Kintsugi

by The White Wulf

The practice of repairing broken pottery with precious metals. it signified the importance of an item's history and the beauty of imperfections. In one reality, the God Hephaestus experiences such a concept. The melding of Heroic Spirit and Divine Entity creating an impossible miracle. A new God walks the earth...for good or ill. (Will go from Ancient Greece to modern day).

3. Chapter 3

FATE CLOVER IS ALMOST DONE! GET OFF MY DONG!

But no, seriously, I apologize for the wait people, I really wanted to get this chapter of Fate/Clover done right, as I wanted to make sure that my pacing was on point. The story is almost done and the pacing of it was rather…well let's just be fucking honest. Slow burn romance? Fuck no, the story aint no slow burn, it's a fucking rocket ship and I need to work on my fucking dramatic moments in my stories. As such I've been a little…paranoid, releasing the new chapter. I've had it done twice, only to scrap it and start over. This is the third rendition of Fate/Clover but no matter what I'll be releasing it shortly, ish. It's a rather short chapter, so I'm hoping to have it released sometime next week. DO NOT COUNT ON THAT, as life likes to kick me while I'm down it would seem. With that said, here's the third chapter of Kintsugi that I had hidden away to release after Fate/Clover and one other story. Decided you poor readers had suffered enough and deserve something.

So in short, sorry I'm a lazy bitch and I will have Fate/Clover done soon. ENJOY!

WARNING: WAS NOT BETA READ, WE DIE LIKE WARRIORS.

Kintsugi Chapter 3:

The trail he was following indicated that this was no mere beast. This was easily a monster at the very least. The lack of outright destruction indicated that this creature likely hunted for food. The issue being that most monsters killed humans for fun, not sustenance. This was strange all around. EMIYA would be cold and calculating…Hephaestus was anything but. The mergence of their two personalities was difficult to explain. To put it bluntly, EMIYA was effectively an idiot when it came to emotions. He was empty but filled to the brim with experience and turbulations. Hephaestus was a boiling mess of emotions. Negative emotions that roared within, positive emotions that simmered beneath. The two filled each other to create a new being that was this current iteration of Hephaestus…the one that was currently the embodiment of fire, merely walking through the forest slowly. It took every ounce of EMIYA's experience to quell the absolute murderous rage, but he needed to ensure that he was doing this properly. It was too coincidental to be something as random as a monster attack. There was something at play here. He needed answers. Only then would he eviscerate everything that stood in his way. Still, there were other concerns as well. He needed to ensure that his power affected only those that he deemed to be the recipient. He refused to invoke more collateral damage than necessary. He was not EMIYA anymore, there were no strings attached to him…he would do this his way…the way that EMIYA always dreamed that he could do it.

The forest spirits were scared as he passed through. It was not a surprise considering his current condition and his affinity for fire, but a few came to him in his time of need. One, wreathed in leaves with hair like grass pointed him north. A beast-like spirit, a deer with golden antlers and hooves, offered him their strength and speed. The third was an owl, who offered wisdom for safety. He rejected their offers, refusing to involve them more than necessary and risk their own safety. He swore oaths to them that he would protect them in this instance. That they need only direct him to his target as the Nymph did.

A screech tore through the air and with a torrent of heat, Ifrit landed on his shoulder. A tried-and-true friend, one not bound by familiarship or a divine chain. He remembered when he found Ifrit, a small and sputtering phoenix, abandoned as he was. Pity or solidarity, perhaps even both, fueled the desire for Hephaestus to care for the young bird, feeding it his strength so that it would grow strong. In response, Ifrit was a stalwart ally, no matter the circumstances or dangers. They had separated for a time, ever since he entered the realm of Leto. He was not comfortable keeping Ifrit in the same location as the Goddess of the hunt. It was one thing to stand by him in battle, it was another to make Ifrit a stand-out target for a Goddess like Artemis. This was a decision he somewhat regretted. He never wanted to infringe on his first friend's freedom, but there was no denying that things could have been different if Ifrit was in the area when all this happened. if only to get a firsthand account of what occurred. Wherever Ifrit had roosted for their time apart, it was obvious that they had come rushing to his aid, the sheer magical energy emanating from their flames granting Hephaestus the feel of their exertion. It took the phoenix only a moment to decide on acting, flying back into the sky. Ifrit's power called to his own, creating a temporary bond, the ability to share sight and strength. It was one of the few spells that Hephaestus was capable of with his limited skills, fueled by the knowledge of his past. Ifrit, as always, consented…but there was a condition though.

