I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Nathan’s grip tightened mercilessly around her throat, cutting off her air entirely. “I told you, Liphiel,” he said, his voice as cold as death itself. “Killing me would come with consequences.”

Liphiel clawed at his hand, her struggles futile against his overwhelming strength.

Without waiting for her to respond, Nathan summoned his magic. Darkness coiled around his form, and with a flick of his hand, flames erupted. The fire, born of his wrath and enhanced by his dark magic, ignited Liphiel’s body.

“GAAAHYAAAAA!!!”

Liphiel’s scream tore through the battlefield, a sound so visceral and harrowing that it silenced everything else. Both Greeks and Trojans flinched, their weapons faltering mid-swing as the piercing cry reverberated across the blood-soaked plains. Even the Olympian gods, seated high on their celestial thrones, turned their attention to the mortal plane. They watched, their divine faces etched with shock and disbelief, as Nathan exacted his ruthless vengeance upon Liphiel.

The flames devouring her body burned with a cruel slowness, fueled by Nathan’s dark magic and his unrelenting fury. He stood over her, motionless but seething, his golden demonic eyes glowing with satisfaction. He seemed to savor her agony, each anguished cry a testament to his triumph.

One by one, those who surrounded him—the soldiers, the warriors, the so-called gods—took hesitant steps backward. Fear gripped their hearts like a vice. Even in the face of death, Nathan was terrifying. His very presence exuded an aura that made even gods reconsider their strength.

The screams continued until, finally, Liphiel’s body gave in. The flames consumed her entirely, reducing her to nothing but a pile of ash. Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the faint crackle of lingering embers.

Nathan stood still, his body rigid as if carved from stone. He watched the ash scatter into the wind, but there was no triumph in his expression now. A strange stillness overtook him.

Then, without warning, cracks began to appear across his own body. Small at first, they spread like spiderwebs, fragments of ash breaking off and drifting into the darkened air.

This was it.

The end.

He knew it wasn’t yet five months since the seal had begun taking its toll, but Nathan had pushed far beyond the limits of his mortal frame. He had wrung every ounce of strength from his body, his soul, just to make it this far. After all he had endured—the wars, the betrayals, the pain—it was a miracle he had survived as long as he had. But miracles had their price.

The deal he made to enslave Khione had shortened his lifespan irreparably. That sacrifice, though, was one he would never regret.

Not for a moment.

Khione would always be his. That truth was enough for him to meet his fate without bitterness. Yet, a pang of sorrow twisted in his chest. She would die with him. The seal made certain of that. When the slaver perished, the slaves followed.

This, perhaps, was his greatest failure.

He wanted to release her. He had wished to set her free before his time ran out, but now his body betrayed him. Everything within him felt paralyzed, locked away by the encroaching darkness.

And yet, even in this state, there was a final desire clawing at his heart. He wanted to see Khione one last time.

His plans to save her—by killing Poseidon—had ended here. Poseidon remained alive, a loathsome stain upon the world. But at least, Nathan thought grimly, that wretched god would never lay a hand on Khione. He had ensured that much.

Still, Nathan’s list of unfinished business weighed heavily on him.

Poseidon.

Agamemnon.

Those two names burned in his mind like. He had wanted to end them both, to rid the world of their cruelty and arrogance. Now, that task would fall to others. For Agamemnon, he could only hope Hector would carry the burden.

And then there were Medea, Scylla, and Charybdis.

Charybdis wasn’t here today. He had sent her back to keep an eye on Medea and Scylla, ensuring they behaved in his absence. It was a decision he didn’t regret. If Charybdis had witnessed this scene, there was no telling the destruction she might have unleashed. She was a tempest waiting to break free, and her rage would have known no bounds.

But was it too late already?

Nathan’s heart sank as the truth dawned on him. Without him, Medea, Scylla, and Charybdis would descend into chaos. He had been their anchor, the only force restraining their fury. Without that, the world would see their true devastation.

He could only hope that the inevitable rampage of Medea, Scylla, and Charybdis would spare the women he cared about. Normally, it shouldn’t. Nathan had been meticulous in instructing the trio on who was untouchable, and they had always adhered to his directives.

His children, he thought with a flicker of solace.

Amelia’s daughter, Sara. Khillea’s daughter. Aisha’s child.

Since each bore his bloodline, they would be safe from harm. Of that, Nathan was certain. His bond with those three monstrous forces had always revolved around loyalty and his ability to command their unyielding respect. They would never defy him, even in his absence.

