---

A sticky, spreading dampness welled up on the Heir’s temple, his chest, and his underarms. He’d just come from the baths and dried himself, and already he was growing to become drenched again. His sweat was pressed down upon him so tightly that it couldn’t even bead – an effect of his activated deflectors and personal forcefield. The air around his face also shimmered gently. As though they were no more than hazy mirages, the exquisite tapestries and reliefs that lined the hallway’s wall were distorted by the energy field that shrouded his bathrobe and skin, but in that moment the Heir had no eyes for decor; everything in that hallway would have been a blur anyways because he was racing down it as quickly as he could. Two of his favored demigod bodyguards from the Sacred Band, a Theseus and one Jason, ran at his heels.

His mind had been conjuring images the whole way, but once he walked out onto the terrace and saw the grisly remains of Zeus, he quietly gasped. His gut nearly turned, and his brows furrowed deeply. This was much worse than he’d imagined. In the span of what could have only been an hour or two, the corrupted vitality nanites had ravaged the corpse and rendered it into a fetid ooze. Muddied with the metallic odor of blood was the ripe stench of something that had seemingly been left to roft for days, the stale and fishy scent of ammonia, and other unpleasant chemical odors that came as the product of more obscure volatile compounds.

The Heir spun about, looking everywhere. Of course the area had already been secured and there was no assassin hiding behind a marble pillar or lurking in the shrubs, but in these crucial moments the Heir needed to be vigilant of everyone’s presence, their faces, and their moves. Deep down his emotions towards Zeus swirled. There had not been much love between the two of them, but even still, the ugly death and its circumstances filled him with an inner turmoil. Fortunately those confusing emotions could be set aside for the nonce, for there was a much more pressing matter at hand – his own ascension. This is what he had been created for, and every day for years on end (an eternity for one so young!) he’d seen his own ascension and coronation as king. He’d seen it in his reveries thousands of times, but it had never been this chaotic, this messy… It felt mad, and hardly believable, that things had come to this. That this was truly happening! Was it just a dream?

The Heir, no, Zeus – he was already Zeus now – shook himself out of the idiotic stupor and the swirling thoughts that had held him in their grasp for a good ten moments. He needed to be decisive and kingly, to project strength and stability, not youthful turbulence. So he made note of everyone present at the scene: many guards had already arrived, and more were coming with every passing minute. He couldn’t keep track of them all, didn’t even know all their names. Theseus clenched his jaw and Jason’s eyes widened a bit with morbid curiosity as they looked at what was left of the former King of Olympus, but those subtle, silent reactions were all that either of them offered. The two demigods had seen enough battle and death to stomach worse. That was good. Zeus trusted in the loyalty of those two, and he needed calm and decisive men right then to ensure that his claim was not brushed aside by another. To the side, Zeus’ majordomo paced quickly back and forth, animated with frenzied thought. That man would panic, Zeus knew, but in the end he would accede to the rightful claim of his new King, for he had been close to the late Zeus and knew that the god had wished for his Heir to take his place. Hera was that man’s opposite as she stood still in statuesque shock, a dumbfounded look on her face. She might perhaps pose a problem.

The Heir found himself staring at her, and after a long pause she looked up to meet his gaze. He snorted with contempt and addressed her, “Leave. You’re only getting in the way here, and we all know that he never loved you anyways.”

A storm of emotions flooded into her then, snapping her out of that corpse-like stupor. “He was my husband,” she spat back with indignation, “I’ve known him for lifetimes, long before you came along, and you, you’re only–”

“Only your king?” Zeus offered, and a sudden panic lit her eyes. The thought hadn’t occurred to her yet? Oh, her own wretched children certainly would not be taking his rightful place. “Only Zeus?” he said again, a smile beginning to creep up at the corner of his lips. No trace remained of that stoicism she’d had about her mere moments ago; her cheeks were red, and her eyes too. Tears were already beginning to well up in the corner of the widow’s eyes. Time to twist the knife! “Only your husband?” he whispered, stepping close and grabbing her hand.

The next horrified look that sprung up on the damned woman’s face was a memory that Zeus would cherish forever. He allowed her to break free of his grasp and flee.

---

Time had passed quickly once Zeus had started giving commands. He had a proper kingly bearing, self-assured and confident, and in moments of turmoil and crisis, lesser men flocked to such figures like moths to a light. Zeus found himself sliding into that role easier than he’d ever expected. A part of him wished that his originator could have seen him then. That thought came from a childish longing for approval and respect, but deep down Zeus knew that it was unlikely the old Zeus would have had much positive to say. He never had been fully appreciated, had he? He couldn’t suppress a scowl from forming.

_{”Your orders, Lord?”} a man asked again, hesitance and anticipation in his eyes. Zeus hadn’t even heard him the first time.

He turned his head fast enough to make that minion flinch. “The guards that were on duty here this morning,” Zeus began with an imperious tone, “and the servants, too. I want full memory audits on all of them, immediately. Have the report brought to me by nightfall.”

“M-My lord,” he stammered. It was hardly afternoon, and Zeus was already getting used to the title and tired of the sniveling weasels that seemed to so often mutter it. “The scans, they, they take time, and if rushed, the effects, they can er, traumatize the subject…”

“Do it anyway.” An icy glare ended the conversation and sent that one scurrying off.

He turned to the Majordomo then. “Do we have this under grasps? How many of the gods have had the assassination leaked to them yet?”

The steward contemplated that for a pregnant pause. “All of them, I would guess. It’s impossible to suppress news like this for long, Your Grace.”

Zeus inhaled deeply, slowly, his eyes closed and his teeth gritting. Then he opened them and nodded, much to the nervous Majordomo’s relief. He would have to keep moving; if he stopped even for a moment, he would sink. He had to sprint, to fly, in order to stay ahead of this. He thought out his next move carefully, before finally activating his personal connection to I.R.I.S. and sending the inevitable call. When it came to speed, he had to have the final word on the matter at his beck and call.

With an over-embellished crack that split through the air, a tall winged figure seemed to unfold from empty space amidst the assembled group. A lithe figure adorned in flowing gray robes with a wide-brimmed helmet, Hermes, Herald of the Gods, appeared with his characteristic nonchalance and peerless timing - seeming to appear almost as soon as the notion had occurred that he might be needed.

“The King is dead. Long live the King.” He quipped dryly. His back was turned to Zeus Prime, his many wings neatly folding in upon themselves and merging into a single cloak about his shoulders. The messenger of the gods stared down at the necrotic remains of…

…of Zeus’ predecessor. Yes. That was the only way to think of it now. By then there wasn’t even much left of the remains save for a red and brown stain; most had already been vacuumed up and sent to GULA for analysis.

After a single moment of hushed silence, Hermes swept around and performed a low, exaggerated bow before Zeus. “Oh King of the Heavens, as ever, it is I, your faithful and most fleet-footed servant. Speak your piece, and into the ears of every mind in the land it shall be delivered most expeditiously and with exigent urgency. From the highest peaks to the lowest bounds of Tartarus, I shall convey your will.”

Hermes seems to learn quickly, Zeus found himself thinking with some satisfaction. Doubt gnawed, of course. He had to question just how genuine this overblown display and those words were, but for now he put his trust in the messenger. “All of the High Pantheon, everyone of importance, even Hades in his hole… his son, too, whatever that one’s name was–”

“Zagreus, your highness.” Hermes quipped lazily. It was startling. Hermes would never have appended such a corrective statement to the end of anything Zeus’ predecessor had said - and in front of all these servants, no less, who would know much the same. Already a crack had been struck in Zeus’ image, scarcely a minute into his renewed rule.

Venom filled his eyes for it. For the briefest of instants, Zeus had stolen a glance at Theseus where he stood at ease. The demigod’s soldierly disposition was unchanged, without the slightest indication that he’d noticed. But had Jason cocked his head just a bit? There had been a pregnant pause after Hermes’ quip. Zeus stepped closer to him. “Hermes,” he began, “I do not care what the shit’s name is. You will go to him, and all the others, and tell them that they are summoned. I need them here by noon tomorrow.”

“As quick as starlight then, my King. Every member of the High Pantheon, and their immediate scions, shall receive your summons from my own person in the next two minutes.” Hermes’ cape unfolded into a set of six sprawling wings once more, almost as if they were about to take flight.

“A moment, lord Hermes,” the Majordomo started. Now it seemed that even he was allowed to interrupt. “I will have the cordial invitations printed; an event of this gravity calls for ink, not mere words.” Now, even the steward was making corrections, subtle as they might have been – a summons had been turned into an invitation. Perhaps that would keep a few egos from chafing. Worse still, Hermes’ wings withdrew once more, his helmeted head turned with a faint incline towards the Majordomo before glancing back towards Zeus - watching for his reaction, doubtlessly gauging how receptive he would be to recommendations and advice from his lessers.

Zeus blinked. “Yes, ceremony… I will not make a trivial affair of this. Prepare the invitations. But word them carefully; they all will be attending.”

“A most judicious decision to have made, King.” Hermes supplied airily. It was not the tone that bothered Zeus as much as the choice of words - as if Hermes were consciously acknowledging that it had been the Majordomo’s idea rather than his own, whilst crediting Zeus - and again, made in front of so many of his own servants. “I will, of course, be certain to impress upon the Pantheon the irremissible nature of these invitations should your thoughtful courtesy fail to have the desired effect.”

The Lord of the Skies nodded at that, pleased if not quite smug. The Majordomo hastily shuffled off to see it done, and so Zeus was suddenly left with the onlooking crowd - and Hermes, standing amidst them, almost preening as he waited.

One of the guards made the mistake of looking directly at his king of a few hours. “What are you gawking at?!” Zeus demanded. “Make yourself useful and find the interrogators! See if those servants have squealed anything of use, if we’re any closer to discovering the culprits.” Even as the soldier began to turn and run off, his face pale as marble, Zeus finished, “Hermes has a task to do.” Yes, equating that trivial choir with Hermes’ work was one subtle step towards putting the messenger god back into his place.

Zeus’ outburst there had drawn even more attention, though now most made sure to not stare too closely. An awkward restlessness hung over him; he felt the need to do something. Idling around would not lend itself well towards commanding a regal or authoritative aura.

“We will find who did this,” he declared to them all without a trace of doubt in his tone. “It may take some time, but we will find them eventually. And they’ll welcome the depths of Tartarus with relief after I’ve finished with them!”

Hermes turned his head to stare at Zeus then, and though his gaze remained hidden and inscrutable behind its sheening face, the hunch of the Herald’s shoulders and the slight tilt to his stance suggested he found something about Zeus’ statement humorous - or was he simply imagining it? The Majordomo returning with the printed invitations stopped Zeus from barking out at Hermes as he had with the guard.

“From your lips to their ears, from your hands to theirs.” Hermes accepted the printed invitations with what was clearly a practiced flourish, the artificially-aged and rolled parchment spinning through his metallic-sheened fingers before vanishing into the folds of his cloak. “If there is nothing further you require of me, I shall make haste - with your leave, my King?”

“You may go,” Zeus told him, “...and Hermes, you too are naturally invited to tomorrow’s event, as befits your station.”

“Oh? Me? Such an honor.” Hermes swayed as if to feign a faint. “I shall be certain to wear my very finest closed-toe sandals. Until then, my King.”

Hermes’ cloak unfolded into a set of six wings, which then seemed to shimmer as golden and shadowed light played across them - and with another embellished crack that split through the air, Hermes was gone.

---

---

Waking up had never been a very pleasant affair, even back in his old body. It ended up being a whole endeavor more often than not, and the same held true even now that his flesh had been replaced by smart-matter, and brain by a comparably advanced computer. The only difference now was that there were no cranial nerves left to induce pain when the blindingly bright fluorescents he’d installed several centuries ago stabbed at his eyes. Rising from the slab upon which his newest vessel had been placed, Isaac did a quick diagnostics check before shuffling off, his feet meeting cold stone with a thud. A quick glance about the chamber told him everything was still exactly as he’d left it, meaning his former crewmates hadn’t managed to find and sack the place in his absence yet.

'Thank god they lack the sense and equipment to perform deep topological scans.'

He made his way over to the drexler he’d been assigned then, running his hand across the surface to boot the machine up. One routine systems check later and the device was ready to assemble more units, which Holcomb knew he’d need in the coming months as his existing forces were slowly whittled down by Olympus’ defense grid, to say nothing of the weapons wielded by his colleagues. Bringing up a display in his field of vision, he ordered the printing of additional reconnaissance drones, grabbing the first one to slide out the other end of the assembler and activating it. Another mental command was given and the drone sent off, soon to be joined by more of its brethren, their task being to survey the surrounding region for any lingering surprises or threats, before eventually pushing south to monitor the gods themselves.

As his initial diagnostics check ended and his deeper, full-system check began, Isaac could not shake off the sudden feeling that something was wrong. Off, somehow… physically. Nothing seemed immediately remiss, but there was no such thing as being too careful, so he pulled up a view of his current body’s specifications, all memorized. As he went down the list, tallying each notation off, his eyes suddenly fell on weight. The figure was off. His body was exactly half a gram heavier than it should have been. Now, he wasn’t a man skilled in any manner of molecular science, but he was good at keeping track of things - and the weight shouldn’t have been off by so much as a nanogram considering the consistent readings all of his previous vessels had given him.

'Something’s not right… the warforms are designed to fit an exact weight and density specification…'

He glanced down at the rest of his body and flexed his fingers a bit.

“Someone’s been messing with my shit. I swear to Christ, if one of those bastards managed to compromise this place…”

He then checked the logs for his specifications to figure out when they had managed to infiltrate his den - only to find an even more unexpected reading.

His weight had ticked up two seconds into his boot sequence, less than a minute ago.

'Alright, let’s think about this for a moment. Out of every twat living on that mountain, which one would be most capable of either sneaking past my defenses or teleporting something to me?'

He shook his head with a binaric growl.

'Hermes… it has to be him.'

Seeing that nothing was currently trying to breach the encryption on his vessel in any way, or otherwise compromise it, Isaac was able to rule out malicious intent fairly quickly. Which left him with only two real options. Either this was another one of his shitty pranks–or more likely–he’d transported something onto or inside his vessel. Granted, that didn’t completely rule out the possibility that it might be a prank. Hell, the last time something like this had happened the god’s mailman had sent one of those canned snakes to him, a product Holcomb could’ve sworn had gone out of fashion back home several decades ago.

'At least he hasn’t graduated to sending actual explosives. Yet.'

Rolling his shoulders slightly, Isaac bade his vessel morph until he caught sight of the item that was adding the extra weight. What seemed to be a letter of some kind, written on actual parchment at that, taped directly to his back.

“Huh. Didn’t Fletcher always use these things for formal occasions? What are you up to Hermes…”

Opening the letter, Isaac began to read. And, though his face could no longer show any manner of physical emotion, had any other sapient been standing in that chamber with him at that exact moment, they would have seen a machine’s best approximation of shock.



The mechanically precise cursive of the letter had clearly been printed - but appended to its end was a shaky, handwritten line in faded silver ink.

P.S. The entire high pantheon and their immediate scions are going to be present.

You will find a two-meter cubed volume of prefab stock for your Drexler approximately two kilometers North by Northwest from your current position. Do with it what you will.

“Well I’ll be damned. Fletcher fucked off the mortal coil but had the foresight to name a successor before he did?”

He brought a hand up to his forehead.

“Sometimes I’m glad he was so concerned with laying pipe and being a narcissist all these years. God forbid he actually uses his intelligence for anything truly ambitious. Hmm. And who’s this Apate it mentions? Another so-called god added to the pile?”

Had he lungs, he would sigh.

“They just keep fucking multiplying. That or Skor retired and someone else took her place. Still, this situation isn’t entirely unsalvageable. I can’t help but wonder just how long I can keep trusting Hermes, though. In any system it’s always the self-serving elements that are the most dangerous.”

Folding the letter, he set it down in a small compartment he’d managed to install on the drexler for storage purposes, and turned his gaze toward the twisting expanse of tunnel that served as his entry point to and from the surface.

“Still, a tool is a tool. So long as he keeps proving himself a benefit to me, I’ll hold off on his execution.”

In the midst of Demeter’s temple where the Horae had been convened in hallowed ceremony, there was a sharp, exaggerated crack that rang through the air and reverberated off the carved, plant-adorned masonry of the central chamber. A set of six shimmering feathered wings seemed to unfold from empty space, shadowed traces of light running across them as they pulled back to reveal the tall and lithe figure of Hermes - Herald of the Gods, adorned in his distinctive wide-brimmed helmet and bearing the badge of his office, the twinned-serpent stave Kerykeion.

A rolling wave of gasps and shrieks bounced across the high stone ceilings, barely softened by the verdant interior. There were few mortals who had journeyed to this sacred hill. Their bodies had been prone already in supplication to the Horae and Goddess. With Hermes’ dramatic entrance, all flash and awe, the mortals scuffled to their knees, mouths agape before promptly prostrating themselves again, in hopes that neither god would feel less worshipped than the other.

Thallo, sure to disappoint her mother, shrieked with the mortals before slender hands could cover her mouth and deaden her response. Her eyes darted to her sisters who bowed their heads stoically, then her mother upon her throne. The Harvest goddess need not look at her for her displeasure to be felt.

Almost as if he had not just barged into a sacred ceremony uninvited, Hermes then lazily flourished his free hand and produced a black-and-gold filigreed letter seemingly from thin air as his six feathered wings folded in on themselves to become a single whole cloak draped across his shoulders.

“I come bearing a message for Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest,” He announced, “From Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on High, with the utmost exigency.”

“You always make an entrance, my dear.” Demeter’s eyes narrowed, partly in annoyance at being disturbed, but more so at the fool-headed girl of a priestess. In truth, Hermes would need to do far more to earn her ire, she found him a welcome distraction from time-to-time. Her head tilted, chin resting on a closed fist, she wondered at what game the mischievous god would play today.

“I would have waited for the closure of your ceremony, Goddess, but as I said. Utmost exigency. You, your Scions, and all of the High Pantheon and their Scions as well, are being summoned to attend Zeus upon Mt. Olympus, and I was ordered to deliver these invitations with haste to shock the Fates themselves.” Hermes said with zero trace of apology in his intonation as he offered a half-bow to the goddess. His tone was, as per usual, meandering and flippant - but noticed perhaps only by Demeter herself was the faintest of emphasis he had spoken with in places. The words between his words.

Zeus is not playing games.

“I see.” She straightened, fingers snapping at her daughters. The daughters needed no further guidance, their presence was no longer needed. They bent towards the quivering mortals, hands gesturing to them to rise from the ground, compelled them to the antechambers. Auxesia, too proud for her own good, paused at the doors, tentatively hoping that the mortals’ departure would be sufficient, but it was just long enough to earn another snap of the goddess’ fingers. The Summer Priestess bowed her head and the doors heaved shut, leaving the sanctum in silence.

Demeter rose from her throne fluidly, gilded sheer robes swirling with her every purposeful step, a faint floral perfume emanating from the lotus staff in hand. “You have no time for games today, Hermes? That’s a shame. These mortals come with their banal desires and give me no inspiration to return home with. Yet, if Zeus calls, I will of course answer.” She paused, something did seem different. Such urgent messages were rare, such seriousness from Hermes rarer still. A boring ritual would almost have been preferable to the suspense. Almost.

She stretched out her hand, “Let me see what our King has that requires such haste.”

Hermes reached out with a splayed hand, proffering the black-and-gold letter. The lettering itself as Demeter opened it was clearly printed, but the texture made it clear that it was made from parchment - likely artificially synthesized and then aged for authenticity.



The goddess scanned the letter once, paused and looked up with narrowed, questioning eyes. Her forehead creased as she reread the missive, more slowly this time. Eyes resting on the words - Zeus is dead. Impossible. All life would be claimed by death one day, but this? Zeus?

“Surely this is in jest - how?” It churned in her mind, searching for any signs of illness or decay the last time she had been in his presence. It had been some time, weeks - months perhaps - ago. She had not ever spent much time with the king, yet nothing stood out in her interactions. This was indeed unexpected.

“Oh, his corpse scarcely had time to cool before our renewed All-Father on high claimed his ascendancy. The cause and culprit, I imagine, shall tragically never be divined.” Hermes began scanning the interior of the temple almost nonchalantly as he spoke before turning his gaze judgmentally towards the tips of his metallic fingers, as if appraising the condition of the nails he did not have. “For rest assured, there was a culprit. The former King was murdered in a most gruesome fashion. His remains would not even be fit as fertilizer, if you will pardon my intrusion into your realm of expertise, Goddess.”

“Murder? Surely not. Not even you should joke at this.” She had no great love for Zeus, not the friendship she shared with Hades, but she held respect for him - his position. Murder was quite the charge to level, but Zeus was quite a god to die.

“Check for his vitals.” Hermes said, abruptly dropping his carefree stance, his voice suddenly flat. “The Captain is dead. His clone has assumed command.” Hermes’ sudden departure from the script they had adhered to for centuries was something Demeter had never known him to do. Not once.

Her eyes widened, ever so slightly, the skin on the back of neck prickling at something Hermes said. It was odd phrasing but Demeter could not place the cause of her discomfort. If nothing else, it was clear that she did need to return to Olympus with haste, if only to see the truth for herself. Hasty decisions were bad decisions and before she acted further, she would need evidence. Zeus was dead, Hermes - jovial no more - seemed certain of nefarious acts. The Heir ascending, well that, Demeter thought quickly, at least that made sense. It was his purpose.

“This is clearly a disturbing time for you, dear. I am sorry you must carry such news.” She drew close, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Truly though, nothing at all to test?” Macabre, but pragmatic. Godly physiology was not her specialty, but with GULA’s assistance surely they could discover the cause.

“Oh, I suppose so, but you know of his temperament as I do. He has already promised his court that the perpetrator will be found. The alternative to there not being one is a scapegoat.” A pregnant pause fell into the air between them. “Did I mention now would be a good time to consider gifts? Perhaps you could sell off one of your daughters to him.” Hermes’ irreverent tone returned in a heartbeat as he raised and splayed his free hand while he tilted his head, stifling a laugh.

“My foolish children would of course not be worthy of such an honor.” Demeter demurred, and a cold smile crossed her lips. In truth, she required absolute purity for her progeny. Even for her king, such an arrangement would be unbecoming. “I will of course be prepared with an appropriate offering, I am aware of his preferences.” As she was for most of her cohort, desires were not hidden.

She saw movement behind Hermes and lightly waved her hand. Xarpo quietly re-entered the throne room, a flower at the peak of its bloom in hand. Her head lowered in reverence, she presented it to her mother without sparing a glance at Hermes. Demeter took it without looking, eyes trained on her fellow god. “But it is not just Zeus who will demand his due, no?”

Her eyes brightened, her own game that she played with the messenger god. While mortals offered obols, she always sought some new experiment to share should he come calling. “This is from my personal garden, be careful how deeply you inhale its fragrance.” A knowing smile flickered.

“And here I was eyeing the clasp from Xarpo’s dress.” Hermes drawled as he accepted the flower before pinning it against the cranium for his helm as ornamentation. “And rest assured, though his Renewed Highness is most assuredly the King, he is not the old King. All dues that are owed shall be collected, I suspect - and I do not imagine I am alone in that estimation.”

Demeter shook her head in faux-disappointment. “You know she is my shy one, do not embarrass her too much.” She backed away, moving towards the great door that would give way to her gardens. “As it was, so it is, and shall it be. You dislike my preaching, but this too is a cycle - all life, even ours.” Life from death, she would withhold further judgment until she again laid eyes on this reborn Zeus. She would gather her daughters and ready them for their time in Olympus.

“The reason I dislike it so is because it has always been my observance that life is more of a spiral than a circle.” Hermes quipped. “Charming as always to chat with you, Goddess, but I must be running. Many other Gods and their Progeny to break the news to. I will be seeing you at Olympus soon.”

With a parting wave, Hermes’ cloak split apart into the set of six shimmer feathered wings once more, which encompassed the God and then with another exaggerated cracking noise folded themselves into nothingness.

Silence again, for barely a moment, before the door opened once more with her other three children returning to the sanctum. “Yes, as I’m sure you overheard, we must get to Olympus immediately.” The goddess stood before her temple’s throne, hand caressing the intricately carved seasonal motif. “Instruct the caretakers to resume their duties here and be ready to depart within the hour.”

She heard the quiet steps behind her, obeying her orders, and snapped a hand up. “Except you Thallo, and you Auxesia. Penances first for your incorrigible nature and misbehavior.”

Infernal Invitation

---

---

Under the artificial lighting of the supervault, a throng of titanic individuals encircled a great slab of obsidian. None of the assembled sat, their prideful forms refusing to settle in the presence of their infernal overlord. At the head of the rectangular table, Hades stood as an oppressive giant of chthonic proportions, fully adorned in the Stygian Nether Plate that he always wore. Spiked protrusions, swirling engraving, and skull motifs made up the surface of the plating. The Abyssal Crown, a dark hued wargear appearing with the likes of a Corinthian helmet, nestled against his cranium. A pair of glaring, red eyes watched the gathered minor deities as they spoke amongst themselves.

To the left of the chthonic lord, his progeny and heir, Zagreus, triumphantly stood with a smug grin plastered across his lips. A pair of emerald eyes carefully calculated the words spoken by the other adjutant-lords of the Underworld. Similar to his progenitor, albeit with his left shoulder and arm exposed, the heir stood in the obsidian armor that the infernal lord wore. Both of his hands pressed against the obsidian slate, one covered in nanocomposite black and the other barren of plating. His ears figuratively leaned in to listen to the chthonic deities in their assembly.

“I believe that Asphodel requires further expansion due to the rise in the River Acheron’s consumption. An increase of nearly thirty percent, compared to five decades ago, shows the dire straits of my region.” The adjutant-lord of Asphodel, Aeneas, spoke as he gestured to a holographic display on the table. His tone was quick, energetic, and reverent. His form swayed under the dark purple toga, reflecting the overhead light from his synthetic fabric.

“You’ll sooner have your domain expanded when Tartarus is filled to the brim with the damnable of Hellas. Lord of the Dead, don’t listen to this sycophant. The jails of the Underworld desperately require renovation due to Typhon’s meddling.” The adjutant-lord of Tartarus, Minos, spoke with a booming voice filled to the brim with pride and aggression. His form was clad in the dark nether plate, appearing as a Hellenic champion of Old Arith. An unkempt beard swayed as he spoke, his azure eyes staring daggers into Aeneas.

“Are you both mad? Our lord, Hades, will ultimately decide on which of the realms requires the most attention - or if we require a new realm to fit our infernal lords designs. Forgive your adjutants, my king, for they are bound by their overworld greed.” The final adjutant-lord of Elysium, Aecaus, spoke with a calm, calculated voice that dispersed the initial arguments. His form, similar to Minos, was clad in the obsidian wargear of the Underworld, appearing as an Athenian war hero of Old Arith. Oceanic, blue eyes closed to the assembly as he bowed before the overpowering gaze of Hades.

The chthonic king, Hades, grumbled as he cast his gaze between his most loyal champions of the Underworld. A single, clawed gauntlet rose to motion another figure from the darkness of the abyss. A heavily robbed, skeletal entity seeped in from behind one of the several columns encircling their council. The shroud dipped its head in respect for the wishes of the overlord before taking its place to the right of the palatine ruler.

“Ease your wants, adjutants, for the chthonic king requires no further expansion in the existing realms. His will requires an overhaul of the overworld parties to deal with the threats of Typhon, should they ever harry the eternal flow of the Rivers.” The voice of the skeletal entity was harrowing, cold, and emotionless. It failed to sway, gesture, or move in the middle of speaking. It remained unmoving even as it finished speaking to the assembled deities that vied for larger realms within the Underworld. Hades gave a prompt, slow nod to the robed being that stood on his right. The adjutant-lords gave a flurry of disappointed responses in their own way.

Before anybody else could speak, a set of six shimmering feathered wings seemed to unfold from empty space at the back end of the table nearest to the entrance, shadowed traces of light running across them as they pulled back to reveal the tall and lithe figure of Hermes - Herald of the Gods, adorned in his distinctive wide-brimmed helmet - topped almost comically by a giant blooming rose for some reason - and bearing the badge of his office, the twinned-serpent stave Kerykeion. The entire chthonic chamber seemed to swim with iridescent traces of blinding light as the messenger appeared, though as the lumination of Hermes’ appearance receded the murk crept back in, leaving only a faint halo of soft luminescence about him.

“I come bearing a message for Hades, King of the Underworld,” Hermes intoned, his voice carrying loftily across the entire chamber with an airy resonance, “from Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on-high, with the utmost of exigency.”

Save for Hades, Charon, and Zagreus, the assembly sheltered their eyes for a moment during the blinding light, their eyes having long adapted to the underworld’s damp lighting. Their hands raised to keep the features hidden from what could be perceived as the brightness of the overworld. As the light dimmed, their hands slid to the table in surprise at the appearance of the Herald.

“Hermes!” Zagreus spoke out in excitement, slamming both of his hands on the obsidian slate as a gleeful smile replaced the smug grin on his lips. His tone was light, spritely, and filled with a want to joke. The heir’s form swiftly maneuvered around the table to greet the messenger, however, he halted in the midst of his gait as the chthonic king removed the Abyssal Crown to rest on the dark surface.

“Waste no time, then, Hermes. Deliver your message.” The unhelmeted features of the infernal king spoke, a pale individual with long black hair and a groomed beard with light azure eyes. His tone was the rumbling of Hellas’ tectonic plates, the crack of thunder, and whimpering gasp of the dead all in one. His dreaded demeanor reflected in the furrowing of his thick eyebrows and narrowing of his thin scornful eyes.

“Though I have no doubt your gathering was of import and that your time is limited, I am afraid this matter requires both discretion and your full attention.” Hermes turned the contours of the faceted plate covering his face to Zagreus and made a plaintive - almost apologetic - gesture. “I must ask all but your Highness, Aecaus, Minos, and Zagreus to depart from this place. Sorry Charon.” The god folded their six wings together, which merged fluidly into a single feathered cloak about Hermes’ shoulders. As they did, the Herald pulled an obol seemingly from thin air with his free hand and tossed it to Charon with a flourish from across the table.