Ifrit's thoughts and emotions became known to him. Not as words, like humans would, but through feelings and intent. An offer was once again put forth. A demand this time for Hephaestus to accept Ifrit as his sacred animal, his divine beast. To bind them together totally and completely and to cease his foolish and stubborn pride. Hephaestus detested the idea, the countless eons existing as EMIYA bound to an entity ensuring that he abhorred all forms of forced servitude, even ones of a benign and natural nature such as God and their Animal. It was said that a God and their sacred animal(s) would naturally come together, but the idea that he would bind the creature to himself was something that he swore he would never do. But this time…this time he caved. In a moment of weakness and vengeance, Hephaestus consented, and Ifrit became his. The once flaming orange bird now burned an azure blue, the sheer heat increasing a hundred-fold. It took Hephaestus absorbing the heat to prevent damage to the surrounding forest. What was once the size of a hawk growing to be well over four feet in length, an absolute monster of a bird given it's original stature. With a mana burst, Ifrit tore forward, screeching violently through the sky, intent on finding his God's target. A caw in the distance informed Hephaestus said target was found. Still, he merely kept walking, trying to calm his mind and power. Detonating now would, quite literally, obliterate the entirety of the island. It was a strange experience, being aware of yourself in totality. As a human and heroic spirit, one needed experience to learn and grow. But as a God, Hephaestus was simply…aware.

To be honest it was almost jarring. Almost too much of a good thing. He knew, right here and now, that if he didn't control his anger, a small fraction of a fraction of his divine might would leak out. Such a miniscule portion that it be the equivalent of a drop of water coming from the entirety of Neptune, a planet filled with various liquids and gases. That tiny amount would destroy every single thing he could see and beyond. Such was the nature of a God that embodied Volcanos. Thus, he walked, focusing his efforts in ensuring only those responsible would perish by his hand. And perish they would.

The trees eventually came to an end, the trail and directions leading him to a dark and dreary cave. His bond with Ifrit showed him that this was no mere cave, however. It was shrouded in a strange barrier that would normally keep it hidden. In truth, Hephaestus couldn't actually "see" the entrance of the cave. The only reason he knew there was one, was the tracks that randomly ceased right at the edge of this large cliff face. He gritted his teeth and used what little magic Leto taught him to create a barrier of his own, a circular divine shield that cut off all his power from filtering behind him. As he approached the barrier in front of him, Hephaestus did prepared nothing. For he needed nothing. Whatever barrier, however clever or strong, merely shattered like glass. He walked through, feeling the fluctuations of mana echo through the now visible caverns.

"…so this wasn't Hera."

He never genuinely suspected her, only because her attitude made it obvious that she didn't care about him one way or the other. Detested him, sure. But if harm was her interest, she could have easily killed him on Olympus.

He stopped moving for a moment and had to shake his head with a depressive sigh. He needed to remember that he wasn't a fleshy mortal any longer. He was a lot harder to kill and probably more durable than he was in life as EMIYA. The only thing worse than underestimating an opponent was also underestimating yourself. No, the true reason he never suspected Hera was simply her attitude.

