The war continued, but for me, it was… almost routine.
I didn't have to throw myself into the frontlines. I didn't need to personally lead every strike or counter every maneuver. My mind worked faster than any battlefield chaos could disrupt. My strategies unfolded naturally, like clockwork, because I had already anticipated every possible move.
The snakes were invaluable.
White, black, and patterned serpents slithered invisibly across Europe, slipping past guards, spying on enemy camps, and gathering intelligence with unnerving precision. They returned to me with tiny reports: the location of enemy battalions, secret communications, minor political manipulations. Some whispered warnings directly into my ear—snakes of Ryūchi Cave weren't just spies; they were extensions of my senses.
The other demigods noticed, of course. The whispers of the snakes, their quiet movements around me, the ever-present coil around my neck—it made me… intimidating. Some didn't like it. Some feared me. But fear had its uses, and obedience was much easier to inspire when others were slightly unnerved.
The war was going well.
American and Allied forces advanced steadily, guided by a combination of mortal leadership, demigod skill, and my unseen guidance. If things continued at this rate, victory could be ours in just a few years—a fraction of what a normal war would have taken.
But my attention wasn't only on the battlefield.
The future of human warfare was in my head. Nuclear bombs, weapons of mass destruction—the kind that could level entire cities—were ideas I already understood conceptually. I didn't have a complete formula yet, but I knew the principles: nuclear fusion, critical mass, uranium enrichment, bomb delivery methods. It was… fascinating.
I inserted myself quietly into the Manhattan Project, helping steer research in the right direction without revealing my knowledge of the future. My advice was subtle, guiding scientists toward breakthroughs they wouldn't have achieved on their own for years.
It was exhilarating.
To be influencing both mortal and divine battles simultaneously. To see the war progress exactly as I had predicted. To have a small army of demigods, obedient to my direction, controlling the flow of conflict while I stayed in the shadows.
Roosevelt relied on me, trusted me implicitly.
I didn't care for power in the way most humans did—I cared for results. Strategy. Precision. Victory. And now, every battlefield, every council meeting, every research lab became a node in the network I controlled.
The war was mine to orchestrate.
And the snakes—the constant, whispering, coiling extensions of myself—reminded everyone that I was not just a strategist, not just a vice president, not just a demigod.
I was something else entirely.
Something untouchable.