Chapter 141

Zeus, oblivious to the warning signs, scoffed at Lydia. His laughter filled the great hall, a resonating sound that reeked of arrogance and dismissed any hint of caution. "Bow to you? Preposterous! You're mad if you think-"

His ridicule was cut short as Lydia's smile vanished, replaced with a slight frown of annoyance. The cosmos in her eyes seemed to flare brighter, as though the stars themselves were being summoned to her command. She lifted her hand casually, as one might wave to a passing friend, but the intent was clear.

"Bow," she commanded simply, her voice cool and composed.

Zeus merely threw his head back and laughed harder, completely unaware of the precipice he was teetering on. "Oh, that's rich!" he roared, clutching his sides. "You hear that? The little girl wants us to-"

His taunts were abruptly cut off when Lydia flicked her finger down, releasing an invisible, yet tangible, force that instantly brought all gods present to their knees. The laughter halted, replaced by gasps and exclamations of surprise. It was as though an invisible weight had descended upon them, forcing even the mightiest of gods to kneel.

Some struggled against the sudden force, their faces screwed up in confusion and shock. Zeus was among them, his booming laughter gone as he strained against the power that held him. His face was a mask of disbelief as he looked up at Lydia, who remained standing, untouched by the force she had unleashed.

"I said, bow," Lydia repeated, her voice echoing ominously in the silent hall.

As the gods knelt, silenced by the power Lydia commanded, she spoke once more, her voice clear and cutting through the thick tension. "Allow me to show you what happened to that planet you so casually abandoned."

Lifting her hand, she forced a connection into the minds of the assembled gods. Images flickered before their eyes, even as they physically remained in the splendor of the Parliament. They saw scenes of death and devastation, suffering and despair; they witnessed a planet slowly die, its people crying out for their gods' aid, prayers whispered in the cold silence of the night, yet no one came. They saw their shrines abandoned, their statues crumbled, their names forgotten.

Children crying in hunger, mothers wailing in despair, fathers collapsing from exhaustion—all while the cries for salvation echoed hollowly, met with nothing but silence. The land cracked and dried, rivers turned to dust, and wildlife fled, leaving a desolate planet behind.

"This," Lydia's voice resonated in their minds, "is what happens when you abandon your duties. When you ignore those who worship you, those who believe in you."

The silence that followed was deafening, the echo of their own negligence resounding in their minds. Yet, Zeus, always the proud one, managed to muster enough strength to seethe through clenched teeth, his gaze locked onto Lydia. "And what of it?" he spat, the mirth in his voice replaced with blatant defiance. "What's one less civilization? There will be more. There will always be more to worship us."

The blatant disregard for life filled the chamber, hanging in the air like a foul stench. His words, rather than invoking understanding or guilt, only served to reinforce the indifference that had led to the demise of an entire civilization.

The gleeful derision in Zeus' voice hung in the air, his disregard for the lives he had been tasked with shepherding felt as a slap to the face. Lydia turned to look at him, her eyes burning bright with cosmic power and something else—something more personal. The gods watching could feel it; the tide was turning, a storm was brewing.

"There is a third thing I despise," Lydia declared, her voice eerily calm despite the electric tension in the room. "The blatant disregard for life."

The chamber fell silent, save for the soft, ominous hum of Lydia's cosmic power beginning to thrum in the air, like the charge before a lightning strike.

"I had to intervene with Gorr because of the apathy you show towards your own," Lydia continued, her eyes flicking from one god to the next, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air. "You allowed Gorr to exist. To grow stronger. To wreak havoc on those who were abandoned by the very beings they looked up to."

Zeus rolled his eyes, a smug smirk plastered on his face. "Gorr would have eventually fallen, Empress," he dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. "Time is something we have plenty of."

The word 'time' echoed in the grand chamber, a haunting taunt to Lydia, whose own time was a commodity growing increasingly scarce. With each passing day, the ticking clock of her mortality seemed to grow louder, a constant reminder of her fleeting existence. She could feel the seconds slipping through her fingers like sand, grains of time she could never reclaim.

The room began to hum with energy, a low, palpable thrum of power that made the air crackle with anticipation. The gods who were still recovering from the earlier display of force began to feel an increasing pressure around them. A new kind of fear began to spread, a chilling realization of the immense power Lydia wielded.

Lydia's gaze hardened, her fist beginning to close slowly. As her hand tightened, an incredible force began to ripple out from her, growing in intensity with each passing moment. It was a crushing force, a cosmic might that bore down on the gods, pressing into them with such ferocity that they began to writhe in pain, cries echoing in the grand chamber. It was a power that was unforgiving, relentless. A power that echoed the sentiment of its wielder: enough was enough.

"Perhaps you need to be reminded," Lydia's words cut through the gasping silence, every syllable resonating with a power that commanded attention. "Reminded of the respect that life deserves, of the responsibilities you owe those who look up to you."