Targeting him this way did nothing to him except hurt him, and that implied effort. Effort that required she gave enough of a shit to even bother and an effort that implied she knew enough about him to know how to hurt him. While she was a God, and detested him, she was the most least likely suspect. The actual evidence also supported this theory. The power of the barrier ensured that it was no Olympian that did this. What he felt on that mountain was far too potent to be whatever he felt in this barrier. Something this weak would be laughable, not to mention impossible for the Gods of Olympus. Even at their weakest, their strength was greater. Divinity was at play here; he just didn't know which one. He committed the scent to memory, searing it into the recess of his memory. The minute energy that dispersed from the barrier was analyzed like a scent, the senses of EMIYA granting him a similar ability to sense magic as he did. He knew there were limitations to it, but he was too accustomed to the way EMIYA sensed magic to bother learning something else.

The inside of this cave was dark, but the eyes of Hephaestus were more than capable of seeing in such a bleak corridor as this one. The rocks were smoothed out and a tunnel like system was used here. Considering the sheer number of droppings and the mixture of scents…this was a pack species of some kind. A creature shot out from the shadows, intent on devouring him. It was shaped similarly like a Lamia, but the upper half was no woman, and the bottom half was certainly no snake. The upper half looked as if it was the furred body of a goat. The upper torso was human and yet the head and jaw were of a feline of some sort. He cared not for it. The sheer weight of his existence, the absolute heat…it reduced it to nothing but ash before it even touched him. His eyes were locked firmly on the trail that he was following. It would have been lost amidst the rubble and droppings, but his keen eyes kept track of it. The creatures within this place screeched and roared…but found no purchase with him.

In droves they attacked, by the dozens even, and they became nothing more than black smears upon the wind. Such was his power as a God. Finally…he arrived at what had to be a nest of some sort. A final room within this hidden lair, built like a larger open arena with nothing but a singular creature in the center. The creature before him held the upper torso of a beautiful woman. Tanned skin that was wrapped around a bountiful and exposed chest, a pretty face whose eyes and hair were dull in color. The lower body a lion with dove-like wings emanating from her back. The chimera before him was seamless…save for one jarring imperfection. Splitting from the human torso's collarbone down to their navel…was a set of serrated jaws. The human eyes lacked any sort of intelligence. If anything, the upper torso was more the mouth than the human. The torso's jaw roared outwards; the human arms and head flinging uselessly around it, a disgusting waste of both life and resources. The arms flung uselessly as the creature lunched at him, sizzling stomach acid dripping from the maw across the chest. Hephaestus let it draw closer, his eyes peering into the nature of this beast. It was only a meter away when it realized it couldn't move.

It was a moment later that the pain finally registered. Speared through the torso was a series of basic weapons, but it was the volcanic spikes drilled through the legs that caused the most pain. He approached, ignoring the rampaging movement of this chimera's desperate attempts to escape. Hephaestus began to destroy the creature as slow as he possibly could. Sure, one could argue it was to analyze it…. but that wouldn't be the truth.

It was no "monster" as he would classify it. Nay…this was something more akin to the grotesque experiments he had seen as EMIYA. This…this was human magic. But it was more than that. It was witchcraft, and the chimera was being kept together by a strong sense of divine power. The creature screamed as the heat began to sizzle the pelt off their body, the man skin peeling away, showing muscle and sinew. Like the python he had slain before, he attempted to peer into the past using his structural analysis skill. While the information was readily available, it was smeared as always. Still, this little moment confirmed his suspicions. A God was involved, or at the very least a divine spirit of some kind.

On the one hand, he was relieved. For the longest moment he had genuinely thought that this had all happened because he slew Python. That he had disrupted some Grand Cycle and ALAYA or some equivalent of it was ready to crush him under heel with this display. No…it was something far more stupid and asinine. It was simply because of him…and nothing else. He tried to peer further in. He needed to know; he cared not how deep he needed to see nor what damage occurred to his optical organs. He would find the cause of these people's death and…and then he stopped. He…he could see it. The soul that lied within that woman's corpse, magically sewn to that damn lion…it fluttered like a bird within a cage, relentlessly looking to escape. His eyes bled as he peered to the levels of reality that only certain Gods could peer to.