The god of the Underworld surrendered with a grumble, raising a gauntlet to dismiss the skeletal entity to his right. The obol was caught in the dextrous, skinless fingers of Charon, who then gave a haunting, light chuckle towards the herald. The robed figure dismissed himself from the assembly of the chthonic gods, maneuvering through the columns that surrounded the council. Aeneas, the adjutant-lord of Asphodel, gave a confused look to the chthonic king before bowing his head in defeat and leaving alongside the Mouth of Hades. The remainder of the deities turned their undivided attention to the herald of Olympus.

Hermes produced a black-colored roll of parchment covered with gold filigree from his cloak. “This message, although only intended for two of you, nonetheless has bearing upon the others as well.” He nodded to Aecaus and Minos in turn. “It is my judgment that the both of you have a right to hear it. Before I read its contents aloud, I must also issue an apology.” Hermes turned his gaze to Zagreus. “Little consideration for you was given when this message was composed. I am afraid your innocence in this matter can no longer be assured.”

Aecaus and Minos shared a glance as the herald spoke. The former raised a hand to cover his lips as he stared, while the latter stroked his beard with no small amount of anxiety at the sudden grimness that the messenger bore. Zagreus, similarly, shared a contorted look between the two half-siblings and then directed his emerald gaze at Hermes. Questions brewed within his mind, but his lips remained closed. The heir figured he was about to learn what he meant by those words.

The chthonic king felt a prickle of emotion across his skin at the mention of the two adjutants, knowing that they shared a commonality in only one subject between their long service to the Underworld. His skin roiled with an unknowable feeling as words were passed, but Hades held a stern look that threatened to bubble into anger at the dallying talks. Both of his clawed hands closed into fists. “Hermes. The message.”

Hermes snapped his fingers, and a wide hologram depicting the letter’s face appeared in the air above and behind his form, and he began to read its contents aloud.



Hermes then rolled the letter back up and tossed it almost irreverently on the obsidian table.

“I have also been instructed to notify you, verbally, that you are hereby summoned to attend Zeus upon Mt. Olympus at the stated time.” He stated dryly.

Silence followed the announcement, accompanied by an assortment of perturbed looks from Aecaus and Minos. Neither felt particular love for their biological father, but another look at their faces would eschew that fact. Aecaus leaned against the table as his hands and legs trembled beneath the nether plate. Minos turned away from Hermes as he spoke aloud, his eyes staring a hole into the obsidian flooring of the council. Zagreus’ eyes widened at the proclamation, turning his attention to the chthonic king as Hermes finished. He could already feel Hades starting to bubble with anger as lava beneath Hellas’ crust. The facial features of the underworld’s overlord darkened to figurative midnight as the words were contemplated.

The scion of Hades rushed to the side of Hermes, lowering his head to speak quietly to the messenger of the gods. “Hermes, I’ll ensure that my father and I journey to Olympus… but you should probably leave, mate. You’ll have to forgive me for not preparing an adequate gift, but I promise to give you something better than the usual next time.” Zagreus spoke as quickly as possible, giving a knowing look to the herald and offering a hand in a form of non-verbal deal.

“Agreed, though I will round out the number of regrettable things I must say by indicating that the new King and the old King do not share exact memories. It is possible both Aecaus and Minos may be able to remedy their circumstances should they even desire it.” Hermes spoke at a rapid clip as he craned his head down to Zagreus in turn and accepted his proffered hand with a quick handshake.. “I will be seeing you soon, Zagreus.”

Hermes’ cloak then rose from his back and unfolded into his three sets of feathered wings once more, which then encompassed the god before folding in on themselves until nothing remained.

The half-brother adjutants glanced at Hermes as their names were uttered, a look of disbelief and hope passed between the two. As the herald disappeared, Aecaus lifted a hand to cover his lips in thought before Minos began to speak in a quiet voice. “Lord Hermes says many things, brother, but I don’t believe he was joking this time. I am fully devoted to my responsibility in the Underworld, Aecaus, but if what was said was true then you could have a place by our father’s side again.” The stony edifice that was Minos’ face was hardset, accepting of his position. His half-brother mused for a moment before shaking his head.

“I will bide my time, but for now I am the patron deity of Elysium - third only to Hades and Demeter. I’ll wait to see what Lord Hades has to say about-” The adjutant-lord began to speak as their chthonic king began to unravel into a violent torrent of rage.

A howl of anger passed through the lips of Hades, his gauntlets gripping the edges of the obsidian table and hefting the precisely carved furniture into the air. In one swift movement, the slate was thrown across the council with all the might befitting the patron deity of the Underworld. A column was smashed through by the force of the flying object, crumbling to the base of the obsidian floor and threatening to sag the overarching roof above their head.

Zagreus motioned for Aecaus and Minos to leave, their own thoughts disrupted by the vengeful actions of their patron. Their exit heralded a second wave of fitting vehemence from the chthonic king as his powered fists slammed against the mosaic walls of the temple. The scion clicked his tongue as he rushed over to assist his progenitor, who refused to buckle under the weight of his emotion.

“ Almighty Zeus! Why!? You cannot leave this world! I refuse it! I am the God of the Dead! Where is your spirit, brother!? If you are truly dead, then speak in my halls! Where is your corpse to nurture the Elysian Fields!? Where is your booming laughter filled with pride!? ZEUS!” The chthonic king wailed, storming from the assembly with his hands raised to the ceiling of the nanocomposite superstructure. He refused - he could not possibly conceive - to fall to his knees in mourning. His eyes glared at the overworld with an overwhelming amount of contempt and fury. The Underworld rang with the screams akin to a banshee’s wail reinforced by the bemoaning of the nightmaric automata that skulked the depths.

“Father, be at ease! The King of Gods lives on in his heir. I’m sure that once we arrive in Olympus that we’ll get the full story. We should prepare to leave. It’s a long walk to the mountain from the Underworld.” The scion spoke with no small amount of pity in his voice, stopping just short of his father to ensure he didn’t accidentally suffer his wrath. His words were spoken with short gestures, more theatrical than necessary, as he circled around to face his progenitor.

The scornful gaze of Hades turned from the overworld to the sight of his progeny. He breathed an air of anger before calming himself to a standstill. His fists no longer beat the mosaic walls, nor did his armored greaves bring him further into the abyss. “Yes, Zagreus, my son. We will travel to Olympus. I will see this pretender that claims the name of my brother. I will find the perpetrator of this cacophony of lies. If my brother is truly dead, then I will bring his corpse to Elysium. None of my beloved family will rest outside of the Elysian Fields. None.” The overbearing presence of the patron god of the dead turned away from Zagreus, claiming the Abyssal Crown from the shattered ground and placing it upon his head.

“We march upon Olympus.”

---

With an exaggerated crack that resounded through the air, a set of six, shimmering feathered wings unfolded from empty space and then unfurled to reveal the lithe form of Hermes - Herald of the Gods adorned in his distinctive wide-brimmed helmet and bearing the twinned-serpent stave, Kerykeion. As the flowing traces of light rushing across his wings faded, they tucked into themselves, merging into a single flowing cloak of feathers about his shoulders.

The reverberations of the burst were soon lost in the sound of rustling leaves and birdsong. The god stood at the edge of a wide clearing between two stretches of forest, curving off to both sides like a great bending road. The grass underfoot was tall and unruly, with long coarse stalks that itched against the skin. Across the glade from him, the trees stood vast and thick, circling the opening in a great ring whose further edges he could not see from where he stood. Nearby, the living colonnade of wood and bark seemed no different, at least at first glance; but to his trained eye, it was clear that the spaces between the trees were more even, and that their branches were in many places lower and thicker, draped with some sort of lichen.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the leaves overhead, and in the space of a blink something large and dark was hurtling down towards him. A broad, barrel-like chest, with mighty ribs visible through leathery skin and matted fur - two arms from every shoulder, ending in recurve yellow claws - a head like the skull of a toothy ape, grown over with mangy hide - those lichenous vines clinging to its every extremity, like the strings of a grotesque marionnette - Hermes, who had experienced similar displays of the four-armed creature’s ilk before, simply surveyed the terrain without moving or seeming to react to its descent.

Indeed, when its paws were mere inches away from his head, the beast abruptly stopped, as though the vines holding it aloft - which now visibly grew into its very skin - had run their length. With a raucous growl, it slid upwards along the trunk, pulled by its organic cords, and remained hanging midway up like an immense hairy spider, its sunken eyes never leaving the intruder.

It was only when its ascent stopped that a previously nigh-imperceptible figure detached itself from the shadows of the grove and advanced into the clearing. The Watcher of the Woods, Artemis, seemed a part of the forest come to life. There was ostensibly nothing too unusual about her; too tall, perhaps, and too sharp-featured for a Hellene woman, but not much different from them in her garb or the modesty of her ornaments. Even still, her movements had something less than human to them, a fluidity both animalistic and mechanical, and when she stood in place, it was as firmly and motionlessly as the trees.

“Hermes,” her voice was as inexpressive as her eyes, but not yet as hard, “You have a message.”

“Naturally, oh Artemis, most imperishable and unbesmirched of the Gods.” Hermes threw her an extremely lazy salute before flicking a wrist and producing ablack-and-gold filigreed letter seemingly from thin air. “I come bearing a message for Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, from Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on high, with the utmost exigency.” He paused for a moment and turned his helmeted gaze upwards. “Though I must qualify that it is for your ears alone.”

"There are no others here." Nonetheless, the goddess made a slight gesture with her fingers, a motion whose stirring only further evidence the unnatural austerity of her posture, and the beast on the tree almost soundlessly withdrew out of sight among the higher branches.

Hermes haphazardly tossed the letter to Artemis from across the clearing, the blackened parchment seeming to drift across the grove on unseen wind until it came in reach of her darting hand.



“I have also been instructed to verbally inform you that you are hereby summoned to Mt. Olympus to attend Zeus at the stated place and time.” Hermes added after allowing Artemis a moment to view the letter.

The Maiden's already thin, predatory lips tightened as she read, one eyebrow arching upwards in either surprise or curiosity. She rolled up the missive again with a single hand and nonchalantly tossed it into the undergrowth behind her back.

"Then he did die as well," she mused, her eyes still fixed on Hermes, but her words drifting past him, "But he was not old, not that way. Was it bloody?"

“Oh, scarcely so, if only because his death was so macabre that his blood curdled into cruor before it could seep out from him. The state of what is left is so vile it would not even be fit for your beasts to gnaw on.” Hermes chattered with an almost conspiratorial air, waving his free hand out to the side, the very essence of a gossip.

If his flippancy had the intent to elicit a more vivid response, however, it was to be disappointed. Artemis' expression lost even that little shade of unsettlement, as though she had expected to hear nothing short of that. "A grim sight it must have been. Who was it that struck him down?"

“Alas and alack, the culprit evades justice. His Renewed Highness Zeus has, naturally, sworn that the perpetrator will be found…though his first official order was for me to deliver his summons to all of the High Pantheon, and as far as I am aware he has yet to contact any of the other gods.”

Hermes actually laughed aloud then, a lengthy, exaggerated titter that carried on a ways beyond the confines of the grove.

“Somehow I feel as though this matter may remain unresolved for some time.”

A measure of surprise returned to the goddess' face. "I rather thought he would have met his end in battle if it came to it," she shifted her weight from one leg to another, a deliberate motion that left her poised to sprint, "There are few things that can slay one of us silently. If it is something we do not yet know, I would gladly challenge it in the hunt. This riddle cannot last all so long."

“Careful, goddess. Sometimes in the chase, one is the master or the hound - and sometimes the prey is sacrificial. You should know full well how an owner might dote on their beasts.” Hermes wagged a finger sardonically. “Even Apate has nary an inkling of how it was done or who might be responsible. If a culprit is found at all, I fear for the convenience of such a discovery.”

"You make it too complex, Hermes," Artemis rolled her bow-shoulder, flat annoyance in her eyes under a smooth brow, "You, Apate, all of Olympus. If Zeus' murder cannot distract you from your shadow games, nothing will, and Typhon's next rising will find you caught in a trap you set yourselves."

“Well that’s just a patently unfair assessment!” Hermes exclaimed. “Typhon is already a trap of our own making, you can’t just keep pulling the Typhon card every time something - ah. I forget myself.” He performed a low, exaggerated bow to Artemis. “And that besides, I am merely a messenger, and you the Huntress. Perhaps I should think better of trying to argue the matter of traps and chases with as peerless an exemplar as you.”

He righted himself and then stared pointedly at Artemis for a long moment, almost expectantly. A heavy silence filled the air.

“Well, I had better get going then. I have the rest of the High Pantheon to deliver to. I will see you at Olympus, goddess.” He tipped his helmet to her as his cloak once more unfurled into a set of six shimmering, feathered wings once more. Then encompassed his frame, and with another resounding and exaggerated crack, they folded upon themselves in a flash of light until nothing was left.

Not a scant moment after his departure, there was an abrupt yelp, and a woman tumbled down from the canopy above to crash headlong to the ground where Hermes had just stood.

Artemis stared at the intruder. Hermes was often known to either steal from or else play pranks on those who did not offer him some form of token recompense for his services - but in her grove, there was naught of value that the Herald could have possibly taken, nor anybody else around for kilometers save for slavering beasts.

So Hermes had evidently made-do by teleporting some hapless mortal directly into the grove. Perhaps somebody who had prayed for his intervention just then - or who had slighted him.

With a groan, the newcomer began to lift herself off the ground, her forearms sinking into the grass as they heaved up her shoulders. By the standards of most cities, there was nothing remarkable about her: neither plump nor malnourished, clothes neither too fine nor shabby, calloused fingers. She rose to her knees, turning up at last her disoriented eyes, which immediately fell upon the goddess. Her disheveled face paled and dropped back in awestruck fear as a stifled yelp died in her throat.

Artemis let out a hissing breath, and a scowl finally fell across her brow. The coming days were going to be very long.

---

“Forensics analysis of the scene has yielded nothing yet, Your Worship,” an attendant reported. Zeus snorted and waved him away with one finger. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He ran his hands through the black curls of hair upon his head, brought them down, then toyed at twisting knots into his beard. His majordomo stood in patient silence, waiting upon the king.

Zeus finally broke the silence. “You were saying, Majordomo?”

“Preparations for tomorrow’s gathering are coming along. The nearest temples have delivered their tributes and the feast is already being prepared.”

Zeus nodded. That was going well, at least.

“Are you sure that I should not be in contact wi-” the Majordomo anxiously began, but Zeus didn’t let him finish.

“Why bother? They’ll all be here tomorrow. In the meantime I’m sure Apate and Athena are already investigating, even without my explicit orders. I can manage this my–”

There he was, justifying himself to a subordinate. This wasn’t his predecessor posing him some hypothetical question, this was just a steward that served at his whim now. Haughtily, Zeus stopped himself mid sentence. “Do not question me,” he smoldered. That was what he should’ve said from the start.

The Majordomo saw his lord’s consternation, understood it at once, and expertly bowed his head in supplication. He said nothing, and took a step back, and all was seemingly defused.

But then a man was flung before Zeus. The captive’s mouth was gagged, his hands cuffed behind his back, his terrified eyes pleading. Even with all of that, there were four guards flanking him. “This is the one, Your Worship,” one of them declared.

Those deep blue eyes of Zeus only stared impassively, his face blank. Then he suddenly chuckled; this fool before him was nothing. How could such an insignificant fly think to defy the will of Olympus’ lord, his king?

“Well, let’s hear what you have to say for yourself,” Zeus smirked. “Take that gag off of him.”

He’d expected that the idiot would have at least put together a halfway decent story on the way to the palace – what else was there to do when you were arrested and dragged off? – or at least been able to muster up something of an excuse. But Zeus was disappointed; nothing but stammering and sputtering flew out of the demigod’s mouth. The king was about to open his own to hand out some fittingly terrible punishment, but then at long last the detainee managed, “Please! It was only my wife!”

Zeus raised an eyebrow at that. “Found your tongue? What part of my decree was not clear?” The man’s head was hanging, looking down onto the ground, so an exasperated Zeus strode forward to lift his chin. He wanted eye contact. “No word of the recent happenings regarding the death of the king’s predecessor is to be spoken to mortal ears,” Zeus quoted his own proclamation from earlier that day, “...on pain of death.”

Zeus could only chortle again. “And still you what, babbled on and told your wife, was it? A priestess? Hmph!” The whole situation seemed preposterous, but at least it offered a chance to make an example. “Did you think that we would not be monitoring communications to the temples? Do you think that we’re all inept? That I’m some kind of a fool?” he demanded.

“No, no! Your Worship, I beg your forgiveness! I was, was, was not of sound mind!” he sobbed, “I was drunk, I did not think. Never would I think such thoughts of you..!”

On and on he went. Zeus had no ears for it; a dozen grisly methods of torture flashed through his mind as fitting punishments, but none had any real appeal to him. When he was younger, just a mere shadow of the late Zeus, he’d imagined moments like this a hundred times a day. How spectacular his justice would be! How terribly they’d fear his wrath! Instead it seemed that not even the drunkards possessed a healthy fear until they were on their knees before him, and on the first miserable day of his rule he was already weary of issuing reprimands and punishments to useless imbeciles.

So finally, he allowed himself to break that implacable look chiseled onto his face and to instead show a wide smile. He could afford to be merciful, at least this once. He was in the mood for it. Sometimes kindness and restraint left a more lasting memory than the crack of any whip.

“Enough,” he silenced the man – no, the demigod of Olympus, for that’s what this person was. Zeus patted the supposed drunkard on the head. “Your misconduct here was a breach of my direct order, and it could have had disastrous effect upon the order of the realm. Nonetheless, your king has taken pity on you, and so you are forgiven.”

The drunken idiot’s red eyes opened wider than a child’s, as though he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Th-thank you, my lord,” he eventually piped out. Zeus was still smiling widely, a beautiful, charming, brotherly beam. Slowly, nervously, the man’s own face grinned to match. “But what happens now?”

“Now? Hmm, nothing. Well, I suppose that first I ought to have you freed of your bondage.”

Zeus flicked a finger, and the guards saw his order done. They were disciplined enough for their faces to hide their shock, but the eyes were windows to the soul, and they betrayed all. The men's disbelief was amusing, in a droll way.

“So tell me: what is your name?” Zeus casually asked as he reached one hand into a pocket.

“Ambrus,” the demigod breathed. He still couldn’t believe his luck. “Thank you again, yo-”

A wave of Zeus’ hand stopped his thanks. “Mistakes happen. What matters is that we never repeat them, and we accept responsibility for them. I’m sure that you will not do this again,” Zeus teased, “and well, it seems as though you’re taking responsibility for your foolishness. Truly, there’s nothing to thank me for.” From the pocket he’d been reaching into, Zeus procured a small white-gold object.

“So, Ambrus,” the king echoed. “That name is fitting for an Olympian. It means eternal or something along those lines, doesn’t it? Immortal! So what strange fancy compelled you to marry some primitive mortal? I couldn’t imagine any girl so beautiful as to be worth trekking down there through the muck to see every time.”

“Her hair is the color of the dawn,” Ambrus dreamily whispered. “I was just…struck. It’s hard to explain, Your Highness.”

“Struck by a heavy club over the head when you were young?” Zeus japed. Now even the guards were laughing. Even Ambrus laughed along. “Fortunately for you, I’m a married man, else I might have had an eye out for this vixen! Hair beautiful enough to seduce an Olympian! It’s hard to imagine.”

Zeus had unfolded the baton into his scepter. He noticed a tiny speck of gore somewhere on it and groaned slightly; the thing was supposed to have been sanitized after they’d pulled it out from the old Zeus’ visceral puddle where it’d lain that morning. But after pressing a few subtle buttons, the metallic surface came aglow with light. A holographic display showed the globe of Hellas. The Lord of the Skies glanced to the Majordomo. “Where?” he intoned. It was easier to use I.R.I.S. to translate the understanding of a location, so the dutiful steward was silent, merely blinking with concentration as he sent the thoughts over. “Ah, there,” Zeus said a moment later, panning across the globe of light and zooming in to one particular place.

Realization was beginning to set in. “What are you doing?” Ambrus asked, suddenly nervous again. The holographic display was a topographical view of a very familiar fishing village upon the seashore.

“Correcting your error, of course,” Zeus explained. He contemplated how best to approach the problem. The workings of the system were arcane and the controls were little easier, but he’d seen the scepter in use many a time before, and furthermore retained a fair few of his predecessor’s memories concerning the damned thing… he negotiated a few more scrolling menus, selecting a targeting point for the massive laser arrays in orbit. Enormous amounts of energy were channeled and focused upon the atmosphere above the sea, heating patches of sky. In other places, lasers fired into the atmosphere at different wavelengths created a resonant effect; through massive-scale application of Doppler cooling, other regions were rapidly cooled. The sudden temperature differential generated strong winds.

“You’re going to destroy their whole village?!” Spittle flew from Ambrus’ mouth, and he hurled himself at Zeus, but the soldiers intercepted him.

“No less.” Zeus pressed a button on the holographic display, and platforms in low-orbit precision-dropped pods designed to seed clouds through the dispersal of silver iodide into the atmosphere.

“I-I only told my wife!” Ambrus was still struggling against the soldiers. One of them lost patience and gave him a sharp kick to the back of the knee, knocking him prone.

Zeus answered with idle conversation. “What was her name?” He made sure to subtly emphasize that one word: was. A few parameters still needed tweaking. Zeus hadn’t bothered with refined numbers or calculations, he was merely using guesswork, following his gut. It looked like he’d overestimated how much energy was necessary. That was rather unfortunate; the resulting tempest would be quite large, and it might cause some collateral damage. With a sigh, he began scaling back, throttling a few of the weather control instruments.

Ambrus hadn’t said anything in a few moments, he realized. So he looked down from the holograph to see the demigod gasping for air.

“Oh, let him breathe,” the king absentmindedly ordered the guard crushing his neck. Ambrus only took two sharp breaths before his pleading began anew.

“Your Highness! She won’t tell anyone else!”

With the slightest hint of a grin, Zeus scoffed and dismissed the wishful thought. “That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” The rain was already beginning. Soon it’d escalate to a torrential deluge, and for all the hapless denizens of that village prayed, they were already doomed. The monsoon would inundate the whole area, and more likely than not the flooding would wash everything into the sea and leave behind not even a trace of the hamlet, unless a few of the little huts had stone floors or solid foundation. Dark clouds were quickly obscuring the view from S.I.H.T. and ruining the holographic view. Soon there wouldn’t be anything left to see. One hut had its thatch roof blown off.

“She’s a priestess! She serves us!”

“Most heresies begin among the priesthood, you know. While the other mortals toil, the clergy laze about in our shrines and temples with little to save reflect upon our every word. Reflect upon it, and occasionally question it. And then they talk to one another, and a single errant thought, a single discordant tale, finds itself turning into a whole heresy. From there, things get messy, chaotic, and bloody indeed.” Zeus lectured, “Still, I suppose you have a point – she did serve us, so perhaps she deserves some consideration. If you can spot her among all the other ones running about on the hologram, I’ll see if I can smite her with lightning – a quick, clean death.”

Of course the demigod wouldn’t, or couldn’t, bear to look at the holographic image anymore. Zeus had been hoping to have a chance to practice his aim with the targeted lightning, but alas! He supposed just about any target would do, so he idly messed with the controls. It was hard to hit an exact target; he mostly just succeeded in setting a few huts aflame. As in for Ambrus, by this point desperation had become despair, so Ambrus only heaved and sobbed. He was in a sorrier state than when he’d first been dragged in fearing for his life.

“Oh, have cheer, dear Ambrus,” Zeus nearly crooned. “You’re still pardoned, forgiven by your king. Nothing will be done to you. It’s unfortunate that the whole settlement must still be destroyed, but it’s just a natural consequence of these events. In a sense, you killed them because you couldn’t keep your silence.”

He paused so that the gravity of that could sink into Ambrus, for that had been the crack of the whip. “Knowledge of my predecessor’s death spreading through the mortal realms is unacceptable. If it reached the great cities there would be rioting, schisms, holy wars, and through all of that mayhem thousands would have to die. Perhaps tens or even hundreds of thousands, all on your conscience. Fortunately we caught this situation in the bud, while it was just a minor little mishap, before the unseemly tale managed to spread like a malignant tumor… before it grew out of hand.” The smiling Zeus pat Ambrus on the shoulder. “You might normally worry that the High Pantheon would be… agitated if your recklessness leads to the destruction of their holy places, but there was only what, one or two in this village? Whoever the shrines were dedicated to, whoever your wife served – did you tell me her name? Oh well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now -- I’m sure that this time, those gods won’t even notice.”

Zeus figured a tsunami was warranted too, for good measure, so he programmed one of them before he finally finished the task at hand and folded up the scepter. It was best to be absolutely sure to leave no survivors; a strong man could sometimes climb up into a tree and outlast a mere flood, but a big enough wave could sweep away even the trees. He looked over to a heaving, writhing Ambrus, who the four guards were straining to keep pinned on the ground. “I suppose you’ll need a new wife, once this one is washed away. I also know that sentiment all too well!” Zeus leaned down over the drunkard, and mused, “There’s plenty more with coppery hair. I’m sure you’ll even manage to find a better one, Ambrus, given time. And if you ever despair at that, just remember your name and what it means; up here, we have all the time in the world! But down below, they’re practically just lumps of clay. Even the lowliest of us is worth ten thousand of them. Contemplate that. Remind yourself that nothing important was lost, if the tragic happenings of this day should ever trouble your conscience.”

He gestured for the wretch to be dragged back out of the palace compound, then began folding up his scepter once again. As if nothing had happened, the Majordomo told him, “Your Highness, GULA reports that its analysis is nearing completion.”

“There truly is no time for a king to rest,” the Lord of Olympus mused. “Well, we’d best go visit our favorite machine.”

---

---

Snow, that's all that lay before him. Hills upon hills of it, an endless sea of icy white whose maddening uniformity was broken only by the natural differences in elevation, terrain, and the occasional fliting of small black specks in his peripheral vision. The drones he'd sent out earlier were still hard at work surveying the area it seemed, and he spared one of them a passing glance in order to check the readout it displayed in his field-of-vision. Since all of its systems were still nominal, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Grabbing one end of the feedstock cube Hermes had provided, an altogether featureless thing that reminded him of the tasteless nutrient cubes many people had taken to consuming back on Earth, he hoisted it overhead and began the trek back to his subterranean lair. As he went, however, Isaac began to contemplate a rather serious matter. That being where he should send his army now that he was awake. Olympus was still as tempting a target as ever naturally, especially since all his crewmates and their replacements would be gathered there, but it would also be the move most of them suspected given his previous campaigns. No, Holcomb wanted to do something unexpected. Something that would throw them into disarray, catch them by complete surprise.

He couldn't assault the I.R.I.S. itself of course, as Hermes kept the damn thing on the move, but that didn't necessarily leave him lacking for targets. If anything it presented him with several options he wouldn't have considered before. Options that had suddenly become extremely viable thanks to Zeus' summons. And the most attractive of these locations just so happened to be the supervault Konrad ran, as it was filled to the brim not only with facilities he could make use of but obscene quantities of biomass that could be utilized as feedstock. Sure, the defenses the vault currently had in place would doubtless be an issue, but then again so were the defenses in place around Olympus - and those hadn't managed to deter him from his past attempts either. Yes, out of every target he could hit, the so-called "Underworld" would be the most profitable to his future endeavors. His mind set, Isaac got to work as soon as he returned to his hideout. First processing the cube of feedstock he'd been given before activating his army, some half-a-million members strong not counting recon drones, and commanding them to make their way south. The drones would go first to scout for any traps or emplacements, in addition to clearing the various tunnels that led down to the supervault itself, and they would be followed shortly after by the actual army.

An army which was currently pouring over the frozen hills, tearing through icy valleys, and across craggy mountains on all fours like some manner of hellish animals. Moving with such speed and ferocity that they appeared as little more than a featureless blur to the mortal eye. It would take them days to reach the domain of Hades yet--even with their maximum speed of around eighty miles per hour--though Holcomb reasoned this to be a sensible delay given the timing of things. Fletcher's death and appointment of his new heir would undoubtedly be a very time consuming ordeal, what with the amount of inane politicking and maneuvering his former crewmates liked to do, so it stood to reason that his forces would be able to slip in while Konrad was away and take at least a bit of territory. Or, barring that, smuggle some feedstock and weapons back north.

Making his way to the tunnel's entrance, Holcomb watched as his warforms began the long march south.

&

---

The descent to the most elaborate of medical buildings available to the Olympians was a brief one, with its location close to the palace. It took their chariot naught but a minute to reach the opulent palace that housed the entirety of GULA, salvaged in its near entirety from the ancient ship. Scores of medical rooms and automated clinical procedures silently surrounded the great King, and what mortals or demigods were present bowed in opulent respect to Zeus. Yet, a single towering EMU glared upon Zeus, offering no greeting or customary bow to the fickle lord.

They were blocked before they could enter the chamber housing the GAS Core. The late Zeus had gone to it on occasion, sometimes with his clone in tow… In fact, they’d been in there only a few days prior, but Zeus quickly pushed that memory out of his mind. The important thing was that previously, GULA had never denied them entry to the core, but for some odd reason the clone was halted this time. A scent of disobedience seemed to become prominent as the EMU moved towards them with hulking steps heavy enough to crush men. The automaton blocked their path forwards, a singular white optic glaring upon the king in a silence that would become broken as a deep, modulated voice rang through the otherwise silent hall.

“Zeus,” the modulated voice began, “Your vitamin B12 has registered low. Recommend dietary change to include more fish.” There was no dramatic breaking of news to the lord, no grand discovery made apparent as of yet by the apparatus. The proclamation caused some of Zeus’s attendees to gaze at each other in confusion, but GULA made no further motion or voice as it sought acknowledgment for the previous tidbit of advice that it had crassly spouted out.

Zeus rolled his eyes at the AI’s metal puppet. “Acknowledged,” he indulged it. He spared a backward glance to his majordomo and instructed the man to ensure that he would have supplements for the B12; the thought of slimy fish made his stomach churn. “Now I want to hear your findings from the analysis on the remains that were brought to you this morning.”

“Cause of death.” Tension grew in the air as GULA processed the information, evidently still in mechanical thought. The glowing orb of its optic continuously stared upon the clone as a second passed. Finally, the machine spoke, laying out its findings in a singular word, “Suicide.”

