I Am Zeus - Chapter 167: A New Age

Chapter 167: A New Age

Years had passed.

The world no longer whispered of Olympus as a mountain. The peak still stood, white stone and cloud wrapped around its shoulders, but it was empty now. The halls were silent, its altars untouched. Only one thing remained—a circle of statues carved from marble so pure they glowed under moonlight.

Twelve figures, the Olympians, stood in eternal vigil. Zeus at the center, lightning frozen in his grip. Metis, Athena, Poseidon, Hades, Apollo, Artemis, Demeter, Hephaestus, Ares, Hermes, and Hera—all sculpted with reverence, their faces ageless, watching over the ruins of what had been their first home. Mortals who dared climb Olympus often wept when they reached the summit. Not because the gods lived there still, but because the mountain had become memory itself.

The gods had moved.

–––

Far beyond mortal reach, Zeus had shaped a realm from nothing. He had pulled it from the Origin Core itself, weaving fragments of creation into rivers of light, skies laced with constellations, cities suspended above endless seas. This was not Olympus remade. It was Olympus unbound—an empire of thrones spread across a realm without horizon.

At its center rose a citadel vast as continents, its spires carved from storm and stone, its gates taller than mountains. At the highest point of that citadel stood the throne of Zeus. Not marble. Not gold. A seat forged from lightning that had tasted creation, anchored in fire that once belonged to the first dawn.

The realm was not his alone.

Hades had been given his hall, a palace of shadow and pale flame, where rivers of memory wound through black gardens. Poseidon’s seat overlooked an endless ocean, where waves carried whole worlds in their tides. Each god had a domain, shaped not by need but by will, woven into this realm so they could rule as kings within a kingdom.

Even Hera had returned. Pardoned. Not as queen beside Zeus, but as goddess in her own right, her temple high and bright, her authority restored. She had not spoken when Zeus had offered her place back. She had only bowed, silent, and taken it.

And at Zeus’s side, where none could question, sat Metis. Not hidden in shadows as she once had been, not whispered of as a cunning voice in his ear, but enthroned. Queen of queens. She carried no blade, no storm, no dominion over seas or skies. Her power was older than that. She commanded counsel, wisdom, the trust of gods. Queens of pantheons bent knee to her, not out of fear, but recognition. Even those who once hated bowed to Metis, because she was what they could not be.

–––

Zeus sat now upon his throne, sparks hissing across the seat, the air heavy with silence. His eyes were not on the realm around him but on the faint shimmer before him—a panel, translucent, flickering softly. It was the last remnant of the system.

The same system that had guided him, pushed him, burdened him with quests, rewards, punishments. The same voice that had once bound him to objectives and trials. The same force that had lifted him when the world had seemed beyond reach.

Now it was leaving.

–––

[Final Message]

You have achieved ultimate authority. The system no longer has a purpose. You are beyond it.

Title: God of Gods.

Pantheon Authority: Absolute.

Creation Access: Full.

You no longer require quests. You no longer require rewards. You write laws. You break them. You are no longer guided—you are the guide.

This is goodbye.

–––

The words lingered, then faded, leaving only silence.

Zeus leaned back in his throne. The storm around him dimmed to a low hum, content. His eyes closed halfway, his hand resting against the arm of the seat. He had thought the moment would feel louder, like thunder splitting the sky, like conquest. Instead, it felt quiet.

He was free. Truly free.

But freedom, he realized, was heavier than chains.

–––

The hall stirred. Metis stepped forward from the side, her robe trailing silver threads of light that shimmered against the floor. She carried no crown, but none doubted what she was. She stopped at the base of his throne, looking up at him with steady eyes.

“It’s done,” she said softly.

Zeus exhaled. “It’s done.”

Her gaze flicked to the empty air where the panel had been. “And now?”

Zeus’s grin returned, faint but sharp. “Now Olympus writes its own story.”

Metis studied him for a moment, then nodded. She turned and walked back toward her own seat, her presence quiet but commanding. Around the hall, other gods stirred, voices low, conversations sparking. They had grown used to conquest, to war after war, to pantheons bending or breaking. Now they would need to grow used to something stranger—peace built under Zeus’s storm.

–––

Outside the citadel, the realm thrived. Rivers of light cut through cities where mortals and immortals lived side by side. Temples glowed with power not borrowed but anchored, each one tied to the god it honored. The sky shimmered with constellations drawn by Apollo, the forests pulsed with Demeter’s hand, oceans surged under Poseidon’s trident. For the first time, pantheons that once warred lived under one law.

The law of Zeus.

And he had no system to dictate what that law should be.

–––

He rose from his throne, the storm curling close, sparks spilling across the floor. Gods turned as he stepped down, his presence heavy but not crushing. His cloak dragged like night across the marble.

He paused at the base of the hall, looking up at the vast doors carved with the history of Olympus—Titans, wars, betrayals, victories. His jaw tightened, then eased.

“The system is gone,” he said, his voice rolling through the chamber. “Its trials ended. Its laws erased. From now, Olympus does not answer to something unseen. Olympus answers only to itself.”

Murmurs rippled through the hall, but no one raised a challenge. They had seen him wield the Core. They had seen him tear down pantheons. They had seen him take the storm beyond the sky. None questioned what came next.

Metis’s eyes stayed on him, sharp but calm.

Zeus’s grin widened. “And we begin not as kings, not as thrones spread across fractured lands. We begin as the one pantheon. The spine of all creation.”

–––

The storm cracked above, not violent, but steady, like thunder sealing an oath.

Outside, the realm trembled faintly, as though the Origin Core itself acknowledged his words.

Zeus lifted his hand, and lightning coiled around his fist, no longer wild, no longer chained. A flame of creation flickered inside it, quiet but bright.

He looked at it, then closed his hand, snuffing it out.

For the first time in ages, he did not need to wield his storm to prove himself.

He was the storm.

–––

On Olympus, the statues stood silent, guardians of memory. Mortals climbed and wept, praying to figures who no longer answered there. In the new realm, gods ruled, but not as they once had. Poseidon held seas without rebellion, Hades ruled the dead without exile, Hera walked her temple without chains.

And Zeus, God of Gods, sat not as a tyrant but as something greater—anchor of creation, breaker of dawn, storm over all.

The system was gone.

But Olympus remained.

And under Zeus’s watch, it was not fading into myth.

It was writing eternity.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by AiKurou