It was ironic in a way. The perfection of the Gods allowed little room for nudging so to speak. A god of the sea could not throw lighting, just as a God of the sky could not bend the ocean. There were obvious overlaps, were there not? Hurricanes, storms, and so much more. Why was it that Zeus and Poseidon could not wield ice? Such a domain should exist within the realm of their concepts. Why was the wrath of winter kept in the hands of Demeter, someone far removed from the physical embodiment of wind and water? The answer was as simple and direct as it could be. Because they could not. They were not allowed. Their authority did not let them. Free will was the purest and most powerful magic that could ever exist within the world, and it was what gave humanity their strength as well as their vices. They alone were free to walk their own path. They alone could reject the trappings of fate, albeit with great effort. They alone could truly set themselves up to learn whatever they may wish. Regardless of talent or persuasion, humans could simply do as they pleased. Gods lacked this luxury. For all their absurd and ridiculous power, they were autonomous but not free in the same way humans were. It was a complicated subject, one that did not apply to Hephaestus, at least not in full.

Hephaestus was a God. Yet, he was also a man. No matter how difficult it may be for him, he alone in the Greek Pantheon was truly capable of applying himself in different ways. He alone held the power of free will…and in this moment it expressed itself as the ability to trespass beyond the confines of his divinity, of the concepts that he should be constrained to…and peer at the world as a God of death may. Countless souls were attached to this creature. How many people had it slain? How many children lied in its stomach? Hephaestus felt tears, hot and red, running down his face. The idea of Agnes child having been targeted and devoured was a constant horror for him. The cool feeling of steel wrapped around his mind but he did not relent. Nay, now as not yet the time.

His vengeance would be sated…but that day was not today. Whoever did this went out of their way to frame the Olympian Gods and their allies. They portrayed the use of Witchcraft so blatantly that only an idiot would genuinely believe that Hecate was somehow involved. The creature's history was also strangely blank and bleak. His senses could not tell what lied within those memories, but it could tell that some kind of divine mysticism was used to obscure history. A strange counter measure for Hera's abilities, unless someone was purposely ensuring that no one could discover who they were. There were moments that were crystal clear until the identity of the God was shown or implied. Normally such preparation would imply a time frame of how long the people (and gods) involved were planning this move. Yet, that logic was not applicable here. After all, the enemy was a God. Something like this would be well within the abilities of even the minor deities and something that could be done in mere moments.

The cavern around him was starting to turn red from the sheer heat, his metallic feet sliding through the molten ground. He…he could feel it. A strange connection to…something. It was like it existed right outside his purview, just outside of his reach. He stared at the burnt corpse of the creature, showing at the souls within it that still did not leave the body of this decrepit shell. No angel of death arrived to deliver them, nor was there a God of Death to hearld them forward. All that remained was the constant presence of doom itself, a strange comfort that did little for these abandoned souls. He held his hand out, letting the torrent of fire within him spew forth in a blaze of blue flames. The blue began to eat away at every atom and mystical attachment the corpses had. Everything within this cavern was scorched free, but his job was far from over. It was something he realized as he stared at the fluttering ashes around him, his eyes hard on the ground beneath him.

What happens to the souls of those whose bodies remained behind them? What happened when these people were not put to rest? From what Hephaestus could gather from his memories….it was far from good. Those who were not put to rest were cursed to forever roam the outskirts of the realm of Hades, forever barred from taking the boat of Chiron if another world's myth was to be believed. The idea of this happening with this family…it disgusted him. Yet, with his limited vision he saw it, the fluttering of wings as a grey-haired young man appeared before him. The man stared at him and rose an eyebrow.

"Interesting."

"…Thanatos," muttered Hephaestus.

The man was strikingly beautiful, a solemn air about him. His short grey hair framed a pair of gloomy eyes that struck you to the core. His robes were as bleak as himself but did not detract from the visage this man made. Thanatos was a reminder, that death was not ugly, but beautiful. Hephaestus watched the man work, collecting some of the souls within his scythe. The solemn look he carried made Hephaestus sure of one crucial fact. This God cared.

"…these people," whispered Hephaestus, his hand reaching for one of the stray souls fluttering past him, "will they be alright?"