She relaxed her hand, and almost instantly, the gods could breathe again. They slumped to the floor, panting and clutching at their chests, the relief on their faces evident. Yet as they looked up at Lydia, the Empress standing tall and composed, their relief morphed into something else—hatred.

Lydia's gaze drifted away from them, finding Hela in the crowd. Her lips curved into a semblance of a smile, eyes shining with an excitement that seemed misplaced in the tense atmosphere.

"Hela," she said, her voice carrying a light-heartedness that belied the situation. "You're up. Let them see what it means to fight. But remember, no killing."

Hela grinned, a wild, anticipatory smile that spoke of the thrill of the battle to come.

Lydia then glanced back at James and Wanda, her features softening for a brief moment. Her hand moved and a shimmering shield of energy enveloped them. "Sit tight," she instructed, her voice softer, yet firm. "You won't be harmed."

Lastly, her eyes met Thor's. "If you want to join in, feel free."

With a swift nod, Thor took a step forward, his hands clenched around Mjolnir, his determination clear.

There was a moment of resounding silence, a pause in the grand symphony of conflict and power. Then, as if cueing the orchestra, Zeus rose to his feet. His eyes blazed with indignation and fury. "Attack!" he roared, his voice echoing in the vast chamber, the sound like thunder.

And thus, the tumultuous harmony resumed, the grand ballroom erupting into a cacophony of clashing powers, and above it all, the empress stood tall, her gaze steady and unforgiving. The lesson was about to begin.

In the midst of the ensuing chaos, Lydia remained an island of calm, her cool gaze flitting from one attacker to the next as they lunged at her. A ripple of her cosmic energy was enough to dispel their attacks; energy beams scattered harmlessly, physical blows finding no purchase in the shield of energy that surrounded her.

In the thrumming pulse of battle, she seemed almost bored, her features set in an unchanging expression of disdain as she observed the fruitless efforts of the gods around her.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw him. Zeus, the king of the gods, had ascended to the air, a corona of crackling lightning gathering in his outstretched hands. The sparks danced around him, forming a halo of raw energy, illuminating his fierce features.

Lydia turned towards him, her own energy humming in response to the surge of Zeus' power. With an almost casual flick of his wrist, Zeus released the torrent of energy, a streak of blinding lightning that cut through the air with a sound that echoed like a primal roar.

Yet even as the ground beneath her trembled and the air itself seemed to buckle under the raw power of the attack, Lydia did not flinch. The moment the bolt struck her shield, it split apart, dissipating harmlessly around her. The room fell silent, the remaining crackles of Zeus' power the only sound in the shocked silence.

For the first time since the battle started, Lydia moved, shifting her gaze towards Zeus, her eyes flashing with an unspoken challenge. "Is that all?" her look seemed to say, daring him to try harder.

Beneath the vaulted ceiling of the Parliament of Pantheons, a battle for the ages was unfolding. A spectacle of raw power and untamed fury, punctuated by the sharp cries of gods clashing, the air humming with the raw energy of cosmic forces at play.

In the eye of the storm stood Lydia, her eyes alight with contempt as she faced the King of the gods himself. "You claim to wield the lightning, Zeus," she called out, her voice a calm amidst the chaos, "But you can't even scratch my shield. What a disgrace."

Zeus, flushed with fury, prepared for another attack, but it was the rest of the room that truly embodied the ferocity of the battle. Hela moved through the room like a dark tempest, each sweep of her hand sending gods sprawling, each lash of her energy leaving streaks of darkness in its wake. Despite her brutal efficiency, there was a wild, reckless glee in her eyes, a predator revelling in the chaos.

Off to the side, Thor fought with the steady determination of a seasoned warrior. His blows, though not as flashy as Hela's, held a raw power of their own. Each movement was methodical, each block and parry made with a calculated precision that belied the storm of emotions within him. Still, he was clearly on the backfoot, his Asgardian energy doing its best to ward off the barrage of attacks.

The room was filled with the cacophony of battle – the clash of energy on energy, the grunts and cries of combatants, the occasional roar from Hela, the low rumble of thunder from Zeus – a symphony of conflict that was as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying.

Yet, through it all, Lydia stood unperturbed, her eyes never leaving Zeus. The fight continued unabated, a furious maelstrom of gods and power that promised to leave an indelible mark on the Parliament of Pantheons.

While the dance of battle unfolded around her, Lydia remained steadfast at the center, a pillar of calm in the storm. As if in mockery of the cosmic brawl around her, she nonchalantly crossed her arms and sighed. A quiet question escaping her lips. "What will it take for you to see reason?" she mused out loud, her voice a chilling counterpoint to the chaos. "Must I reduce this city to rubble? Should I extinguish the flames of a few immortal lives? What, I wonder, will it take?"

Her words hung heavy in the air, a chilling promise wrapped in a question. Yet, even as she spoke, the cacophony of the battle continued to fill the grand chamber, her question unanswered, the gods too engrossed in their desperate attempts to land a hit on her.