Silence filled the room once more, a stunning and shocking revelation out all into the consuming void. Surely, none would doubt the words of GULA, he was seldom wrong and the AI was thorough in all accounts. Yet, even still the information was hard to process and GULA, having been programmed with a modicum of understanding of human emotions registered the shock not as disbelief or bewilderment, but as grief. As if rehearsed time and time again, the monotone voice spoke with no amount of true emotion, “I am sorry for your loss.”

Majordomo Zelos had served faithfully for the better part of a century. He had gone years at a time without being fazed, and yet for the second time in just this day, his jaw dropped. He began pacing the room furiously, the other attendants bustling out of the way of his feverish steps. It almost looked as if Zeus hadn’t even registered the words. He blinked, but was otherwise a statue. Then he finally shook his head, incredulous. There was only one word. “Impossible,” he stated. No, there were two words. “Explain!”

The response was immediate. “Theory: Captain Fletcher was the only one with access to SMART nanite parameters. Nanites have gone rogue of his own doing. Ergo, suicide. Accuracy of theory; 76.6 percent.”

The robot finally moved from his perfect stillness, moving a hand to rest upon the clone’s shoulder in what was attempted to be a comforting manner. The cold metal offered no such comfort as it was clear GULA did not truly care that the captain had died. Why would he though? He was a machine, incapable of such nuance or emotion. Once more did its ridiculous words ring out to idly comfort Zeus, “I am sorry for your loss.”

An irate Zeus pushed the EMU’s heavy metal hand off his shoulder. “What other possibilities were considered?” He thought for a moment longer before blurting out, “And run a systems check; issue a function report.” Perhaps GULA was defective, or in need of a reboot.

It took a moment for GULA to respond, almost as if contemplating Zeus’ order in a single head tilt to the side. It responded in order of what had been said to it, “Other possibilities considered: Vitamin B12 Deficiency Induced Complication 1%, Cardiac Arrest 0.6%, Alcohol Poisoning 0.5%, Suffocation 0.4%, Arsenic Poisoning 0.1%.” The statement ended and the EMU took a precautionary step away from Zeus, almost calculating a level of hostility that would erupt from the Lord of the Sky. Yet, the words came defiantly, “Order denied. Requisite clearance level insufficient.”

Zeus’ eyes darted back and forth in careful contemplation of each diagnostic and its implications. He opened his mouth partway through to tell the Majordomo to take notes, but the ever diligent Zelos had already begun doing so. “What do you mean insufficient?”

Zeus seemed uncharacteristically calm. This couldn’t be actual insubordination from a machine; surely it also recognized his rightful claim. This had to be just some sort of misunderstanding, some error in its understanding that could be quickly corrected. “I was the Heir and the designated successor, and now I have the throne, the titles, the name, the Key to Olympus.” He held up the golden brooch. “So grant me the same clearance level that you granted… him.”

“Negative. Captain Fletcher was appointed by the Board of Admirals. Captain MUST be sworn in by Board of Admirals to attain clearance,” GULA stated, speaking of topics from a bygone era that was far older than Zeus Prime, certainly not a subject the late Zeus would have shared due to its irrelevance. The machine took a millisecond of brief calculations, the modulated voice spoke once more in its monotone nature, “Data logs of acting replacement captain incomplete. Chief of Security Isaac Holcomb designated as Emergency Acting Captain. Crew vote required to replace.” At the very least, GULA offered Zeus a solution; a vote of confidence giving him power as Captain.

They were all confounded, and Zeus was no exception. “Who in Hades is Isaac Holcomb?”

---

---

The army’s march would continue unabated for days on end as they analyzed and took the quickest routes around existing civilian centers. Their goal was the supervault after all, not wanton carnage, especially not carnage directed anywhere near or at the temples that had been erected by his crewmates. For they served not only as a place of worship but a means by which the pantheon’s mortal followers could communicate local goings-on, such as the movement of a massive mechanical army, among other things. On the eve of the last day of the week, however, Holcomb’s forces arrived at one of the many “rivers” leading into the Underworld. The reconnaissance drones deployed first according to plan, mapping out the interior and moving to deal with any threats contained therein.

As the reconnaissance drones began their first initial scoutings along the outer shell of the supervault, using the pipeline labeled ‘River Styx’ as guidance, their acute readings were momentarily interrupted by the presence of the biological machine hordes that plighted the underground. They had always been there in previous assaults, raids, or delves into the supervault. No doubt created by Konrad in moments of macabre obsession; however, the sheer size of the hordes on the outer levels of the supervault alone warranted caution. Thus the purgation began with their miniaturized armaments attempting high-speed disassembling of the fleshcrafted golems; however, to Isaac’s surprise, no small amount of effort had been put into outfitting the nightmare warriors of Hades. Wherever the spherical machines cut with precision lasers, the automata apathetically groaned and lunged in retaliation. To the chagrin of the creatures, the spherical drones were built for high-speed aerial maneuvers and evasions. What Isaac hadn’t anticipated is the denizens of the Underworld to be prepared with their many hyperinflated chemical solutions. Fluoroantimonic superacid erupted from the tips of the bidents in jetstreams of fluid, dissolving the hard shells of the drones in retaliation; however, their initial defenses would be for nothing after Isaac’s machines cut through the internal reservoirs of the shades. Diminished but operable, the drones pursued further into the supervault…

Lord Aecaus, the Adjutant of Elysium, felt his skin prickle as he watched over the vast terrarium of the Elysian Fields. The germinating mist from the internal reservoirs was rising through the River Lethe, the sister pipeline of the River Styx, earlier than it had before. The demigod softly smiled knowing exactly what it meant - Elysium’s reservoirs were full and actively overflowing back into the Styx Core. He had long removed his helmet on return from the Temple of Hades, his blonde hair dripping with the moisture produced from the fields. His azure eyes, a byproduct of being Zeus’ son, stared out at the lowest parts of the acropolis. In those smaller parts of the Elysian’s infrastructure, the cleansing servants of Hades stalked around to pollinate nearby greenhouses with fresh fluid. He pondered the words spoken by Hermes several days ago as he stood near the heart of the Fields - the Elysian Core. One of the creatures that are regarded as a ‘champion’ approached him in his stupor.

“Lord. Unreported patrol. Sector El-5. Requesting permission.” The champion spoke through gurgled requests, an emotionless and perturbing voice that would’ve caused discomfort to anyone outside of the Underworld. Luckily for Aecaus, most of the automata on the upper levels of the supervault weren’t nightmarish like those in Tartarus. This one in particular was gigantic, covered in armored plating like a revenant from Old Arith tales with a decorated hoplites helmet. It, like many of the creatures of the abyss, had several extremities that either hung at its sides or gripped the weapons befitting its status. This one held a tempered greatblade of restructured nanocomposite that split into a bident at the tip. None of the champion's flesh was visible beneath the reinforced nanocomposite plating, only the dull glow of red necro-fuel illuminated its form.

“Unreported patrol? In Elysium’s outlying territories? I don’t like the sound of that, especially with Lord Hades gone. Khariton, I will be sending a reinforced unit of shades but begin Elysian Phase One. It might be overzealous of me, but we can’t take any risks.” Aecaus spoke, his voice a touch lighter than Zeus’ own without the egotism. The champion shade, named Khariton, inclined its head wordlessly before departing from the acropolis with an ethereal gait. The adjutant-lord shook his head in surprise, the series of events that had recently happened weighing on his mind. A mind now sheltered by the headgear of the nether plate, forged for him by Lord Hades. A hoplite’s helmet crowned by a wreath and a green-white plume tightly pressed against his skin as the systems kicked online.

The adjutant-lord turned from his view over the rest of the Elysian Fields to approach a spherical entity residing in the midst of the acropolis’ central chamber. The snaking pipes of the River Lethe wormed beneath the foundation, feeding directly into the device sat squarely at the realm’s core - the Elysian Core. Like its parent cortex, the device was protected by several energy barriers biocoded to the set user and sheltered by a nanocomposite exterior. Aecaus waved the defenses away, deactivating the barriers and integrating with the nanite shell to unearth the subsidiary core. He pressed an armored hand against the surface of the spherical device, temporarily integrating with the cortex to will the realm at his touch. He felt as if his senses stretched across distances, viewing down from the heavens above at the domain around him. With a thought and an active knowledge that the River Lethe was going to be partially drained, the areas connecting Elysium to the rest of the Underworld began to close up with thick walls of nanocomposite. The demigod nodded to himself in satisfaction that the first initial plans of possible breach had been conducted. Reactivating the defenses of the cortex with his genecode, the adjutant stepped back out onto the veranda overseeing the Fields. Now, he anxiously awaited for Khariton to return with some news. Any news.

Isaac’s drones would waste no time as they made their way to the end of the pipe and swarmed out into the subterranean skies of Elysium. Although the walls separating it from the rest of the supervault had already been raised by this point, said development was of little concern to the swarm’s controlling intelligence, for this one region alone was a windfall in regards to strategic and material benefit. Flitting through the air, their optics aglow with a hateful glare, the recon drones began an aerial scan to get a complete image of the local topography and any visible defense installations, before executing an RF capture to get a read on the exact positioning of every shade within line-of-sight; and even those which were not as tracked the that moved in and out of the structures below. They then relayed this information back to the warforms above along with the signal to begin their descent.

Clawing their way over the edge, a majority of the warforms made their way down into Elysium itself while a small contingent–approximately a hundred thousand units or so–stayed behind on the surface, their job to keep watch for any overland attacks and spirit away anything ferried up from the supervault below back to the north. As for the machineforms that had made their way below, they scuttled along the walls and ceiling like a flood. The only sign of their existence was a churning sea of red pinpoints as their eyes pierced the darkness to single out important targets. More than a few dropped down after a while to engage and destroy any defenses that stood in their way as well, while the rest waterfalled their way to the ground via the nanocomposite walls. A horrid sound it was, and thunderous, and one that rose to blanket the entire cavern with its clamorous din.

As the reconnaissance drones liberated themselves from the obsidian tunnels, they found the sight of Elysium concerning. The monstrous machines of the supervault, fusions of flesh and nanocomposite, assembled in controlled groups around specific structures. Shades with mist-emitters on their backs had shifted in their duties, rolling forward onto all fours and arching their spinal mounts to the skyward ceiling. Several larger creatures - Hades’ champions - lingered in specific positions amongst the horde, wordlessly directing through simple phrases or gesticulations. It was beyond comprehensible prediction the amount of automata that Konrad Vitalis could’ve mustered in nearly four centuries. Their numbers were innumerable in comparison to the size of the Elysian Fields that stretched for miles on end as a misty land of artificial jungle and Hellenic city-state. To Isaac’s remote surprise, due to Aecaus’ eternal vigilance, they were aware of the warforms the moment they had entered the cavernous walls of Elysium. The fight for the Elysian Fields had begun with globs of fluoroantimonic superacid and hypergerminating fluids from the emitter-automata, vaporizing the warforms in droves as they crawled across the ceiling.

Short skirmishes from descending warforms broke into full-fledged warfare between the servants of Hades and the drone-legion of Typhon. Those drones still attached to the ceilings found themselves under cataclysmic assault, butchered into dissolving molecules by the fertilizer-turned-artillery biomechanical servants. Forced to drop below, swathes of acid-enhanced bidents and powerfully bunched synthetic muscle tore apart the ballistic-resistant drones in surprising brutality. The lines were drawn across the length of Elysium with the vast majority of Typhon’s machines forming aggressive beachheads around their initial point of arrival with a variety of overhead flanking maneuvers against Hades’. Minor temples, housing artificially curated flora and small vats of necro-fuel, were lost to the great enemy’s horde; however, the major temples were fortified beyond doubt and actively reinforced by Hades’ most vile creatures. The lines held in an uneasy deadlock, each warform replaced by another and each shade replaced by another in an endless stream of mass infantry assault. Only when one of the alpha automata, the champions, moved from their positions did the lines shift. The battle raged on as Aecaus observed the battle for his domain.

Lord Aecaus bit his lip in frustration that Typhon had truly decided to attempt an assault, he silently swore to scour Hellas for this insult. The demigod rid the thoughts from his head as the servants of Elysium began to pool around the central temple. His azure eyes tracked the warforms of the traitor scaling the walls from a single tunnel. No doubt breaching one of the burial sites on the surface to dig through the Underworld. The Elysian champion, Khariton, had returned less than five minutes then when he had left. The haunting facial plate of the semi-sentient automata regarded Aecaus before disappearing into the Underworld’s horde. The adjutant-lord’s eyebrows furrowed, knowing exactly what he must do to ensure that Elysium would not be overrun. In his time as a mortal king, he had always hid away in fortifications and citadels to outmaneuver his enemies. It would be the same for this onslaught.

“Hades forgive your servant for taking the helm of the Underworld in your absence… Beginning Phase Two of Elysian Protective Protocols.” The chthonic demi-deity cursed as he marched back through the acropolis, the sounds of the hordes clashing outside and on top of the structures within the realm. He silently thanked the Fates that Typhon had assaulted Elysium and not Tartarus, his brother would’ve likely abandoned his realm’s cortex to fight the menace at large. Unlike the rest of the structures in the Elysium Fields, the primary temple held several champions within its illustrious halls. One of them had been Khariton, who actively fought warforms that managed to sprint past the horde towards the cortex. His gaze caught one of the aforementioned creatures further down the temple dealing with several warforms, crushing them under the augmented weight of nanocomposite armor and synthetic muscle. Within such a radius of the Elysian Core, Aecaus willed the nanosoil of the Underworld to swallow and mulch the machines. Unlike Lord Hades, he could do no such thing with the entirety of the supervault and was limited to Elysium.

The adjutant-lord’s armored greaves brought him to the base of the energy barriers surrounding the Elysian Core once more when the citadel-temple began to rumble. Unnerved, he materialized a nanocomposite xiphos from a sphere attached to his side. The blade seeped concentrated fluoroantimonic superacid from the edge as if venom from a vengeful viper. His helmet tracked the nearby disturbance and found only the raging battle outside. Almost dismissing the disturbance, Aecaus was about to deactivate the barriers of the cortex when a portion of the acropolis’ roof crumbled inwardly. Warforms that had evaded the volcanic, acid artillery of the shades descended into the temple of the Elysian Cortex. Aecaus prepared himself, willing a thick nanocomposite wall over the cortex to deal with the intruders.

The warforms would continue their assault with unnerving efficiency, spurred onwards by the intelligence controlling them. While some were inevitably lost, such casualties more than fell within acceptable ranges for Holcomb, and those that remained continued to adjust their strategy. Going from a purely mindless rush to a series of flanks, hit-and-runs, and dodges in response to the chemical weaponry being flung their way - while those that did have the misfortune of getting hit either produced more smart-matter to deal with that they'd lost, or flung the affected parts off entirely before regenerating. For so long as their cores remained intact, so too would the machines themselves. As the battle raged on, however, there was a gradual but noticeable shift in the army's behavior.

Where before they had torn through the area indiscriminately, destroying or otherwise trying to destroy everything in sight, now they moved with a clear purpose. While the frontlines were engaged, those drones and warforms that could be spared broke away from the main fighting to steal whatever they could. Be that tools which had been left in the area or the very bodies of the opposing automata themselves. They then took these things back up the pipe and to the surface when and where possible, lumping them into a pile that the warforms above defended with unflinching zeal. Meanwhile, those that continued to rampage through Elysium though soon made their way towards the cortex, for if it could be claimed then everything the enemy had thrown at them would be for naught. Well… that had been the plan anyway. Once the wall had gone up Isaac was forced to look for another way to gain access to the thing.

It was then that he opted for a two-pronged attack. While some of the warforms attempted to dig beneath the obstacle, a team of recon drones would focus fire to drill straight through it. Granted, given the material it was made of, he considered this latter option to be quite the long shot. Still, in times like these one needed to press every advantage presented to them. So the warforms dug while the drones drilled, each of them hoping to get at the prize which lay inside.

Namely the cortex and its demigod defender.

The frontlines of Elysium’s battleground wavered under the fervent assault of the warforms, shades dying in droves under concentrated attacks from Typhon. The famous superacids of the Elysian Fields were neigh ineffective against the cold, hard shells of the ever-regenerating machines. Even as the mist-emitter automata painted the grounds with dissolving fluids, the biomechanical automata of the Underworld found themselves under duress. Though they felt no fear in their cold, biofuels shells, they began to buckle under the weight of the infinitely reproducing drones. The outlook of the battle appeared grim until the moment one of the many champions of Elysium stabbed their mutagenic claws into the chest of a warform, filling the shell to the brim with superacid and tearing out their core to be crushed. That single warform did not regenerate in that instance. The semi-sentient nightmare creature bounced signals from their cohort, refocusing the attacks of the shades on the particularly precious central processing units of the drexler-assembled humanoids. Tides turned as the servants of the Underworld refocused their attacks, disallowing their biomechanical bodies from being taken and forcing their enhanced claws deep into the warforms.

The counterattack was efficient, but the damage had been done across the Underworld. Minor temples of nanocomposite, smaller greenhouses, and hosts of biomechanical automata had been claimed by the great enemy. Precious raw material had been funneled away by fleeting warforms while the most important sites of Elysium were protected. Reservoirs of necrofuel, terrariums, and primary greenhouses had been successfully defended and forced their would-be attacks into fleeing routes through a combination of overwhelming assaults and core destruction aided by the unmentionable experiments germinated by the goddess, Demeter. Both sides of the conflict, warform and shade, were depleted in various instances with the servants of Hades reaching half of their original number and Isaac’s drones desperately leaving the supervault with feedstock in hand or destroyed by biomechanical claw.

Aecaus sweat beneath his helmet despite the environmental protection breathing a cool breeze over his facial features. The warforms were endless, their flying avatars even more so. The adjutant-lord could only guess how much more of the Elysian Field’s reservoirs could be depleted before Typhon’s assault succeeded. One of his nanocomposite augmentations fed the information to him as the thought appeared, answering with a full seventy-five percent capacity of the core’s subsidiary tanks. It will have to be enough, he thought as the warforms attempted to dig through the internal nanocomposite shell of the Underworld. Fortunately for the adjutant, their armaments were unable to chew through the hyperdense alloy that had been built up over four centuries. The demigod forced back an irritated snarl, willing the ground beneath their chromatic feet to be swallowed by the abyss and crushing their cores in the next moment. Unable to physically assault the reconnaissance drones with his xiphos, Aecaus continued to expend the reservoirs by willing the nanocomposite into ultraspeed spikes that impaled their spherical forms. This had only been the fifth wave after the acropolis’s roof had caved in.

An imposing figure broke through from the right of the core temple’s open side, chromatic humanoids clambering over its armored form like ants swarming over perishable nutrients. Aecaus’ personal champion, Khariton, flung the warforms against the nanocomposite form before impaling their lithe builds with its many nanocomposite claws and weapons. The fully enclosed, helmeted gaze of the biomechanical champion caught sight of the adjutant-lord, processing a semi-sentient thought for only a moment before the next wave was upon them. Smaller shades scurried to the side of the champion, their bulging flesh and nanocomposite shells leaking precious necro-fluid from previous engagements.

“Are they endless!? Do they not know when their cause is lost!? Fates forgive me if I’ve deserved this… Lord Hades, I pray to you! May your wrath be visited upon Typhon!” The adjutant roared as his xiphos stabbed through an onrushing warform, superacid bursting from the inside of its writhing shell and melting the core within. He began to feel desperate as the assaults continued, frequently checking the capacity of the reservoirs as the nanocomposite was willed into offensive strikes around the cortex. None had successfully breached the cortex and none had claimed his life; however, the warforms rampaged in an unending wave to capture the heart of Elysium. Give me but a moment! A single gap in time to activate the next phase of defense!, he thought to himself. Continuous fighting had worn down on him from slicing through enemies that could instantaneously regenerate, he could feel his breath start to turn ragged.

The battle moved dangerously close to annihilation on both sides of the conflict until the Underworld began to tremble. It started as a small, unremarkable shift in the nanocomposite that could be attributed to Typhon’s grand assault. The shifting then turned into modest shaking, forcing several of the automata and the warforms down into exposed positions from the trembling. What could pass as the grinding of tectonic plates was felt across the Underworld in the following moment, upending structures and cracking nanocomposite shell. The rumbling suddenly halted in a strange, sporadic manner that defied the natural state of the Underworld.

Isaac surveyed the field through the eyes of what reconnaissance drones were left, and noted the earth-shaking movement of Elysium with a metallic grinding of his teeth. He'd managed to do quite a bit of damage in the time he had been here, although now that his forces were starting to suffer losses which fell outside of acceptable parameters, he decided that a retreat was in order. He had gotten what he'd come for in any case. Prolonging this battle any further merely risked additional resources he did not have. Thus it was that he conveyed the order, commanding what warforms and drones that had not been destroyed yet to pull back to the surface, and from there back to the frozen north. This was not to say such would be an easy task, however. Far from it in fact, as the concentrated assaults continued even as the machines fled and even more were felled by Konrad's champions. Still, a rather modest portion had managed to escape from the lightless confines of the Underworld with stolen materials in hand, and were already making a beeline for the planet's northernmost wastes.

Luckily for the warforms, they were not pursued by the withering forces of the Underworld. Those shades that did remain claimed the cores of the closest chromatic servants and regained their posture after the quaking ceased. None dared to follow Typhos’ minions into the overworld, none dared risk the wrath of Hades should their corporeal forms die in the light of Hellas. And so, Isaac reaped a great deal of raw materials, biomechanical subjects, and curated flora from the Elysian Fields. The great reservoirs connected to the Elysian Core had been unmolested, although the temples that protected them were damaged to a modest degree. Greenhouses that hadn’t been claimed by Typhos quietly burned and smoldered due to hit-and-run attacks by the laser-equipped reconnaissance drones.

In the tunnels that had been breached by Isaac, the world began to shift and roil in tumultuous waves as the nanocomposite stretched like a living membrane. Those that managed to escape were considered fortunate as the surface bound pipes were shattered and destroyed under the weight of the constricting abyss. A handful more of the chromatic warriors escaped the carnage while those that were still halfway through the pipeline were crushed and repurposed for the supervaults shell. Through the eyes of a drexler-assembled drone, Isaac could see the clod around their invasion point turn into a whirlpool of obsidian shell until it flattened out once again. Those warforms had been lost to him, but he had further succeeded in cutting an artery from the supervault and claimed a bounty of fresh feedstock.

Lord Aecaus prepared himself for the end as the warforms swarmed innumerably around himself, Khariton, and the cortex. He hadn’t stopped to count the amount of chromatic servants of Typhos he had slain, but the adjutant-lord could feel it with each breath he took. At some point in the fighting, Aecaus felt that he had been wounded in several places. One of the drexler-assembled warriors had been about to cleave head from neck when the tremors began. At that moment, he knew that Hades had been with them and pressed the attack while the world shuddered around them. The metallic warrior, cleaved by the acidic xiphos, stumbled back towards the raging champion in the hall. Khariton, battered and maimed, tossed several of the metallic creatures away in their stupor before stumbling from the shifting Underworld. The world cascaded around them as the temple threatened to further sink in upon itself until the quaking halted. It had been the single moment that Aecaus required as he broke from combat to integrate with the Elysian Core.

Aecaus felt no small amount of victory as the subsidiary cortex was within his reach, however, it wouldn’t be necessary to engage the tertiary phases of defense. The warforms had begun to retreat en masse, jumping from the leviathan form of Khariton and pulling themselves out of the temple proper. The adjutant-lord felt that something had gone wrong, or the enemy had achieved their purpose in the Underworld. Sweat, once again, built on his forehead as he needlessly engaged the second phase of Elysium’s defenses. The reservoirs drained a further twenty-five percent as the environment shifted around him. Obsidian shell actively sought out the invaders like writhing protoforms, sinking chromatic warriors and biomechanical aberrations alike into the abyss to be crushed under fabricated composite. By Aecaus’ will of the subsidiary supervault cortex, the tunnels leading out of Elysium snapped shut and clamped against the pipelines. If Typhos’ had any servants left in the chthonic realm, then it was likely they were swallowed whole or managed to escape with resources in hand. The weight of failure sank him to his knees before the beating heart of Elysium. He had failed the God of the Dead.

The aftermath of the battle, after the initiation and conclusion of Phase Two, was an unholy mess to witness. Temples, greenhouses, and vast fields of moss had been destroyed in the onslaught. The bodies of the biomechanical servants could fill entire colosseums to the brim, while not even a single warform remained to be captured or dismantled. The mist-emitter automata had begun the long task of misting areas with a mixture of oxygen choking chemicals to douse the fires. The remaining champions directed the surviving shades to scavenge the flesh from their machine brethren, starting the long process of feeding the cadavers through the River Styx. Nothing remained untouched by Typhos. Aecaus walked through the dampened fields of his domain, witnessing the extent of the catastrophe and remarking the damage done. He shook his head in despair at how much had been plied from the grips of Hades. This damage will take decades to rebuild. Thrice the capacity of the current reservoirs.

“Reporting. Reservoirs, untouched. Terrariums, untouched. Germination Vaults, untouched. Primary Pipelines, untouched. Elysian-Grade Alpha Automata, above optimal survival rate. Elysian-Grade Automata, sixty-four percent destroyed. Greenhouses, seventy-five percent destroyed. Tertiary Refueling Vats, ninety percent destroyed. Curation Chambers, fifty-percent destroyed.” The emotionless, machine voice of the semi-sentient champion, Khariton, spoke as Aecaus approached it in the aftermath of the battle. Much of the champion’s obsidian plates were dented, rended, or completely torn off to expose necromantic flesh beneath. The adjutant-lord sadly smiled that there was still hope for Elysium to rise from it’s destruction.

“I will hunt him down, Khariton. I will hunt down Typhos for this destruction, and I will do it all in Hades’ name. Where I had wavered for only a moment because of Lord Hermes, I am resolute now in my duty.” The adjutant-lord spoke to the destruction wrought before him. He engraved it into his memory. It would be a scene that he would visit unto eternity. Vengeance swelled within the breast of Aecaus. He unleashed the anguish that had been held back for the duration of the fighting.

“Know my name, Typhos! Know the name of Aecaus, Adjutant-Lord of Elysium! I swear upon my own life in oath that your treasonous blood will slake the thirst of my blade!”

Beneath the surface – amid cyclopean walls – the great Felis gate rises. A marvel of chthonic-cosmonautical innovation. Unbreachable, it it said.
This gate is located at the far end of the Hyphaestean Labyrinth. Only a master pathfinder could have found their way through its many trials, only to have their victorious trailblazing abruptly cut short by the looming anti-climax that is the Great Felis Gate, the deadends of deadends.
The gash in the dark copper hued great gate, covered in a thin patina of corrosion, has been welded permanently shut. Sadly, it might as well be another wall. Yet at its base is another much tinier gate -- really a door -- through which a human could maybe pass if they crawled on all fours. That door too is shut however.
Clearly this lair is not designed for human entry. Neither man or god dwells in this abode, but indeed something greater...

Hermes then unceremoniously kicked at the pet-flap with irritation. “Stop ignoring me and get out here, I have a message straight from Zeus. You want to be dramatic about this he is going to light you up until you start puking up balls of solid plasma.”

Hermes' voice echoes in vain against the stalwart might of the impregnable Felis gate.
No response... at first. However the buzzing noise that was previously detectable had ceased on the other side, as though something is disturbed by the presence of the messenger god.

Suddenly with a flash, the empty hall comes to life. Hermes feels elder hypervoltage crackle around him as the walls give off reflective light. Those same cyclopean walls that previously appeared as indistinguishable monoliths reveal a series of perfectly camouflaged plasma flatscreens chiselled into them. Flatscreens indiscernible till the very moment they activate. Indeed, screens in every direction.

Noise came through them, crackling thunder buzzing through their corrosive wires. A crackle almost resembling an unwelcome hiss.
And lo -- projected on the very screens appear the likeness of pixelated heads of a distinct feline quality. A depiction that is colourless and stylized, lacking flare or animation.

"Whosoever deigns disturb my great plasmatic premises? Beware and choose witfully your ensuing words, or be smitten by my translucent thunder!"

The hall of flatscreen and stone trembles with the monotone voice generated from hidden speakers perched ravenlike above the Felis gate. Through its reverberating echoes against the flat walls the origin of the sound is difficult to discern.

"Speak, Hermesian the cawed! Make your appeal before me!"

“The proper usage would have been smote. I realise you have a theme to work into but you sound more like a toddler than anything else.” Hermes remarked, folding both his arms across his chest, the Kerykeion dangling from one hand clamped around one of the twin serpents.

“Also, my self-evident appeal aside, I also bear a message for Hephaestus, god of the litter box, from Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on High, with the utmost exigency. Would you like me to crumple it into a ball or shall I swat you with it?”

‘’..The audacity to chafe me with trite grammatical erudition! I’ve already had enough of you. Begone! ‘Ere the lasers.. hrmm.. – SMOTE – you. ‘’

A fell beep is heard, indicating that whoever spoke broke off communication.
Immediately followed by a second beep, where an even more monotone voice continues.
‘’Message conceded.’’

Through a coinslot forged into the Felis gate, a projectile launched towards Hermes’ forehead. Hermes graciously took it straight to his helmeted cranium, only catching it after it had ricocheted off.
“Proper usage then would have been smite.” Hermes declared blatantly. “But enough about your terrible grammar, let’s instead talk about the Majordomo’s!” He then snapped his fingers, and a wide holographic display of the invitation appeared in the air as Hermes read its contents aloud.



Hermes then flicked his wrist, the coin he had caught vanishing in a sleight of hand and producing the black-and-gold filigree letter that was still displayed in the air. “...So as you may have caught on, the Majordomo did not account for the usage of the term Highest even with a comma might imply the existence of a plurality of Kings of the Gods-” He began to carry on in an academic falsetto.
No reaction came from the screens or from the presence behind the gate. None of the bombastic retorts that might have been expected towards the Messenger’s beratement. Instead, the only reaction at the news was an abrupt stop to the machinery in the room. All screens turned off. All wires disconnected. The whole room went dark.

Silence.