He needed to know. Thanatos scoffed…but his eyes softened as he realized something. This was not a God that was "acting". Oh, certainly some would feign a passing interest in the souls of the dead. Most did so to get close to him, to obscure him from his duties or worse, to bed him. They were annoying. These Gods cared little for the maintenance of the world around them, treating its people and ecosystems like playgrounds. But the eyes of this God did not lie. There was genuine concern. Thanatos looked at these listless and disturbed souls…and sighed. It was a sigh of deep and terrible regret.

"…no…no they won't," stated Thanatos, "they lack a proper burial. With their bodies absorbed into the chimera, they cannot receive one either. Not even shrines will save them from roaming the coast of the Styx."

Thanatos shrugged helplessly.

"Not even Charon can have them cross. This…stench they carry ensures that the river rejects them. It takes time for it to wash away from them. Charon has a…method that fast tracks this cleanse, but it requires payment. Payment, they do not have."

"Is payment really that important?" scoffed Hephaestus, mistrusting every word, "if so, I can have however much drachmae you need for this payment."

He stared at Thanatos, intent on discovering everything he could about this situation. Hephaestus never carried any coin with him. He saw one Drachmae and that was all he needed. Why carry money when you could just print them? If all it took was a few gold coins then so be it. He had a limitless number of them. He could even make them permanent if need be.

"If only it were that simple. I honestly wish I could help you, but there isn't much I can do."

In this moment, Hephaestus made a decision that would rock the entirety of the underworld.

"Bring me with you. If you are restricted by ancient laws or what have you, then I'll do it."

Hephaestus didn't trust a word this Thanatos said. There were things he was hiding. The guilt on this God's face was too severe to believe it. Thanatos was a kind God, there was no question of this. But he was not a caring God.

"….you know not what you ask out of grief and guilt," grunted Thanatos.

Again, he avoided him. In his past life, Archer was never an overwhelming presence. For those that knew him, seeing him work, they knew he was the most dangerous sort. But as a God…as an Olympian, Hephaestus carried a power far beyond even his own knowledge. He gritted his teeth and let his divinity explode out. To his eyes, Thanatos barely moved an inch. But to Thanatos, the full weight of the God before him was far from small. Somehow, this young God was in the realm of the Olympians. He was not the most powerful of their number, but considering how much even the weakest of the Olympians dwarfed a minor god, being the weakest of their number mattered little. Thanatos did not know the other surface Gods enough to qualify his placement amongst them anyways.

"Show me the way and guide me where I need to go…or I'll simply go myself. I doubt you want me intruding in such a matter."

That….that was true. Thanatos, in terms of divinity, was one of the most powerful Gods to exist. But that power was more so in the realm of his authority, rather than in the execution of said power. It was to say direct confrontation was far from his strong suit. In truth, he was physically weak in comparison to other Gods, a cost to his immense divine and spiritual power. While he was thankful that the god before him was not going to attack him, the idea that he willingly ignored a credible threat to the realm of Hades was a problem. His divinity echoed within, granting him the insight that he was far from harm…but that the God before him was dead serious. Thanatos sighed and allowed the young God to place a hand on his scythe. The weapon was an old and rusty thing, formed by his divine might. It made it difficult to use his powers outside of his immediate duties, but he made do. Besides, for all their martial difference, the God before him would be expelled from Hades anyways. Unlike the Chthonic gods, the Olympians had no place in the realm of the dead. One simple transition and the God would disperse away from Hades' realm. It was why Demeter could not retrieve her daughter Persephone all those centuries ago. At the very least he could say that he tried in this despicable situation, hopefully that would be enough to get this strange God off his back. Thanatos cursed his sister's name in his mind but kept quiet about the details of her involvement.

