Cool air follwed the large man as he shouldered his way into his forge, his bare foot slapping the concrete, his mechanical leg letting out a hallowed sound into the nearly embty room. Sagging in defeat, Hephaestus stared into the flames of his furnace, the billows in his forge silent and still for the first time in eons. Scrunching his face in a mask of grief, he shoved his hands into the burning coals, letting the warmth envelope them. Maybe the flames would help ease the chill in his bones.
Hasty hands twisted some of the scorching metal rods that had been left there, tying them into a misshapen and deformed braid. Clenching his teeth in anger, the smith god gripped the stone edges of his furnace, ripping the large monument down with a loud roar. The walls and floor trembled at his might as the scorching coals and crumbled brick scatter around their master's feet. Hephaeatus let out a mournful cry, pressing his still smoking flesh to his contorted face.
The few workers that had remained in his forge after hours stopped, watching their master rage. He had had his fits before, but this was new. One of the mechanical women walked over, gently placing her hands on the large god's back.
"Sire?" Her tiny voice questioned, the large man flinching under her touch.
"Leave me.." his voice is soft, but his order is heard by all in tbe building.
"You aren't well sir..please. let's get you to bed." The woman persists, as stubborn as he had created her to be.
"LEAVE ME!" he roars, spinning around to lopm over her.
Trembling, the woman wastes no time in rushing out of the forge with the rest of the workers. Stomping behind his helpers, Hephaeatus slams the large doors shut behind them. Panting he turns, slamming his fists down on his table where some his blueprints lay.
Now, Hephaestus was never one for breaking things in anger..he was a creator, not a destroyer with no purpose. But this feeling welling up in his gut burned with a raging fury he had never felt before and gripped his heart with burning fingers of iron.
Gripping his work bench he yanks it out of the wall as well, knocking its contents onto tbe floor, scattering anything that lay beneath it.
The ground once again trembled beneath his feet as rage and grief filled him. Flames trickled up and down his arns, licking and burning the clothes off of his flesh along eith anything around him. All of Olympus would know his anguish...know his sorrow. No longer would he be the plaything of that adulterous creature he called his wife. No longer would he suffer tbe backhand of her words. Flames erupted from his skin, scattering away from him like a tidal wave, scorching the walls, the floors and tbe ceiling. The door crumbled upon impact, landing on the floor with an echoing thud.
Taking heavy breaths, the god of fire took a look around his forge, at the chaos he had created. His gaze was of burning fury until he spotted the remains of his bench. There, scorching and smoking, was his box of treasures. The only thing that had helped him cope all of these years. It was tilted on its side, its contents scattered around it.
His throat clenched as he took heavy steps towards the tipped over box. Dropping to his knees, Hephaeatus's skin sizzled out as his hands dragged through the thousands of metal trinkets, gathering as many as he could into his palms. Pressing his face into the sizzling metal, the smith god let out a defeated wail. Whoever said told him, all those years ago, that love was a beautiful thing, was horrendously wrong. All of his life he had wanted love, to be loved. And look what his had done to him...why did it hurt so much...?