The air atop the crag did not smell of ozone or rain, but of rot.
The Zombie, a creature of mindless hunger, shambled forward. Its skin was gray and sloughing, one eye missing, its jaw working silently as it tracked the scent of living divinity. It had no concept of the being before it. It did not see the King of the Gods; it saw only meat.
Zeus sat upon a rough-hewn throne of marble, leaning his chin on a fist. He did not rise. He barely bothered to shift his gaze from the horizon to the pitiful thing dragging its leg across the sacred stones.
Is this the challenger? Zeus thought, a ripple of irritation crossing his mind. No hydra, no titan, but a broken vessel of mortal clay?
The Zombie let out a wet, gurgling moan and lunged, fingers reaching for the toga of the Thunderer.
"Dust," Zeus murmured.
He did not raise the Master Bolt. He did not summon the winds. He simply tapped his index finger against the armrest of his throne.
CRACK.
A single, localized arc of white-hot lightning snapped into existence directly above the undead creature. There was no struggle, no scream, not even the time for the creature to register pain. In the span of a microsecond, the intense heat vaporized the water in its dead cells.
The Zombie exploded into a cloud of dry ash and bone dust, scattered instantly by the mountain breeze.
Zeus brushed a speck of gray dust from his knee and looked back to the horizon.
"Next."