And a faint trembling of uncertain origin behind the gate. However, no words were spoken.
After an uncomfortable minute of silence, a new voice murmured in the dark.
‘’How generous of you, gentlegodly even, to have come all this way to bring us up to speed. Allow us reciprocate and kindly see you out.’’
Then with a foreboding zap of hypervoltage buzzing from somewhere, something had been remotely turned on.
It takes but moments to see what: a piece of wall lowered itself to reveal a colossal ventilator slowly rotating as it catches up to speed, and in mere seconds reaching full capacity. A strong current of wind gusts directly at Hermes as yet another gateway behind him opens up, giving him a quick albeit rude exit shortcut out of the labyrinth.
Hermes let go of the letter, letting it be snatched away by the cyclonic winds and carried without Hephaestus’ lair - and the onrush of air carried with it a hail of particulate and dust that blew into and through the now ever-so-faintly translucent Hermes.

“You really should get this place cleaned more often. Look how all this murk is messing with the optics!” Hermes complained with chiding bitterness. “If you had not tipped I would have some very choice bits and pieces I would yank from that glorified fur-drier of yours on my way out, but I suppose you having to play fetch is enough. I will be seeing you at Olympus, and I promise to try not to drop-kick you off the mountain. Ta.”

Hermes’ projection then faded out, translucency sweeping across the edges of his image until nothing was left. That damnable messenger always has a trick up his sleeve – how infuriating! Now Coeus would have to send one of his bird chimeras to fetch that stupid note and destroy it quickly, lest anyone reads it.
Right now Hephaestus had more urgent matters to concern himself with than one turbulent postal boy… He had to leave his lair for the first time in a hundred years…

Sat alone in a windowless room atop a simply-appointed chair, Apollo plucked away at her tortoise-shell lire, quietly humming a melody underneath her soft, quiet breaths. The space was almost entirely constructed of wood, in contrast to the towering pseudo-stone temple that sat high above on the peak of the Isle of Delphos, though it was no less richly-appointed, intricate shaped and patterns carved out in the wooden walls, like dozens of friezes etched out in wood. Aside the sound of Apollo's humming and the strumming of her lyre in the low-ceilinged room, there was nothing, not even air flowing quickly enough to disturb the goddess-in-false-skin's loosely-pinned toga, or to jostle her golden-blonde hair.

"...Hm. No, that won't do," she sighed, shaking her head, abruptly pausing as she placed her lyre down on the floor. "The lyre simply doesn't sound aggressive enough. Percussion, perhaps? Some sort of drum? That should capture the aggression and noise of thunder, I think..." She mused to herself, idly chewing her lip.

The chamber then filled with the sound of an exaggerated crack - not quite like thunder nor of metal or stone falling apart. It was almost crystalline in its quality, though any grace in its lilt was lost in its overabundant volume. With a flash of light, a set of six, shimmering opalescent wings unfurled from nothingness before pulling back to reveal none other than Hermes, messenger of the gods, bearing in one hand the twinned-serpent stave Kerykeion and adorned in his distinctive wide-brimmed helmet. He sank from the air to land lightly on the floor as his wings furled in upon themselves to become a single feathered cloak draped across his shoulders.

“I come bearing a message for Apollo, God of the Arts, from Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on High, with the utmost exigency.”

"Ah!" Apollo blinked, her eyes briefly widening in shock, ears ringing as she recovered from the shock of being blasted with such raucous noise at such a short distance. She was used to Hermes's abrupt entrances, of course -- but when composing songs, it was difficult to do so while protecting her ears, leaving them dangerously vulnerable to abrupt disruption.

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat as she fixed Hermes with her gaze, nodding for him to continue. "Please, brother -- deliver your message." She said, doing her best to not appear off-balance by straightening her back.

“Ah, what was that?” Hermes craned his head and cupped a hand to the side of his helmet. “Sorry I did not hear that at all, mind speaking up?”

Apollo resisted the urge to let out a peal of of laughter, though the noise still came out as a strange, clipped snort, the corners of her mouth twisting up into a small smile. "I said, PLEASE, BROTHER, DELIVER YOUR MESSAGE!" She shouted, clearing her throat once again.

Suddenly, the large wooden door to the room rolled open at a breakneck pace -- and in stormed the armored shapes of two towering, golden-haired men clad in the traditional armor of Hoplites, a xiphos wreathed in crackling lighting each in their left hands.
“Oh, how lovely.” Hermes cooed as the two guardians charged in only to be met by the two bemused gods. “I accept your offering.” He made a breezy gesture with one hand, and the guardians’ crackling xiphos vanished from their hands.

Apollo blinked -- in near-perfect unison with her children, in fact -- who promptly stopped in their tracks upon seeing that Apollo was not, in fact, in any danger. The goddess herself glanced over her shoulder at the visibly confused bodyguards, then back at Hermes, a look somewhere between confusion, mild frustration, and amusement etched into her youthful features.

"...Those weapons are not the easiest to replace, I hope you know -- but I suppose that is the point?"

Hermes pointed to himself emphatically. “Me? Point? Not sure what you mean, your sentinels here offered them to me on your behalf. Most gracious and magnanimous of them, naturally.” He tipped the brim of his helmet to the two. “And if I am not mistaken, you are Apollo’s scions, yes? This message concerns you, so you should remain to hear it.” He snapped his free hand, producing a black-and-gold filigreed letter seemingly from thin air, and a broad projection of it and its contents sprang into vision behind the herald’s head as he began to read from it aloud.



"...Ah." Apollo pursed her lips, a look of mild disappointment creeping onto her face before it transformed into one of adequate -- if somewhat performative, grief -- her hand brought to her heart. "A tragedy! An utter tragedy -- and to think I had just been composing a song for him," Apollo said, shaking her head, though the Korybantes behind her had since shifted into stoic, statue-like stances, even without their weapons. "...I will bring those of my scions I am able to to the palace -- but I do hope Zeus will understand it is impractical to bring along all of my offspring."

“Ah, yes, where comes the next bit - I have also been instructed to deliver a verbal summons to the same effect.” Hermes replied dryly. “The impractical shall have to be practiced, but miracle-worker that you are I imagine you will make do.”

"I do not suppose you have the time to be adequately compensated for such a miracle?" Apollo asked. "There are at least five centaur lords of great political significance that call me father, and each is a great many miles apart." She sighed, shaking her head.

“Oh do not worry, I deliver on collect,” Hermes quipped. “...and I deliver swift as Starlight. They shall be informed ere scarcely after I depart this chamber.”

"Would you be so very kind as to permit me to compensate you on their behalf?" Apollo asked, her voice dripping with faux-honey, gently teasing Hermes rather than insulting him. Hermes waved his free hand airily in expectation and assent.

"Five of my golden obol, one for each clan-lord," Apollo began, snatching up a handful from the leather satchel beneath her chair -- one must always expect Hermes, after all -- and an owed song, composed and performed by yours truly, in your owner. Does that sound to be fair compensation?" She said, holding the shimmering coins out toward him. "To your swiftness and boundlessly quick wit, I think."

“Oh very well.” Hermes said tiredly, waving his hand, each of the golden obols vanishing one by one. Doubtlessly he had grown so exasperated with the custom that he resorted to trickery such as he had upon his arrival to procure alternative offerings. “No fun allowed it is. Was there anything else, or shall I be on my way?”

"Truly, I would give you something more interesting if I had the chance, though I do hope my music is at least entertaining," Apollo sighed.

"No, that'll be all."

“Very well.” Hermes rose into the air once more, his feathered cloak once more unfolding into a set of six shimmering wings. “I shall see you and yours upon Olympus then.” The six wings folded upon themselves, obscuring Hermes entirely before wrapping further and further upon themselves until nothing remained, the messenger god vanishing with another exaggerated crack and flash of light the same as he had arrived.

Apollo abruptly rose to her feet the very moment Hermes departed, promptly whipping around to face their offspring. "We depart immediately -- but do inform the attendants to make sure nothing has been stolen from my rooms."

---

---

The heartcore had spent the last few years in a dormant state. The Erotes grew afraid and nervous because they did not have an Eros to surrender their servitude to for a long time. When the heartcore had finally chosen a candidate, the new iteration of the god of love immediately got into action. Love bloomed in abundance at the hearts of mortals once more, reigniting their passion and desire for the people and things they loved. Cupids shot lots of arrows filled with LOVE as Eros and the Erotes continued to study the mortals, analyzing their new methods of showcasing their love to one another.

It was still the start of the day and Eros was already tired. It had been a month but perhaps the bearer the heartcore chose this time didn’t have much stamina. It didn’t matter as that was a subject that can be easily solved either way, but the Erotes insisted that Eros rest their new body for the entire day and that the three would work in the god’s stead, so Eros went home and rested indeed. The god of love was enjoying a warm bath, the steamy air filled with the scent of roses and other fragrances, as water trickled down their curvy androgynous body that explored the fluidity of gender. The water completely covered their body from the waist down and Eros had their back against the door.

A resounding, exaggerated crack broke through the air in the midst of the chamber, and with a flash of light a set of six shimmering opalescent wings unfolded from nothing. They unfurled to reveal Hermes, Messenger of the gods, bearing in one hand the twinned-serpent stave Kerykeion. He alighted upon the chamber floor, the six wings merging and settling to form a feathered cloak draped across his shoulders.

“I bear a message for Eros, God of Love, from Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on High, with the Utmost Exigency.” Hermes declared, looming over Eros in their tub.

Eros laughed and looked behind them. “Hello~” They said, their voice melodical and soothing with a hint of danger lurking underneath. Their short blonde wavy hair framed their both beautiful and handsome face making Eros look serene and timeless; their face was what mortals would think of when they imagined angels. The same could not be said with their eyes which were intensely red, as if they squeezed the love out of all the hearts in the world.

“It is such a delight to see you again, Great Herald. I hope you don’t mind if I continue my bathing? I just worked the entire day and my body feels really sore. You can maybe come join me and help me relax, though knowing you, you’re probably too busy already.” They playfully said, petals falling down their body as they continued to bathe even with Hermes still in the room. “Is that what really brought you here, Hermes? Just business, no pleasure?~”

“On occasion the business is the pleasure, as I am sure you can attest.” Hermes declared, evidently unbothered and uncaring of Eros’ invitation. With a flicking gesture of his free hand, he produced a black-and-gold filigreed letter, projecting a wide hologram of it and its contents besides the tub as he read it aloud.



“...and I have additionally been instructed to verbally inform you that you are hereby summoned to attend Zeus at the stated time and place.” Hermes finished.

Eros bathed as they listened but after Hermes’ message, they stopped whatever they were doing and looked to the side so they would be able to still see Hermes in their peripheral vision. They could feel their heartcore getting heavy as it still had not forgotten Dr. Jergen’s own feelings and relationship with the original crew. “Zeus is… Dead? H-How can this be? How is this possible? Who is strong enough to outright kill a god and get away with it?” They continuously asked Hermes.

“All unknown. Zeus, of course, has avowed to find the perpetrator, but no evidence of any kind beyond the grotesque state of his predecessor’s body has been identified. He also has yet to even contact either Athena or Apate…Most curious, yes?”

They looked up to Hermes, studying him with their bright red eyes. “How curious indeed…” They muttered, picking up a petal from the tub. “Poor Dr. Jergen. I’m sure he will be so saddened beyond the grave when he knew what happened…” Eros sighed and let go of the petal, watching it fall gently on the warm waters again. “A drive to rule, become the King of the Pantheon… This must be way too obvious, but do you reckon that this new Zeus…?” They asked him, letting the question hang in the air.

“Hm. I do wonder.” Hermes let the Kerykeion slide through their grasp to touch down on the floor before leaning on it as an impromptu cane. “Their first and thus far only order has been to me, to deliver these invitations and summons to all the members of the High Pantheon. Apate already knows about it but has not acted yet, presumably because she is also waiting for orders. The demand that all members of the High Pantheon and their scions come calling on the spot to Olympus to swear fealty is sort of telling. Do you know how many scions Apollo has, for instance? If all of them can make it to Olympus in time it will be an actual miracle - not to mention how short staffed it is going to leave certain realms.”

“Ironic that the God of Love only has three children, that I know of at least.” Eros sighed and rested their head on their arm at the side of the tub so they could still look at Hermes, their body submerged underwater from the shoulders down with the rose petals covering their nudity to the Messenger of the Gods. “Did you get a good read of how the other members of the Pantheon are holding up with news of Zeus’ passing? And how about you, Hermes? How are you holding up? I have yet to come to you for our annual visitation. Please do inform me when you are free and I will make time for you, dear Herald.” They said to him, idly trying to reach out to his Kerykeion and run their fingers along his divine artifact.

Hermes swatted at Eros’ hand. “Hands off my long, hard staff you fiend.” He drawled lazily. “As for the others…well, it’s been a mixed bag so far, but by and large the only person who is taking it exceptionally hard is Hades. I think you can gather why.” Hermes righted his head and gave Eros a very steady look, his expression inscrutable from behind his faceted visor. “Incidentally, I would think very carefully about the gift you intend to bring Zeus, especially in light of the nascency of your present form. Nobody really had a read on Zeus’ own now nascent temperament…and you, perhaps, out of all the gods, might be at the greatest risk.”

“Alright, alright…” Eros pouted at Hermes and dipped their hand under the water, sighing at the mention of Hades’ name. “Yes, I can gather why. Hades… I could only hope that tomorrow would not lead to strife and fighting. The last thing we need is us breaking our trust for each other.” When Hermes said Eros should be careful about their gift to Zeus, the love god giggled and laid back at the end of the tub, looking up at Hermes with a smile. “You need not worry about me, Herald, but I highly appreciate your words very much. It is dangerous but I still need to fulfill my duty. I reckon Zeus does not know that I annually conduct my visitation on each member of the Pantheon, yes?” Eros asked, raising their smooth leg from the waters and softly rubbing their hip. “Can’t we do something for the late captain though? It pains me to think about what happened to him but we should at least honor him at his passing…”

“It would probably be the worst and most assuredly lethal thing you could do.” Hermes replied airily. “Zeus will likely want to ensure as seamless an appearance of continuity between himself and his predecessor as possible. Perhaps I am being presumptuous, but I imagine there will be no funeral, no grave, no holiday to mark the occasion. No, come the turn of the season the very incident may as well be stricken from the calendar and woe be to anybody who so much as mentions it again. As to what Zeus knows though…”

Hermes visibly seemed to lean back, his shoulders shifting faintly as though he were gazing away at something sight unseen.

“...I am not certain that Zeus knows what his predecessor did. There is great opportunity there for some…but great risk, for others.”

Eros took another deep sigh, chuckling to themselves and shaking their head. “I guess nothing does last forever, huh? Alright then, I will follow your advice. I’m sure he’ll look down upon me for having a mortal as a bearer anyway. I’ll just try not to step on his toes…” They solemnly said and approached Hermes, moving their submerged body through the water with the rose petals still covering themselves. “What of you, Herald of the Gods? I hope you have been doing well. Surely there must be something the God of Love can do or give to you for all your efforts? What is it that you desire? Name it and I shall give it to you, my dear.” They said warmly.

“Surprise me.” Hermes declared, raising the Kerykeion once more as they crossed their arms expectantly.

The God of Love was a bit shocked but they then laughed which would be music to everyone’s ears. “How much time do you have for me, Herald?~” Eros teased as they turned around and emerged from the tub, water and roses dripping and falling down their androgynous body. They reached out to grab a robe and put it on their body.

“Offer accepted.” Hermes declared as Eros’ hand alighted on the robe, his arms parting as he moved one hand to snap his fingers, with Eros’ robe vanishing into thin air. “Hm. Not much good on its own though, I really need a full set…” The messenger mused. “I’ll just…” He waved his hand vaguely, and every single strip of cloth and fabric in the room promptly vanished.
“And with that little formality out of the way, I should go about delivering the rest of these.” Hermes tossed the black-and-gold letter to slide onto the nearby sinktop at the far wall. “I will see you at Olympus. Ta.” Hermes’ cloak unfolded from his back as he rose into the air, unfurling once more into the six shimmering wings from when the messenger had appeared. They encompassed Hermes, obscuring him from view before folding in upon themselves until the god vanished in another exaggerated crack and flash of light.

“But I haven’t been to the best part yet…” Eros disappointingly said as Hermes was teleporting to another god’s location. They just rolled their eyes and chuckled as he vanished. “Naughty man~” They said to themselves, sitting at the edge of the tub as they ran through what Hermes said to them again. It will be the first time Eros would be showing their new title bearer and it had also been a long time since they had seen the other gods for that matter. They sighed and crossed their legs, picking up a petal left on their shoulder and studying it. “Now what sort of gift will I give to him?~”

---

Within the depths of his palace-arcology, Zeus plied at some decrepit old computer terminal that probably hadn’t been touched in a century. This whole storage area was as dusty as a crypt, and probably less visited than one, but the technology was robust and the old databanks had been brought back online easily enough.

Of course everything – even that which was of no conceivable use or interest – was walled off behind a hundred passwords and authentication steps. Fortunately the Key allowed Zeus to bypass it all and then some. This venture down the rabbithole had begun after the King of Olympus had made some inquiries and discovered that ‘Isaac Holcomb’ was an ancient name for Typhon. His predecessor had surely known of this and so much else, of course, and had selectively chosen to deny him those memories… some part of Zeus wanted to believe it was because such things were best spoken of in person, and that his mentor, his master, his predecessor, his previous life would have eventually deemed it fit for him to know. And then what would he have done? Why, then he would have just explained, from his own lips -- this and everything else.

But of course the late Zeus had done no such thing, so here his clone was, dredging up the troves of lost secrets and information. Many files and logs had been expunged, but with the data caches not in regular use, the Key allowed him to restore some of the old files. Zeus was taking particular interest in just those ones, the ones he presumably wasn’t meant to have ever seen. He opened another one that’d been restored with minimal losses to corruption or overwriting.

>Captain’s Note:

>In t̵h̷e̴ ̸e̶v̷e̵n̴t̷ ̴I̶ ̵d̶i̷e̵,̷ ̵no matter wha̶t̶ ̶e̴l̴s̷e̶ ̸h̴ap—---ensure that whõ̸̮͓̀ever is ̴i̷n̴ ch-rge of T̴͛͜e̴̢͊l̴̟͂ë̴̫ċ̵̝o̸̞̎m̶͈̒m̷̻͝s̵͉̃ does not̶ ̵-̶ ̷r̴e̷pe-t̴,̷ ̷e̷mphasis - DOES NȎ̴̖T - win- up w̷i̵th ̵t̵h̶e̴ ̸ R̷̬̾̓é̷̖͖̈m̸̡̡̍ò̶̗̀t̴̖̀́ȅ̴̛̺͜.̵̗̈́…

Zeus blinked, trying to discern whatever meaning was meant to be held within the arcane squibbles and words on the monitor. And then his reverie was interrupted by light footfall echoing through the sepulchral chamber. “Your Highness,” a familiar voice called out.

“What is it now?” Zeus tersely replied to the Majordomo.

“The first round of questioning has been completed. Many rumors of interest have been noted and prepared into a report for your pleasure. One was discovered to be an informant reporting to Apate…”

’The spymistress – can I even trust her?’ the King thought irritably.

Zelos’ spiel had finished, Zeus having not even listened to the latter half of it. The Majordomo’s mien alone had already told him the outcome of the interrogations before his mouth had even opened. “And?” Zeus prodded. Let the man state the failure frankly.

“Nothing necessarily pertaining to your predecessor’s demise was recorded,” Zelos confessed. “But everything was noted down, and upon further examination, perhaps the threads will come tog–”

A fuming youth shouted him down. “This is the product of questioning them softly! Seeing as that has told us nothing, perhaps it will soon be time to interrogate some of them… sharply. I will not brook traitors in this palace.”

The Majordomo nodded tersely. “It will be as you say, Your Highness. But the night has come and gone, and now that it’s morning the first of the gods will surely be arriving soon to wait at your pleasure. Many are already in the city. The preparations are complete; you need only give the order and we shall open the gates and admit them.”

So Zeus powered down the terminal. “Very well. Bring them into the courtyard; I’ll ready myself to greet them.”

---

The city of Mount Olympus was nestled between the highest peaks of Hellas’ greatest mountain range, and yet it seemed perfectly flat, unnaturally so. That’s because it was – some four centuries ago, they’d glassed an entire summit and then used orbital laser arrays and other equipment to finish the terrestrial sculpting, then paved over the whole thing with obscene quantities of marble and even gold. It was ostentatious, unnecessary, costly, time-consuming… but it had been grand, just like the late Zeus’ designs.

The whole place was mostly above the cloud line. The air should have been thin and frigid, barely even breathable (let alone habitable!) and yet it was instead idyllic. Perfectly maintained gardens and parks were everywhere, ancient and comforting old trees lined the streets, and grapevines and honeysuckle abounded. Their natural fragrances meddled with a few subtle chemicals sprayed from unseen dispensers to make the whole area feel homely, sweet, clean, and ever blossoming as though it were spring. The chirping songs and flashing colors of birds were also present at least when the inhabitants wanted them to be; but now all the birds were turned off to mourn the death of the late Zeus. It only took a press of a button to release pheromones that would induce the engineered birds to go into an indefinite hibernation. These avenues and parks were juxtaposed with the many towering arcologies that most of the Olympians made their residences, their workplaces, their storage areas, even their farms. Many of the colossal buildings had more than a hundred floors, their tops gouging into the heavens more deeply than any mountain’s peak. The city certainly did not want for more space given that it housed only a few thousand.

The absurdity of its scale and splendor was illustrated by how even the lowliest servants and guardsmen enjoyed their own apartments that rivaled the palaces of mortal kings. Automated factories that could have been crammed into a single floor often occupied five or six, just for ease of access to the machinery. In truth, the city often felt empty, its carefully engineered sights and smells and sounds little more than a facade to make one forget that by design it was something of an isolated bunker away from mortal eyes and reach.

Still, on that morning there was at least one lively place: the gate outside of Zeus’ courtyard. There, a pantheon had assembled. A low marble wall (topped with bars of wrought iron, and probably enough invisible force fields to survive a nuclear bombardment) enclosed a generous space around the grandest arcology of them all: it housed the king’s living quarters, and the queen’s also, dozen theaters and other entertainment complexes, a dozen-dozen offices and monitoring centers, and too many locked away ancient caches of technology and treasure to count. It also had a magnificent meeting hall specifically designated for great conventions like these, the likes of which tended to only happen every few decades at most, but that chamber would see no use today judging by how another half dozen guards stood blocking the entrance into the palace arcology. Instead, the courtyard seemed to have been prepared for this occasion, but even outside the ornament and finery were not lacking.

Obviously Hephaestus, or Coeus the Cat, was among the first to arrive. It’s just that his hoverboard was floating in the back of the congregation. On top of it – and seated triumphantly inside a glass dome filled to the brim with various installations – (a bureau of screens, buttons and accessories for ease of comfort to the Truest Cat God of Hellas) the mighty Engineering God sat. He had flown to Olympus with all due speed on this flying chariot of choice.
Laser fuel propelled the board in place in the aether, where his prattling engine reverberated obnoxiously in the courtyard. Coeus could’ve dampened this noise if he wanted to, if maybe someone had asked him to, but the Cat wanted first to be acknowledged by the others, and NOT be ignored.

Demeter had arrived at the courtyard on Arion, ahead of the Horae, though they would not be far behind. The city, which often felt so bare, now felt as if it had been entirely condensed in front of the palace. Everyone was waiting, and surely politicking. As she stepped off her transport into the growing throng of gods, demi-gods, and attendants, dark green eyes took in the scene, unease creased across her brow. The ceremony had better not last too long, she’d prefer to tinker a bit about with GAIA and then return to one of her rural temples. Zeus had always been content to leave her be, surely nothing would need to change there.

An incessant noise caught her attention and reflexively her eyes darted upwards, head cocked towards the source. Of course it could be none other - arrogant, proud, fickle, Hephaestus - Demeter could not pretend she did not notice him and easily moved through the crowd to greet the cat god of engineering.

Seeing her, he addressed Demeter first, ‘’Salutations Demetron. I see you looking. And yes, this impressive apparatus is indeed of my own making. What do you think?’’

The god was far too necessary to injure ego, regardless of any annoyances. Like perpetually ignoring corrections to pronouncing her name. “Yes, indeed, dear. Magnificent construction. Though I’m not sure everyone else approves of the noise.” She gestured absently to the crowd that occasionally passed judgemental looks in their direction.

‘’That is because only True Gods can appreciate fine art.’’ Coeus sternly replied. ‘’But I find you worthy, Demetrean.’’
Having gotten the attention he craved, Coeus at the very least lowered the engine noise to a soft humming rattle – which was a bit less annoying.

The Mórrigan, clad in the guise of Apollo, smiled at the sound of Coeus's teasing, dressed in a loose, flowing white toga, a simple laurel wreath atop her head with little ornamentation. Her children, in fact, were more regally appointed -- the first of the Musa Apollonides wore an utterly pristine Peplos pinned in place by shimmering platinum-gold bands, sparkling opals hanging from her ears, likewise clad in gold. Asclepius, to the right, carried a roughly-hewn staff of pine in addition to his richly appointed toga, a silvery python wrapped about his staff, all while four of the armored Korybantes, their hoplite-styled plate clad in gold and polished to a mirrorlike sheen over crimson cloth tunics, all designed to accentuate their perfectly toned musculature. Each -- even Apollo -- carried a tall, cork-plugged ceramic jug, though only in one hand; in the other, a richly-appointed wooden box.

Then the next moment, a dozen members of the Sacred Band suddenly opened the gates to the courtyard. Half that number remained there standing at attention, and the other half bowed deeply and then led the waiting crowd to a feast table where Zelos, the Majordomo of the Highest Palace, received them, “Our lord bids you all welcome, and thanks you for arriving upon such short notice. He will be here shortly.”

So the waiting had at last ended. The line of guards before the palace’s entrance parted, and the heavy doors swung open. Zeus himself – the new, younger Zeus anyway – strolled out to meet these greatest of his subjects. He allowed himself to wear a warm enough countenance, but he didn’t go so far as to smile. He wore a white toga adorned with some stripes woven from cloth of gold, and despite his title as king he wore no crown – the golden thunderbolt scepter in his right hand declared his station loudly enough. He had all the other accoutrements of the late Zeus, too; his fingers gleamed and sparkled from a hundred advanced artifacts cleverly disguised as rings, and beneath that toga he doubtless wore the armbands too. He carried himself well – after all, he’d been created to one day wear this role and those trinkets. His presence was so magnetic to the eye that for a moment or two it was easy to gloss over Hebe Dia standing besides him; the Princess of Olympus was likewise ever radiant in a long silken gown and with long silver hair flowing gently down to her waist, shimmering jewelry draping her body – her hair, neck, waist, wrists and ankles. Each gemstone and artifact is more brilliant than the last. She walked out by Zeus’ side, her delicate right hand locked with his left, an otherworldly allure about her glowing smile. Yet beneath the smile also lingered a small residual sadness. Indiscernible dried tears were on her cheeks.

Hebe – out of all gods – had perhaps the deepest attachment to the late Zeus. She had never known him as a tyrant, but only as her dear father. Hebe’s grief over his passing was only abated by the consoling embrace of her father’s new placeholder, a reminder that part of him still lived on. Afterwards she had been as pliable as clay. The new Zeus endeavored to treat her with reciprocity for it… her mother may have been a wretched creature, but Zeus bore no ill feelings towards this perfect daughter. If she behaved, her appearance would go a long way towards legitimizing his place as Zeus in the eyes of the rest of the Pantheon, he knew. So, he would be kind to her indeed, if she behaved…

‘The carrot and the stick,’ Zeus thought to himself, the words echoing through his mind in the voice of his originator and predecessor – his voice.

He let go of Hebe’s hand, and then one by one, he moved to personally greet the gods. First, his favorite of them all, the only one he was truly pleased to see. He embraced Athena suddenly and tightly. “Sister,” he found himself whispering to her ear. It sounded wrong now that he was Zeus, but it felt right, so right that it had just slid off his tongue. When he broke off from the hug, he spoke again, this time loud enough for the rest of them to hear. “It’s good to see you. I need you now more than ever, as does Olympus.”

Next, Apate approached the god king and flashed a smile. She was dressed for the occasion, wearing an all-black sleeveless keyhole dress that had a plunging neckline that fell just below her belly button. The bottom half of the dress fell to her ankles that barely revealed the heels she wore that boosted her height even higher. She wore her hair in a halo braid that was done to perfection with nary a stray hair in sight. Her face was pristine, and she wore more makeup than usual to the event. That is not to say she looked porcelain and fake. Instead the look was one that complimented her features without looking out of place or overdone. The makeup around her eyes was dark, with precise and consistent lines. Around her neck she wore a massive necklace filled with some of the biggest gems she could find. They were shaped by the finest craftsman that could be found in the godly realm and their look led to the stares of many an envious god… Hephaestus especially, with his feline laser-eyes glaring offendedly at the pristine baubles of the Deceiver Goddess. ‘’Pah!’’ The Cat scarcely more than muttered from atop his floating hoverboard. Needless to say, he could have crafted a better necklace if he wanted to…

In any case, Zeus answered Apate with a fake smile of his own, maybe even as convincing as Apate’s. He looked into her eyes, and for a moment there returned the flash of some alien memory – not his – of some other woman… probably Nyx. Holding her gaze then was hard, so he cast his eyes and chin upwards to look just over her head, beyond the shoulder…

“Father, I am at your service now and forever more.” Apate spoke with sincerity. “Your wish is my command,” she finished the sentence and she bobbed an elegant curtsey.

Well, at least she’d said the right things. The honorific of ‘father’ was not lost upon Zeus, so he answered with an amiable air, “Be welcome, Apate.” Now he could meet her eyes again, and if there had been any sign of startle the first time, now it was gone and his feelings were an enigma. “You look striking as ever. In these trying times, I’m sure that your service will be needed.”

“Thank you, Father,” Apate smiled a little wider as she paused. Apate could sense that Zeus had a thought on his mind. Maybe her appearance stirred a memory of old, one that was not his own. Regardless, she did not want to pry at this moment. There would be time to reflect on the past as time goes on and they get further from the death of Zeus. Apate wanted to linger in the conversation but she felt the weight of the situation bear down on her. This was not her time to shine, not yet at least, and she wanted to make sure Zeus knew that she would never try and upstage him, especially on his special day. “Father, I brought you a gift,” Apate paused as she lifted up a decorated little chest. She opened it up revealing a bounty of jewels and artifacts of renown. “You gave these to my late mother, she would have loved to return them to you as I do now.” Though they were small, they were ones that had made an impression on her mother and Apate hoped they would do the same for Zeus.