But for others, his assurance faltered.

Atalanta. Penthesilea. Astynome.

He couldn’t take responsibility for their safety. Their fates were now beyond his reach.

And Thetis.

He had promised her he would save Khillea, to repay the debt owed for her unwavering support. Yet that promise, like so many others, was one he could no longer keep.

His mind shifted to Kassandra.

He had vowed to free her from her torment, to deliver her from the cruel fate that bound her. He had wanted to take her away, to give her the happiness she had been denied. But that dream was slipping from his grasp, like sand through his fingers.

Then, there was her.

Aphrodite.

“No… no… no… No… No… Noo…”

Nathan’s voice cracked as he looked toward the goddess, her divine beauty marred by the pale mask of despair that now adorned her face. Aphrodite stood frozen, tears streaming down her cheeks, unable to move as she watched him crumble.

He had wanted to repay her for everything she had done.

Nathan knew Aphrodite had hidden things from him, refraining from making requests despite her clear desire for his aid. He had been prepared to give her anything, to fulfill whatever she wished of him. But now, it was too late.

Oh, right. Tenebria.

How could he forget?

Azariah, the princess who had risen to be its queen, a symbol of resilience and determination. Nathan had made a vow to her—a promise to stand by her side until Tenebria was strong enough to face any adversary. He had envisioned a future where their shared efforts fortified the kingdom into a bastion of strength and independence.

But that future would never come to pass.

And Ameriah…

The younger sister, so full of potential and yet burdened by fragility. Nathan had wanted to heal her, to give her the chance to thrive in a world that had often been unkind. That, too, was a promise unfulfilled.

His thoughts turned to Semiramis.

She had always been by his side, loyal and unyielding. And yet, he hadn’t even had the chance to say a proper goodbye to her. The weight of that failure pressed against his chest, compounding the ache of his regrets.

And then there were his stepsisters.

Sienna. Siara.

Nathan felt a faint sense of relief that they didn’t know he was alive. Dying a second time would have shattered them beyond repair. Much the same for Courtney and Amelia.

Aisha, though…

His heart twisted painfully.

Aisha would break. She would grieve for him, he knew. But at least she would have her child—a fragment of him—to hold onto.

Sienna, fortunately, would heal. Athena would see to that, he was certain.

His thoughts drifted next to Ayaka and Akane.

He had promised to visit them after the war. He had envisioned the smiles they would exchange, the warmth of their company. But now that promise, too, was dust.

And Rena.

Nathan’s chest tightened.

He had wanted to see her again, just as she had made it clear she wished to see him. But that reunion would never happen.

Then there was Phoebe.

A whisper of her name stirred a flurry of emotions. If she was in this world as well, Nathan wished he could understand why she had left him.

Her parting words still echoed in his memory, cold and unfeeling. Yet he had seen her tears. She had cried, even as her voice carried the weight of rejection.

He would never know the truth now.

Nathan’s body continued to disintegrate, pieces of ash carried away on the wind. Each name, each face he remembered, was another thread in the tapestry of regret that bound his soul.

But even as the darkness consumed him, one thought lingered:

He had loved them all. And in the end, that love would have to be enough.

At last, his gaze shifted, almost involuntarily, toward Hera.

The goddess had wanted this—his death. She had made her disdain for him clear from the very beginning, her divine wrath simmering beneath a veneer of indifference.

But now…

Nathan’s eyes locked onto hers, his expression a mixture of resignation and defiance. The question lingered in his golden gaze, unspoken but piercing.

“Are you happy right now?”

It was a silent accusation, a final inquiry into whether her orchestrations had brought her the satisfaction she sought.

Yet, Hera’s face betrayed her.

For the first time, her divine composure faltered. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze flickering with a discomfort she couldn’t quite suppress. It was as if she was wrestling with something—a burgeoning regret, an unsettling realization that this victory might taste bitter after all.

Nathan let out a soft, mirthless chuckle, though no sound escaped his lips.

How ironic.

Finally, his gaze turned upward, toward the heavens. The once-vivid gold of his demonic eyes began to fade, consumed by the encroaching ash.

The sky stretched out above him, vast and indifferent. As his face began to dissolve into nothingness, a faint smile curled at the corners of his lips.

In the end, Nathan thought, he had no regrets for what he had loved, for what he had fought for. If the gods wished to write their stories on the canvas of his life, let them. He had lived his truth, and that was enough.

And then, he was gone.

Heiron was dead.