anwhile, Theseus was having a really bad ti. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
The plan was simple: show up, dramatically stop Parker's car, issue so badass, heroic one-liner, beat his ass, win the public's admiration, and go ho feeling accomplished.
Reality, however, had other plans.
He had shown up, dramatically stopped Parker's car, and then imdiately gotten punched so hard he saw Olympus before skidding across the pavent like a damn hockey puck. So yeah. Not great.
Flipping midair, he barely caught himself before impact, but it didn't matter. His back slamd into the ground first, montum carrying him into a brutal skid.
By the ti he finally stopped, lying flat on his back, his teeth clenched from the sharp burn of impact. For a mont, he just stared at the sky, processing. Then, slowly, he pushed himself up, blood dripping from his lips. Running his tongue along his teeth, he sighed.
Oh, great. Missing a couple. Aweso.
Swiping the blood from his chin, he turned his head, expecting to see Parker at least sowhat reactive to the situation. Maybe gloating, maybe preparing for the next hit. Instead, all he got was nothing. Cold. Steady. Unimpressed. Hands in pockets.
And imdiately, he felt his pride take another fucking hit. Because even with that mask on, Parker was just... better.
It wasn't just his face. It was everything. The way he stood. The way his storm-gray eyes stayed locked onto Theseus, filled with sothing dark, calculating—like he'd already figured out three different ways to break him apart. And worst of all? He was so goddamn calm about it. Theseus wasn't ugly. Far from it. He had the classic "Greek hero" look down—tall, broad, blue-eyed, ssy dark-blue hair. If he wasn't kicking ass, he could've been modeling for so high-end brand, smirking from the cover of so glossy, overpriced magazine.
But Parker? Parker was different. He wasn't just handso. He was fucking striking. And that pissed him off.
This fool was seriously considering their looks after being hulked.
Rolling his shoulders, he cracked his neck, forcing himself to refocus. He wasn't going to let that first hit shake him.
"...Okay," he exhaled, licking his lips. "I figured you weren't normal." His ocean-blue gaze settled on Parker's, watching for any flicker of reaction. He got none.
Theseus clenched his fists. "But even for a demigod…" he continued, voice lower, more serious. "This is surprising."
Parker still said nothing. Just watched.
Theseus lifted his arms slowly, deliberately—not in surrender, but in invitation. His head tilted slightly, his jaw tightening. Then, in a low, quiet voice, he muttered, "You won't be lucky again."
And then—the world shifted.
The air plunged in temperature, sending a sharp chill through the space between them. Parker felt it instantly—the Ether twisting, the energy around them bending as Theseus tapped into his divine heritage. The pavent darkened as moisture in the air condensed into thick mist, and a low rumble echoed from the earth, like sothing massive stirring beneath the surface.
A real fight was about to begin.
The air shifted. Not just a breeze, not just a temperature drop—sothing deeper, sothing unnatural. It was subtle at first, a whisper in reality itself, the space around Theseus bending, trembling, like the world wasn't sure how to react to what was happening.
Then, the first drop ford.
It didn't fall from the sky, didn't rise from the earth—it simply appeared. A bead of water, suspended in midair, gleaming under an invisible force. Another followed. Then another. Dozens, hundreds, until the entire space around him pulsed with floating droplets, shimring with an ethereal glow.
The air itself seed to condense, thickening with sothing unseen. The particles in the atmosphere, the very moisture that should have been imperceptible, twisted and coiled like they'd just rembered they belonged to him.
And then—whoosh.
Water burst into existence, spiraling around him in a slow, deliberate motion, weaving tendrils that danced through the air like sentient ribbons. It wasn't just water; it was power given form, sothing ancient, sothing absolute. It wrapped around Theseus, draping him in fluid armor, cascading over his shoulders like a royal mantle.
The ground beneath him was dry. Not a single drop dared to fall. Every ounce of water obeyed him, circling, pulsing, shifting like a heartbeat made of liquid force.
The air thickened, heavy with moisture, as the battlefield twisted around Theseus. One mont, he his breathing ragged from Parker's last strike. The next—everything shifted.
The atmosphere rippled, as if reality itself was bending, and suddenly, water erupted from nothing, swirling around him like a living force, a tidal deity answering his call.
The droplets in the air stopped being droplets—they dissolved into sothing purer, sothing raw, turning the entire space into an extension of him. His internal wounds, gashes that should've left him in inner pain, closed in an instant, knitting together as though he'd never been touched.
His breathing evened out, his expression sharpening into sothing cold, sothing unshaken.
This wasn't just water magic. This was dominion.
Parker's eyes narrowed as he felt the shift in power. Theseus wasn't just controlling the water—he was becoming it. The sheer pressure of his presence made the air thick, humid, oppressive, like standing inside a hurricane that hadn't decided to hit yet. The water twisted and curled around him, defying gravity, shaping itself into ancient forms—serpents, warriors, sothing primal. And then—it happened.
The glow.
Golden light shimred through the water, a radiance that didn't belong to Theseus. It was sothing Parker knew, sothing that slamd into his mind like a bullet between the eyes. He
His fists clenched, his jaw locked, sothing dark and furious unfurling in his chest.
Fucking Poseidon.
The na hissed through his mind like venom, like a curse laced with too much history, too much rage. His blood turned to molten fire at the re thought of it.
He hadn't forgotten what Poseidon had done—hadn't forgotten what he took. And now, to see that golden mark of his, that sa divine signature, shining through Theseus like so goddamn second coming? Nah. Nah, fuck that.
Theseus moved.
The water launched him forward in a split second, no hesitation, no wasted motion. He was the tide, the unstoppable force, aiming to crash down on Parker with the full weight of the ocean itself.
Parker blasted forward to et him.
Not wild. Not reckless. No wasted energy. Power and elegance, always.
His body cut through the air like a blade, precise, untouchable, as if he wasn't moving through reality but commanding it to shift around him. His foot barely brushed the ground before he was airborne, weaving through the spiraling water dragons that lashed out like sentient beasts.
He didn't fight the current—he read it, adapted, moving with the water just enough to slip through the cracks, just enough to stay ahead.
A normal fighter? They'd be dead already, crushed under the sheer weight of the tidal force Theseus was throwing down. But Parker? He was built different.
His fist pulled back—energy roared to life in his palm.
Collision was inevitable.
And when they clashed, the whole damn world would feel it.
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