To her left, Hela weaved through the crowd of gods, her every movement dripping with lethal grace. Dark energy pulsed around her like a living entity, sending gods sprawling in its wake. Every clash, every energy slash she launched, was not just an attack, but a brutal dance of power and precision that left the gods struggling to match her pace.

On the other hand, Thor, amidst a shower of sparks and bolts, danced his own deadly waltz. His hammer Mjolnir moved with the rhythm of a seasoned warrior, parrying and striking with the precision of an Asgardian Prince. But his eyes bore an unmistakable tension. Each parry, each dodge, was born out of sheer necessity and survival.

The fight continued unabated, the echoes of their conflict reverberating through the grand hall. The gods clashed in a terrifying symphony of power and fear, all under the watchful eyes of the First Empress. A scene of divine chaos, punctuated by Lydia's chilling question. What indeed would it take for them to see reason?

As the clash of divine powers raged on, Lydia stood unfazed, her focus on the King of the Gods, Zeus. His question, finally asked amidst the carnage, echoed through the hall. "Who are you, really?"

Her response was as cool as the cosmic void from which she hailed. "I am a cosmic entity who has grown weary of your inaction," she replied, her voice resonating with an authority that surpassed even the oldest of gods.

Her words, while quiet, carried an underlying roar, a crescendo that reverberated throughout the cavernous hall. As she spoke, she reached deep within herself, the depths of her cosmic power churning in response. Slowly, tendrils of raw, cosmic energy uncoiled from her, reaching out towards the embattled deities.

They pulsed with an ethereal glow, as vibrant as the cosmos, yet as chilling as the void. As the tendrils of power whipped through the air, the room grew ominously quiet, as if the world itself held its breath. Each tendril struck out, dispassionate and indiscriminate, colliding with the bodies of various gods. The impact was immediate, the energy from the tendrils sent gods spiraling across the room, crashing into the ornate pillars with devastating force.

Gods who once boasted of their might now laid sprawled on the grand marble floors, groaning in pain and shock. The chamber, previously filled with the cacophony of battle, was now eerily quiet. Lydia's power held the gods in a grip of fear, a profound respect for her authority settling over them. Her cosmic tendrils, a chilling reminder of their insignificance, hung in the air, their radiant energy casting long, dark shadows over the fallen gods.

As Lydia questioned their purpose, one of her cosmic tendrils tightened its grip on an unfortunate god, his divine form writhing under the immense pressure. The once grand deity was reduced to a struggling figure under the relentless force of the cosmic tendril.

Lydia turned to Zeus, her gaze firm and demanding, a stark contrast to the casual demeanor she exhibited. "What's the point of your existence," she began, her voice echoing in the room. "If you refuse to help those who need it the most? Instead, you choose to drown in lavish feasts, filling your bellies with the fruits of their devotion."

The derision in her tone hung in the air, like a taunting ghost, a poignant reminder of their failure. "I could, in my rightful authority," she continued, her voice a whisper in the silence of the grand hall, "end your existence and pave the way for a new pantheon. A pantheon filled with gods who understand the value of life and are eager to nurture it."

As she uttered those words, she crossed her arms, the casual gesture at odds with the weight of her words. All around her, her cosmic tendrils moved like serpents, weaving through the battle and knocking back any god who dared to attack. The whispers of her power echoed throughout the grand hall, their destructive dance a stark warning to all present.

"Perhaps," Lydia said, a hint of finality in her tone, "that is the best path forward." Her tendrils continued their rampage, effortlessly overpowering the gods, as she maintained her casual posture, arms crossed, eyes ablaze with determination. The gods were left in stunned silence, their breaths held, their hearts filled with fear, as they considered the terrifying possibility of Lydia's words.

As Lydia's proclamation hung in the air, some gods dropped their arms, their weapons clattering to the floor. They fell to their knees, their divine aura dimmed in the face of Lydia's cosmic wrath. Their voices, usually filled with confidence and arrogance, trembled as they begged for mercy.

"We see our faults," one of the gods, a titan known for his strength and resilience, began, his voice wavering, "and we swear to correct them."

Laughter rang out through the grand hall, cutting through the tension like a well-aimed bolt of lightning. Lydia was laughing, her chuckles echoing off the walls, as she looked at the gods on their knees, their pleas for mercy fueling her amusement.

"Acting so docile only in the face of true power," she began, her laughter subsiding, replaced by a mocking tone. "How amusing. Would you act the same if I weren't here?"

Her words pierced the silence like a dagger, leaving a painful silence in their wake. The gods on their knees glanced at each other, their faces betraying their uncertainty. Lydia had presented them with a question that forced them to examine their motivations, their true nature. How could they guarantee that they would remain faithful to their promises when the threat was no longer present? Their eyes met Lydia's, their uncertainty and fear mirrored in her gaze, and the question remained, heavy in the air, awaiting an answer.