If Zeus hadn't spoken up, Hera wouldn't have lifted a finger. She would've just kept watching from the sidelines.

But since he asked for help, she couldn't ignore him. After all, he was their leader. Like it or not, she had to respect his order.

"Let's see how tough this thing really is," Hera said.

She raised one hand and spread her fingers. Behind her, a dozen black, icy spears appeared out of thin air.

Each one was six feet long, thick as a wrist, and radiated a deadly cold. The air turned sharp and biting. Within thirty feet, the grass, stone, and trees all glazed over with frost.

"Go."

Hera clenched her fist. The spears shot forward like missiles toward the golden steeple.

The air split with a sharp whistle as the icy spears struck their mark. But instead of exploding on impact, they slid in like blades through water, leaving only faint ripples behind.

Zeus snapped, "Hera, that pathetic excuse for an attack isn't going to cut it. Show me what you're really capable of."

H