The king’s eyes lit up at the gift – this was something he hadn’t been expecting. “You have my thanks, dear,” he told her. And to think that he’d contemplated excoriating her before all the rest! Well, perhaps her failings in regards to the assassination could be brushed over more gently. With a finger, Zeus gestured his Majordomo forth. “Please, take this to my quarters,” he told Zelos. “Find my dear wife too,” he hissed. “She’s late.”

But not wanting to dwell, Zeus then moved on to the next of them – Demeter. The goddess of the harvest had opted to arrive in what she considered her court regalia; her broad body was swathed by many layers of sheer golden, green, and red chiffon, cinched with jeweled cornucopias at the shoulders and waist. With each step she took, her garments both obscured and displayed the solid form beneath. Atop her head, nestled between flowing aurous waves, a luxurious if simple gold crown of laurel. While some may have called her matronly and meant it as an insult, Demeter preferred to think of it as a maturity typically lacking of many within the capital. And if that isn’t a lack of physical maturity. Her eyes caught Zeus’ form, her head bowing reflexively in response as she closed the distance to him.

“My King, how often Fates take away and give with the same hand. My condolences for this tragedy.” The goddess paused just a moment, body straightening from obeisance. She may have never been equal to Zeus, he had been first among them, but as their numbers decreased against the demi-gods, they were more alike than not...at least in Demeter’s mind. “I look forward to our continued partnership of course. I stand ready for whatever you may need of GAIA.”

Tragedy? The word caught him off guard, but of course… “Demeter,” he addressed her. Strange feelings welled up in him, the vestiges of a dream that he’d never dreamt, at least not in this lifetime. With internal rage, he bottled up the bewildering, truncated desires. And of course he was speaking again in the next breath, as though that brief inner turmoil was nothing, “in times so trying as these, your steadfast presence is appreciated. Our fortunes grow together; let our partnership continue evermore, and the rains shall nourish your harvests for so long as the skies are blue.”

’That seemed quite eloquent!’ the king thought to himself as he turned toward the next of them.

"Most eloquent words, My King," Apollo said, nodding before gracefully dropping so far down into a bow that their fingers touched the ground, a respectful act of proskynesis. Unlike Demeter, Apollo was hardly richly appointed, yet the youthful beauty of her false skin shone through regardless, finely sculpted and absent any sign of advanced age. Rising, she presented the small box to him, inviting him to open it.

"I know that no gift can truly soothe the tragedy that has befallen us, but, nonetheless, I bring to you a solemn contribution," she said, opening the box to reveal a finely etched statuette of a powerfully built centaur, clad in the armor of war -- though there was only one, the details of the statuette were etched to practical perfection, every little hair, contour, and fold of fabric carved in incredible miniature, clad in gems and tints to further enhance the illusion of ceremonial armor. "From myself and my children, to you."

Zeus nodded appreciatively. “Apollo, this tribute from you and yours…” The words trawled off for a moment. Now the king stumbled in his speech, but in part it was also because he was staring. Something about Apollo always struck him the wrong way. “...is appreciated,” he finished. He reached into the box, lifting the centaur out and running a finger across its veneered armor, over the rippling muscles of its powerful limbs. A fine work of art, indeed. He placed it back into its container. “But of course, I’m sure you foresaw as much,” he told Apollo as he handed the box to the Majordomo.

Next his gaze drifted over to find –

Before it could alight on any one figure, there was a stirring in the assembled crowd outside the sanctum wall, and the outer demigods and attendants hastily parted to open the way for whoever was behind them. Beyond the gate, an odd cortege was approaching upon the marble-paved great alley of Olympus. Artemis, the Maiden of the Hunt, approached in long, graceful yet firm strides, looking every bit as though she had just emerged from her woodlands - unblemished yet unadorned in her simple garb, the fabled quiverless silver bow slung over her shoulder. At her heels trotted a canine beast the likes of which none present had ever seen: as tall as the goddess' hip at the shoulder, sleek and lean like a sighthound, but shaggy and muscular like a wolf, with an arrow-like pointed snout and a cool, predatory intelligence in its beady eyes.

Behind the two of them came the towering silhouette of a moon-elk, crowned with a magnificent pair of antlers. It bore on its back something that could have seemed a bundle of rags at first sight, but that clearly struggled to remain upright - the figure of a badly disheveled woman, her clothes in tatters, scratched and bruised skin underneath, hair a wild tangle and glassy eyes half-alive with exhaustion. As she passed through the gate, Artemis snapped something at a nearby guardsman - the keen ears of the divine could discern “This is my guest,”, whereupon the hoplite led away the unusually docile elk and its doddering charge - before advancing down the cleared path with nary a glance at the gathered pantheon. Her steely eyes were fixed on Zeus, and they passed over him with the uncomfortable thoroughness of the huntress.

“Lord Zeus,” she bowed rigidly as she took her place in the assembly, barely swerving in her steps, “It is always a pleasure to receive your summons.” Nonetheless, there was as little cheer in her voice as ever. She gave an almost imperceptible nod with her head, and the hound came to seat itself at Zeus’ feet, looking up at him with unflappably patient expectancy. “May Labros be your loyal companion from this day, and your steadfast guardian.”

An acknowledgement, and perhaps an admonition, hidden in her words and gift like a stalking tiger in the grass. Boldly, Zeus reached down to pat the strange dog on its head and rub its coat; it seemed that the animal already knew its master, for it only licked the king’s hand in response. “This canine – Labros, did you name him? – pleases me. And your presence gladdens me even more still, in these trying times.” Yet his gaze wandered to the retreating sight of the moon-elk and its charge as the soldier escorted them away, his eyes narrowing. “And who might be your companion yonder?”

“She is someone Hermes thought meet to introduce to me, for reasons he did not care to explain,” the goddess’ brow creased as she swept her eyes about the plaza, vainly seeking the fleet-footed messenger of Olympus, “His carelessness with mortals will be the doom of him someday.”

“Says the goddess who carelessly dragged this one all the way up Mt. Olympus.” Drawled Hermes’ familiar, smarmy voice. He then walked into view from behind the Moon Elk, as though he had been standing there the whole time. The woman mounted upon the Elk visibly flinched with a plaintive whine.

“Felicitations once again, All-Father.” Hermes tipped the brim of his helmet to Zeus. “I will present my offering to you in time, but for the moment I am merely here to heckle. I would not dream of cutting in line at such a prestigious affair.”

Zeus cast one final nod in Artemis’ direction, then directed his gaze towards the messenger god. His face was stoic, and he had few words to say. “Timely as ever, Hermes.”

“I can hear my name on others’ tongues. Always best to ensure it has a little bite to it.” Hermes quipped.

“Can you?” Zeus whimsically asked, his straight lips budging ever so slightly to make a bemused look.

Then, stepping past Hermes was but one of the forms of GULA’s EMUs, moving past the other gods without so much as greeting them or their lord. The single optic did not move or acknowledge any of the gazes that would befall it. The robot evidently cared little for the formalities or the talks of the gods - but why would it? Their words would mean nothing to its eternal duty, only focusing on whatever task it was designating as important. In this instant, the voting and designation of the new Emergency Acting Captain.

“GULA, wait by the table,” the king told the EMU. “You’ll get to say your piece in due time.”

What sounded like wings fluttering from the distance was getting closer and closer to the gods below. The clouds parted and revealed a group of Cupids flying and tossing pink rose petals for the deities below as they approached Zeus and the other members of the Pantheon that had gathered. Two Cupids were carrying a wooden bench attached to an archway filled with blooming pink roses. Sitting at the bench was Eros, the God of Love, smiling and giggling joyously. They were wearing a pristine white gown that hugged their androgynous figure with see-through laced-sewn rose motifs over heart-shaped cut-outs at their lower sides that subtly revealed their hips. The dress flared at the knees to give an elegant, full-looking skirt with pink roses decorating the hemline and train. It featured a heart-shaped bodice and off-shoulder laces with long white sleeves. The love god also wore a white high-neck embroidered choker with a pink heart-shaped gemstone on it, a veiled tiara with the same smaller crystal at its center delicately nestled on their golden cherub-like hair, and subtle make-up that highlighted the timeless allure of their face and the rich redness of their eyes.

The Cupids descended on the ground and Eros slowly got off of their seat before the Cupids flew away. The love god approached the gods with their hands folded in front of them and a serene smile on their beautiful face. “Greetings, God-King. I humbly bow before you in servitude.” Eros said with a deep respectful curtsy, their voice light and melodic with a hint of playfulness. “My apologies for being late. I needed to make sure my work is well and accounted for before I could leave. I promise I will not be so tardy in future events.” They put their hand on their chest and bowed apologetically before Zeus. They presented a long red box to him and opened it, revealing a tear-dropped gem with golden chain. The gem’s contents was a shifting liquid of bright pink and red. “I present to you a gift, a necklace that exudes a calming aura and makes its wearer more charming and admirable to those who lay their eyes on its wearer. May it aid you in bringing an era of unity and prosperity.” Eros humby said, bowing while presenting the gift.

“Good tidings to you and yours as well, Eros. You’ve been missed, friend, but I see why you waited so long. This new body of yours is striking!” the king greeted back.

Eros laughed and twirled around as the petals from the flowers on their dress fluttered around with them. "I admit it took me a while to pick out a new title bearer, God King. I am glad that you find my new bearer appealing to the eyes. With this new body of mine, I will serve you dutifully." The love god said with a smile that could warm the coldest of hearts. Beneath that smile, Eros was sad about the passing of their own old friend though of course, heeding Hermes' words last night, they should still be very careful with their actions before this Zeus.

“And another gift? How shall I repay all of you?” the king ran his fingers through the gold chain and held it up, looking at the jewel’s scintillation in the light. “I suppose it’s as good a time as any to charm,” he laughed to Eros before slipping the chain over his head. He fixed the jewel to not be tucked under the fold of his toga, and then he looked to the last of them – Hephaestus.

Or Coeus, or the madman, or the cat. The clone had heard many a mocking name about that one sniggered in private. “Don’t be shy, Engineer of the Gods,” he called out to Coeus on his hoverboard. “They say that you and my dear Athena have the sharpest minds of us all. I’d like to think I might come somewhere near a distant third place,” he jested.

Hearing this, Coeus’ whiskers quivered with delight. ‘’Nonsense your Cosmic Eminence, you make up the apex of minds.’’ The Cat giddily but sincerely replied.
‘’I was first to arrive here I’ll have you know. Whether it be Late Zeus or Zeus Prime, I serve Zeus – the Lord of the Heavens. And AS Lord of the Heavens I felt this could – perhaps – be adequately reflected with a new innovation of mine…’’

The king’s nostrils flared. “Do not call me that! It’s Zeus! Not Prime – just Zeus!”

‘’Eep! Of course. I mean, Err. In context of– err, nevermind, your Galactic Opulence…’’ He stammered tremblingly as his paws mashed several buttons in his hoverboard installation.
“As for my gift: let us see…’’ Coeus began to nuzzle over notes and hidden alloy drawers. ‘’…I have it rrriight…’’ He cast a quick look beneath the desk – not there either: ‘’….at home!’’
He cast an uncomfortable look from over his bureau to meet Zeus’ very judgmental gaze. ‘’Fret not, your Astral Magnanimence. My lab pantheras are in the process of wrapping up the gift. Wrapping up with a gift wrap, even. It shall be delivered with all due haste on very, very short notice.’’

An incredulous Zeus scoffed at the whole situation. “And what is this… ’gift’ that you intend to present? Or is it a surprise, too?”

‘’Hohohoho…’’ The cat-god giggled with anticipatory glee. ‘’It is… indeed… a Hyperneutron Thermobaric Pantherion Explosive Shell by which to –SMITIFY - your foes. And I am reminded just now: given its volatile nature I took precaution NOT to bring it to this congregation-- ‘’ He finished reassuringly.
‘’--It awaits you in the Hephaestean lair, near readiness of deployment.’’
“A bomb?” the king looked even more incredulous. “A neutron bomb?” His consternation melted into full-blown laughter, like this was the best joke he’d heard in weeks. “Glorious! A gift befitting a god!” His smile was so wide that every last one of the clone’s pearl-white teeth showed.

All chafing from Coeus’ mishap in calling him ‘Prime’ was forgotten in an instant. Zeus took a step forward, but rather than falling onto the ground his foot seemingly found purchase upon empty air, and then the other one too. He floated upward, the soft hum of his anti-gravitation apparatus overpowered by his gleeful laugh. He came to float in the air right before Coeus’ own craft, and he leaned forward and over onto it to pat the cat on the head. “Actually, I think that I may have a target in mind already,” he announced. The words sent shivers down spines and made faces grow pale, but then Zeus fell softly back onto the ground and looked around his assembled court. “But we can speak of that later today… All will come in due time.”

Coeus merely nodded in agreement, but dared not speak and push his luck further with mischosen words. With eyes that smiled and a mirthful countenance about the rest of his visage, Zeus returned to Hellas with a fall so gentle that it scarcely made a sound.

A distant commotion stole Zeus’ attention, but not before he called out to the cat above, “Thank you, Engineer! You’ve won your king’s favor today.”

A raucous sound could be heard across the labyrinthine corridors of Olympus. It had started as the opening of ancient, rarely used gates and the subsequent closing as if tectonic plates had crossed over one another. Yelps, wails, and cries spanned the length of the High Pantheon’s most prestigious temple. The clanking of armored feet followed the desperate exclamations of departing deities, separated or tossed aside by the intruder high in the revelries of the mountain. If one had paid close attention, then they could hear the stomp of multiple greaves beyond the throng of noise. The moans of unnatural entities pierced the howls of terror, only accompanied by fleeing feet.

“ZEUS!”

The utterance was a crack of thunder in the midst of a storm, the roiling of magma beneath the crust of Hellas, and the stampeding beats of a centaur horde. Deities, demi-gods, and servants alike began to eagerly divide on the path of the grand boulevard leading up to the courtyard of the High King. Bright, celebratory faces were replaced by the shock and horror of the interloper. The things that followed the voice were the first to be seen. Great amalgamations of twisted obsidian with blotches of necrotic flesh beneath talons, plates, and spikes. Each was titanic in relative proportion to the attending deities, rising up on feet, claw, tail, or air. Instruments of war were held aloft in their various extremities, lowered and waiting by the command of their chthonic overlord. Their visage was torn between bastardized hoplites in nightmaric form and great Hellenic terrors of Old Arith.

“Ah, he’s finally here,” the Lord of Olympus had meanwhile stated to nobody in particular. He opened his mouth again to command the Sacred Band into positions to block the oncoming horde of monsters and maintain some semblance of order, but the soldiers were already scrambling to do as much at the direction of their captain — the Majordomo already quietly whispered the order to that officer, unbeknownst and unseen by Zeus and all but the most perceptive of the rest.

“ZEUS!”

The object of terror incarnate became clear as it stepped out onto the final stretch of the boulevard that transformed into the courtyard proper. An unnaturally tall, broad man in dark armored plating stepped into view from within his cohort of nightmares. Motifs of the dead, thorny protrusions, and pipes full of pulsating fluid adorned the surface of the man’s armor. Utop his skull was a hoplite’s helmet with four great horns and a plume of black-red hue. His facial features were hidden beneath an artificial darkness of the wargear, only glaring red eyes staring out from tinted lenses. Across his shoulders lay a swarm of black, writhing darkness in the image of an unfurled cape. In one of his clawed gauntlets lay a bident of perpetual midnight, lowered and materialized from a sphere within the polearm.

“ZEUS!”

The deity stomped through the boulevard, tossing aside those individuals that refused to part from his warpath. Those that had been thrown to the ground were greeted by one of the interloper’s cohort, a young man in obsidian plating with unkempt, black hair and a shaven face. An unarmored hand reached down to each, pulling them up from their stupor and apologizing by gifting small trinkets from the chthonic realm. The youth would shortly return to the cohort of nightmare machines, lowering his emerald gaze in frustration as he followed. Armored footfalls halted at the entrance of the courtyard with the leading figure stepping out into the throng of the High Pantheon, followed only by the younger man.

"ZEUS! Come to me, elder brother, and greet me with your thunderous laughter! Show me your corporeal form and prove your undeath! Bequeath your cadaver unto me! Grant my request in the name of Hades!”

His voice was unhinged, uncontrollable, and ludicrous. It sounded as if it came from the vocal cords of a lunatic, despairing in the insanity of their own mind. At the same time that it was deep, booming, and dominating, it further cracked with desperation, despair, and anguish. Hades spread his arms wide in gesticulation, the glaring eyes falling level with the rest of the High Pantheon and honing in on the facsimile that proclaimed themselves as High King. The scion behind him, Zagreus, bit his lip in silence as his progenitor roused the ire of Olympus. Champions of the Underworld awaited silently with no shortage of groans, short wails, and insectile chattering.

Dozens of guards now stood to face off the monstrosities of the underworld, their weapons still sheathed -- for the moment -- but their hands hovering precariously close to the grips. The Sacred Band, demigods all, were well equipped and disciplined, supposedly fearless. Still, a few of them looked at least shaken.

Fortunately all the court’s eyes were not upon those soldiers, but their king. Zeus approached the hulking Hades with measured and steady strides, chin upraised, and something closer to a haughty and arrogant pride than to fear. He was nervous of course -- scared, even; who wouldn’t be? --, but he masked it exceptionally well.

“Hades,” the new Zeus boomed, his regal walk not stopping until he came to stand about five paces from the chthonian lord. Labros the hound had followed his new master intently and stood by the king’s side. “We’ve been anticipating your arrival! The grief hurts; we all feel it also, but you mustn’t let it consume you. Zeus died, but through me, he lives on.” Zeus let that ferment just long enough for a blink or two, then gestured at Hades’ power armor and his veritable horde of ‘shades’. “Your precautions here are warranted of course -- if something could befall the greatest of us, then are any of us truly safe? But here and now we have numbers, and I think it best to project strength and confidence, not paranoia… Have your shades stand down.”

The chthonic king did not respond for several seconds, staring unflinchingly at the smaller version of the High King before him. Zeus’ reflection was evident in the crimson lenses of Hades in his staredown. Tension filled the air across the courtyard, the five paces separating their distance thick with palpable tensity. He threateningly loomed over the facsimile, his fists continuing to clench silently by his side and his bident remaining unmoved. In the silence, one could hear the quiet rage of the deity as a crackling fire within a furnace. Then, a rumbling echoed from the helmet. A harsh bark more akin to a cough than an utterance of words. It was laughter, rough as gravel and deep as a volcano.

“Yes… yes… that makes sense! Your soul was not among those attending my halls! Brother, why would you send a message like that? I had been prepared to storm Olympus to kill your usurper.” Hades adopted an entirely new tone at the revelation that occurred to him, his tone switching from the eye of a storm to the light rainfall of a nimbus. His fists unclenched as the bident dematerialized into a dark sphere, attaching itself to the side of his powered armor. In one move the helmet was removed to reveal the sickly, pale features of the chthonic lord. A thin smile poked out from the black facial hair overlapped by the long, dark hair that trailed over his narrow face. Azurite orbs traced the prestigious features of the High King, relishing all the details of his sibling’s new form.

His head then suddenly turned away from Zeus to the shade champions standing behind him, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. The chthonic king raised a clawed gauntlet, holding a single digit in gesture to the nightmare automata. “All but one of you, leave. Attend the passage. Return to Charon.” Wordlessly, all but one of the automata groaned within their cyclopean gait. Their antediluvian presence meandered down the boulevard, the semi-sentient biomechanical shades finding their way back to the hole they festered up from without any incident. The one that remained was a towering monstrosity of crimson eyes, elongated claws, and obsidian plate. The shade champion appeared as a demonic entity of Old Arith myth.

“Accept this champion of the chthonic realm, elder brother. As an apology for the intrusion and a gift to celebrate your new form. ” Hades offered, gesturing to the nightmare creature behind him with one of his clawed gauntlets. Many knew of the strength of the underworld’s denizens, rivaled only by the chimeric beasts of the grove or centaurs of the plains. By the side of the shade, Zagreus released a breath of relief that his father had fallen back into normalcy to a degree. The relief of everyone else was palpable, too; like a sizzling bottle that had just been uncorked, the tension had threatened to erupt into madness, but in the end it had died without so much as any froth spilling over.

Zeus closed the remaining distance between himself and Hades, his hound bravely matching his every footstep and coming to face the mighty champion -- Labros, for all his bravery and loyalty, seemed like a sand dune blown up to the foot of a mountain. He gave his fellow (but subordinate!) king an endearing pat on the shoulder and offered him a handshake. “You’re a good brother,” he declared then, for all to hear.

“Do not scare me like that again, brother, the whole of the Underworld could hear me wail in despair.” The abyssal king said with substantial worry weaving into his grim tone. Zeus blinked and his jaw might have clenched an almost imperceptible amount, but he said nothing. One of Hades’ gauntlets mimicked the gesture of the High King, patting the smaller version of Zeus on his shoulder. His other gauntlet reached out and accepted the hand of his fellow king, shaking it firmly and warmly as one would their own bloodborne sibling. The chthonic lord made no movement to embrace the other, understanding the political atmosphere around them finally.

The clone then cocked his head toward the looming shadow of the chosen shade. “Well then, do you have a name, Champion?”

“The chosen champion’s name is Zeuxidamus. Taken from the king of a small, warrior city-state of Hellas, your Highness. Unlike most shades, he has limited sentience and can respond to all requests. Further, he can dip into his memory to guide warriors of his own.” The spritely, energetic voice of Zagreus stated as he moved to answer for the shade. The scion of the Underworld bowed before the regent of Olympus, dropping to a single knee and inclining his head in reverence. The youthful man was a picturesque version of the chthonic king, albeit shorter and more lithe. Healthy, lively skin in place of Hades’ sickly pale. Unkempt, black hair wholly unlike the deity of the Underworld. He remained under the watchful eye of the newly risen High King, silently paying penance for his father’s transgressions.

Zeus looked upon Zeuxidamus with satisfaction, but the shade didn’t hold his attention for long. His gaze drifted down to the scion. “Zagreus! I remember you fondly and well, nephew.” The Highest allowed the youth (who was truly his elder by a great deal) to prostrate himself below for a few moments before offering his bejeweled hand to lift him back to his feet. When Zagreus accepted it, then a tiny, almost inaudible snap of a sound: just a tiny shock. For a split second, Zeus’ pupils darted toward Hades from the corner of his eyes, eyes that silently whispered, ’Don’t do this again.’

Or was it all imagined? The threat was so subtle that Zagreus didn’t even notice, and Hades surely second-guessed it. But then Zagreus was back on his feet just half a moment later, pulled up gently and yet so firmly that his feet almost seemed to leave the ground for a moment. The king possessed what seemed like unnatural vigor -- in reality, just a clever and flawless use of the anti-gravitation engines hidden beneath the king’s toga.

“Did I shock you?” Zeus murmured quietly with a slight chuckle. “Just some static that must have been left on my fingers. Forgive me, Zagreus; I still need to familiarize myself with these old trinkets again.” Those ‘trinkets’, the rings upon his finger, were of course among the Thunder Bringer’s greatest accouterments, nearly capable of hurling lightning, though the late Zeus had used them with great restraint.

The scion of the Underworld felt stunned for only a moment, feeling the shock coursing through his right hand and into his powered armor. The facial features of Zagreus contorted before shuffling back into a placid gaze, failing to understand the prospect of what had happened. Regardless, he gave the High King an energetic, toothy grin as the scion had always done with his uncle. Internally, the chthonic prince could feel a pang of fear creep up within his breast at the possibility of it being truly an accident. Despite his humble demeanor, Zagreus was more aware of his surroundings than his chthonic father.

“Lord Uncle, accepting even the smallest portion of your lightning is an honor! Even if it was by mere accident. Formalities aside, Uncle, it’s nice to see you.” Zagreus replied, nearly ready to fall to a kneel again in the middle of his Olympian etiquette. His emerald eyes reflected a feigned benevolence, the scion’s mind sharper and keener than his father’s twisted personality. As Zeus lost interest in him, the chthonic prince strayed to the side of the chthonic king. Whatever had passed between himself and the High King had not been noticed by Hades, the patron deity of the Underworld’s mind preoccupied with the transpiring events.

Zeuxidamus, the great shade champion gifted to Zeus, lingered outside of the courtyard under the careful watch of the Sacred Band. Imperceptibly programmed to follow the orders of the biocoded individual, the biomechanical automata remained eternally still as events continued around it.

In that moment it was hard to even think of the late Zeus when the new one was right there, looking around contentedly. He was the striking image of the original and yet so much more youthful and energetic, so much less poised. “We’re all here,” the king brightly declared. “All except my beloved wife.”

Venom dripped from his tongue, but he could only seethe for a moment before the palace doors were opened once again and Hera was walked out between two guards. She wore a black dress, intricately woven and of magnificent fabric, but unadorned… a dress of mourning. She did not look happy; Zeus looked like he was about to kill somebody. Instead, he swallowed and his facial muscles twitched for a moment or two before he forced himself to smile.

‘’Hello dear mother!’’ Hebe innocently waved a hand towards Hera. ‘’We were all waiting for you! Almost the whole family is here now! It’s just like old times, isn’t it?’’ She beamed with a smile, her hands clasped in gladness. Hera embraced her beautiful daughter and softly murmured something with the words, “...my sweet…” mixed into it.

Zeus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes, but at least Hebe’s innocent remark had defused his anger, if only slightly. He afforded them a moment, but then looked toward an awaiting Zelos. “Majordomo?” the king prompted, diverting the eyes away from him for long enough that he could steal a comfortable breath or two.

The First Servant Zelos stepped into the foreground with impeccable decorum. “Esteemed lords and ladies,” he addressed them all, “there are a great many things that must be discussed on this day. The Highest Palace is pleased to host all of you and your scions, but His Majesty the King would first dine with only his High Pantheon. Refreshments and food will be provided to all other attendants on the far side of the courtyard.”

And sure enough, right there near the palace’s doors and deliberately within sight of the gates and onlookers, there was a huge banquet table prepared for about a dozen. Much further away lining a distant corner of the courtyard were longer and less opulent tables meant to accommodate a much larger rabble -- the ‘kiddy tables’, so to speak, meant to keep the various scions, minor gods, and even the occasional demigods out of earshot and out of the way. The real business was almost at hand.

---

"Armageddon. I repeat, armageddon. Alpha omega emergency registered. Anomalous exhibitions reported. One two defender." Herakles' gruff voice came in over Athena's auritacticom. The eyes of the goddess fluttered open. She was reclined on her back in an internally sealed vat chamber, filled with a carmine fluid which she alone knew to be made up of, among other things, GUIN devices, the biological remnants of her failed siblings, and a complex formula of bio-enhancers and bio-stimulants that she had personally formulated and refined over the decades.

"Eskhatos," she spoke softly, "activate paraphernalia recovery procedures. Initiate one two hawk measures." She activated the vat drainage system and lay there as the liquid slowly drained away. A combination of water, steam, and fragranced floral waters swiftly cleansed her deceptively nubile form and after a few seconds the nanocomposite glass seal melded away so that the goddess was able to sit up.

"Armageddon proton controls in place." Herakles' voice came in over the auritacticom, and the goddess rose from her place. Her form was perfectly dry from the steam and she could have immediately dressed, but she enjoyed the coolness of the air against her skin and the sheer power of her biological form, bereft of all technological support systems. The future would be carved from flesh. She paused before a mirror and surveyed herself. Long velvet hair that draped down to her hips, startling grey eyes that seemed capable of descrying the most closely guarded secrets in the depths of one's heart. Even she shivered under her icy gazy and felt suddenly exposed - but by no means vulnerable. Her form had the appearance of a young woman not older than twenty-five, neither too tall nor too short but perfectly constituted. She was of that unique kind who never seemed shorter than any who stood by her, no matter how greatly they in fact outmatched her in height. Her skin was healthily bronzed, as the skin of any warrioress should be, and yet her form was not overly muscled, in line with the softness desired of virginal maidens among the great majority of the Hellas civilisations, and did not betray any sign of her illogical strength. One who looked on her might even have thought her weak. But her form, already augmented when her father first created her, had been in a constant state of evolution from the day she came to grips with Project METIS. Her bones were not as the bones of the mortals who pranced about the earth- not even like many of the biotechnologically unengineered gods and demigods of Olympus. Her skin was not like theirs, her vision, her hearing, the formation and workings of her musculature; she was in every way the transition towards the posthuman. This was her project, her vision; it was the very overcoming of man, as one Arithian philosopher called to. She lifted her head high and gazed directly into those piercing grey eyes. Aye; humanity was something that had to be overcome, and machines were not that overcoming.

That was her father's vision too. That was the reason he had created her and her brother. He knew the ultimate limitations of his kind and sought to overcome it in his own way. She turned away from the mirror and signalled. It was the most subtle signal, but immediately two perfect lookalikes of the goddess stepped forth and began dressing her. It was not, in fact, the gesture that had moved them, but rather a silent command through the aurathenacom, a nanodevice subtly inserted into her other ear and which allowed her to communicate with a host of clones across Olympus and Hellas. It was no secret that not a single temple of Athena was ever bereft of the goddess' presence - a very physical presence. It allowed her a direct insight into the goings-on down below, and was most useful in identifying worthy mortals to initiate into the ranks of the Sacred Band. It was unfortunately impossible, given the current stage of her research, to initiate short-term memory transfer over long distances, but she had made it a habit to regularly summon her clones to Olympus for such memory transfers. If left too long not all memories could be successfully harvested, but she had over an extended period of experimentation identified one month to be the optimal timespan for successful and complete transfers. Shorter periods were also possible, though they sometimes resulted in the duplication of memories, which tended to create short-term confusion. Concern over this had, however, spurred her to reinforce her mind against the more acute effects of any kind of mental degeneration. It would not do for the goddess of wisdom and knowledge and philosophy to descend into madness. It would be a most shameful demise.

