The golden warmth of the courtyard was shattered by a sound like a thousand sheets of parchment being ripped apart at once. The air in the center of the courtyard twisted, contorting in on itself before tearing open into a seething, blood-red wound of light.

The pleasant aroma of nectar and blooming flowers was instantly choked out by the stench of a charnel house—of sulfur, burnt hair, and old blood.

Hermes, who had been mid-pour, froze, the nectar spilling over the rim of Apollo's cup. "You have got to be kidding me. What is that?"

From the pulsating portal, figures began to drop onto the polished marble. These weren't the simple scouts from before. They were larger, more varied. Most had the familiar raw, red skin, but among them were others with jet-black hides that seemed to absorb the light, their horns more twisted, their eyes burning with a colder, more intelligent malice. They were armed with wicked, serrated blades and shields that looked like fused bone.

The lead demon, a massive brute with black skin and four arms, each gripping a different cruel-looking weapon, scanned the courtyard. Its gaze, full of contempt, landed on the four gods.

"The seed-world of Olympus," it snarled, its voice a chorus of grinding stones. "The scouting report was... insufficient. You will kneel before the true devils of the Pit."

Artemis already had an arrow nocked, her body a taut line of focused energy. "We don't kneel," she said, her voice cold and flat.

The black-skinned demon laughed. "Then you will break."

It gestured, and a dozen demons surged forward.

What followed was not a battle; it was a statement.

Hermes became a golden hurricane. He didn't fight any one demon; he harried them all. He zipped between their legs, tripping them. He snatched weapons from their grips and threw them off the mountain. He landed a dozen stinging blows with his caduceus in the time it took a normal man to blink, creating openings and sowing chaos. "You're slow!" he taunted, his voice echoing from everywhere at once. "Did you wade through tar to get here?"

Apollo did not move from his bench. He simply lifted his hand, and a volley of pure, solidified sunlight shot from his fingertips. The arrows of light didn't just pierce; they burned. A red demon raised its bone-shield, and Apollo's bolt drilled straight through it, vaporizing the creature's chest in a burst of ash and fading embers. He hummed a quiet tune as he worked, each note a precise, lethal projectile.

Artemis was efficiency itself. While Apollo provided devastating area denial, her every shot was a surgical strike. Thwip. An arrow through the eye socket of a demon about to pounce on Hermes. Thwip. A arrow pinning a black demon's foot to the marble, causing it to roar in pain and frustration. She moved with a hunter's grace, a relentless, silent force of nature.

But the demons kept coming. The four-armed commander bellowed orders, and more poured from the portal. A group of three black-skinned demons, faster and more agile than the rest, broke through the chaotic frontline, their claws aimed straight for Persephone.

She had been standing slightly apart, her hands clenched at her sides. As the demons closed in, she didn't flinch. She closed her eyes.

And the courtyard bloomed.

Where her feet touched the marble, vibrant green vines erupted, thick as pythons. They shot across the floor, wrapping around the ankles of the attacking demons. Thorns, sharp and hard as iron, dug deep into their infernal hides. The demons howled, stumbling and slashing at the bindings, but for every vine they cut, two more took its place.

One of the demons, its arm trapped, snarled and spat a glob of acidic black phlegm at her.

Persephone didn't dodge. She simply raised a hand. A wall of intertwined sunflowers and thorny rose stems burst from the ground before her, the petals wilting and blackening as they absorbed the acid, but protecting her completely.

Her eyes opened, and they were no longer soft. They held the fierce, untamable green of a deep forest. "You do not get to bring your rot here," she said, her voice low but carrying across the din of battle.

She clenched her fist. The vines holding the demons constricted violently, and with a sickening crunch of chitin and bone, she pulled them down, smashing them against the marble until they lay still.

The four-armed commander stared, its confidence finally cracking. The scouts had reported a realm of squabbling, predictable gods. They had said nothing of a speedster who defied physics, a archer who shot sunbeams, a huntress of unerring aim, or a goddess who could make the very stone sprout life to kill.

It roared in frustration, levelling all four of its weapons. "Enough! Die, relics!"

It charged, a whirlwind of steel aimed at Artemis, who was the closest.

It never reached her.

A single, perfect, sunlight-yellow arrow, launched from Apollo's lyre as if it were a bow, intercepted the demon's path. It didn't strike the demon; it struck the marble at its feet.

And the marble bloomed.

A single, massive, golden flower erupted from the point of impact. It wasn't a weapon of destruction. It was a flower of pure, concentrated hope. Its light was warm, forgiving, and utterly alien to the demons.

The four-armed commander stumbled to a halt, shielding its eyes. The searing, positive energy was like acid to its hell-born senses. It didn't burn, but it unmade. The creature's rage, its very purpose, began to fray at the edges under that gentle, relentless light.

It was the opening Artemis needed. Her arrow, forged of celestial silver, took the demon in the throat. It gurgled, its weapons clattering to the ground, before dissolving into shadow and dust.

The remaining demons, seeing their commander fall and confronted by this impossible, life-giving power, lost their will to fight. They began to retreat, scrambling back towards the still-open portal.

Hermes zipped over, landing beside the massive golden flower, which was already gently fading. "Well," he panted, a grin spreading across his face. "That's one way to make an entrance."

The four of them stood, surrounded by the fading evidence of the brief, violent struggle, and looked at the pulsing red gateway. It wasn't closing.

"It's stabilizing," Apollo said, his playful tone gone. "The first ones were probes. This... this was a foothold."

Artemis nocked another arrow, aiming it at the portal's heart. "Then we break the door down."

As they watched, the red light within the portal seemed to deepen, to solidify. The brief, chaotic invasion was over. But the war, it seemed, had just found their doorstep.

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