Olympus Diver Justice Pt.1

Part I: The Message

The command deck of the Sovereign Divine was cast in low amber light as High King Titus Octavius Kingsley VIII stood motionless beneath the main projection orb. The silence aboard the vessel was reverent—nearly sacred—as the incoming transmission played again, its message crawling across the feed like a slow-moving knife across flesh.

“Thirty @Helldivers died screaming so you could watch the Liberty Cup.”

— High King Titus Octavius Kingsley VIII

The moment had been captured across every major Olympus-linked broadcast node. The quote became an iron brand. A verdict. A vow. The footage that followed was worse.

Tarsh Outpost 14. Silent. Smoking. Bled dry.

The Automaton horde had overrun it in less than three hours. Not because Olympus failed. Not because resources were low. But because an entire detachment of Helldivers—Olympus Helldivers—had abandoned their post mid-deployment.

To catch a game.

They had left their brothers and sisters with a half-reinforced barricade, partial ammo stores, and zero orbital coverage. The moment the bots swept down from the badlands, the remaining defenders had no chance. The last comms clip sent before blackout was a scream: “WHERE ARE OUR REINFORCEMENTS—” And then static. Then silence.

Now the Sovereign Divine sat on edge, its reactors warm, its engines barely holding back the gravitational burn of anticipation. Every Helldiver on board stood in shock. Shame. Anger. Titus paced slowly across the command bridge, arms behind his back, the air heavy behind him.

“They left,” he said quietly.

He tapped a control rune on his vambrace. The holomap of Tarsh bloomed before them—scarlet dots marking every fallen diver’s body, each one named and logged. Thirty total. Ten of them barely past their third drop.

“And the bots didn’t.”

No one dared speak.

Titus turned. His voice dropped to the lowest register, amplified through the command deck’s audio lattice.

“Now we’re dragging bodies out of blast craters and burning their names into the tablets of Olympus.”

A slow breath.

“Thirty of ours. The price of cowardice.”

He looked toward the open field of stars beyond the viewport.

“To those responsible... you are no longer soldiers. You are targets.”

The deck crew straightened as the next order passed through the ship like thunder.

Directive: DEFEND WHAT’S LEFT

• 30 confirmed KIA

• Comms blacked out

• Tarsh orbital grid compromised

• Deserting Helldivers now marked for active pursuit

Titus moved to the armory vault doors. They hissed open like a tomb releasing divine wrath. Inside were the weapons only the High King used—the Searing Judicator flamethrower. His twin plasma sabers. The command badge of the Death Watch.

He clipped them all in place. Slowly. Deliberately.

This wasn’t about honor anymore.

This was punishment.

One of the younger lieutenants dared approach. “High King… are we deploying?”

Titus didn’t look at him. “We’re not deploying.”

He paused, flames in his voice.

“We’re hunting.”

A tremor ran through the deck.

Moments later, the warp drive was primed. Sovereign Divine roared as it bent space and tore through the void toward Tarsh.

And Titus, calm and burning, whispered to himself:

“Olympus remembers the loyal.

Olympus buries the brave.

Olympus punishes the weak.”