The gods stood atop the crumbling ridges just beyond Herion, their divine senses flaring, hearts pounding not in fear, but in awe and grim resolve.
Before them, rising like a mountain of writhing flesh and divinity, stood Gaia—or rather, what was once Gaia.
Her corrupted form towered into the clouds, her shape only vaguely humanoid.
Her body was covered in bark-like skin splitting with molten earth, tendrils and massive black tentacles pulsating from her back.
Dozens of eyes, some weeping blood, others glowing with madness, opened and closed randomly along her limbs.
The very sky warped around her presence, clouds pulled unnaturally like whirlpools toward her being.
She was walking, yes...but painfully slow, as if she was a mortal trying to move against the flow of a river.
Erebus watched silently, narrowing his eyes.
"She's… slower than expected," he muttered. "She's not this slow when she fought me before. Is she not in a hurry to destroy Herion?"
