I was locked in combat with a god. Fighting a deity was an endeavor of incomparable folly, distinctly disparate from engaging with either immortal or mortal opponents.
Gods were not flesh; they were not imbued with life as mortals comprehend it. Rather, they were manifestation, corporeal embodiments of abstract concepts and ideas.
What significance did a blade hold against War itself? What use was a spear against the very sun?
No, to vanquish a god, one needed either unimaginable strength, transcending the natural order or to wield a creation of such magnitude as to rival the infinity they embodied.
I descended amidst the ceaseless automatons like a meteor. My armor coiled around me, both shielding and empowering me, as I crushed the animated weapons wrought of divine metal beneath my feet.
A blade of lightning surged toward my neck, swifter than a lightning bolt of the sky lord.
It moved with such celerity, so flawlessly executed, that evasion seemed futile. I, a mere Cyclops, should have perished.
Yet, were it not for my armor, I would have been killed. My body moved of its own accord, gracefully sidestepping the lethal strike, as though guided by a dancer's finesse.
From the corner of my singular eye, I beheld the world aglow, as if a second sun had dawned, the sword carving a path of devastation through divine steel as if through butter.
Cannons of pressurized water emerged from my shoulders, unleashing torrents upon the foe who moments prior nearly spelled my demise.
The automaton reacted, interposing its sword to deflect the deluge, shielding itself from the onslaught.
Witnessing the devastation wrought by its weapon, the machine clutched within its grasp a divine relic, worthy of eternal acclaim, yet it faltered and shattered.
I observed the automaton's eyes widen in astonishment as the jets of water cleaved through it and its brethren, time and again.
I refused to remain inert amidst the mass of automatons. One of my hands surged forward.
Emerald sparks danced before my palm, evoking the craft of a Greek smith. How could I claim mastery akin to Hephaestus if I could not wield Greek fire to my will?
A torrent of verdant flames erupted upon the automatons, engulfing them and all within reach with savage fervor, rendering them powerless.
This was a dance. Battle was naught but a choreography, where each misstep might prove fatal, yet one I found profoundly exhilarating.
The ground beneath us transmuted into molten lava as the flames consumed all in their path. My armor shifted, densifying and fortifying to safeguard against the inferno. It would be stupid to fall due to a flawed creation.
Amidst the conflagration, I discerned movement, figures resembling half-melted steel abominations, yet driven by an insatiable hunger for my blood.
Propulsors beneath my feet erupted, propelling me airborne. Some automatons pursued by leaping, others by flight.
One approached, wielding a spear fashioned from molten divinity, poised to impale me.
I seized the moment to deactivate my propulsors, hurtling toward it. Its grip on the spear switched, but too late.
My foot collided with its visage, a wisp of green fire illuminating its form before detonating, propelling me skyward once more.
Another automaton materialized, brandishing a sword poised to decapitate me. I met its blade with a thrust of my fist.
Divine steel clashed against my own, the world convulsing in agony, embers dancing between us.
The automaton's visage contorted, a cannon manifesting and targeting me. Unfortunately for it, I possessed two hands.
My other fist collided with the machine's face, hurtling its remnants to the ground, rending the earth beneath.
I alighted once more, my spear rematerializing in my grasp. "I am no prodigious combatant," I ruminated as I skewered dozens of automatons with a single fluid motion.
My propulsors erupted, propelling me into the fray, wreathed in green fire. My spear and fists became instruments of divine retribution, shattering iron and steel.
An automaton evaded before launching a strike toward my visage. I evaded with a flourish, conjuring Greek fire to engulf it.
It was my inaugural foray into true warfare, my first genuine engagement, yetI was the winning, I was the one striking true.
The automatons moved with preternatural skill, almost divine in their precision. With each maneuver, they narrowed the gap, each strike rending the earth as I evaded.
A winged automaton, bearing the semblance of a youthful deity, soared toward me, its steel feathers ablaze.
My spear deftly deflected each projectile, igniting the ground around me as they met their demise.
