With Typhon's soul bound into the Cronus scythe, Team Underworld solved their little trump card deficit. The reforged blade, now named Cronkris, was more than capable of tearing Zeus a tendon or two; in fact, if it was half as good as advertised, it could even achieve the nigh-impossible feat of slaying the king altogether.

But a weapon this powerful attracted covetous intentions, and could potentially sway allegiances to a breaking bend. So to keep it from falling into the wrong hands, Ginrius devised a pair of gauntlets, which acted as key to the lock of the sword—it cannot be wielded without this requisite, and none else could wear the accessory but him. This apparel also improved his grip on the shortened haft of his hammer, a mishap that otherwise nulled its combat efficiency.

Now all they needed was the opportune moment—an opening for their one killing blow against the more critical flurry of the other. In light of this, the war council now convened for the next issue at hand: actual engagement of Zeus and his powerhouse of cosmic cohorts.

There was no argument to be made in Ares taking Athena on, for that's exactly why the god of war signed up; he needed one solid win against the usurper of his worship. With Heracles potentially joining the skirmish, everyone also agreed for Aphrodite to come along, because even as a god, the legendary hero had stuck to his fancy of carnal distractions; should it fail, however, Artemis pledged her support against the formidable god of strength. Completing this dream team was Thanatos, ordered to intercept Hermes who would fleet back and forth Olympus per his job description. What better thing to match the speed of a trickster, than the shadow of death itself?

Everyone knew that Olympus would be on the offensive, so Hera would likely stay home to guard its secrets. If she didn't and decided to play overprotective wife instead, someone else would, someone just as powerful. A buzzer beater roster adjustment wouldn't hurt their plans, so long as they take Hera's capabilities in stride. Hestia, being the gentlest of the Olympians surprised no-one when she chose to remain neutral. Which left Demeter engaging Apollo, and the Lord of the Underworld facing his king brother with Ginrius and Poseidon.

But if Zeus was indeed more powerful than all of Olympus combined, how would the vanguard even stand a chance? Granted, these were gods that ruled on par with the king himself, but beyond what was written on paper, the gap in their capabilities became the biggest elephant in the room. Apparently, Hades had planned for that as well.

Once upon a time, the original goddess of wisdom, Metis, concocted a potion that led to the fall of Cronus, then ruler of all. This brew was instrumental if they were to have even a glimpse at that needle-eye victory. Zeus ate his ex, so she's a dead end; fortunately, the recipe for the potion remained in Gaea, who couldn't care less about Olympus and its biddings. All they needed to do was reach the mother titan before the opposition caught up on their scheme.

But Gaea was both everywhere and nowhere. She would only appear before someone she favored, and these days, the titan had grown distasteful of everyone on the planet. This left one sure place where she could be summoned: Mount Othrys, once glorious fortress of her kind and home to her last functioning shrine.

This plan was furthered by the fact that Zeus hated the venue. He had steered away from it all this time because of Gaea, as well as the souvenir shame of his prior defeat from Typhon. There was no finer place set up a tryst in all of Greece, much more one that decided the fate of the entire world.

Still, Hades thought he could up the odds a notch higher. Since everything hinged on Gaea's consent, it was essential to make sure that they gained it no matter what. And if beseeching gods didn't make the cut, maybe a fellow titan could. They had to find Prometheus, the last titan on earth before approaching grandma, otherwise, there was no guarantee they'd return home with her cookies.

Prometheus, of course, was another complication altogether. Heracles had him freed from the torment of Zeus, but ever since then the rebellious titan was a no show. Not even Hermes could find him, and they were sure as heck that Heracles would not point them in the right direction.

This brought them to the Sisters of Fate, who was in the business of knowing everything. A whimsical sorority, who, in spite of their precarious reputation, have been known to aid efforts they deem worthy enough. Efforts like theirs, which so happened to oppose the one god they hated to the bone: Zeus. Between this well-documented falling out and half of Olympus pleading, Hades was confident their support was already in the bag.

With the itinerary set, Ginrius prepared to embark on this next quest. In case Zeus read their move and placed an ambush, both Hades and Poseidon elected to accompany the young god, offering the best protection the house could afford. The three of them traveled under the cover of the night, and on Poseidon's insistence, through his 'channels'.

***

Carted by the chief gods, Ginrius reached the woods of the Moirai in record time. The territory's edge was a sight to behold; a golden acre of lush foliage, where everything bloomed and bore fruit. There was an ironic, inviting sense to the otherwise dangerous prospect, and somehow, it transcended even the visual promise of it. The godsmith couldn't be any happier to enter an area where untold horrors possibly lurked.

