Author's Note: Considering my track record with posting updates, I think I got this one at pretty quickly. I can't really seem to think of anything clever to say, so I'll just throw out the warning that there is a little mature content towards the middle of this chapter...I think it's relatively tame-ish?, but I don't want to frighten anybody off because I'm a perv. ;)

From his cliff-side palace at the world's end, Helios stood upon the balcony shrouded in the darkness of night, his keen eyes glaring witheringly over the Olympian mountain, his gaze condemning all of those who lived there. His hands fisted at his side, the gnawing ache inside of him having turned now to a searing anger, a need for vengeance stoking the flames of his wrathfulness. Damn the gods. Damn Zeus and all of those affiliated with him.

Ever since the time that the next generation of immortals had come into power following the fall of the Titans, they had warped and twisted the world to suit their selfish purposes, slaying those beneath them with the same indifference of a farmer cutting the throat of his cattle for meat. Given his way, the sun titan would have liked nothing more than to see the lot of them condemned to the blazing pits of Tartarus, their bodies broken and burnt as had been poor Phaethon's when the thunderbolt struck him from the sky.

Helios had at last conceded to his headstrong young son's persistent pleas to grant him his birthright and surrendered the reigns of his quartet of winged horses to him, a grave mistake that would haunt him for the remainder of his existence. How he wished now that he had accompanied him, that he had not been blinded by pride and instead acknowledged his child's inexperience with the task. Too far the boy had driven the fiery chariot from its intended path and scorched the Great Mother Gaia, agonizing her until she had cried out for Zeus to put an end to her suffering, and the almighty King of the Gods had viewed murder as a convenient solution to the dilemma.

(Their parentage aside, immortality was almost never an inherited trait of those with half-divine blood flowing in their veins—and the high-spirited youth was no exception.)

To further add to the great injustice, he had not even been allotted any time to properly grieve his son, instead commanded by the youngest son of Kronos to return immediately to his duties. How greatly though did Zeus, thundering hypocrite he was, squander his duties, spending his days instead gleefully pursuing lovely mortal maidens, nymphs, and demigoddesses alike. On Phaethon's grave and the River Styx herself, Helios vowed that the offspring of his newly-minted foe would pay dearly for the sins of their father. He intended to personally inform the wrathful Hera of every single one of the illegitimate children sired by her husband—as many as there were, he knew with certainty that, despite her best efforts to chart the occurrences of Zeus' infidelity, she remained ignorant of a good number of them—and the women who had borne them.

And it was not just the ill-concealed trysts and resulting bastards of Zeus that he knew of; each of the deathless ones kept their secrets—and he had been privy to them all, whether or not they wished it so. Armed with an arsenal of information against all of the inhabitants of Olympus, he planned to reveal all, see them suffer as had he, leave the courts in absolute upheaval. At first thought alone, he could recall instances that would rattle at least half of the Dodekatheon. The gods were such pitiful, prideful beings, so easily slighted.

Though the passing years had since softened the hard feelings lingering from the incident, he would see to it that Athena would be told precisely what had transpired on the day that she so happened upon Poseidon and her most cherished priestess copulating in her temple. The unfortunate Medusa had never wished to defy the goddess she had served so devoutly from her earliest days—Helios had borne witness to this. He had happened upon the sea king forcefully ravaging the girl, a vile act in itself, made more repulsive due to the fact that it was done to spite his niece for taking from him the city of Athens when he believed it should have been his, rather than her, namesake. Despite all her talk of peace and diplomacy amongst mortals, she was, at heart, the co-patroness of warfare—bloodlust was an integral trait—and well Helios knew that she would be compelled to seek vengeance against her uncle.

Apollo, whom he had always resented for encroaching upon his domain of light, insufferable, strutting peacock that he was, would be notified that his sister Artemis, who vehemently declared her contempt for all menfolk save for her twin, had since appeared to have altered her views and formed a rather intimate friendship with the famed hunter Orion. Whilst he himself entertained a harem of women, Apollo felt it only appropriate to be the solitary male integrated into her social circle…and was fiercely possessive. Better still was the fact that Orion was a son of Poseidon, and when harm would inevitably befall him, the tempestuous Earth Shaker could be counted upon to make known his displeasure.

Even Hephaestus—with whom the sun titan had once felt a sense of comradery—would not be exempted from his vicious tales, not when the impassioned Helios had the capability of destroying two of the more frivolous deities (making for a very satisfying threesome in whole) with one particularly savage piece of gossip.

Yes, he thought decisively, he would begin his crusade and venture to the immortal smith's forge this very moment. Like a phoenix for its final swansong, his body burst into flame before fading into ash: his rather theatrical means of teleportation. (His chariot was his preferred method of travel due to its ostentatious design, but the ancient rules of the world so decreed that he not ride across the sky whilst Selene was carting the moon across the endless black expanse of night).