I cocked my arm, hurling my spear toward the airborne automaton. It maneuvered adeptly, evading the projectile before resuming its advance.
A surge of exultation crossed its flawless face before morphing into shock as my spear found its mark, rending its mechanical heart asunder.
The spear continued its course, disintegrating the automaton and returning to my grasp. "This should not be within my capabilities."
I may not possess innate talent or strength, but what I was sure of was that I was the o ly worthy of the title of the greatest smith. If strength eludes me, I just needed to forge the means to attain it.
My armor serves as both guide and mentor, augmenting my every action, rectifying my every misstep, and acting autonomously in the face of imperceptible threats.
I have charted a path, a trajectory toward Hephaestus himself. I poised myself as an Olympian sprinter before propelling myself forward.
Propulsors surged, accelerating me ever faster. The air resisted my advance, yet I pressed onward, confronted by an inexhaustible horde of automatons.
My spear vanished from my grasp, trailing a deep ocean blue in its wake. I thrust my hand rearward, Greek fire erupting and propelling me swifter still. A resounding crack, akin to a celestial cannonade, heralded my passage.
I materialized before the Olympian deity, spear in hand. Greek fire enveloped its tip as I directed it toward the god's countenance.
Walls of steel materialized, obstructing my spear's path. Undeterred, I pressed forward, channeling every ounce of my resolve.
My armor undulated as propulsors surged, propelling me with greater force. Steel rent asunder as my spear breached the god's defenses.
I acted instinctively, hurtling toward his visage, spear poised for the kill. Yet my strike met naught but flesh, failing to draw blood.
The waters parted behind him as if by divine decree. The earth behind him lay desolate, an abyss yawning in its wake, yet the god remained steadfast.
His gaze fell upon me, as though beholding me for the first time, acknowledging my existence as more than a mere nuisance.
With a gesture, he dislodged my spear, his thumb tracing the wound I had inflicted moments prior.
Golden ichor stained his flesh—a mere scratch, akin to a paper cut, yet for me, it resonated as a monumental triumph.
"You have drawn blood," his voice boomed like the dark chasms of a volcano.
I felt a grin split my countenance. "Naturally," I declared, facing him. "I am here to vanquish you. How could I achieve that without drawing forth your ichor?"
"You possess great talent," the deity remarked with unexpected tenderness. "Wasting such prowess here would be regrettable. Return to your sire, child. Depart this place for your own sake. You may be skilled, but confronting me seriously would test even your abilities."
"I shall not retreat, Hephaestus," I retorted, leveling my spear at him. This moment marked my opportunity to demonstrate my value to myself and the world. Better to perish here than to flee.
The god sighed like a disappointed patriarch learning of his offspring's follies. "Behold all you have done, all for a mere drop of ichor."
"I am a cyclops. Hard labor has never daunted me, Hephaestus," I affirmed, before unleashing a torrent of Greek fire upon him at close range. Everything that bled could die.
The intensity of the stream heightened as runes etched into my armor ensured the flames burned fiercer and more fiercely.
It engulfed the god's form in sickly green hues, deadly yet mesmerizing. "Truly foolish!" I heard the incinerating deity scoff as he advanced towards me.
I relinquished my spear and conjured a second stream of Greek fire with my free hand, yet to no avail.
My propulsors obeyed my will, propelling me into the air, away from the god. A voice inside urged me to flee, to escape.
I quashed this impulse. Flee? Absurd! With a mere thought, my spear reappeared in hand.
The automatons stood motionless, frozen in eerie stillness, their hands clasped in prayer.
"Fire, harming me?!" the god's voice thundered mockingly. "I AM FIRE! I AM THE CREATOR OF GREEK FIRE! DO YOU THINK MY OWN CREATION COULD HARM ME, CYCLOPS? COULD AN EMBER EXTINGUISH A STAR?"
Though I knew Hephaestus was the god of fire, I believed Greek fire, especially in its modified form, could counter his advantage. Alas, I was mistaken.
I observed the fire shifting and morphing into unnatural shapes around the god's silhouette.