As her two clones dressed her, her mind wandered once more to Zeus and she allowed herself to truly comprehend what Herakles had relayed. The Alpha had at last come to his Omega. Her jaw tightened. It was not something she had been unready for- nay, her very creation had been his way of preparing for it. She was his preparation for it; she and her brother. Her eyes hardened and she breathed. If tears had been growing in those icy pools, they knew then to freeze and retreat. She allowed her gaze to drift across the hundreds of vats containing the biological remnants of all her failed siblings - the biological remnants, more importantly, of Zeus. Whoever had slain her father would be found, of course, she would never rest until it was so; in all cases the assassination was a failure. Zeus lived in her; Zeus lived in her brother; Zeus was eternal in all the flesh he had left behind - and flesh, blood, that was the future.

She turned to the clone on her right hand and cupped her cheek. "Mind my place while I am gone." She ordered gently, and the clone nodded obediently. Perhaps that was the cardinal way in which she differed from her father: she was of the content sort, happy in the station fate had afforded her and never looking upward with hungering eyes. When all sought to be the paragons of that station which fate had afforded them, life became a great harmony. When that was not true...

Her eyes drifted over Olympus as she ascended into the heavens atop her chariot. She gave a quick command, and her IRIS system deactivated hide mode; one never knew when they would very suddenly rue that they were not locatable. She looked again at the Olympus as it grew farther and farther away. When that was not true...

She had for long favoured the city state of Ealia, and so it had prospered and gloried for more than a hundred years. Undefeated on the fields of glory, unmatched in splendour, peerless on the waves. But mortalkind had a way to earn divine wrath, had a way of not exemplifying the glorious harmony her wisdom called them to. And so Athena’s vengeance was swift. There was only so much depravity and debauchery she could tolerate before the cleansing wave of blades and the rushing forth of hard-eyed folks from the forests or the mountains or the plains were permitted to be loosed.
And even as the goddess came to a halt in their skies, the people of Ealia raised their hands heavenward, called on the star ablaze in the heart of day above; they called on ATHENA POLIOUKHOS to save them. But they called on nothing; she was not there, only ATHENA AXIOPOINOS saw and heard. Her gaze was the steel of the wildmen who overran Ealia, and she disdained all they cried and all they promised. “Our favour you had, our strength and will, but my due right denied me. My favour is gone, my voice is now shrill, who have you now beside me?” Her voice was a song in the heavens, as the sad and angered rumble of thunder.

There was an exaggerated crack, and high above the battlefield where Athena rested a pair of six, shimmering, light-dappled wings unfolded from thin air. They pulled back to reveal Hermes, Herald of the gods, drifting in the air freely even as his motionless wings pulled back and away from his form. Adorned in his distinctive wide-brimmed helmet and bearing the twinned-serpent stave Kerykeion in one hand, he arrived within a penumbra of resplendent light. Despite the grandiose phenomenon of his appearance, the cries from below did not change - no mortal eye seemed capable of laying gaze upon the messenger of the gods in that moment, despite his proximity to Athena in her splendor and wroth.

“I come bearing a message for Pallas Athena, Maiden Goddess of Warfare,” Hermes intoned, “from Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on-high, with the utmost of exigency.”

The goddess looked towards the newly arrived god and nodded in acknowledgment. “Well-met, Khrysorrhapis Hermes, Herald of the Gods and Orator of Olympus.” She passed her hand over the surface of her chariot, and a drachma emerged from a subtly placed slot. She knew it was for more than the Herald received from any other, but she had inherited the magnanimity of the king of the gods. She tossed it casually to the messenger god, and he caught it in his one free hand. With a flick of his wrist, the coin was replaced instead by a sheaf of black parchment inscribed with gold filigree. A holographic display of the letter’s contents appeared in the air between them as he read its contents aloud.



“...and he also bade me to verbally inform you that you are hereby summoned to attend him at the stated place and time.” Hermes concluded in a perfunctory tone. The goddess’ eyes remained fixed on the messenger expectantly. When he said no more, she raised an eyebrow.

“Not the most humorous of your jokes, brother.” She said with a thin smile. “Though appreciated at this of all times. It was difficult to finally bring myself to smite Ealia.” She looked down at the city, not a hair or nerve indicating the subtly executed deception. It was the right order of things that the Herald bring news, and it was the right order of things that all respond to such news with the surprise or disbelief or shock it was intended to induce. In this manner the messenger knew his role was fulfilled - and, more so, was made certain of the importance and continuing relevance of his role. It contributed to the great harmony Athena so desired on Olympus.

Hermes snorted. “Oh it certainly is a joke. Zeus is absolutely dead all the same. If you remain reticent in your smiting, I can endeavor to amuse you further with choice witticisms concerning the poor state of his ruined corpse, so blighted that the eyes would be cursed to bear witness to it.”

With furrowed brows, the goddess turned her chariot about and punched a code into the central command deckframe. “Herakles, what’s this I'm hearing about fath-” she paused and listened, jaw tightening. “Couldn’t reach me?” She spat, but said no more as she cut the line. She glanced at Hermes. “Forgive me my disbelief, Herald. I must go.”

“So soon? And I had only just mentioned in passing how depraved his murder was.” Hermes made a gesture of feigned, amicable exasperation, throwing his free arm against the brow of his helm. Athena’s pale grey eyes were immediately as ice, boring into the messenger god.

“Do you mock, brother?” She spoke low.

“Not at all, though granted, the first and thus far only order his renewed highness has seen fit to issue has been to me, to issue his summons.” Hermes practically chattered, waving his hand idly in the air. “He has not even contacted Apate yet… or you. I wonder why. Inquiring minds would like to know, but somehow I think you do not need to be a Deity of Wisdom to divine that mockery is afoot.”

Cocking her head to the side and raising an eyebrow at the other god, the goddess gave a thoughtful hum but made no response as her chariot thrummed with silent power. She hung in the air for a few still seconds then exploded past Hermes and sped away like a shooting star.

“Some people just cannot take a joke.” Hermes pouted to nobody in particular. Without any of the accompanying fanfare or theatrics he had arrived with, his form then bled out of the sky like water dribbling through sand.

He had no sooner disappeared when Athena, already a speck on the horizon, glanced backwards and sighed. She had long endeavoured to understand Hermes, but he had never quite been comfortable enough around her to drop the jovial charade. It only quickened within her the certainty that he was hiding something. It was not aided by her father's invariable wariness of the messenger. He had of course made certain to explain the entire affair to her - the treason, the confiscation of the true Kerykeion, the leash on which the Herald was constantly kept. A leashed man was difficult to trust - but could his loyalty be assured simply through unleashing him? Gratitude was such a thing among mortals, she had observed, and it also was not. A small verbal command from her brought up her helm's special issue security interface and swiftly disabled all IRIS connectivity.

Her return to Olympus was a silent affair under the cover of night. When she arrived in at the laboratory, the Zeus extracts had already been deposited by her clone and she swiftly got to readying it for invatification. "Sophia," the goddess spoke even as she worked. The clone was immediately at her side. "My lady," Sophia spoke softly. The goddess did not look up, but continued, "ready yourself for the morrow. Attend to my brother and be my eyes. Speak little and only as necessary, for silence is the sanctuary of prudence. Be our brother's arm, for if he does not have us then he has none." She allowed herself a glance into the grey eyes of her clone. "Clear?" She asked. The clone nodded slowly. "Yes, my lady." And with that, the clone codenamed Sophia turned away and got to readying herself for the morrow.

Athena watched as the fleshly remnants of Zeus were slowly inserted into the vat chamber. She would know the cause of death. And if she could not, then the very flesh would be made to speak its plight. Her lips tightened and her eyes grey hard and wide as she gazed at the floating mass. Yes, the reconstitution of the dead was not beyond her, not beyond her at all. Let it take as long as it will; if tireless investigation and research did not reveal the culprit, then the very mind of Zeus would speak it. Aye, she nodded to herself, she was capable of such things. She had to be.

A photographic portrait of Hera, a gift of Olympus, hangs triumphantly in the great hall of the Herean palace as one of their most prized relics. Such vivid realistic imagery, as though a window into a timeless world, astounds even the mortal royals. A reminder that only the magic of Olympus enables such wonder. While scribes and dignitaries of the Herean presidency scuttle about in a honeycomb-resembling complex of palace chambers -- going upwards into hundreds of distinct palace floors -- so too does the palace’s domain penetrate into the crust of the planet deep underground. Several of the deepest floors were ordained property of the Royal Cult of Hebe. But perhaps most importantly, one of them was the location of Thaumaturgist Felix’ laboratorium. The place of Magic.

Among the Palace’s visitors that day was the Hierophant Bartolomeu Ian, the counterpart of President Mickon’s worldly authority. Having paid his respect to the portrait of Hera, the Hierophant was to be transported to the deepest section of the building by elevator to link up with the other Hebites.

Elevator? Indeed; an ancient innovation that mortals today have no know-how of managing in its original form. But allegedly it was a self-moving mode of transportation. Today, however, the elevator functions through the tedious toiling of servants propelling it up and down by hand and pulley. For the Herean Palace is such a colossal building that moving from one side to another by stairs alone would leave any save the most durable athlete morbidly exhausted.



In deep contemplation Felix read the writ placed in his hands over and over, inspecting each side. Then he held it against a lamp – looking for hidden marks, perhaps coded language. None; the message was plain and concise as day. So focused was he in his frantic analysis that even the noise of heavy pounding footsteps walking down the brittle wooden stairs wasn’t enough to disrupt his attention. Down from those stairs leading to the door opening appeared Bartolomeu, a large, dark-blonde bearded man of tanned complexion. His tallness and imposing stature was already betrayed by the tremor of his approach. His large frame was draped in ornate blue robes with floral motifs and the ouroboros crest sewn large to the robe’s back, indicative of his high religious authority.

"Mega Khaire, Hierophant." The gaunt man spoke without so much as turning his head since he could identify the person entering by their footsteps alone. Felix’ gaze remained icily fixed on the fumbled parchment in his hands.

His appearance stood in stark contrast to that of Bartolomeu’s, for Felix was short, skinny and of a sickly pallor. This in spite of his physical longevity and enduring health. He donned a dark coat with the occasional satchels of tools strapped to it, and a brass engine perforated into his shoulders that supplied the man with the nutrients to stay alive and hale for as long as he had.

‘’Thaumaturgist Felix, you requested for me with utmost urgency? I trust it is as important as you made it seem. The caste had been called for an important assignment. The late King’s widow is concerned about her longevity and seeks the Goddess's blessing. So I ask you keep it terse.’’

The bearded man’s voice reverberated into the laboratorium as he dispassionately lit up a cigar.

‘’Yes... Urgency... You'll find this too is in the context of late Kings. My crow Chimera from the Hephaestean workshop picked up this message, and on it is… an announcement, let’s say.’’
Felix cracked a reassuring smile.
‘’You may find it’s potentially the greatest news we’ve had in decades.’’

The Hierophant, already impatient that the Thaumaturgist wasn’t getting to the point, took a puff of the cigar before motioning his hand at him. ‘’Get on with it. Show me that little paper.’’
The Thaumaturgist cautiously held out the paper message to the Hierophant, who snatched it and raised it before his eyes. His expression quickly darkened upon reading the first few lines.



Felix reacted with a satisfied smirk.
‘’Before you ask; no, it’s not falsified. The King of the Gods himself has truly finally succumbed. T’is a mighty blow to Olympus. Their whole power structure destabilized. This death brings us one step closer to—‘’
‘’You called this the greatest news in decades?!’’ The High Priest yelled, thundering through the underground lair. The cigar fell from his mouth. ‘’Are you at wit’s end? This is cataclysmic news! Terrifying news! Civilization as we know it may well end!’’
Not having anticipated this reaction from the Hierophant, Felix stammered:
‘’B-but there is a new Zeus. He dons the same name and identity. Surely that means Olympus has no intention of making sudden unanticipated changes. While simultaneously its control is assumed by an inept, inexperienced greenhorn. This should be good for us all around--’’
The Hierophant barked, ‘’Since when do High Pantheonist gods die? What does that mean? Zeus is supposed to be centuries older than even you! And who is this successor? Another Zeus? How do you know of his ineptitude, or inexperience? It seems to me this new king will only be more robust, and harder to influence than the last. ’’
The Hierophant angrily crushed the dropped cigar under his foot. Smoldering grey ashes were stamped to the concrete floor. ‘’This is a setback.. a setback detrimental to our influence sphere…’’

‘’Hear hear. All is not yet lost. Hebe Dia is in Olympus right now, doubtless she has received much the same news as we covertly have. We need to trust in her ability to gain New Zeus’ special favor.’’
‘’Hebe Dia is a gullible bimbo. That daft girl isn’t going to do anything without our direction. Gah!’’
The priest kicked against a lab stool, crashing it to the floor. The Thaumaturgist became increasingly worried that the Hierophant might combust into a full-blown rampage at this pace. He never saw Bartomoleu lose his cool like this. Under sufficient weight and pressure a whole different side, unknown even to him, had been revealed.

A long, tense silence filled the subterranean air. Collecting himself, Bartolomeu lit up a second cigar and let out a concentrated puff of smoke through his nostrils. Then he took a second glance at the message, while further fumbling it between his fingers.

Breaking the silence, he asked with a bit more composure: "Where is Chaos? Doubtless he had access to this news from Olympus itself. We must keep this note hidden from him. Nay, destroy it immediately. Or it will be us on the thunder block next.’’ The Hierophant crumpled the piece of parchment, preparing to burn it to ashes using his lighter. But Felix interjects:
"No, give it to me. Their advanced thaumaturgy might be able to undo the flame's work and reconstruct the ashes. We need to dissolve it to be sure.’’
The Hierophant threw the crump of paper at him. Felix placed it on his desk while gathering up the materials to brew a powerful acid concoction.
‘’You wager Chaos is on his way to Olympus as we speak?’’ The Hierophant asked.
‘’No, we talked this morning. The sole thing on his mind was the outfitting of the Palace Regiment. Apparently some of the equipment went missing. He’s not the type to let that slide. That Chaos... He's both our strongest asset, and our greatest threat. I tried to cozy up to him before, but that man will never afford you the time of day…

...I do wonder what he is up to right now."




A gold evening star shone over the village of Axavil, washing the hamlet in a fiery glowing hue. This was a rustic, agrarian hamlet that oversaw much of essential sweet potato produce and dairy from livestock in the rolling southern regions of the Herean domain. Because it was essential for the President to exercise direct influence in this area, many of the locals were enlisted, or outright levied, to the Royal household. Not just suppliers of food, but manpower.
An old retired veteran, carrying scars as medals from skirmishes with the nation across the channel, soaked in the sunlight on his scarred face in the twilight years of his life.

The old man sat in a wheelchair on the porch of his concrete manor, for his legs that had once endured many brutal marches could no longer sustain his growing pot belly. And with a satisfied smirk the veteran looked over his seasonal yield, (part of which doubtlessly disappeared into said belly) where the serfs were finishing up hauling in the harvest. The old man was loaned this farmland from the President, to whom he was obligated to turn over an annual tribute of produce.
As befitted a former soldier, he was committed to continue serving the Golden Office even in retirement. All around he remained in good standing with the elite of this realm and a devoted servant of the gods. Therefore it came as a surprise to have an unsuspected visitor dawning on his estate from on high.

Wrapped in a flaming cloak a slow comet, like tumbling fireworks, descended near his farmland in clear view of his manor. In the twilight sky its flaming presence was initially perfectly camouflaged in the fiery glow of that evening.
But with a soft reverberating tremor following from its landing, the whole of Axavil could sense the arrival. To those who knew what it meant, the foreboding it filled them with instantly made them withdraw into their homes for an early conclusion to their workday.
Once the smoldering fire dissipated, a figure emerged: a man, majestic and dark, with long dark braided hair, intense and black flashing eyes and heavy brows, and clothed in gaudy metal plates paired with deep red swirling wraps of robe.
Without ever blinking, the fiery man's eyes locked on that of the old man sitting motionless and bemused on his porch. The old man understood immediately that this was an Olympian, perhaps even a god. And with this realization dawning on him, the old man promptly raised a gnarled fist to beat his chest in salute, and raised his chin: "Salvé Olympus!"
No response came from the Olympian as he trod ominously quiet towards the porch. Until, with a sudden leap, launched himself on top of it. One could tell he wasn’t a mere man. His presence felt profound. It felt majestic. The Old man had but seconds to take it in, before the Olympian cut straight towards the purpose of his visit.

"One Augmented lightning lance -- absent from the Holy Warband Arsenal," he spoke with a deep, toplofty voice in which subtle silent fury was traceable. "It is within your premises."
The old man reacts only in confusion. "What're youse onto, grande sonne of Olympus? I had returnede mine Lance faithfully as I also relinquished mine service, as ordained by the God's Heraldion. "
"The Old Man lies." The Olympian curtly replied.
"Chaos knows it is in the Old Man’s possession still. The Old Man will explain himself, and this time truly return what is due."
The old man genuinely didn’t know. All he did was shake his head and gawk and fluster before the Olympian, and from impatience Chaos hurled his boot towards the bottom of his wheelchair with such force that the vehicle flipped and the poor man was sent tumbling meters away on the ground.
With a pained cry and tumultuous crash of floorboarding giving way, onlookers from inside the manor rush to the scene. One of them, most boldly of all.

"Leave my father alone, scum! I will end you!’’
A young adult man appeared in the door opening holding aloft an arcane weapon -- a metal lance with a bright glowing tip – which he pointed at Chaos.
Chaos raised an amused eyebrow at such brazen threat from a mortal.
"There it is." The Olympian curtly spoke, nodding at the young man's lance.
It was not the old man, but rather his son who committed the treasonous act of seizing Olympian craft .
"I begge your mercy, holy Olympian," the old man groaned from the ground, trying to get up -- failing. "The scamp.. He dunnet know... Dunnet understand anyfin..."
"Chaos is not moved by pleas, and would bid the old man conduct himself as a soldier. The dance of death that the soldier’s life entails never ends. No, the dance of death, it ends with Chaos!’’
Having spoken those (edgy) words the Olympian twitched his index and middle finger, and immediately a jolt of lightning flashed at the son.
Spastically the young man dropped, helplessly like a sack of potatoes, as Chaos trod toward him to wrest the lance from his unworthy clutches.

Taking hold of it, Chaos began to hoist it up, but the son did not let go. A death grip clenched the weapon's hilt in his hands.
Then with a desperate defiance, the son triggered a burst of lightning to issue from the tip of the lance, barely scraping past Chaos and with deafening noise obliterating the roof of the porch.
Smoldering ash, splinters and timber came tumbling in crushed fragments around them.
"…Such is the power of the Lightning Lance. Too much for undeserving mortals – mortals, as the old man’s son." He commented, shaking his head.

Then the Olympian planted his metal-tipped boot on the young man’s chest while holding aloft a different augmented weapon of Olympian make, resembling a metallic, glowing dagger. Upon activating, it flashed brightly.
In the next second both the young man’s arms were severed – the stench of seared flesh permeating the air. Their grip on the lance finally loosened. Even as the young man screamed in gnawing agony, Chaos’ black eyes showed nothing. His mouth curved slightly into a dark smile.
This time the ruckus caused the serfs working in the field to be drawn to the scene as well. But the moment that they spotted Chaos, the majority wisely scurried to get away as quickly as they’d come.
From severed hands on which the lance now rested, Chaos finally retrieved the sacred weapon for which he came all this way.
As he prepared to leave he had half a mind to leave the crippled man in this sorry state. Truly this young upstart was deserving of the most capital of punishments; however, not every mere mortal should be bothered to afford such time and attention. Olympus was over encumbered with trivialities as it was.

Turning his head at the young man, who lay burned, panting and snarling like an angry wounded animal, Chaos had a final epiphany.
"A man without hands... Worthless such a man is, to himself and to his commune. Chaos will bestow the man one favor, undeserving of it as the man may be."
And with those words followed by another flash, Chaos put him cruelly to death. His family could do nothing but watch. His sisters wept, and the father was defeated, crushed, laying on the ground.
‘’Kill me too, ye gods…’’
‘’Hrm.’’ Chaos contemplated.
‘’The father is pardoned for the mischief of the son. The son was a soldier, but the son broke his vows, and paid the due price. Death is the one thing that redeems the son’s guilt. Let the father take heart, and let him not this transgression be repeated.’’
With those words Chaos retracted his weapon and put it under his cloak. He turned, and departed in a blaze of fire. Off… to Olympus. The Majordomo had summoned him.

---

Politicking was always a delicate, subtle art. Even in a monarchy of immortal gods, perception and appearances were all; even the young Zeus understood this. Accordingly, it was with great care and exacting purpose that the great rectangular feast table had been arranged by him and the Majordomo. The seating was as thus:

For Zeus himself was reserved the highest and grandest seat of all, a resplendent golden throne adorned with thunderbolts wrought from electrum. His place was naturally at the head of the table, for he was king. Sharing the end of the table with him was Hera, the queen, who sat beside him on the left atop a silvered throne adorned with imagery of cows. Though they were not with them at the head of the table, Athena and Hebe still came next; however, at that moment Athena was not present, having excused herself to retrieve her gift to the king of the gods. Because they were the king’s children, theirs were the auspicious spots closest to the end, with Hebe on Hera’s side and Athena on Zeus’, taking the especially prized position as the king’s right hand. The goddess of wisdom arrived just as everyone had finally started to settle into their chairs, striding past with military speed - it was her manner to go everywhere quietly and at speed, her movements betraying nothing other than single-minded purposefulness. Stopping at the head of the table, by Zeus’ seat - throne, really - she fell to one knee and presented him with a broad-bladed quantising antimatter amorphodantium energysword forged and reforged until its purity had caused the entire blade to become a faint blue, and odd patterns reminiscent of flowing water to run along the entirety of the blade. Currently dormant, Athena had painstakingly laboured over it in her Tartarian FORGE facility, and refined it so that it would only ever respond to the touch of the highest of the gods; the merest contact by him with the nanofibres interlaced along the entirety of the white hilt would immediately cause the stabilised antimatter power nexus embedded within the hilt and inside the blade to issue forth a devastating antimatter corona that would destroy all forms of matter on contact. Within that antimatter corona was a second layer of disruptive energy issued by multi-energy nanotransistors that acted to ensure the blade was as effective against all forms of energy as it was against matter. “It came to you last, Almighty Zeus, but let it not be least.” She spoke softly, eyes downcast as she sheathed the blade and extended it, perched gently on her hands, to him.

“Speak not such things, for neither it nor you could ever be the least,” he answered softly, accepting the blade with ginger hands. “It’s beautiful. Perhaps before this year is passed, this blade will have shorn Typhon in half.” It sounded like an idle platitude, but Zeus was indeed imagining the thing cleaving through Typhon -- or Isaac Holcomb, as it was. Ruminating upon Typhon had consumed a good deal of his mental energy that morning, but he resolved not to let it show, and so directed his full attention to the assembly before him.

Athena took her seat at last and her eyes fell upon those of her sister, Hebe. The two sisters faced one another across the table, opposites in every way. Hebe’s chair was decorated with images of the eternal ouroboros and the immortal phoenix, while Athena’s had been personally carved by the goddess from olive wood and was replete with intricate olive motifs, medusoid ornaments, and owlish designs. It was in every way the display of masterful craftsmanship she had intended it to be. Athena’s grey eyes observed the girl for a few moments, she gave the slightest of smiles, then let her gaze fall down towards her feet. Hebe on her part avoided looking at Athena altogether as the Olympian Princess and Queen Hera walked over to their end of the table. There was faint whispering between the two royal ladies.

Next came the spymistress Apate, seated to Athena’s right. Hers was a sable seat so simple and unadorned that it seemed out of place, especially beside that of Athena, but it was comfortable enough with its cushions of black velvet. Hermes’ place was situated across from her and to Hebe’s left, the mercurial god’s chair decorated with motifs of fish, winged birds, palms, and the likeness of his beloved caduceus. Past Hermes came Demeter’s place, her seat appearing to have been grown from the hard floor. Thick vines thrust from the floor, entwined into a solid mass. The back of the chair converged into a delicate wreath of floral sprays. And then that of Artemis, smooth, silvered and looking rather uncomfortable. Across from them, Apollo sat beside Apate, and across from the virtuoso was Eros. There was no real space for Hephaestus (or Coeus as he insisted) now, the late Zeus in his ire ordering the engineer’s chair scrapped after he’d decided to disfigure himself and take the guise of a cat, but near the far end there was enough open space for the cat to at least bring his hoverboard up to the table.

And then on the opposite end of the table, furthest from Zeus and Hera, were the obsidian seats for Hades and Zagreus, the only scion that had a place at this high table. Their chthonic thrones were ornately fashioned with deathly iconography, each arm of the placements ending in sculpted skulls and both backs ending in a pair of crossed bidents. Hades might have disliked the great distance between himself and his supposed brother, but in truth that was a place of honor too; giving him the other end all to himself was some soft recognition to his title as king of the underworld. That placement almost made Hades look like Zeus’ equal… almost.

For the rest of them, their distance from Zeus’ end of the table was supposedly a mark of their standing with him. In reality, it was more indicative of their usefulness and the frequency of their interactions.

And of course, the table itself was topped with a feast of all manner of choice things. A few calves and lambs had been claimed as tribute from nearby villages, and the choicest cuts had been slowly roasted. Hellas’ massive and bountiful oceans made seafood a staple for much of the planet, so a great many fish had also been prepared: blackened salmon with lemon and dill, spiced tuna with rice and creamed cheese and seaweed wrapping, and even seared steaks of swordfish, boiled octopus legs in a rich dark sauce, and dishes made from other aquatic creatures that were stranger yet. Aside from those main fares, there were too many smaller things and finger foods for anyone to possibly sample. Little sandwiches, layered baklava pastries filled with honey and almond, crisps with cheese, all manner of sweetmeats, and a dozen different fruits were on offer. Seemingly fantastical apples gleamed more vividly than gold or jewels rested on platters, but they were not mere decoration; even their gleaming peels were edible, and the flesh inside was delicious. Dates, figs, and pears were there too. A myriad of grapes of all manner of colors, size, and wild flavors surrounded the other fruit on the platters. Courtesy of genetic engineering done long ago under Demeter, there was a grape for almost every sweet or sour flavor that one could want for. Then there were bits of cheese and pickled olives to cleanse the palate, and pitchers of wine and ale were scattered here and there to wash it all down.

And then there were amphorae filled with ambrosia, perhaps the most legendary item of all. In reality, the stuff disappointed; it was glorified nutrient paste synthesized from chemicals within an automated reactor that came as a relic from the ship. In time the mildly sweet, carbohydrate-rich goop could grow on a person, and by virtue of being so nutritious you could live on it and little else, but the lack of texture and odd taste of all the minerals made it far from a gourmet’s first choice. Zeus had tried the ambrosia exactly once, and that had been enough. Still, a few ascetics in Heaven favored it, whether out of some deliberate rebellion against decadence or just to cultivate a severe and disciplined reputation. On the rare occasions he had observed Athena to eat at all, for instance, it had been some kind of specially altered ambrosia of her own engineering. She eschewed - nay, perhaps looked down upon - all else.

When Hephaestus came upon the table for the first time in nearly two centuries, a familiar feeling of nostalgia washed over him. This sweet reminiscence however was quickly disturbed by a glooming reminder: his seat had been replaced. Immediately his snout turned to a frown as Coeus quietly hissed at Hermes for having supplanted his old spot. Once upon a time it was Coeus who was the favorite of Olympus. Now look how the Master Engineer had fallen from grace – all due to Zeus’ unwillingness to accept the new him. T’was nearly enough to make a grown panther cry.

“Please, be seated,” Zeus’ voice rang out. His head cocked just slightly to glance at the absurdity that was Coeus, who’d come to hover near Hades’ end of the table. To think he was Olympus’ best engineer, and perhaps the one who’d brought the greatest gift! Perhaps the real joke wasn’t Hephaestus, but rather the rest of the council. The king shook the thought out of his mind and took a few steps over to pull out Hebe’s chair for her. He offered her a hint of a smile and a reassuring pat, then paced back to his own place. The Princess replied with a nod and a curtsy before sitting down, followed by a hushed “Thank you..’’.
They’d all taken their seats by then, but still the king himself remained standing.

“So I am king. There will not be any coronation, because Zeus was already king and still is king, forever shall be king, and so forth. We are all agreed on this, yes?” His gaze flitted back and forth, scanning them all, lingering on the faces of each and every one of them in turn. “Swear your allegiance. It’s important that in these trying times, we begin with that. So that will be our first of many matters to address today.”

“It seems curious you would demand an oath of allegiance given we have already sworn one to you.” Hermes drawled, holding his helmeted visage up with one elbow propped up irreverently on the table. “After all, you are almighty Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on High, and always have been. All this fuss about new beginnings seems so terribly confusing to me, given nothing has changed.” He turned his faceted visor to stare dead at Zeus. “Am I right?” He asked rhetorically to the assembled high pantheon. “We are all loyal and avowed subjects to Zeus and always have been.”

Zeus smiled icily at the messenger of the gods. “Of course. You speak truth, and this shouldn’t be necessary, but I have to make sure that this was understood. It would not do to have anyone think otherwise. So reaffirm your allegiance.”

“Naturally.” Hermes said cheerfully as he finally corrected his posture and sat up straight in his chair. “I imagine you would like this expedited, but formalized? For the sake of our recordkeeper over yonder.” He gestured to GULA’s EMU, stood silently at one end of the room.

Zeus affirmed the notion with a small nod. Of course, GULA wasn’t there as a recordkeeper, but they didn’t need to know that yet…

“Well I can hardly make such a formal avowal without my badge of office…let’s see…where DID I leave that damn thing…” Hermes made a play of patting down his feathered cloak. “Ah. According to my staff I appear to have let you borrow it for a while. Would you happen to have my Kerykeion on you at the moment, All-Father?”

Now Hermes was making a nuisance of himself, and Zeus didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “Messenger,” he addressed the god, smiling widely, “be quiet. Now is not the time to ask for your toy back.” The king looked expectantly at the rest of them. Hermes shrugged before making a gesture indicative of zipping his lips with one hand, before craning both arms behind his head and leaning back in his seat.

Zeus should have let Hermes’ impudence go so that there wouldn’t be even more of an interruption, but he couldn’t help himself. That last little mocking gesture had made him seeth even more, but he had an idea. “Actually Hermes, why don’t you take off that helmet? We’re trying to speak and have lunch here, as a family.” That last, strange word rolled off his tongue roughly. It wasn’t one that the clone had heard or used more than a few times in his life.

