this man was worthy of standing where General Silas once had.

The new General inhaled deeply, letting the weight of the moment anchor him. When he spoke, his voice was a thunderclap that broke through the oppressive silence.

"General Silas was not just a soldier. He was a symbol—a beacon of resolve in the darkest hours. When our enemies tested our strength, he held the line. When doubt seeped into the hearts of our own, he stood unshaken. And when sacrifices had to be made, he carried that burden so the rest of us could march forward!"

The crowd stirred, a ripple of raw emotion spreading through the ranks. The General's voice rose, his words slicing through the air like a blade.

"We are here today not to mourn, but to honor a man who bled, fought, and died for this Military, for our freedom, for the future of humanity! Let us not falter in our grief but rise stronger in his memory!"

As his speech reached its crescendo, a voice rang out from the gathering of dignitaries seated near the front, smooth, cultured, and laced with subtle venom.

"A noble sentiment, General," the voice began, carrying just enough weight to command attention without outright disrespect. "But sentiment alone will not lead this Military forward.

The question remains—how do you intend to fill the void left by a man as revered as General Silas? What assurance can you give that the Military will not crumble under…inexperience?"

The General's gaze snapped to the source of the interruption, his piercing eyes locking with the calm, calculating expression of a representative from the Voss family. The man sat poised, a faint, knowing smile playing at his lips.

Behind him, several others from the family watched intently, their expressions varying from feigned indifference to predatory interest.

The tension crackled like static electricity.

The General straightened, his presence swelling to fill the stage. He let the silence hang for a beat, letting the weight of the question settle before he replied, his voice steady but brimming with fire.

"Inexperience?" he repeated, his lips curling into a sharp smile. "Tell me, did General Silas lead with experience when he took his first battlefield? Did he command respect because of his bloodline or his connections? No. He earned it. Through sweat, blood, and sheer force of will."

The crowd murmured in approval, the soldiers standing taller, their loyalty hardening with each of his words.

The General stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the representatives, his tone turning sharper.

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"I stand here today not because of a name, not because of privilege, but because I have fought and bled for this Military, just like every soldier here. And I will not allow anyone, no matter how lofty their position—to question my resolve or the resolve of the men and women who serve under me."

The Voss representative's smile faltered slightly, but another chimed in, their tone laced with mock concern. "Of course, General, your passion is…commendable. But passion alone is a dangerous guide. Leadership requires strategy, diplomacy, and, above all, stability. The Council—"

The General cut them off with a raised hand, his voice booming with authority. "The Council appointed me to this position because they understand one thing: Stability comes from strength. And strength? That comes from unity. Not from whispered doubts, not from political games, and certainly not from those who seek to undermine the Military with their petty agendas."

The crowd erupted into applause, the soldiers pounding their chests in unison, a thunderous sound that echoed across the courtyard. The General's words burned with the intensity of a wildfire, igniting a collective pride that no subtle slight could diminish.

The Voss representatives exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable, but the General didn't spare them another look. Instead, he turned back to the soldiers and civilians before him, his voice softening, though no less fervent.

"General Silas believed in us. In our strength, in our courage, in our ability to stand against the impossible. Let us honor his memory not with words, but with actions. Let us show the world that the Military he loved, the Military he gave his life for, is stronger than ever!"

With that, he saluted the casket, his fist thumping against his chest with the force of a drumbeat.