For a reserved god like Hephaestus, his workshop, built inside the belly of a volcano, was something a haven: most Olympians did not linger here long due to the oppressive heat, offensive sulfuric odor, and thick blanket of soot good for dirtying fine garments. However, Helios was unfazed as he strode resolutely forth into the heart of the forge, passing magnificent-looking weaponry and shields mounted on the craggy rock walls, all the while trying unsuccessfully not to marvel at the exquisite craftsmanship. Momentarily he considered the costs of ending such an advantageous alliance in his mind, but upon seeing what surely was that commission for himself—bridles and reigns, that would, Hephaestus had enthused when initially conceptualizing them, make the steeds wearing them infinitely more receptive to their rider—he was filled with a renewed sense of purpose and thirst for vengeance.

Further into the sweltering depths of the volcano lay equipment that had yet to be repaired, and further still oddities that Hephaestus had encountered and wished to tinker with at a later time, and bits and pieces of inventions previously unseen to man- or god-kind. Finally, he happened upon the master smith himself, seated before a sturdy worktable strewn with every sort of tool, engrossed, as always, in his latest craft.

Helios' handsome face twisted into a sneer as he observed Hephaestus lovingly polishing the jewels that came together to form an extravagant necklace, yet another present for the very goddess who so repeatedly shamed him, humming merrily, if not somewhat off-key, to himself, still full to brimming with false hope that his whorish wife might someday love him as he already did her. A sickening sight to be sure.

"Making jewelry, what an utter waste of your time and talent," reproached Helios with absolute disdain. Making jewelry for the alleged Goddess of Love was the true waste here—often times, he had entreated the immortal blacksmith for precious gemstones in which to bedeck his own lovers.

"A modest trinket I suppose," the ever-humble Hephaestus answered mildly, setting aside the necklace and looking up at his guest in greeting. By now he was accustomed to the ways of his recurring visitor; for being the sun titan, Helios was not known to possess an especially warm nor sunny disposition towards the gods. "But with Aphrodite wearing it, it shall truly be a sight to behold," he continued, a dreamy smile involuntarily coming to his lips. "She is my greatest muse."

The deeply unimpressed expression that Helios wore, the raise of a red-gold eyebrow, made him suddenly embarrassed by his soppy display, and quickly he pushed back his seat, stood awkwardly, and limped around the table back towards the mouth of his forge, mumbling, "I have your order waiting ready for you; I must confess I had expected you sooner—I was certain that Phaethon would be unrelenting in his eagerness," he added in jest. He had been in the finest spirits as of late, how well his marriage was progressing, and whilst he and his wife had not yet consummated their union, she was, unless he was very much mistaken, appearing to grow fonder of him. That alone was more than he had ever hoped from what was otherwise a political arrangement.

"Phaethon is dead," came Helios' terse, icy reply, sapping him of all his good cheer as the impact of the news struck him with the force of a horse's kick. Never had he met the boy, but by all accounts, Phaethon was said to be the embodiment of his name, meaning 'shining', bold and vivacious…his death was a great travesty to the house of Helios. "Dead by the hand of your father."

Hephaestus had been reaching out for the first of the bridles with some degree of pride when Helios spoke, and instantly snatched back his hand and pivoted in a most ungainly manner to conceal them behind his back. "I am sorry to hear of your loss," he said, saddened by seeing his visitor's sky-blue eyes fill with tears of anguish, and immediately willing away the offensive halters. "You have my deepest condolences."

"And you have an adulterous whore as your wife." The venomous words burst forth from his mouth before Helios could stop, or censor, himself, the unwanted sympathy from the younger son of his son's murderer had made him lash out in a blind, bloodthirsty fury. "From your honeymoon onward, she has been consorting with countless others, making a mockery of the sham that is your 'marriage'."

"Know your place, Helios," warned Hephaestus sternly, standing firm although the accusation was staggering, the fires burning in his eyes the only indicator of his immediate protective rage. "She is a respected councilmember of the Dodekatheon, and furthermore, she is my wife. Unleash your fury at Zeus upon me if you must, but I will not permit you to spout these hate-filled falsehoods against her!"

"The only falsehood I speak of is your delusion of her fidelity!" Helios retorted, too enraged to bother with any attempt at a more tactful delivery. "Though perhaps," he amended no less spitefully, "she has the capability of being more faithful than I initially credited her: while she has no allegiance to you, her husband, to speak of, she returns without fail to the bed of the war-monger Ares."