Hermes shrugged again and raised his hands to his helmet. There was a loud, buzzing hiss as atmosphere vented from a seam that abruptly materialized around the messenger’s neckline before the messenger removed it and set it on the table.

Hermes’ face stirred no recognition in Zeus’ faded memories whatsoever. It was as though he were gazing at a stranger. If the original Zeus had ever known the semblance of the Herald of the Gods, this was not it. His face was rounded, with foxen features and pronounced cheeks, and his curled hair was a dusken black with flecks of ruddish gold. His expression was nothing less than one of self-satisfied smugness - an easy and effortless smile that never quite left his face, leaving a habitual crook in the corners of his mouth. The only irregularity about his appearance were his eyes - low and lidded, revealing nary a trace of tension, as the corneas were a solid black in coloration, and his irises a field of opalescent stars.

A thud rumbled across the table as Hades, the abyssal deity, shifted his weight onto the ornate slab, rustling plate and plaster alike. The chthonic king leaned onto his armored elbows, bringing his clawed gauntlets into a steeple before him. “Hermes speaks the truth in one matter, brother, we have already sworn our allegiance to you upon Olympus many, many years ago. The Fates have decreed that you will forever be vested as the High King of Hellas and beyond. It goes without saying, but you have my - and those of my realm’s - allegiance. Glory to you, Zeus!” The thundering voice of Hades finished, casting his gaze across the table to the rest of the Pantheon. Twin, azure orbs narrowed on Hermes for a second longer as his facial features swiveled to the High King and inclined his head in a bow. His stern features rose once more after eventually being acknowledged.

The chthonic prince, stiff and uncomfortable, cast his emerald gaze across the Pantheon before joining his father’s gesticulation. His unkempt, black hair bounced as he inclined his head in a bow to the All-Father of Olympus. “Glory to you, Lord Zeus. As my father said, so shall I. You have my allegiance.” Zagreus spoke in an unnaturally formal tone, under laden with unease after the previous accidental confrontation with the High King. His emerald eyes rose to rest upon Zeus, and then on Hebe with an uneasy, small smile. To this Zeus nodded slightly, once, twice; first directed to Hades and again for Zagreus. He sensed the prince’s unease and made a deliberate effort to relax his own expression and posture. Of course, even that failed to break all of the tension in the air.

The pregnant atmosphere was anon pierced by a loud, dull crack. Imperceptible in the instantaneous flow of her motion, Artemis had stood up; but where her movement had been soundless, not so was the impact of the long, recurve hunting knife she had driven into the wood of the table. Her hand kept a firm grip over its bone hilt as she looked up at Zeus' throne, with such intensity as if nothing else around them existed. For the king’s part, he tilted his chin and raised his eyebrows; she’d commanded his attention.

"It was not I who swore allegiance to the King of the Gods in my place, and it was not you that it was sworn to," she began, "But our loyalty has always stood regardless. It is the oath of the forest to Olympus, more than any words that run from mouth to ear. So I'll swear now to you, High King, that as long as the trail of my knife is on your table you will have nothing but obedience from me, but this is the echo of words older than us both. It's not mere fealty that ties us, but fate." A satisfied smile and a nod were the response that she earned from Zeus.

"You're doing well, dear." Eros quietly said to Zagreus, giving him a reassuring smile and a squeeze on the arm after he finished saying his allegiance. The god of love stood up gracefully and turned to Zeus, their cherubim hair and face contrasting the intense red of their eyes. "The original Eros had sworn loyalty to you eons ago, Lord Zeus, and that will not change now. As the current title bearer, this Eros will serve you dutifully and swear allegiance to the High King in the name of love." They said serenely and with a bow, to Zeus’ approval.

Eros then turned to the other members of the Pantheon. "Now, now. There's no need for all this tension in the air. We are family, yes? Please don't tell me this is how we'll always be whenever we all gather together again. Let us all be cordial and warm for the sake of family. Unless of course, you all want me to lighten up the mood…" Eros playfully said and giggled before sitting back down on their seat.

"Another time, dear Eros." Apollo tittered, briefly tearing their gaze from Zeus to the god of Love. "I suppose I would agree with Hermes, in a sense, for complex philosophical reasons I will not bore all of you with -- nonetheless, I will duly reaffirm my loyalty, as will all my kin, as is good and appropriate," she said, dipping her head in a small show of careful deference.

“Take heed not to agree with him too often, lest your mind fester and his ways become your own,” Zeus quipped back, surprised by his own vitriol. But he waved it away with a hand. “Your loyalty is appreciated.”

Next came Coeus’ turn to make his loyalty vow. ‘’I, Hephaestus the Hypernaut do so solemnly pledge my subservience to the King of Olympus, Zeus the Magnanimous Omnipotent.’’ The cat declared as solemnly pompous as possible, holding out a metal appendage from his hoverboard onto the table.

“And your pledge is happily received, Engineer,” Zeus answered back with what bordered upon unnerving enthusiasm. “I do look forward to working with you, especially over the coming days, on the specifics of your gift’s deployment. All in due time!” The king found himself wondering if the eccentric cat didn’t deserve a choicer place at the table, but he kept such thoughts unvoiced for the time being.

Demeter eyed each fellow god as they spoke, but it was Hades’ reaction she had been most intrigued to see. First to readily agree after that scamp, Hermes said his piece. The goddess was stoic in her musings, though by the time that she felt a moment to put herself forward, the whole proceedings had felt like they had gone on too long. “I, Demeter, do pledge my fealty and that of my kin, to you, Zeus.” What more was needed than the affirmation the reborn king desired - however curious that may have been.

Athena was last to speak. Leaning forward in her seat and resting her elbows on the table, she allowed her gray gaze to drift across the faces of the other gods, a small smile, uncomplicated and candid, frozen on her lips. She paused on Hera’s eyes, her smile falling away as she beheld the woman. Sophia, the clone who had so impeccably filled Athena’s role in Olympus since the previous day, had naturally made it her first priority to visit the woman and comfort her, but no amount of comfort could chase away such grief. It was only a momentary pause, and her eyes shifted and stopped, at last, on Zeus. The smile returned to her lips and she nodded to him. “I am but an extension of you, my lord.” She spoke in her characteristically gentle tone, then leaned back into her chair and said no more, her eyes downcast and mind seemingly elsewhere.

“Good, then.” Finally satisfied with the lot of them and their renewed fealty (for whatever the words were worth; even Zeus estimated their value to be little) the king seated himself at last. He carelessly seized a single grape and popped it into his mouth, biting into it to experience a pleasant snappiness to its texture and an explosion of blue raspberry flavor. He swallowed it quickly and pointedly, waving a hand; now that he’d claimed the first bite, they were all free to help themselves if they had the appetite for it. Zeus didn’t.

“Now we can move on to other, important things,” the king went on. He’d almost said more important things, but he’d stopped himself before tripping there. Their fealty was important. “I know that what most presses your minds will be the gruesome events of yesterday… truly sickening, horrifying. The attack on my prior incarnation was an attack on my own person too, and by extension upon all of you, and Olympus itself, and upon reason and order and the state and so forth. It cannot and will not stand, and for that matter I immediately took it upon myself to lead the investigation.”

He stopped, remembering himself. Lost among all the indulgent platters and plates of the banquet, there was one particular device and its remote. Zeus found the controls and activated a noise-cancellation field that surrounding the table and its immediate vicinity; none of the guards and servants attending them from a few feet away would hear anything, let alone anybody closer to the gates or across the courtyard at the tables that had been set aside for most of the scions and lessers. Even Majordomo Zelos and the GULA’s EMU had been left to watch and wait just beyond the veil of silence. No, here they had the privacy of their words, even if they remained visible. It was good and deliberate that they were seen together out there in the courtyard, though.

“Now we can speak more freely. Rest assured that I have been diligent and tireless in the investigation’s work; the last day and night has been entirely devoted to it. It took me from the palace’s highest levels to its lowest, through all manner of dusty vaults -- and as an aside, I did uncover one old artifact that might be of interest to you all. I’ll even share it; perhaps its rediscovery will bring some light to these dark times, and repay the generosity of all these gifts you’ve brought.”

Zeus smiled and clapped, almost instinctively. Then he remembered that nobody beyond the table could hear, and irritated at himself for looking the part of a fool, he glanced over his shoulder to try and signal his majordomo. The ever-vigilant Zelos had seen and understood the clap though, and he was already gliding forward. When the minor god leaned his head through the energy field, Zeus commanded simply, “Bring the relic.” Then Zelos was gone as quickly as he’d come, and the king was left to continue his allocution.

“We tore the palace apart, turned it upside down,” he summarized. “143 servants, guards, and other potential witnesses have already been questioned, 86 of those subjected to memory audits, a half dozen tortured,” he detachedly rattled off. “Full forensics analysis was done of the scene, the remains were transferred into the custody of GULA for an autopsy, and of course, I consulted what relevant data S.I.H.T. could provide. I even took it upon myself to go through all of my past incarnation’s personal effects -- not just to inventory and claim them, but to try to find anything unusual, any suspects or possible motives for this butchery and defilement. It will take time to go through all of his journals and logs; I confess I’ve only read a miniscule portion, but then, they span centuries and I’ve had mere hours.”

He stopped. There was an icy, long, and very uncomfortable silence while he let the news settle in. He waited longer still so that it could ferment and fester, and then finally he broke the silence with a chuckle of all things. “You may think this excessive, or myself mad or obsessive. But it’s like I told Zelos: I’d sooner raze the whole palace to the ground than suffer potential traitors, assassins, spies, or conspirators to skulk within its august halls.” Pointedly, this meeting was happening outside.

“You must also understand that I had to do this without consulting any of you at first. I know that we are family and should be able to trust one another implicitly, but it would have been foolish not to wonder… there’s only so many that would have had the knowledge, the power, the connections to do this -- nobody could have done this alone or without leaving a trail, no matter how genius. Fortunately, I’ve made some findings, and what evidence has been uncovered thus far points in directions away from this table.”

Apollo, all the while, twisted her expression into knots, already deep in thought as the god of knowledge was often wont to do. "It is most reassuring that the culprit does not appear to be among us, My King." Apollo interjected, forcing her expression to relax somewhat as she looked toward Zeus, making certain to look at his face without directly meeting his gaze. "...I must notice the trepidation with which you speak, however -- the evidence points away from us," she said, gesturing around the table with her left arm. "But does it point away from Olympus?" Zeus raised both his eyebrows but didn’t answer; he was enjoying the drama of drawing this out.

The chthonic king carefully listened to the words of his elder brother and Apollo, picking apart particular phrases and sifting flowery language to get to the core of the matter. Without even realizing it, he had already arrived at the answer to the conundrum before them. He raised a clawed hand, waving it dismissively at the notion of the murderer within Olympus. “Brother, you’ve gone through all of this trouble when the answer is outside of the High Pantheon. We’ve been waging wars with him for nearly four centuries. The most obvious culprit is Typhos - damn his existence to Tartarus. For the transgression of assaulting your previous incarnation, I shall swear wrath and murder upon Hellas.” Hades’ thunderous tone was resolute, firm in his findings to the point he appeared as if ready to do just as he spoke. Only when his scion put a hand on the abyssal lord’s shoulder did his fury momentarily pass.

Zagreus returned to a calm demeanor after halting another episodic rage from his father. The chthonic prince gave a short smile to Eros after their comment before returning his emerald gaze to the speakers of the High Pantheon. He dared not speak, though his mind ran amok of the possibilities. Each thought he gathered, however, was an equally heretical one. The scion felt his voice slip before he could catch it.

“Could Lord Gula not have done it?” His voice was soft and silent, words spoken in thought as opposed to intentionally uttered. Zagreus then realized his mistake in pronouncing that question, slowly hiding his mouth behind a raised hand and praying that only his chthonic father heard him. A single glance across the far end of the table showed that Hermes - who had been pretending to be asleep - had cracked a single starry eye open in Zagreus’ direction.

“I have a suggestion.” Hermes yawed as he lazily stretched his arms. “Here we all are at this nice party, great food, great drinks, great decor, and, uh, company…” He waved vaguely across the assembled party at the table with a smirk. “It would be a shame to ruin this congenial atmosphere with accusations, even if we are all in the clear, yes? I suggest that if anybody has any notion as to possible perpetrators, simply deliver the idea to me and I will convey them anonymously for our benefit - no hard feelings or ill will required. After all, the innocent have nothing to fear, and to reward prudence with hardship seems most deplorable. Let us skip the theatrics and assess all possibilities earnestly.”

‘’I for one suspect it was you, postal boy.’’ Hephaestus boldly declared with a sneer. ‘’How come you were on the scene so early? Also, I would like to point out you’ve taken my spot.’’

Zeus cleared his throat to silence them all. As droll (and telling) as their rampant speculation had been, he sensed that letting it run out of control for much longer would cause mayhem. “Such interesting thoughts! Now Hermes, what a noble offer. But as it seems like this whole affair bores you to the verge of sleep, I think it best that any whispers go directly to my own ear. I am leading the investigation, after all.”

“Ah, so we are doing this with throwbacks?” Hermes quipped, blatantly ignoring Hephaestus’ accustation. “I wonder how long it has been since any of us last actually wrote down anything. I, for one, have not touched a quill in over a century. Such dreary things.” He splayed his hands and conjured a small, holographic visage of Zeus that then proceeded to vomit a deluge of illusory calligraphy pens onto the surface of the table which then began to spread and propagate until the entire front end of the table was submerged under the faintly translucent sea of implements, with more starting to spill over the edges and dribble down onto the floor with the faux–sound of clattering metal.

Hebe Dia can’t help but hold a hand to her mouth as she playfully chuckles. ‘’Oh Hermes, you are simply the wittiest among the gods! Don’t you think so too mothe–’’

Zeus was livid. He stood from his chair and roared loud enough to make Hebe flinch, to make a drop or two of spittle fall upon her face, “Hermes, cease this foolishness at once! Your king is speaking!” Hermes wordlessly waved a hand and the holographic cascade vanished, along with their vomiting progenitor. He then resumed his craned-back position and closed his eyes once more.

Zeus sat again and took a few moments to find his train of thoughts once more. This time, he didn’t take so much enjoyment out of the dramatic pause. “As for the investigation, why, I’ve already made some findings that could illuminate you all.” Another long, pregnant pause let that sink in. The cloned Zeus really had a penchant for theater. “Hades,” he eventually chirped. “Brother. You and I…” He stopped to look down at the table, chuckle, and helped himself to another grape. He slowly chewed, enjoying that particular one’s chocolatey flavor, before finishing his thought. “...we think much the same. I too suspect Typhon; beyond the obvious motivation, the timing just so happens to coincide with when he’s about due for another attempt at killing us all. And there’s other circumstantial evidence for it too. We’ve laughed at him for too long, arrogantly thinking him under control and useful to Olympus. Yes, arrogantly. Too many of us have grown complacent and overly confident. Too much time in the sun, or out in the woods,” he lectured, casting his eyes and his aspersions towards Demeter and Artemis in that moment, “...or not enough.” By the end, his eye had wandered to Hades’ anemic visage. “Let this tragedy at least rouse us from our stupor so that we can regain control over my planet. Let us no longer be so assured in the foolish thought that Typhon wouldn’t learn, wouldn’t change his methods.

“It was a brave choice indeed to try to exploit his presence and predictable nature, to create a bogeyman to rally the mortals and demigods around. That’s now become a foolish choice. It might be a wise choice to make an example of him now, but I’m not interested in quixotic wisdom. The pragmatic choice is to kill our enemies so that they cannot make further nuisances of themselves. So, Engineer, Typhon is my intended target for your neutron bomb. Let’s blast the ice cap to smoke him out, and then finish him for good.”

Demeter’s stoicism broke, perhaps by the utter absurdity of the plan offered - surely this was a test - but also from the slight she felt he had dealt her. Caring for the fields of Hellas was agonizing work. She only received brief moments of euphoria when she was able to work in her lab before it was time to return to the mundane work that kept the planet fed - or starving when needed. “You would kill far more than sinister Typhon, and the damage would be far beyond what I could repair.” She paused. “Surely there is an option with less…ah…collateral damage, my king.” By the end she had found a way to smooth the edges of her words.

Beside her, Artemis grim-facedly nodded her agreement. “Worse still, if we strike so recklessly and blindly, he will see it as our weakness and nothing more. It might be awesome for the mortals, but Typhon has not survived so far without cunning. He’ll know such a display as betraying our fear, and make himself an even greater nuisance. If we are to strike him down at the last, we must do it swiftly and quietly. He last of all must know when our bolt is at his throat.”

Coeus just looked at the two Goddesses with a perplexed frown. ‘’You are this invested in some god-forgotten remote wasteland? Nothing is alive out there. And even if there is, my tools shall soon remedy that.’’ The feline said with a smirk, confident this would put their concerns to rest.

Zeus had erstwhile clenched his jaw, and one fist to match. His fingers unclasped and he waved his open hand in an explosive, dismissive motion. “Bah, so be it! I’ll not look weak. Engineer, keep the device on standby; I’ll have to find another use for it. As in for Typhon? His demise should be anything but quiet. I want to extirpate him in spectacular fashion, in terrible fashion. I’ll have to think of something else.” His hand wandered down to the sword that Athena had bestowed unto him; he’d rested it upon the side of his chair, but now his hands wandered over the grip, imagining the thought of driving it into Typhon himself. He quite fancied the thought of challenging Olympus’ nemesis to personal combat, but didn’t bother voicing the suggestion aloud. He already knew that the complacent cowards would all protest against it, but his recklessness was more potent than they could imagine.

A smug aura surrounded the young king; he thought the idea quite ingenious, quite bold. But in that moment a servant stepped through the noise-cancellation field with a glass bottle in her hands. “Ah, the prized relic that I told you all about,” Zeus announced. He smiled. “This ought to bring the memories back! By my reckoning, it might be five centuries old. Set it right there,” he told the servant, gesturing to the corner of the table. She placidly did as he asked, and he turned the bottle to read its label. “Amon…till-a-dough? From a vineyard somewhere in a place called Italia.” He turned to the servant. “Girl, uncork this bottle. Then fill this cup. Don’t spill a single drop, or I’ll have you killed.”

Smiling all the while, menace never crept into his tone, but the color drained from the girl’s face all the same. Who knew if he was really joking? Ever carefully, she did as he asked, filling up the chalice only halfway for fear of spilling some. “What, that looks full to you?” Zeus chortled. She poured again, bringing it almost perfectly up to the top. “Good. Now let’s see if this spirit was worth the wait.” He held the gilded chalice up to his mouth, but before he brought the light, cloudy fluid to touch his lips, he sniffed. His brows furrowed and his nose wrinkled. He set the glass down.

“Dear wife, it occurs to me now that you’ve been quiet this whole time. And look at you, all in black; your mourning touches my heart. The first cup is yours. To my renewed life, and to my everlasting reign.”

She was silent, staring. He stared back expectantly before eventually gesturing to the chalice again. “I don’t want it,” Hera eventually told him.

He just laughed at that. “But I want you to try it. Besides, don’t people drink when they mourn? Drink.” She stared at him defiantly. “I won’t ask again.”

Finally, Hera broke beneath his withering gaze. She slowly brought the cup to her mouth and took a tiny, vinegary sip. Disgust was painted plainly across her face.

“So, how is it?” Zeus inquired. “Was it worth it to open such a priceless treasure? Ah, but I suppose you’ve hardly wet your lips; you won’t be able to say! Drink some more. Actually, the whole cup is yours.”

Hebe just stared nervously at her new father, wanting to speak up in her mother’s defense. But words just would not leave her throat. She stammered meekly ‘’F-fathe… Don’t d-’’ but her vain effort was thankfully cut short by the heroic reinforcement of another god.

"My most glorious King, I do hate to be the bearer of bad news-" Apollo offered, her voice soft and apologetic, "but I do believe that bottle may have been improperly sealed, allowing the contents within to spoil." She continued, dipping her head in a show of deference. "Surely, the bottles my children and I have brought would be preferable, for I have brought only the finest libations from abroad."

“We have only just decided to hunt our enemy, and already we’re toasting?” The Maiden of the Hunt (Artemis) had withdrawn her knife, but her scowl had only deepened as the repartée around the banquet table continued. “With all respect, o king, this is premature.”

Hades scowled at the appearance of a reminder from Old Arith, a deep frown darkening his complexion as his azure eyes fell onto the bottle. Once more, he made his presence known by letting his armored hands fall flat against the table. “The Maiden of the Hunt speaks correctly, as I’m sure Athena would agree.” On mention of her name, the silent goddess of wisdom glanced briefly towards Hades. Her expression was inscrutable and her eyes swiftly swung back to Hera; they were cold and full of meaning Hera, alone, well understood: this was not the time or place to make a scene; here she had but to do her queenly duty. It was a fleeting look and Athena’s eyes were cast down again barely before Hades continued. “Let us celebrate after we’ve torn Typhon asunder and cast his essence into the Underworld. Be rid of that relic, it stinks of Old Arith. Demeter or Apollo could ferment far better wine than the likes of that place.” The chthonic king hissed in annoyance, slowly remembering parts of his mortal life as Hera drank of the putrid liquid. His demeanor began to slowly shift as if threatened by the bottle’s appearance.

A thin layer of pink mist swirled throughout the room. The mist emitted a fragrance so potent that it overpowered the acidic smell of the centuries-old drink. The smell of the mist varied depending on the individual that inhaled them, the scent reminding them of the thing or event in their life where they last felt genuine love and peace. The source of the pink mist was Eros, wafting from their skin while they twirled the creamy pasta on their plate. “Now, now. That is not how you treat the honorable Hera, o’ great Zeus. You are indeed the King of the Pantheon, our most glorious leader, but you are also a husband, an uncle, a brother, and a father. Would you really act that way towards your wife in front of your family? In front of the God of Love?” Eros said, with a smile that didn’t reach their deep red eyes, as they looked at Zeus.

Coeus began to gag in the background. “GROSS. I inhaled it!’’ His paws began mashing buttons to activate the in-built air cleaner of his hoverboard lest his mind addled further. This – this was why he came prepared. In moments the pink mist that reached the Engineer’s part of the table was neutralized with an obnoxiously noisy vacuuming from the engine.

Apollo, likewise, recoiled from the mist, her chest abruptly heaving as her lungs shifted and warped, a membranous film covering the passage to her lungs just as a memory of her, drinking something on Old Arith and laughing, began to form. The last word she heard was mention of the vessel that would become Olympus -- and then it was gone. "Eros speaks true, father." Apollo commented, hoping that her show of deference -- one she rarely even gave to the original Zeus -- would further placate him.

They barked and squealed and protested and squirmed, but Zeus had no ear for any of it. Hera alone transfixed him. Beneath his stare, she drank another small sip, then a torturous gulp. She gagged. Hera shifted her eyes to meet the clone’s; he maintained a fierce eye contact until she broke her gaze away. “Finish it,” he insisted. He spoke softly, his lips barely even parting, and so quietly that it might have been drowned out by the clamor were it not for everyone awaiting his reaction. With a quavering hand, the queen brought the chalice back to her lips, but this time she ingested the vile swill more readily. Zeus snorted with contempt. “Are you using I.R.I.S. to mask the taste now?” This accusation came louder, venom and fire creeping into his tone. “And you thought I wouldn’t notice? Bah! I need a fair verdict of the taste. Will you need another cup now?”

It was in that moment that the pink vapor reached Zeus, and he found himself lost in a reverie. Athena, appearing unaffected and unfazed by the substance, sat silently right before him in the waking world, but he saw her as if in a dream, too. Then he blinked and roused himself from it, and looked down to see Hera crying -- he took it to be over the poor vintage, but it was another memory that had moved her to tears. “The taste was lacking. I must excuse myself, the drink did not suit me.”

“Sleep it off,” Zeus dismissed her. ‘Because you’re my wife, I might even let you wake from that sleep,’ was the part that he barely managed to leave unsaid. He finally looked towards the rest of the table then, with a mirthful grin. ‘If I could do that to her, what do you think I could do to all of you?’

After a tense moment Zeus instead declared, “A pity that the vintage disappointed. Brother, you were right. And Virtuoso, I’ll have her sample one of your own wines next time. When it’s a better occasion for a toast.” He grabbed the priceless, ancient bottle off the table and threw it over one shoulder, a servant barely ducking out of the way before it struck the ground and shattered. The sound of breaking glass was at least muted by the noise-cancellation field.

Hera gingerly rose from her place and took her leave. Once she was behind Zeus and out of his sight and hearing, she stepped around the broken bottle and flew toward the palace, doubtless to vomit. Zeus had more important things to worry about than the eyes of those who followed her retreat. “There’s another matter,” he proceeded as if nothing had happened. “It pertains to GULA. Well, first I’ll let it share the autopsy results and deliver its own verdict regarding what happened, absurd as it is…”

The young king gesticulated toward the EMU, beckoning it to advance toward the table.

“Current hypothesis accuracy: 76.6% likelihood of suicide,” came the modulated voice from the EMU, turning its head to the other gods to guage their reactions. For a moment it allowed for a brief silent before speaking of the other possible outcomes, “Other possibilities considered: Vitamin B12 Deficiency Induced Complication 1%, Cardiac Arrest 0.6%, Alcohol Poisoning 0.5%, Suffocation 0.4%, Arsenic Poisoning 0.1%.”

“A curious analysis.” Came Hermes’ voice. His tone had shifted - no longer lazy and lilting. The Herald was still leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head, but his eyes were now wide open and alert rather than low and lidded. The opalescent chasms glittered dangerously as he spoke. “Just for reference, here is a depiction of the body at the time it was discovered.”

A holographic screen shimmered into view near the head of the table, showing the state of the first Zeus’ corpse - if it could even be called that. What remained was a rancid, putrid mound of putrefied, blackened charnel with rough clumps vaguely approximating the ruined morphology of something that had once been humanoid. Several attendants standing outside the field of silence took a single look at the image and visibly blanched. A few dropped what they were holding in shock. A number of them suppressed retches. One of them abandoned their post on the spot to noisily vomit off to the side. Zeus grimaced, but forced himself to look at the gruesome sight yet again; a king oughtn’t be squeamish. Hermes’ tactless act caused Hebe to nearly faint. When the Princess caught a glimpse of her late father all the accumulated grief and dread she had repressed resurfaced in an instant. She despondently lowered her head as she held her face in her hands, softly weeping.

The heartless Hermes continued unimpeded:

“Rather conveniently, their nanites stopped transmitting to I.R.I.S. around half an hour prior to discovery, including biometric data. Local surveillance was, also conveniently, obscured due to atmospheric parameters being adjusted to create an appropriate ‘aesthetic’ for meditation - but, of course, one of Zeus’ rings monitored his biometrics at all times independently of his nanites and continued sharing them.”

Zagreus felt bile tickle the back of his throat at the thought that his uncle had been reduced to that form. A blackened gauntlet covered his lips to bite back the vomit desperately seeking to escape his insides. He shook his head in protest, managing to prevent himself from retching. Sorrowful eyes fell on the pitiful state of the High King’s previous incarnation.

Hades, having seen a plethora of more macabre instances, carefully scrutinized the blob that his brother had transformed into. The pale skin scrunched around his eyes as they narrowed in the conclusion wrought by Hermes. Reduced to Stygian sludge. A form easier to fertilize the Elysian Fields, he thought to himself as the Herald of the Gods continued to speak. The chthonic king remained silent, once more steepling his gauntlets to await a more appropriate moment to make his request. Outwardly, the abyssal lord beheld a quiet rage about his presence.

Coeus all the while only tensely squinted his eyes in skepticism that this holographic ooze could really be his former Lord Captain, and not some Hermesian faux. The cat wondered for a moment whether he could reanimate a genetic profile based on the substance, though the molecules are presumably too damaged.

On the other side of the table, Artemis did but briefly quirk an eyebrow at the sight before sinking back to her habitually grim expression.

“The data is consistent with what I am certain most of you already recognize as rampant medical Nanites.” Hermes carried on. “What is interesting though, is I had a virtual emulator run a few projections using the same biometric data, and it came up with this.”

The image of the old king’s gruesome remnants vanished and was replaced by a chart of labeled figures.

Catastrophic Spontaneous Organ Failure: 7.21e-12%
Medical Nanite Malfunction: 0.00000000001%
Coadopted Necrotizing Fasciitis: 0.00001%
Coadopted Autophagocytosis Necrosis: 0.0001%
Mass Enzyme Denaturing Cascade: 0.001%
Radiologic Attack: 0.01%
Intentional Self-Harm: 12.94%
Invalid User Modification of Medical Nanite Core Parameters: 19.17%
Erroneous Medical Nanite User Settings Reconfiguration: 29.52%
Medical Nanite Sabotage: 38.36%

“And yet, somehow, the esteemed Lord GULA has naught to comment on except vitamin deficiency, alcohol poisoning, suffocation, and arsenic of all things. Nevermind that independent emulation found those possibilities even less likely than catastrophic organ failure. And the coroner doth rule the death a suicide. I think an elaboration upon your analysis is necessary, Lord GULA. You must have had the same information I did…unless you knowingly were not minding the late King’s biometrics.” Hermes gestured airily to GULA, his expression now one of nearly unmasked fascination.

“Elaboration, unnecessary. All present, untrained at medical sciences. Data expungement is only available for medical staff capable of understanding proper protocol,” GULA stated, the gaze of the EMU had not moved to truly acknowledge the demands of Hermes. It glared at the data analysis, seemingly taking in the information before a trill akin to a scoff came from the robotic being. The medical unit would only speak eerily further, “Medical Nanites Self-Sabotaged, hence, suicide. No further information dissemination allowed unless requested by Priority Personnel.”

Hermes opened his mouth as if to respond, but then paused, turning his head faintly to look towards the end of the table where Hades and his delegation were seated. He brought a hand up to his cheek, propping his head on the table in thought, his expression one of resigned contemplation - evidently troubled for some reason that was not immediately apparent.

"Is it truly so unthinkable that Zeus would commit suicide, as your analysis indicates?" Apollo interjected, turning to face Hermes. "The burden he carried was one of unthinkable weight to any of us but his new self, and eternal life itself can be said to be a terrible burden alone. I will apply the Antikythera to the investigation regardless, but I can't find much reason to be so suspicious of GULA's analysis until we gather more evidence. How did your analysis reach its conclusions? What guarantee do we have that your analysis is not flawed in the same way?"