The flames condensed, taking form. I witnessed a hand within the fiery silhouette clench before the fire transformed, revealing a weapon resembling a sniper rifle in the god's grasp.
Realizing his seriousness, I beheld the god's form grotesquely expanding, radiant gold coursing through his being.
It evoked the god assuming his true form, yet something felt amiss. A part of me recoiled at the grotesque sight, urging me to gouge out my eyes at the abomination before me.
Suppressing the burgeoning madness and horror, I tightened my grip on my sword.
The world seemed altered, transformed. My scanner activated, revealing sights invisible to my Cyclops eye alone.
An orange wave emanated from the god, permeating everything it touched with a taint of orange, altering the air, the ground, the automatons, even the sky itself, extending beyond the horizon.
The wave dissipated upon reaching the emerald ocean beneath my scanners.
My armor rippled as it analyzed and devised defenses against this phenomenon, harnessing its potential.
A surge of data flooded my mind as my armor completed its analysis, confirming my suspicions: divine authority. This was the divine authority of Hephaestus.
The god's form continued to shift and evolve. His hair blazed with vivacity, resembling living flames, while his once disfigured visage transformed into one of regal handsomeness.
He towered over me, no longer resembling a crippled artisan. He no longer appeared as Hephaestus.
With a flicker of his gaze, his sniper rifle transformed into a hammer of Greek fire.
I hastily crossed my arms, empowering the runes inscribed on my armor to shield me. The hammer collided with my arm, plunging me into darkness as I felt myself plummet through the island and the ocean below.
The water evaporated from the force of the blow, leaving a void amidst the ocean. Only my lineage prevented me from being engulfed by the ocean's attempt to fill the void left by my descent.
My armor pierced the ocean's darkness, affording me a glimpse of the god's form.
Hephaestus gazed in my direction, the air shimmering around him as the sky filled with countless weapons.
With a mere gesture, the god unleashed them upon me. Their sheer multitude overwhelmed me. Dodging seemed futile!
"Summon your father," a scared voice within me urged. I knew a single call would bring my father to my aid. One call and I would be safe. "Just one call," I mused, rejecting the notion and spurning my own aspirations!
As if I would retreat! My armor responded to my will, adapting and shifting. I believed in myself! I believed in what I had wrought with my own hands!
The number of divine weapons mattered naught. If Hephaestus forged millions of swords, then I would forge even more! I would fashion superior arms!
Ceasing to think, I yielded to my armor and the runes embedded within. Spear clashed against sword, sword against shield, as I defiantly faced the smith god's arsenal.
A sword, swifter than my armor's reaction, tore through my side. Yet I pressed onward, utilizing the pain as fuel.
What was pain compared to ambition? What was pain compared to greatness? My armor shifted, mending the wound and reinforcing my resolve.
Each collision reverberated throughout my being, yet with each clash, my weapons grew mightier.
"Evolution achieved!" a mechanical voice declared. A grin crept across my face. My armor, my magnum opus, was not perfect, for perfection itself was flawed.
What rendered my armor unrivaled, what emboldened me to challenge a god, was its semblance of life.
My armor learned, it adapted. Fashioned from my blood, blessed with adamantine scales by my sire, and infused with a fragment of my soul, it was tempered in the blood of an elder Kraken.
Given ample time, my armor could adapt to any challenge! With my next move, the sky split asunder, a chasm rending the heavens before sealing shut.
All of Hephaestus's weapons were obliterated, erased from existence. Even the god himself was not unscathed.
A gaping wound marred his form, evidence of his bisecting. His raised hammer, intended for protection, lay cleaved asunder.
Ichor spewed forth from the god's chest like a geyser, yet he stood motionless as a statue.
"You Dare! YOU DARE!" the god's voice thundered. Chaos erupted as the divine voice reverberated like a shockwave.
The world shifted, clouds darkening akin to Gaia's mourning shroud.
My connection with the Ocean was abruptly severed. Ash and soot descended from the heavens.