In an instant, the two travelled into the realm of the dead, arriving at the same shore all dead souls arrived at. Thanatos turned from the sandy purple beaches and looked towards the line of souls behind him, seemingly never ending. He smiled, turning to the grey murky waters, noticing his brother coming in from a distance. The boat rocked slowly, Chiron doing his best to leave the Styx undisturbed. While the nymph allowed Chiron his boat and duties that did not imply a…cordial relationship. There was a reason that a boat of all things was needed to ferry souls. He nodded at Chiron's signal, releasing the souls from his weapon. The "line" that existed was not regulated in any way, because the nature of the realm of the dead ensured that it wasn't needed. Still…perhaps some kind of system would be a good idea in the future, if just to remove the eyesore. The realm of Hades was a dark and bleak place, but that was not so much due to Hades himself. Rather, the spirits of the dead believed this place to be dark and dreary and thus it was. Enough people believed it, and the appearance became universal. Hades could change that if he wanted, but the effort wasn't worth it for the lord of the dead. Thanatos turned, and almost pop right out of his human esque form. The god was still here, completely unaffected by the charms that resided in Hades. He stared blankly, wondering how a surface God was standing here with little concern.

Hephaestus on the other hand looked around, taking in the surreal environment. He cared little for Thanatos now, more concerned with the souls that he released. Now that they were here in the realm of the dead, the souls began to take shape, becoming human-like. Visually they were the same as in life, none of them appearing elderly, but there was a…hollowness to them. As if the color had been drained ever so slightly from their appearance. Enough to be noticeable anyway. He moved swiftly, bearing through the souls as politely as he could, only pushing past as he needed. He could feel the thrum of their essence somewhere here. He would ordinarily use his magic to analyze the area around him, but the nature of the underworld made such magic useless. It took some time, and quite a climb, but he managed to find the group hanging near a cliff, the distance showing the face of the bank, Chiron and his boat a small speck from such a point. He stalled, staring at the people he had connected with, his heart wrenching at the sight of their souls. They should be alive right now. Yet…here they were. The people turned to him. Most were wondering why a soul was so…alive looking, but those that knew him were understandably shocked.

"How? But?"

Hephaestus approached Calliope first, grasping her soul by the shoulders. She felt solid to the touch, but the warmth of life was long gone. She appeared in her twenties and her beauty was a bittersweet balm. Perhaps it was his modern sensabilities, but Hephaestus felt that their connection was a little too physical for his liking. Yet, looking at her here made such thoughts a thing of the past. He would hold her a thousand times over if he could…but alas that was not the case. He answered them, intent on shouldering all responsibility. It was the least he could do.

"I couldn't simply leave you all to your fate down here…I….I should have been there."

Calliope gave a small smile, her eyes still bright even death, though it carried a weight now. Agnes though was…silent. She stared at the ground, grasping at her now empty stomach. She was on her knees, cradling her now flat stomach. Calliope knelt down to her daughter, but still looked up to Hephaestus.

"You may be a God" muttered Calliope, "but you and I both know that you cannot be in two places at once."

She stalled a bit, her face taking on a slightly peculiar expression.

"You can't…can you?"

Hephaestus sighed. He knelt down beside Agnes as well, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She gripped his large hand with everything she had. It barely felt like a winter's breeze to him.

"…if I was normal I could be."

Calliope only nodded. She seemed…grateful that he was here. But the rest of her family seemed more focused on their own problems now. As they should be honestly. After all, they just died.

"So, you had no way to be there," supplied Calliope's son.

"…I,"

"Was there a means you could have been alerted to us?" his wife asked.

"Well, I mean."

"No, you couldn't." smiled Calliope, her hand caressing his face. "I know this, because you are not that kind of man as to leave us. There is a lot I don't know about you. But that! That I know."

"Unlike some we know," growled Agnes, her skin taking on a hue of red.

Hephaestus looked at Agnes again, his fears growing slightly at the lack of a small little soul near them. He saw all the children and adults that he had met when he visited calliope. But…where was the youngest? The one yet born?

"…Agnes,"

He called to her; her husband strangely absent from her side. Calliope's eyes turned misty, a strange sparkle of pale purple light leaked from her, like tears. Her son and his wife were no different. The entire family seemed to droop even further as Hephaestus asked the unasked question. Calliope finally answered.

"Her child…it has been consigned to the Styx."

