Athos's golden eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of frustration and grudging respect. The incessant tapping of his foot against the marble floor grew louder, a rhythmic counterpoint to the monotonous drone of the council's deliberations. His divine essence, normally a tempestuous storm, felt like a caged beast, yearning to be unleashed.

You, the epitome of tranquility amidst the chaos, had once again thwarted his plans for a swift, decisive conflict. Your words, like a gentle but firm hand, had steered the council away from the path of war, opting instead for the arduous road of diplomacy. Each time, you managed to outmaneuver him with your uncanny ability to foresee the consequences of his actions.

It was infuriating. He longed to challenge you openly, to prove his superiority. Yet, a strange respect for your intellect and unwavering conviction held him back. You were a formidable opponent, a worthy adversary.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Mortals are their own undoing," Kyrion, the god of justice, declared with finality. "Left to their devices, they will inevitably destroy themselves."

Athos's lips curved into a brief, almost amused smirk before returning to their usual scowl. "Precisely," he agreed, his fist pounding the council table. "Let them perish. From their ashes, a new age will rise."

A murmur of assent rippled through the other gods. Athos knew this was coming. He'd anticipated the inevitable clash with the diplomacy-obsessed deities. The thought of it ignited a thrill within him.

His icy gaze fell upon you, and he watched as your mind raced, searching for an alternative path. Anything but the destruction of mortals. His irritation grew as he pondered your inexplicable fondness for these wretched creatures.