“No reason to be suspicious? Apollo, if you saw the state of the body and thought for even a split instant that the cause of death could have possibly been due to suffocation amongst other evidently asinine afflictions, then you are very nearly as suspect.” Hermes snapped at Apollo irritably. “The issue is with the conclusory nature of their analysis. Either Zeus committed suicide or else he drank too much and had a heart attack, consequentially leading to his entire body to dissolve into viscous, molecular sludge.” Hermes made a very odd gesture with his head - reminiscent of one rolling their eyes, though given the twinkling, stygian depths of his helm it lost some of its effect. “Meanwhile, Lord GULA refuses to provide insight into their analysis and why it seemingly so deterministically eliminates foul play as a possibility. This is not some plebeian closed room mystery where the least likely outcome must default by virtue of being the only one left. Even acknowledging that suicide was possible, independent analysis and common sense dictates that so was murder. Unlike Lord GULA, I have already availed you of the details behind my analysis. The biometric readings in question have been made available to all of you, and I for one am done attempting to be as acceptingly blasé about all of this absurdity as the rest of you. I am supposed to be the lackadaisical one, but this bad joke is too much even for me.”

“Correction; I am fully willing to divulge the information of my findings, however, everyone present lacks the requisite permissions to access it. If you bear issue with standard protocol; that is unfortunate,” GULA responded, finally looking to Hermes. The red optic scanned the god for a brief moment, analyzing some unknown information of the god. It would speak once more, “My diagnoses have always been accurate. Additionally there is no possibility that I can lie; such action would be against my programming.”

“Programming,” Zeus echoed. “A curious thing indeed. Perhaps it bears mentioning that GULA has refused to acknowledge my rank. Do any of you care to hazard a guess as to who it now claims to answer to?” Zeus didn’t bother waiting for any of them to play the game and guess. “Isaac Holcomb,” he spat out, “an ancient name for the blighted Typhon, as I’m sure we are all aware. Yet another reason to ensure his annihilation -- for good this time! -- but first, this grave error needs to be remedied. There is a procedure.”

‘’Your emanationence,’’ the engineer Coeus remarked, raising a paw, '’Why, I ask? With your permission I could disassemble and re-engineer GULA in my workshop and spare us this trite hassle. It might take a week. Some minute data might enter digital purgatory, but at rainbow’s end you’ll find a perfectly cooperative software.’’

To this GULA loosed a defensive trill, almost surprised, before he spoke hurriedly, “Negative. Technology, proprietary. No access.” It piqued Zeus to raise both eyebrows and give the cat a look that said something like ’perhaps’.

"At the very least," Apollo interjected once more, raising an eyebrow. "How would Typhon have accessed GULA, assuming he was able to -- and if he did, could he not have ordered it to simply turn all of us who utilize its nanotechnology into biological soup? I quite despise Holcomb, the hypocritical barbarian he is, but I do not think he reprogrammed GULA, else far more of us would already be dead. A localized failure or targeted attack seems more likely to me."

“Who can say? With safeguards and protocols in place, perhaps he dared not try to compromise more than one of us for fear of someone noticing before he could send the kill signal. Or perhaps, idiot that he is, he roused from his century-long slumber unaware of my existence, and he figured that if he only killed my predecessor then the rest of you would succumb to infighting and raze Olympus for him. In any case, before taking any drastic measures,” he paused to glance at Coeus again, “A vote must be held. Having GULA acknowledge Typhon as its master is unacceptable; you must declare me administrator over the computer just as you have affirmed me as king over this world. Then I will be able to advance with my investigation. I need to access the GAS Core and inspect Gula for signs of tampering.”

It occurred to the young king at that moment that his impulsive treatment of the queen had backfired. By driving Hera into retreating from the meeting, he’d guaranteed her vote would be absent. He clenched a fist as his gaze drifted to her empty chair, contemplating having her dragged back. ’No,’ he thought, ’that won’t be necessary. The rest of them will vote for me.’

“Process simple, all registered crew eligible to vote. Voting is anonymous, additionally, this unit shall vote upon the candidate it sees fit for duty,” GULA explained, the modulated voice increasing its volume so that all may hear. It looked to Zeus, seemingly analyzing him before looking back towards the general body. The artificial intelligence would add one more stipulation to the voting process, “Voting shall be done electronically, linked to bio-signatures in order to prevent fraudulent use of dud-accounts and as proof of being of the crew. Protocol dictates that fraudulent voting or tampering will result in 10 years prison and additional fine up to court stipulation."

Artemis, who had visibly been forcing her eyes not to wander into the distance of the open sky as the proceedings took an increasingly querulous turn, creased her mouth in distaste. “Are we to sit through this - game while the enemy we know roams unpunished? Dance at the tune of a machine that sees no ill in openly calling him its master?” She pointed at the EMU with the tip of her knife, then at the spot where Coeus hovered. “As rash as our brother Hephaestus can be, he has the right of it this time. If the GULA would name itself our adversary, we should treat it as such.”

"Openly calling him its master?" Apollo sighed, idly drumming her fingers against the table. "Dancing to its tune? GULA is a machine, sister, albeit an intelligent one. It obeys programming and protocol. It seems far more likely to me that it is obeying some ancient protocol in which Holcomb is named than following some villainous desire to oppose us that I'm quite sure it lacks the capability to have. Besides -- as much as I trust brother Coeus, can we truly afford to disassemble GULA on an unproven hypothesis? What if we cannot reassemble it?"

Zeus dismissed the two of them with a sharp gesture. “Simply elect me as its ‘Captain’, that I may examine its logs and find the truth of any biases or corruption. And then if something troubling is manifest, we can contemplate these…” the king waved his hand around, trying to find the words, “...more drastic measures.”

So then the vote began.

Along the placid banks of the rushing White River, a band of woodsmen toiled. Their brows glistened with sweat. Dirt had seeped into their linen and wool, had found its way beneath their nails, and a bit of it had even gotten into their ears. The morning’s drudgery had been as grueling for the men as the past two days’, but soon their work would be done and they could break camp and return to their villages. In the meantime, they rested and took their midday meal in the shadow of a great tree.

This was an ancient cedar, its trunk massive, scaly, and fissured, its aroma potent and as pleasing to the nose of men as it was repellent to insects. These trees, with their crushed leaves like incense and their wood red-tinged just like the innards of men, were sacred. Yet their lumber was also strong and sturdy, and they were abundant enough -- a verdant carpet of cedar forest sprawled from this very riverbank all the way to the slopes of Mount Chimaera upon the horizon, so an individual cedar was not so precious as to be overlooked by the lumberjacks. When the men were rested and their bellies full, they thanked the cedar that had granted them shade by felling the one beside it instead. Once the trunk had fallen upon the ground, they looked to the many irregular branches and broke off those parts too gnarled or small to be worthwhile. The usable lumber that remained was dragged to the riverbank (this was the most grueling work) and lashed together with other logs and limbs into great rafts that could be floated to construction works in the settlements downstream.

Their day’s labors were honest and uneventful, until the moment that a rustle resounded from the nearby bushes. The laborers thought nothing of it beyond it being boreal gusts. But the rustling began to envelop all surrounding groves around the woodsmen’s camp. In every direction it was heard, coming closer, and the first few woodsmen began looking up around them, unsettled. Had the hunting party returned? In a larger number than they were sent off, apparently.

Before it dawned on them that something unnatural was afoot, a booming voice was carried towards them in the aether.
‘’Citizens, drop your equipment.’’
The voice was accompanied with a fierce crack of lightning, frightening the humans. And they quickly did as instructed, dropping their equipment and falling prostrate on the ground.
‘..Olympus? T’is Olympus…’ they whispered among each other in hushed tones.
‘’SILENCE!’’ The booming voice spoke with holy impatience.

The whole workplace was rendered a graveyard of silence.Their work was abruptly halted to such a state where even the birds and crickets dared not make utterance.

‘’I am the Grand Aether. And I return to you with the following demand: sacrifice!
You are commanded to return to your abodes – that is to say, your village – and bring out every last bit of cellulose fiber – that is to say – paper.’’
Hearing this, the workmen looked at one another with bewildered looks, but they dared not question the sudden request. As if answering their confusion, the voice continued.
‘’Yes. Every last bit in your possessions. Reserve even a single morsel, and I will know immediately… I am always watching you.’’
Any common sense Hellesian knew that the last part was no idle threat, and they were likewise cognisant of a history where terrible punishments had been dealt before… Unwilling to risk its anger, the workmen complied.

They left their works at the logging camp unfinished and returned to their hamlet downstream. Other disparate bands that had been out making their living in the forests and countryside had already returned after having been given the same ultimatum, so the village’s hovels were turned upside down and what little paper there was -- mostly ledgers and receipts, with just a few parchment maps and books -- had all been piled up in a clearing just beyond the settlement’s edge.

Witnessing this, another breeze picked up and bristled past the accumulation of paper as though inspecting. At least that was how the villagers interpreted this breeze. They tensely awaited judgment, hoping that nothing had been overlooked.

Slowly the same voice returned, distant and ethereal.
"I see your offering. None of it is what I seek. Therefore, therefore.."
The voice began to tremble with indignation, its tone raised to a higher pitch. "Lying mortals! You are keeping the true paper from us! You clearly do not fear us enough!"
Having heard this declaration, some of the villagers tried to plead to the wind.
"But this is truly all we have!" Some of them tried to say. However it was to no avail. It took only moments until from the nearby groves growling was heard, sounds not from ordinary wildlife, but beings wholly different from what the villagers are accustomed to…

The first creature emerged from the woods. An enormous 5 meter long jaguar-looking predator with metallic hooves for feet, and writhing serpentine appendages with fang-like hooks at their tips protruding from the beast’s spine. It bellowed a mighty roar, and those who heard it were filled with a deep primordial dread. The penultimate predator of their very ancient cavemen ancestors, every aspect of this creature was consciously designed to evoke the deepest anxieties stored in the human psyche.

Screams and madness engulfed the villagers. Some achingly grabbed for their axes, yet none of them had any intention of taking on this godly beast the Grand Aether had unleashed on them. Panickedly they ran into the village, hoping to barricade themselves into its cottages, or do anything at all that their unraveling sanity could strategize.

But before they could even think of rushing into their houses, another beast appeared from the opposite direction who with a speed unmatched tore itself into the village’s center. It was even more horrifying than the last. It came in the guise of an animal in suffering – an abstract lion-shaped entity covered in pulsating grey skin and a complex system of moist, moving veins, spliced with bone fragments and tied up with a hulking mess of sinews and tendons. The creature was essentially completely inside out, but had a discernible head with great, predatory tusks and enormous incisor teeth. With no visible eyes it could only perceive its surroundings by wild sniffing.

The stench of fear and human sweat was what drew it and triggered its aggression. It bellowed a guttural roar before driving its teeth into the nearest woman it located. It struck with a force that snapped her spine and ribcage, the trauma of which ended her instantly.
These beasts – the Chimera – were hardly alone. Hundreds of them, in all manner of hideous forms and sizes appeared across the countryside, depopulating entire villages as they went when those failed to provide satisfying sacrifice. Which was each of them. For it appeared that no community had that specific piece of parchment they sought. And as quick as the Chimera moved under guidance of the grand Aether, news of their terror seemed to move even faster, to the very far reaches of the mortal dominion.

---

There were few temples in the woody hinterlands, and so it was not uncommon for Nikos’ small shrine in one of the first seaward towns to receive postulants from far abroad about the countryside. On his hillock overlooking neatly tilled fields as far as the eye could see, he would receive woodloggers and huntsmen alike, and for each he had a bit of paternal advice, as if he shared his home and haunts - for in his time he had seen much of what the White River’s long shores had to offer.

That day, however, he was astonished as he rarely had been in his declining years, for such a visit was unprecedented. A gaggle of ragged, dusty men stood panting below the small stoa, each one of them looking as if he had wrestled a lion. The many rags they had wrapped around their extremities were stained in deep, crusted red.

More surprising yet were the words that came out of their mouths.

“Why did it happen? Why here?”

“What were they looking for?”

“Why wasn’t he pleased?”

“Why—?”

The aged priest raised his hands to quiet down the frantic mob, wincing as their voices frenetically piled over one another.

“Peace now, my friends. Who wasn’t pleased?”

“They–”

The voices cut off as one man, less thoroughly shaken than the rest, stepped forward.

“We were-” his speech stumbled before finding its footing, “We were working in the cedar grove, and then there was a voice from the sky! The Great Ath- The Great Aether, it called itself. It told us to bring out all the- paper we had, and we did, but- It wasn’t-”

His voice broke off, and the man behind him picked up.

“It wasn’t pleased- It wasn’t good enough, I don’t know, I don’t know! And then the beasts, the beasts from the mountain- !”

“They killed them, us! The wrath of the gods! Only we got away. Why did they do it?!”

“Why, father? You know the will of the gods! Why did they do it?”

Nikos blinked, running a hand through his beard as he tried to make sense of the barely-coherent tale that had just swept over his head like a burst of hail. Divine punishment was a truth that everyone was aware of, but few ever had the misfortune of truly encountering. He had well expected to live out the full of his age without hearing anything more than cautionary tales about it, and yet now here it was, thundering down on his very doorstep. And he, who had collected every legend and odd tale that had trickled down from Olympus to his corner of the world, could make no sense of this.

“This Great Aether, it wanted paper? Did anyone in your town have any strange scrolls, books?”

“None!” The lead man threw up his hands. “We’re just loggers, father. Just five of us even knew how to read. We’d never kept more than shipping records for the market!”

“Ah.” It was all Nikos could say, to prevent the silence from becoming torturous. “If you weren’t demanded anything in particular…”

“Just paper,” the man shook his head, “It said something about cellulose, but I reckon that’s just another name for it. If you’re asking…” He looked at Nikos disconsolately. “Does that mean you don’t know, either?”

The priest grimly nodded, feeling oddly ashamed about this deficiency. It was not something he could rightly blame himself for, he realized - what could he, a mere old man, know of what the gods thought from one moment to another? - but that did not help. These men had rested their hopes on him, if not for solace, then at least for an answer, a reason for their lives being so abruptly torn apart for no apparent reason. His one and only duty there was to reassure people, to clear the sometimes murky designs of the divine in their eyes, and he had failed. There was no proverb, no parable to give here, only words that he did not have, did not know where to find.

And if he could not even do this one thing, then what good was he?

---

What grievance against the gods have we wrought to deserve this calamity?

This was the question that Nikos was left to contemplate as he brought those survivors that could walk down the river, hoping to find aid and refuge for them. Their wounds could be healed, but for their questions, what was there that he could say?

Now he was just like them. To whom was a guide to turn to when he himself was lost?

The answer could only ever be to an older, more experienced guide… be that an even more exalted priest or the gods themselves. The Great Temple of the Highest was of course dedicated to the King of the Gods, and there resided the High Priest of Zeus who ruled over the country with an authority that could only be rivaled by the king of Lycia himself. Fortunately, this grand temple was located in the capital, so both secular and sacral leadership came from the same wellspring.

The capital was a thriving port-city called Telmessos that lay a good two leagues downstream at the river’s mouth. Beyond its deep harbor lay the channel separating the mainland from that powerful archipelagic country called the Presidom of Herea, and before its limit lay a great wall wrought from slabs of sandstone. Etched upon the edifices of the great gates of Telmessos were the depictions of great men and gods, heroism and glory and bravery coming to life upon the rough, suntan rock. The expressions of the living were not so inspiring, though.

The gates themselves were narrow, half-closed so as to be wide enough for only a small donkey-drawn cart to pass through, or a few men abreast. Right before and around the gate were a few dozen soldiers with spears in hand so as to stave off the mob, and a mob it was! Throngs of people stood before the gate, pleading for entry. There were farmers and herders, woodsmen and trappers, withered whitebeards and bawling infants, wealthy merchants and diseased paupers. They all wanted in, but even a great city could only spare so much room and succor.

Here and there, priests made their way through the crowds bearing rough linen blankets, loaves of bread, and skins of water. In other places, the wounded had been gathered together so that a few overworked medics and herbalists could do what they might.

Nikos turned to those charges that he had brought. “Friends, it seems that we are not the only ones that turn to the capital for protection. Keep patience and hope upon your breasts. Hold to it so tightly as Penelope, and in time the good men of the city will speak with you and offer what aid they can.”

“And what of you?” demanded one of them.

“You leave us?” another said, panic creeping into his eyes.

Nikos rested a hand upon that second one’s shoulder. “They will not turn back a holy man. I feel your scorn; I advise patience to you but do not exercise it myself, but it is of great importance that I see the High Priest of Zeus immediately. He must be made aware of all that has happened to us.”

They accepted that explanation grimly, so without another word, Nikos turned about and began approaching the gate. There was a queue of sorts; he felt the stinging ire of many eyes and heard curses in many murmurs as he walked past the line. Then when the winding queue became a great disorganized crowd nearer to the gate, he began to push his way through, and here he was pushed, his ribs struck by elbows, his face once spat upon, but he stride by stride pressed forward to the very front of the masses. He stopped only when one of the gatesmen leveled a spearpoint to his breast.

“And who are you?” the soldier shouted over the clamoring of the crowd, whose tumult was so great as to have deafened Nikos.

“A warden of a shrine,” he shouted back, “a priest of Zeus!”

The guard scoffed. Nikos clenched his jaw. “You will grant me entry! The High Priest must know what I have seen! Beasts roam the countryside, and a god brought retribution unto a village–”

“You think yourself the first?”

Nikos blinked, not understanding. Had he misheard? He looked intently at the soldier’s lips to read them over the din.

“A dozen like you are already come! The High Priest knows, fool! These are the end of days! Zeus himself is dead!”

The words pierced through the clamor, then echoed back from distant corners of the crowd as surely as if they’d been cried out into a canyon.

Zeus is dead.

The world began to spin, and Nikos no longer heard anything else, not even the clamoring crowd. He hardly felt them either, even as hands seized him to push and throw him backward through the throngs, even as he fell down and the first of many feet trampled over him.

---

In the depths of the Hephaestean lair, accompanied by endless clanking metal and pulsating plasma engines is the conniving jittering and tittering of a wicked breed.
Black prismatic cubes glitter in the reflective light of a thousand beaming buttons. Metal, tubes and roaring engines abound in otherwise unlit rooms. These are the hardware operating chambers where the upper Panther Platoon do the bidding of Hephaestean Protocol 2X v.21.

Beneath the level of the operating chambers are the levels where none of the Panthers really ever go. Not without protective automaton suits and forged masks anyway.
For these are the lairs to which half made experiments are relegated – the much dreaded Hephaestean menagerie, where madness lives.
Stored in this deepest level are the unwelcome shrill screaming of deformed animals, overseen by the cold unfeeling monitor lens of the ascended feline. Sounds and sights so nerve wracking that a normal human would not deign to peruse, but by anxiety be driven to look away.
Only the truly calloused thrive in the subterranean blighted world of the cat.

Not A Cat, but many.

With a snick and sneer the cats leer at one another from over their workbenches and customized monitors in the lair’s black prismatic laboratoria. The air was as ever tense with competition -- and musky pheromones.

The fellest leer was undeniably that of the wicked Hyperiax Dosteclopeles. The Extra-ascendent among the panthers of the Hephaestean workshop. This title elevated him over the others, for it denoted highest standing with Coeus. The smartest and cruelest of all the Panther Platoon, and also the most disliked by his peers.
Encased in a dark gold suit of ornamental metal, his feline distinction is evidenced mostly by the perking ears forged into his visor. Out of all the Panthera his countenance is the most stately. Though his unhinged nature is anything but.


He was just reassembling his plasma onyx sphere when the whole installation binding it came tumbling down thither and hither, pieces of scrap and molten blobs of neuro plasma besmirching his desk. Infuriating – this was the last straw -- Hyperiax was going to give his leering colleagues a piece of mind.

"Skra skra.. trash! TRAAASH!
Where is the psychotropic Stygian spectrum of Hades?
Why haven't I gotten it?
And where… Skra! Pray where… Where is the damnable skra skra.. writ of Hermes?’’
Hyperiax slams his gold clawed fist on his desk, hitting a stray blob of plasma and splattering slimy droplets across the room.
‘’Transmit to Aether to kill those SNEAKING humies FASTER."

Gentle Raeditorious Strato-Jones was addressed during the first part of Hyperiax' irate scolding, as he was previously sent to the Underworld. He was made to withdraw in part to the spray employed on him as he deigned to approach the extremities of Hades’ realm.
He was waiting for his Extra-ascendent to stop monologuing before he could finally stammer his defense:
"Hades is so hecking mean Extra-ascendent! He just wouldn't let me near the stygian core spectrum last time I was dollypandering and philandering his resort. Makes me sad!"
Raeditorious is the only cat that actually looks the part, rather than being some chimeric anthropomorphic cyborg construction as most of the Panthera are – He is instead lite, with fuzzy red fur and appears to others in the flesh, despite being mostly seated in a large hoverboard – however none of its machinery is integrated to his organic matter and he could at will disembark.

The Extra-ascendant flat-out ignores him as he turns to a different monitor.
‘’Computer X1.Z -- initiate the femto-clarion astrolabe! Taze the Aether for a transmission immediately!’’
The software duly complies and sends a notification to the Grand Aether. Surprisingly it took only seconds before the Hephaestean workshop received a response, which read as follows:

The villages:
-Eznaret.
-Deucalet.
-Saphe.
-Terraret.
-Cobolo.
Duly secured. All fibers eradicated. No trace of Olympian make.
Human fatalities: 3086
Now advancing south-westward on villages Sizhe, Lonville, Rivens and others.
Transmission complete.

‘No trace of Olympian make’…
The most upsetting detail to appear on his screen and Hyperiax clenches his clawed fist reading it. He hisses.
‘’Much of this would've been averted.. skra.. if Hades would permit us entry to his nether tricolor Stygian complex hardware magimajick heehree skra!
AND IF HERMES WASN’T A FIFTH COLUMNIST.’’
A wild accusation to be sure, but one readily taken for true in these confines.

Weighing the possibilities and future approaches, drawbacks and hypotheticals, the Extra-ascendent grows more unhinged with the second. His mind spinning so fast that he barely manages to finish a sentence before his words devolve, as they so sporadically do, to maniacal ticks and inane muttering.
‘’Skra skra heehehehehe.. I shall inject more plasma ether into the homerian tetrachromic vessels.. and unloose the hyper quantum voltage reserves to scan the whole province if need be. Yes. That is what I will do!
Meanwhile -- Unleash the next batch of Chimera.. and send XAVICULUS BROWN to Hades with a NEW proposal. The sooner we obtain the software, the faster we can advance to the next step.
In the guise of bargain he will forage intel and copy Stygian core data to the portable plasma floppy that I will duly provide.’’

Having overheard his summons, Xaviculus’ vessel hoists itself from his workbench with a cumbersome creak to trod reluctantly towards Hyperiax.
Xaviculus Brown similarly to his Extra-ascendent is wholly encased in metal. But unlike the shimmering dark and gold polished surface of his superior, Xaviculus’ suit is weathered, dusted and rusted. His overall model stout, hunched and squat. His visor has two bulbous iron eyes which is the only real allusion to a cat-like design.


With a hoarse monotone voice he asks:
‘’And how vill I convince the Stygians to let me access zhe data on .a floppy disc?’’
‘’Skra! Trash!’’ Hyperiax screams aloud, perhaps moreso directed at himself than Xaviculus.
‘’Inserting the plasma floppy into the system… …you foretell either Hades or his lickspittles, it is part of maintenance to update Hades’ security apparatus... While simultaneously modifying it to accommodate the feline algorithm! Skra skra!"

Raeditorious applauds his Extra-ascendent’s bold plan, slapping his two front paws in attempted clapping. The paw pads muffle the sound of each clap and thereby his applause goes unacknowledged.
"That's hecking chonkers, Hyperiax! I could’ve never thought of it."

‘’Verry vell, if you decree so Extra-ascendent. Shall I bring a gieft?’’
‘’Yes. Deodorant so that you won’t have to smell his fetid corpses!’’ Everyone in the room chuckled.

The nymph's wide-flaring dress brushed past unnumbered petty godlets as she walked, brisk on her feet, circling and fluttering through the crowd, like the very moth whose solemn-and-stylish black wings it imitated. Grief! Why did everyone on Olympus have to aspire to such height? Why was every demi-god and super-human in attendance at this fearful milling-about of the young Zeus's ascent so tall?

"Kallie? Kallie!"

At last, in answer to her voice, muffled but not lost in the hundreds-strong smattering of gorgeous bodies which were now steadily diffusing back out into the empty space of the vast Olympian parade square: movement. Someone had detected her, not by the volume of her cry but by the subtle signature unique to her own voice, and had raised his gloved hand above the crowd. An arm straight and tireless and strong. A quick, loud bark of crude electronic noise called out over the din to make sure she had seen him.

"Sʜᴇ Is Oᴠᴇʀ Tʜᴇʀᴇ," said the skull-headed machine as she approached, pointing. In the instant she had appeared from between the stragglers outside the gates of the King's palace courtyard, Psilos had assessed her posture, her gait, the strain in her voice, the very texture of her skin, all to find her unharmed by the chaos. As she should be.

"Thanks. Lost sight of her when the monsters strolled in." Shades, monsters, champions of Hades, rude, violent interruption of the City's manicured peace. Most of those who had been tossed and shoved by the underworld denizens had not been reminded of their own nanomechanically pickled human bodies in decades, even centuries. Annie would have found it tremendously funny, had it not inflamed her fears for the future of her home as a refuge. If nothing else was a constant on Hellas, Olympus itself should be. It had to be. "Kallie!"

Charis Kalleis Pannychis, when she was shortly found, was an image of calm, perched on a marble bench under a sprawling magnolia. One copper-titanium leg and one copper-titanium hand rested on the marble, the other long leg on the floor, draped with the holographic dress that projected her true body; that projected the shimmering, nubile figure that sat on the edge of the bench with both legs stretched out on the ground. Her free hand- alloy, of course- was idly shaking a wad of paper and film, a dozen or so little squares printed on the fly from that old artefact that sat on the bench with her, the 'polaroid camera' for which she had so extensively bartered. Her eyes rested elsewhere, off to one side, on the tomboyish figure of Charis Paidia sitting crosslegged on the plaza floor, wearing her loose chiton and goggled crash-helmet, engrossed by some infernal copper puzzle-toy with which she had been fiddling since before any of the High Gods had appeared. Kalleis watched her with empty-headed interest, like an old housecat watches a kitten at play with a mote of dust.

"Kallie?"

The housecat perked its ears, suddenly grinning. A moth had fluttered into its view. "There you are. You took good care of her, Psilos? Didn't let her get too frightened?" The wight conceded a one-shouldered shrug, a gesture so practiced that it passed for human. Kalleis reached out a long machine-hand and passed his charge the photographs. "Take a look at this, Annie. Apate, Demeter, Apollo, Apollo's gorgeous daughters, your Lady's adorable dog, that boywhore Eros- I got good ones. It's a real turnout. Missed Hera, but I'm guessing she'll be keeping that black dress on for a while yet."

Annie thumbed through the photographs, still breathing heavily from her search. "You're treating this like a fashion parade."

"It is one."

"Kallieee-"

The Charis took advantage of Annie's fleeting smile to add her image to the collection, lifting the camera with superhuman speed and precision. The nymph rolled her eyed and indulged her with a curtsey. Another snap. "So did you swear fealty?"

Kalleis scoffed. Unlike Psilos, her polymer flesh was still in excellent condition, and could make such sounds. "Swear what? Did you swear fealty? Didn't think so. You've probably never even sworn fealty to your own Lady. Or your lady boss Demeter. I'm not a High Goddess, Annie. My loyalty is assumed."

Annie folded her arms. "So Dionysos took the oath for you?"

"Ah-ah-aah. Remember, I'm part of Aphrodite's retinue. Formally. She's my Lady. And I don't think she even got a word in... she or that ridiculous alter-ego of hers, 'Charis Peitho'. Why someone would demote herself to one of Hegemone's dolls... Maybe she was demoted in secret, and this is how she hides the shame." Annie handed back the photographs, and Kalleis gave her the half-developed prints of herself. "I wonder if Zeus ever liked her. He barely tolerates Eros. I think he sees her as a, how did they say in the old days, a phluze- phloözea- a floozy." Kalleis had a habit of digging up old words from dull archives, even more so than trinkets.

"These are nice." Annie handed the prints back. Calmer now. As Kalleis had known she would be. "Kallie... we could be at war again. I know you're not the type to think about it. You've never lived through it..."

"Mm. I guess we could be. I'm sure we'll find out."

"The King is dead. Father Zeus is dead."

"Really? He looks lively enough to me." Annie remained unimpressed. Kallie sighed, rested her head against her copper-composite knuckles, looked up at the magnolia. Looked back. "Alright, Annie. King Zeus is dead. His heir, King Zeus, instantly hops on the throne, prances around like he was made for it. He was made for it. Made with a lot of care and resources, a great deal more than mortal kings ever need to produce an heir... you want to know how they do it? I can tell you..." Annie smiled, waved her off. "So the King's heir, a perfect little replacement of himself, who has been waiting for the throne longer than most mortal empires have existed- takes it. This was planned, Annie. I doubt the old King Zeus is even dead. He's just subjecting us to his melodrama. Like all the rest of them."

"You can't just replace-"

Kalleis looked up at her with the same inhuman speed as before. Dove into the nymph's eyes with her own.

"...Right." She sighed, finally took her seat on the bench beside her friend. Paidia continued to tinker on the floor. Psilos stood by at ease, watching the horizon with eyeless sockets. "How's Matilda, anyway?"

"She's fine. How's Artemis?"

Annie shot her a look like a bullet. "Y-"

"I didn't say anything."

The nymph sighed. They sat there together for a while. Somewhere behind the gilded gates of the courtyards, the gods held parley. A butterfly settled on Annie's finger. She neither looked at it, nor chased it off.

"Kallie... Something's not right. It's not the same. I don't know how to explain it. I feel it... in the air, the water... Like something is changing. Growing... Like something is going to happen. To everyone." She looked back to her friend, seeking the same guidance she'd received many times before. "Is that just me?"

Kalleis laughed and flicked her on the forehead. "It's just you, Annie. It's just you."