At the mention of his elder brother's name, Hephaestus winced faintly; as if it was not painful enough being told out of vexation that his wife was having an affair, it was downright cruel of Helios to choose to portray Ares, the god he knew most greatly irked the master smith, as Aphrodite's frequented lover. That was what it was, then, he decided, outraged drivel on the part of the sun titan. Personally, he could not think of a less likely pairing (aside from himself and the love goddess if he were being honest). True enough, the night of their wedding, he had seen his new wife, looking so lovely that he found himself incapable of stringing together two words to say to her all evening, share a dance with the war god, appearing to enjoy his company, but had not all of those on Olympus been in a celebratory mood?

It was unfathomable to him that such a gentle, benevolent goddess would go willingly to the bed of someone like him—an enthusiastic butcher of the mortals she seemed to love, renowned for his violent temperament and unquenchable bloodlust—the very antithesis of all she was. It was common knowledge though that Helios had both the ability and the tendency to generate all sorts of unsavory rumors, and at present, he seemed full to brimming with that sort of empty slander, which would only serve to make him immensely unpopular. Unpopularity in the immortal realm could be equated with making oneself some powerful enemies. Driven to near madness with grief, he was consequently lacking sense enough to realize this, thinking only of avenging his son by wreaking havoc upon the gods as a collective whole.

Being one of a handful of gods with whom the sun titan had civil relations, Hephaestus figured it best that his guest be allowed to continue uninterrupted in his furious ranting, within the relative safety of the volcano, where no retribution would come upon him. If Helios wished to accost him, so be it, he could better endure it than the others. As though hearing his dubious thoughts, Helios rolled a fireball into shape in his hands, his method of conveying to disbelievers such as Hephaestus what he had truly seen, stepped forward, and fairly thrust the ball of fire under his nose. Any other deity would have had their skin blistered and burnt, or at the very least had their hair scorched black from having a fireball shoved into their face, a further testament to the fact that he was not entirely of sound mind.

"Defend her now, will you?" he challenged, as the incriminating scene appeared before the other's eyes: the God of War and the Goddess of Love entwined an amorous (although fully clothed) embrace, kissing as though their eternal lives depended upon it in the courtyard of Olympus.

Horror constricted the blacksmith god's stomach at the sight, a hard knot that forced bile up into his throat. The fire of righteous anger, fueled by a fierce need to protect his wife, which had heated his blood turned to ice.

"You are mistaken," he insisted, grateful that his words did not come out in a mouse-like squeak, for he felt miniscule, despite physically standing as one of the tallest amongst many of the other gods, his visitor included. "If ever has she lain with him, it was because he coerced her…o-overpowered her," he faltered most unconvincingly as his own mind betrayed him. Repugnant a character as he was, there was no denying the pleasing countenance of Ares—and he recalled now his wife's admittance on their seaside walk that she had a fondness for things that were lovely in form and…face? Had that been a guilty divulgence and had he been too addle-brained by her presence to take note of it? A prelude of what was to come mayhap? She certainly did not look as if she had any qualms about the war god devouring her mouth.

"Yes, coerced indeed," came the sun titan's mocking voice, sounding distant as the image changed, giving Hephaestus no choice but to look, color draining from his face, paralyzed by his own mortification as he beheld what was, undeniably, a tryst between lovers, spared of absolutely no details. "See for yourself how Ares has violated her."

Upon a bed of silken sheets, his elder brother's unscathed form covered Aphrodite's, her legs wrapped tight round his waist, her fingers linked through his on the mattress as their bodies moved together with a fluidity that would suggest there had been multiple times before…scratch-marks ran down the length of his back, some fresh, some healing… and then the scene changed.

This time, it was she atop Ares on a bed of grass in a wooded grove (the sun peaked at them through the trees), their mouths fused together, her fingers combing through his wet, tangled hair—hers was as well, sticking to her skin, as though they had been cleansing themselves in the sparkling spring nearby before their carnal desires overpowered them. Droplets of water clung to her, shining bright like diamonds, and smiling coquettishly, she arched back, away from him, so that he might lean forward to lick them from her collarbone...her breasts…

A moment later, the two appeared in a sumptuous bathing-room with a mirror hanging from wall to floor, their bodies fitted together as if by the Fates' design, her back to his chest, her rear flush with his hips as he took her from a different angle whilst simultaneously their joined hands stroked between her legs to bring her to climax, both intently watching their reflections as they did so…

His brother delving hungrily into that secret spot as she knelt astride his face…she lavishing his cock in a play at servitude as he sat upon his throne until he could stand no more and yanked her into his lap, impaling her on his rock-hard length…

…again, their amorous activities had brought them back to the bedroom. As Helios rode his chariot overhead, he sighted them in a similar position to the first viewing he had shown Hephaestus (which was far from being the first time that the lovers had adjoined), varied only by their holding each other more closely, kissing more tenderly, moving with a languidness that hinted at the entire night before having been devoted to more vigorous lovemaking, looking into the other's eyes with nothing short of absolute adoration. As clearly as if he were in the room with them as she defiled their marital vows, he heard Ares' low, husky murmur of, "You are his wife in title only; you are mine in body and soul."

