The Titan War God Returns

Dante

Nesse was sprawled out on her soft living room couch. The afternoon sun shone through the window, hitting a big painting of her from years ago. Back then, she was in her twenties, and life felt much simpler.

She found herself staring at the painting, then at her own reflection in the glass. She traced the tiny lines around her eyes—little crow's feet that weren't there when the artist painted her.

"I'm almost forty now," she muttered, a frown on her face. The signs of age were starting to show. Then she saw it: a single, shiny gray hair on her chin, catching the sunlight. She leaned in to try and pull it out, a small, sad attempt to feel like her old self. Just then, her phone buzzed, and she nearly dropped it.

It was her mom, Jules. Nesse saw the name flash on the screen and knew exactly what this call would be about.

"Nesse, darling, is it done?" Jules's voice was too bright, too cheerful, the moment Nesse answered. Nesse could practically hear the sigh of relief on the other end. "Oh, thank goodness. I knew that man was nothing but trouble. He was a leech, honestly. Good riddance, I say. You're finally free of him, aren't you?"

Nesse slowly rolled her eyes, a move her mom couldn't see but one she'd mastered over years of listening to her talk about Iron. Jules had never liked him. From the very beginning, she was sure he was only after Nesse's money and her family's name. She had no idea that their whole marriage was just a business deal, a plan that had now finally come to an end.

"I always said he was a gold digger, didn't I, Nesse?" Jules went on without waiting for an answer. Her voice was full of a smug satisfaction that got on Nesse's nerves. "I told you from the start that man would be your ruin. I prayed every day for this marriage to fail, for you to see him for what he really was. Now, my prayers have been answered. You can finally move on and find someone suitable, someone who actually loves you for you, not for your bank account."

Jules kept going, painting a picture of Iron as this sneaky, greedy man. She had no clue that the "failure" she had wished for was the plan all along—a carefully planned lie that had worked perfectly.

Jules’s voice was way too cheerful. "By the way, I called to tell you that Vince Loreson’s birthday is tomorrow. Get..."

Nesse cut her off with a frustrated groan. Her mom's well-meaning but obvious plans were so predictable.

"Let me guess," Nesse said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want me to parade around in my 'best dress' and magically bump into the heir to the Loreson fortune."

A short, quiet pause. Her mom's tone changed, losing its fake cheer. "Nesse, don’t be like that. This is about survival. It's what the family wants."

Nesse scoffed. "Survival? You mean you're ready to trade my freedom for a bigger bank account. I'm not some chess piece, Mom. I just got out of a marriage; I'm not ready to be a trophy wife."

"It's not like that!" Jules insisted, her voice getting louder, more desperate. "We need this. The family business... it's struggling. You and Vince could be a power couple. You could save us all."

The words hit Nesse hard. It wasn't just about her mom's ambition anymore. It was about the family's expectations, a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying. She had always felt this pressure but had never seen it so clearly. She had worked hard to get to the top of the family company, but it wasn't enough. Her worth was tied to who she married and her ability to make a powerful business connection.

A sneaky idea came to her. Going to the party would be a chore, but maybe she could use it to her advantage. She knew Vince was as uninterested in a forced relationship as she was. He was a snob, a rival, but he was also a businessman. He would understand a deal. 

She could make him a proposal: they would pretend to be a couple, just long enough to satisfy their families and get them off their backs.

“Fine,” Nesse said, a smirk playing on her lips. “I’ll go. But don't expect a fairy-tale ending.”

Her mother sighed with relief. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Nesse ended the call. She lay on her couch, a plan forming in her mind. This was no longer about her mother’s scheme. It was about her own survival, her own game. And this time, she was going to be the one making the rules.

---

The bar throbbed with a bass beat, a pulse of music and flashing lights. Rough voices cheered as men watched strippers move across stages. Iron stood alone at the counter, downing a heavy glass of liquor. 

Nearby, Hades was content to simply observe the crowd. After a few more gulps, Iron pushed off from the bar and walked toward a VIP lounge. A bouncer held the velvet rope open for him, and inside, women in bright dresses laughed, making room. 

After he sat at the counter, the bartender slid a tray onto Iron’s table, the glasses rattling faintly against the wood. Iron didn’t even glance at him as he ordered, “Bring more.”

Before the man could reply, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The doors to the stage opened, and a woman appeared—tattoos glinting under the dim lights, dressed in red lingerie, high boots, and a tilted cowboy hat. She didn’t hurry. Each step was slow, deliberate, as if she owned not just the stage but the men watching it.

Her heels clicked against the floor, and with every sound, the crowd erupted, their cheers swelling until the walls seemed to tremble. When she reached the center, she lowered herself onto a chair, leaned back, and threw her legs high into the air. The roar that followed drowned out everything else.

It became clear then—this wasn’t just another dancer. She was the reason they came here, the one who ruled this place.

Her show ended as suddenly as it began. Rising, she gave the crowd a low bow, her hat dipping with the motion. Wolf whistles and shouts followed her as she walked off the stage, her stride deliberate, her movements commanding. Every step made the ink on her skin shift like waves, each motion a reminder of why she was untouchable.

The crowd roared louder for her than they had for any other performer that night. Their whistles and cheers made it clear—she wasn’t just another dancer; she was the queen of the bar. When the music faded, she gave a sharp bow. The noise only grew, men whistling as she walked off with slow, deliberate steps, every movement commanding attention.

But before she could leave the stage, a voice cut through the noise. An obese man shoved himself up from his seat, face flushed with alcohol and arrogance. “Come down here,” he barked, pointing at her. She didn’t move.

He grinned, raising his voice for the crowd. “I’ve been watching you, and I’ve decided—I need a woman like you in my life. This one’s mine now. Anyone who tries to stop me will get their corpse sent back to their family.” His laugh echoed awkwardly across the room, but no one joined in.

Still, she didn’t flinch. She stared at him with cold defiance.

“Do you even know who I am?” he snapped, spreading his arms wide. The room fell quiet. Everyone knew his name. He was the kind of man whose shadow stretched over the district—untouchable, feared. Even the other dancers whispered frantically to her, urging her to obey.

Instead, she stood her ground.

The man’s chuckle turned into a snarl. He lumbered up to the stage, clutching a half-finished beer. With a sneer, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

It happened so fast the crowd barely saw it. She twisted his grip, and in the same motion, slammed her fist into him with bone-shattering force. His massive body flew across the bar and smashed through the plaster wall with a sickening crunch. The sound silenced the entire room.

Blood pooled beneath his body. He didn’t move. Fear swept through the crowd like wildfire, freezing them where they stood.

From the shadows, four of the dead man’s enforcers charged. They didn’t stand a chance. She dismantled them one by one, her strikes swift and merciless. In moments, they lay broken on the floor like discarded dolls.

The bar fell silent, the only sound the low hum of the music. People trembled, some backing away, others frozen in place. In the VIP lounge, Iron remained perfectly still. A small smile touched his lips as he raised his glass in a quiet toast.

"Athena," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the stunned silence.

Everyone, including the dancer, turned to look at him. The hard look in Athena's eyes softened just a bit. She stepped off the stage and walked slowly toward the VIP lounge. The crowd parted for her, too shocked to speak. She reached Iron's table and, to everyone's surprise, knelt before him, her head bowed.

"I greet the King of Titan, Lord Dante."