She took in the seedy bar, no different from any other of the millions scattered across the galaxy, with its scantily clad whores and drunken patrons of all species. She took care to hide her face in the shadows—no telling who might recognize her and decide to collect the sizable bounty on her head, or just kill her for revenge. Thanks dad. In the first few months after the whole fiasco with the Orb, she would've welcomed the fight, welcomed the chance to let loose some of her pent-up rage, and reveled in the feeling of being free from her father's chains.

But this wasn't one of those times. She was tired. The only reason she kept going was the knowledge that somehow or other, she would kill her father, burn his fortress, and piss in the ashes. A predatory smile, and eerie eyes staring at her from a child's face. "It dubs thee Titan's Bane, for it is the fate of Titans to fall to their children." A promise made by a prisoner. She had, initially, dismissed it as nothing more than an attempt to drive a wedge between her and her father. But the child's words stayed with her, wove their way into her thoughts, a tantalizing promise of what if? So, she held on to that spark of hope, and it turned her lethargic loathing of her father into a raging inferno of hate, so when the chance came to take her father down, she had grasped it with both hands.

But it didn't pan out. Ronan had been destroyed by her sister's rag-tag band of lowlifes and thieves, his fighters and warship brought down by the combination of self-righteous idealists and pirate scum. She had been defeated, yet again, by her sister. Familiar bitterness rose in her chest.

"It's never easy to be on the losing side of a war." A voice spoke from the shadows. Instinct had her pointing a blaster at its owner before she took in his appearance. Young, wiry, dark-haired, sallow-skinned. Terran, maybe. Wearing black clothes too big for him. Her cybernetics gave her more to go on. No implants, not even a translator chip—he was speaking Galactic Basic. There was an oddity in the thermal scans. They showed that the boy had a sword. Metal, but far colder than it should be, given their surroundings. The boy also had six-no-nine knives with the same properties concealed about his person, various metal trinkets, and a few other implements. His hands were on the table in a nonthreatening gesture, and his posture was relaxed.

"Aren't you a little to young to be here?" The boy looked around fifteen by humanoid standards, but as she herself proved, appearance was no sure indicator of age.
He shrugged, drawing his legs onto his seat. The change in posture gave him far more freedom of movement, since his legs weren't blocked by the table. If it came down to a fight, he would have a split-second advantage in springing up to attack or dodge a blow. But in that case, she was confident that her enhanced reaction speed would give her an edge-the boy was speaking, in a casually quiet voice.

"—seventy-something, if you detract my birth date from this year. Besides, with all the illegal activities everyone here's involved in, underage drinking would be the least of their problems."

"You are seventy?"

"Or five, or fifteen, or some other age in between. Father stuck me and my older sister into a time-warp after uncle killed mother. He wiped our memories before that, so I only remember five years of life. I'm from the same era as crazy half-brother Hitler."

"Hitler?"

"The genocidal maniac who attempted the ethnocide of the Jewish race, and perpetuator of atrocities almost unmatched." He replied grimly. A tight smile. "On the bright side, he was limited to the Earth.

His cousins—our cousins won the World War against him. Naturally, my two uncles demanded reparations from father. Unfortunately, they learned little from mortal kind, so father became harsher, colder. Less willing to help his siblings. A bit obsessed with proving his superiority.

My sister and I were, in his mind, the keys to that. There was a prophecy, you see. It foretold that a child of him or his two brothers would cast their shared kingdom into desolation or raise it into greatness. He hoped one of us would be it. We were removed from the time-warp. We met our cousin, the greatest potential candidate, and our other cousin, whom our father had nearly killed. They didn't know of our parentage though. We met when they saved us from another faction, one that wanted our abilities for other purposes. I developed hero worship for them. I thought they could do anything. My sister left me alone, and went on a highly important mission. I asked for the cousin who was the greatest potential candidate to keep her safe. He failed. I thought that it was his fault, so I swore vengeance and ran away. I met them again while I was being taught by an old creepy ghost, tried to kill them, reconciled with my dead sister, and saved them. I also managed to prove myself not completely useless to father by overthrowing the ghost and claiming his title in the Underworld. A large amount of betrayals, struggles for my father's approval, and two wars, one against my grandfather the other against my great-grandmother later, we've mostly reconciled. I also managed to gain father's approval. As a result, I'm father's operative for anything off the books, as well as most things that require interaction beyond intimidation.

You don't have a monopoly on family issues. If you take certain lines of mythology to be true, your family dynamics were modeled on ours."

She bit back a snarl. The boy's story was intriguing.

"When I was with Thanos, I interrogated someone who spoke of siblings and a desire to please too. Did you know that prisoner?"

"Oh? Operative 8-5-6? You were spoken highly of. It was due to that encounter that I was sent here."

"That prisoner was executed."

"I am the son of the Silent One. I am King of Ghosts, Prince of the Underworld. Death is no barrier. A bit of trivia, since my doctor tells me to act more cheerful. Do you know that the Mad Titan's name is just Death with "at" removed?"

The switch between threatening and nonchalant was disconcerting, to say the least.

"—besides, war-time law gives us half-bloods far more leeway than peacetime measures That means I get to poke around with life and death and resurrections, and dad won't stop me, by the way. There's also the unfortunate fact that we get told more brutal and honest truths.

Most importantly? That we are born for war. We are spies and suppliers and soldiers, medics and weapons of mass destruction. Together, we children of our parents can, and have fought wars. We serve, we weep, we fight, we die. Sometimes, we betray. We fight our parents' wars, in the hope of a brighter tomorrow, or at least one that is no darker than today. We were born into our fates, doomed by our parents' union, abandoned until we were old enough to be enactors of their will. We were trained by life, the monsters that hunt us, then shaped by companionship and quests, small prophecies, irresistible forces that mold us, ineffably, into what we are required to be."

"Your people were not murdered in front of your eyes, while you were held still and forced to watch, then tortured and reshaped into a weapon. We are not alike."

The boy smiled. "Why don't you ask that question on the tip of your tongue? You seek to cast upon your father the doom of the Titans, compounded by the curse of the lastborn.

I talked with 8-5-6. Why do you think I am here? I extend to you an alliance. Even if you don't accept, I will give you what you seek. It is not much though. All the two curses do is alter probability, give your endeavor luck, maybe orchestrate crazy coincidences. That sort of thing. It won't suddenly grant you supernatural powers, or put you on equal footing with the Mad Titan.

That's part of why I offer you an alliance. We are the instruments of the wills of our divine "superiors". In peace, their grudges and conflicts are played out through us. We are skilled, even talented, at subverting beings far more powerful than us. Besides, we also know about an awesome other pantheon, with an organization that is trained to fight gods. They have a very dangerous technique that can literally unmake someone. It's got a load of really stringent circumstances for its use. Still, it might be useful.

Your choice?"

I'm experimenting with a new writing style, so if this is terrible, please leave feedback. Prompts, Comments, and Suggestions are all appreciated!