"There has never been a time that anyone has thought the sixth age would be anything but miserable."
-Chiron
The sky is dark, clouds swirling above with thick layers of agony and pain. Atlas, its bearer, merely grunts and shifts the burden to his upper back - it does not ease the pain, but it is something to do. He can hear Landon snarling - a demigod has been in the garden, and by the growing crunch of footsteps, whoever it is will be heading towards him soon.
Their face is hooded - There is no identifying features for the veteran soldier, and that itself is a feat.
"Name yourself." He demands, and there's a light little laugh from the person as they step forward.
"I have no name." They answer, taking his head and forcing it to face the ground. "But Chaos is my patron, and he demands his name be invoked." Atlas's head snaps up, and the knife slices his head off cleanly.
"Father?" Nico asked, looking up at him in worry. Hades doesn't say anything for a moment, and in the sudden silence of the Underworld, Nico can hear what worries his father.
The sound of something taking a breath in.
It's all he hears before his father pushes him into the shadows, and he disappears into the darkness, a protective last attempt from his father as the world crumbles to dust behind him.
High above Manhattan, Olympus is surrounded by a furious gale, the winds howling fiercely with their attempt to keep the massive mountain in the sky, even as it begins to fall apart, thrones cracking and splitting at invisible seams. There's no time to warn anyone as the wind gods flicker.
Olympus plummets out of the sky, crashing into the earth like a meteor.
The sea is at war underneath the surface, the sprawling lands of Poseidon being torn apart by something - temporal sheer, maybe - but the result is terrible, as a sudden gaping chasm opens up at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean as a new, terrifyingly deep cavern, consuming everything in its path.
And just like that,
The Age of the Olympians Was Over