However, as they progressed deeper into its confines, the change in scenery struck like an ardent hammer. The place gradually turned from brimming with life to teeming with decay, until finally, the predictable outcome of death and depression. When they first walked in, Ginrius anticipated an exotic but breathtaking destination, now, as they approached a cave fenced by wizened trees, the terrors sitting at the back of his mind came rushing in.

"Were you expecting springs aglitter and bare-naked nymphs?" Hades flashed his son a smile.

Ginrius stared the dark god hotly, and then turned to Poseidon who offered no better consolation. "You could have warned me, you know—save me the blatant disappointment and all that."

"Yes, sure, but where's the fun in that?" Poseidon quipped.

Hades laughed hard at his brother's comment, and given his dad's birthright glum, Ginrius would be hard-pressed to not find it comforting. It was so Greek-godly to be this indirect and riddling with their support.

But the celebration was short-lived, for now they stood before the literal hole of the Moirai, where apparently, even gods dare not trespass. Hades reverted to his casual self as he requested audience, stopping a good distance off as if an invisible, antigod line was drawn before him. "Sisters of Fate, it is I Hades, requesting your presence!" he beckoned with a humbling bow.

"And I, Poseidon!" added the sea god, imitating the gesture.

Pressured, Ginrius himself joined the act. "And I—"

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"—we know who you are, godsmith, and we welcome you to our realm."

The interruption caused Ginrius his heart. He whipped his head back up, which presented him with a vision of three lovely damsels, and their barely-there choice of translucent robes. His words were lost to this startling sight, as—given the premise—he expected the greeting of horrid crones. These ladies on the other hand had neither warts nor wrinkles on their skin, and made him feel all the urges of a very normal, very teenage boy.

"Were you expecting a company of hags, young god of hammers?" As they spoke, Ginrius understood why the voice from earlier sounded strange: they started and finished each other's sentences. The sisterhood was strong with these ones.

"Ummm, yes—my apologies."

"There is no need," the sisters said, leering in perfect harmony. "This honesty is most welcome, especially in a family of dreadful tricksters." The ladies then threw Poseidon and Hades a uniform, snide glance.

Feeling more out of place than ever, Ginrius decided to jump the gun, hoping his segue wouldn't ruin the pace. "Fair ladies, we came here for your wisdom, not your enmity.."

"Don't you always?" the left-most sister spoke. "And you are in luck," the middle one continued. "The last of the titans dwell on the farthest fringes of this forest," the third finished.

Hearing this, Hades and Poseidon shared a look, one hinting clearance for a conundrum. The reason no-one in Olympus—not even Apollo's Oracles—could find the titan was because the Moirai themselves sheltered him, all the more testament to how powerful they were. "You have our gratitude, ladies," the former said, one again bowing. "As for your price—"

"—there is none to pay," Again the sisters interjected. They looked at Ginrius once more, eyes replete with bemusing thought. "We are but following the threads of fate."

"Then please accept our further gratitude and grant us passage," Poseidon told them, his voice gauche and ungodly.

The sisters nodded with rhyming pleasure. "It's not every day that we are visited by the ocean. And if it is to be the last, we are honored just the same."

Tiring of the formalities, the godly trio returned the gesture one last time, and then started out to find their titan. But before they could reenter the tree line, one of the Moirai caught up with them. She exclusively approached Ginrius, and after realizing how they weren't properly introduced, the godsmith struggled to address her. Somehow Hephaestus' memory drew them as a blur, present but muddled beyond total recall.

"It is Clotho, your godship." She spoke in a genuine display of respect, somewhat different from their treatment of the elder gods. "The Moirai offers you this trinket to honor your visit. It should prove most useful in your plight."

Clotho extended her hand, which bore the most succulent apple Ginrius had ever seen. He was drawn to the fruit for some reason; receiving it with such ardor that he would consume it before thanking his sponsor.

Hades stopped him in the last minute, snatching the fruit away from him; all the while Poseidon shook him out of his trance.

"Where did you get this fruit?" Ginrius heard his father, lucidly, as if his voice echoed from a dream. When he regained his senses, he looked around for Clotho but found no-one there save their party.

It was Poseidon's turn to make an inquiry. "Do you even know what that is, child?"

"Not really, no," replied Ginrius.

Hades shot the distant Moirai a glance, which the ladies took as cue to reenter their abode. "This is the same poisoned fruit that caused the fall of Typhon," he explained.

Ginrius recalled their bout with the monster in question, who, though significantly weaker than his prime, still managed to kick their arses. It led him to think of what the fruit could have done to him instead, a newborn god who couldn't even fight his own battles.

Poseidon was kind enough to spoil the mystery for him. "If that fruit even so much as touch your lips, you'd be joining Hephaestus up in the void—and we won't even have to hold a funeral pyre."