Beneath me, the ground gave way to endless lava, volcanoes dominating the landscape.
I stood in awe as realization dawned upon me. My father held sway over the Oceans, his brethren claimed dominion over the sky and the underworld, and now, amid this shifting realm, Hephaestus asserted his own domain.
It should have come as no surprise. Why would a deity of Hephaestus's stature not possess the ability to create a world?
My reverie was abruptly interrupted by a punch that sent me hurtling into the molten depths. Pain flared on the corner of my visage, as if something had forcibly rearranged my features.
In moments, the agony subsided as my armor initiated repairs, minute tendrils of metal weaving their mending.
My body acted instinctively, propulsors launching me to the side just as the god descended upon my previous location.
He flickered like a fading ember, a colossal gauntlet hurtling toward my countenance. With a swift motion, I deflected his arm, sending it careening past my shoulder, before retaliating with a punishing blow to his nose.
Threads of lava snaked around us, emanating from the god's vicinity, impeding his careening trajectory.
The god retaliated with a headbutt, divine flesh rending through my armor, darkness engulfing me as if my eye had imploded.
Yet, even amidst the abyss, I sensed his presence, a propelled knee colliding with his abdomen.
Spears of lava were hurled in response, met with erupting metal from my armor.
Undeterred, I followed with a roundhouse kick, only to encounter a shield materializing before my leg.
Activating Greek fire at my command, I felt my foot connect with his neck, severing his head.
My vision cleared as my armor completed its healing. "Hephaestus, god of fire, heat, and lava," I pondered.
Already submerged in his realm, I refused to cede control of the battle. I ascended, emerging from the lava ocean, away from the god.
Milliseconds later, I evaded, my armor sidestepping the blurry assailants. A behemoth volcano exploded behind me as the projectiles I had dodged collided with it.
A spear materialized in my hand, swatting away a projectile before tracing a crimson path across a chain of volcanoes.
Launching the spear with practiced precision, I beheld the god emerge from the lava, sword in hand, poised to intercept the projectile.
The sword cleaved through the spear, shattering it before breaking in two.
Undeterred, the god gestured toward the sky above me. Following his gaze, I beheld a star hurtling toward me.
Grinning wider, I welcomed the challenge, but before I could utter a word, a hammer turned my ribs to pulp.
Fiery mechanical wings sprouted from his back, his next swing aimed at my skull.
My armor shielded me, my arm absorbing the blow, though the hammer shattered my hand.
With grim determination, I manipulated my armor, encasing the weapon's head in steel tendrils.
Propelling myself with my remaining hand, I spun around the god, delivering a blow to his fractured visage.
His form vanished into the star above. "Is that all?" I pondered aloud, when I should have known better than tempting fate.
Chains erupted from the star, ensnaring my right hand before pulling me toward the stellar inferno.
As my armor adapted to the plummeting temperature, I descended into the star's surface, enduring temperatures exceeding ten thousand degrees.
Though discomfort and scalding permeated, my resilient Cyclops physiology, me being a son of Poseidon coupled with my armor's protection, forestalled my descent into Tartarus.
The chains led to the god. I knew it was time to end this. If I didn't do so, I knew I would lose. With a swift motion, I severed the chains, freeing my hand.
Gazing upon the unscathed yet wrathful deity, I checked the time with the clock embedded in my armor. Though the battle felt like an eternity, scarcely more than two minutes had passed.
A sword and a spear materialized in my hands, while a hammer manifested in the god's left arm.
"It seems we still got a lot left in the tank Hephaestus," I spoke. "Let's settle once and for all the best amongst us!" I said before hurling myself to the god who copied me.
What do y'all think of this fight? Do you think Aras will be the winner? Did you notice my inspirations for this fight? Also, I out crumbs of foreshadowing in this chapter. The one's finding it will be able to read all the chapters of my story in advance without paying anything. Also, got a p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / Eileen715. You could support with one dollar if you want to or pay for more to have access to more chapters or simply nothing because you don't want to or can't. In any case, it's fine