Hearing that was what broke the spell that had kept Hephaestus helplessly bound. "You have tormented me enough!" he heard himself roar in a voice that was not his own as fires sprang up all over the forge to the point where it more or less resembled the deepest pits of Tartarus. An involuntary projection of pure hurt and outrage exploded forth from him with his exclamation and sent Helios flying into a wall with force enough to leave a titan-sized hole of considerable depth in the rock and shake the entire foundation of the volcano, making it in turn begin to rumble and quake like it was about to erupt with the same fury as its inhabitant.

"Leave me," Hephaestus ordered the battered titan of the sun when he climbed unsteadily to his feet, needing to cling to the cracked stone wall to prevent himself from tumbling again as the volcano shook with its master's raw emotion. His voice was barely a whisper but audible even over the cacophony around them. "Never. Return."

Regarding him with huge, round eyes, golden ichor dribbling from one corner of his mouth, Helios took heed of the barely veiled threat and positively fled.

For reasons that had nothing to do with the ground moving precariously beneath him, Hephaestus' already-feeble legs kept him upright only seconds after Helios' departure before buckling, and he allowed himself to crumple to the floor in a sorry heap, curling protectively into himself. Physical pain he was no stranger to—he had come to accept to it as an inconvenient inevitability—but a deep ache, deeper than the likes of any he had ever known, crashed over him, robbing him of both his breath and his ability to produce any sort of sound at all. Thus, tears poured forth from his eyes and slid noiselessly down his cheeks, leaving tracks in the ash dusting them.

As if he needed a further, bitter reminder that she, the embodiment of everything beautiful in the world, would ever come to love a repulsive, soot-caked creature such as he! How foolishly naïve of him to think otherwise, even if her touches had begun to come more freely, her smiles more readily.

In that moment, he would have gladly exchanged his immortality for the opportunity to die, which seemed the only way that the agony of seeing his wife betray him—betray his not easily bestowed trust—with his brother would ever cease. There would be nothing sweeter than the taste of the water of the Lethe River, the River of Forgetfulness that ran through the Underworld, on his lips, blessedly taking from him his memories, memories of who she was and who he was: the half-wit who had wholeheartedly surrendered himself to the singular being capable of destroying him.

Relief came gradually to him in either the form of sleep or simply unconsciousness, because the next thing that the blacksmith god was aware of—even within the belly of the now-quiet volcano—was dawn approaching tentatively, as though Eos, who readied the sky for her brother Helios to ride across it, had heard of their quarrel. Muscles straining in protest, Hephaestus reached out of habit to adjust the braces on his legs; when the fit of them was to his liking, he stood, assessing the damage his outburst had done to his forge hours earlier through red-rimmed eyes. His innards were twisted as though they had been soured by the consumption of too much liquor, but otherwise he was feeling curiously numb to the events that seemed as though they had transpired another lifetime ago.

His gait stiff from his night spent curled upon a bed of rock, he limped back towards his work table, pausing periodically to restore items that had fallen to their proper place, his movements like those of his humanoid metallic aides: like someone else was directing them.

With the same sort of detachment to his surroundings, he righted his fallen chair and retrieved his tools from the floor. As if to mock him, the necklace of all things had remained where it had lain in plain sight, and he pushed it dismissively aside, hard enough that it slipped off the edge of the table and hit the floor with a faint clink. In its place, he set a piece of parchment on which to sketch out his newest creation, the idea and the use for it coming to him seemingly on their own accord…he did not even bother take a seat as his hand flew across the paper. At his unspoken command, his forge came abruptly to life, blazing hot and bright, and, after taking another look at his drawing, he moved over to the fire and began to heat a fresh chunk of gold to the point where it would be malleable enough for him to give shape to.

He was, after all, meeting the Goddess of Love in a few hours' time, and intended to give her a present not soon forgotten.

Author's Note, Pt. II: Wow, talk about angst! I don't know the definite 'timeline' of events and how they happened in canon mythology, but I thought Phaethon's death was a good catalyst to get Helios talking trash against the gods. (And Helios was another one of those characters that essentially wrote themselves, I just hung on as he took me for a ride in his chariot.) Despite all the torture that I've put Hephaestus through this chapter, I just wanted to say that I really do like him.

So does anybody want to take a guess what special 'present' he's making for Aphrodite? ;)

As always a huge thanks for everybody who has read, followed, or favorited this. Every time I get a notification in my email, it makes my entire day. Getting three notifications was an especially great way to start the new year. Speaking of new years, I hope everyone has a wonderful 2018, and that the Muses smile on them.

Until next time.

-Impersonating Sugar