The entire world seemed silent at the declaration. Sound no longer existed. Color ceased to be. All that was left…was steel. Hephaestus turned to Calliope and his entire being turned cold. His inner turmoil gave way to something old…something that had been honed and worn to a ratty broken thing. The focus of the weapon once known as EMIYA. Emotions had no place here anymore. It was one thing to grieve the family and say his goodbyes after making sure they were settled; he would feel for them with all his newfound emotional freedom. He owed them that. But the idea that an unborn child was torn from the family, forever barred entry from an afterlife? That was another matter entirely.

"Explain."

Calliope blinked, a sense of unease growing. The God she knew was one filled with life and wisdom. The face she saw now was…it was if it was more akin to metal. His skin was no different. But his posture was infallible and cold.

"The…the river took the soul of her child. Ripped it right from her hands."

"A common misconception."

The voice was quiet and resigned. They all turned to see the face of a young grey skinned man. His long white hair and solemn eyes brought a sense of unease to everyone. The horns did not help matters either. They grew from his skull not unlike a deer.

This was Moros, the Greek God of impending Doom. There was a lot of here say about his role in the fate of mortals and Gods alike. The way the souls around him grew defensive signified a past meeting. He cringed a bit but kept talking.

"The river did not take the child. The child simply could not stand on the bank. The Styx took the child to protect it, not harm it."

Moros, his face became twisted with a sense of grief. A role that he did not like but endured all the same. He continued, his voice weighed and measured.

"Your child was nameless. It had no recollection of self to anchor its form and soul. Names are powerful seals and…without it they cannot withstand the barrier between life and death."

"Life and death," muttered Hephaestus, "this…riverbank, is it not the realm of the dead?"

Moros blinked but responded, as if he was speaking without thinking.

"The bank here is the last tether of life, the final point before the realm of the dead. Without a name or at the very least some recollection of the self…they cannot hold form here. Without form they cannot cross."

"So that implies if they get across…they can enter the realm of Hades," asked Hephaestus, a plan starting to form.

Moros looked shocked and turned to the God talking to him. He pointed at himself.

"…yes, I am speaking to you."

…Was this God broken? Hephaestus knew his…brethren were strange. But this was just weird.

"Oh! I…well yes, the realm of Hades is the land of the dead, all souls are anchored there, regardless of their state. But the actual realm itself lies beyond the Styx. Here life and death are intermingled, however slightly. Without a name, a soul can easily be swept away by the spiritual energies here, sheared between life and death. A name, an identity grants souls weight if you will. Without it, they will simply flow adrift for however long it takes for them to return to the well of souls. It is why I am here."

"Yes…you said that before," drawled Hephaestus, becoming annoyed slightly. He didn't want to overplay his hand with Moros, but he knew the bullshit when he heard it. Thanatos knew something and was keeping it from him, that much Hephaestus could gather. Now, suddenly Moros, one of the most unseen Gods in history, was now before him? Did this idiot genuinely believe that he wasn't suspicious? Hephaestus wouldn't trust Moros in any capacity, not if they are a sibling of Thanatos. Who knows what they've discussed before he came here, because he refused to believe that Moros was here simply for an errant infants' soul. Moros cringed.

"I…cannot announce the doom of a child that has no self-awareness…but…you deserved to know."

"DESERVED!"

Moros looked at Agnes, a consigned expression. She stood, her face fraught with a frantic hate.

"WHAT PART OF THIS IS DESERVED!? MY CHILD IS BOUND FOR HELL! THAT IS WHAT YOU'RE TELLING ME!?"

"It must seem like a hell to you…so I cannot say you are inaccurate."

Agnes 'tears' turned crimson, a river of red flowing from her eyes like a visible gas. She grabbed at the God, but found no purchase.

"GIVE HER BACK!"

Moros shook his head. He turned to Hephaestus and blinked. He blinked again, callously ignoring the wailing of the human woman before him.

"…you…you are a God?"

He merely stared Moros down, he detested the way he was treating Agnes…but to be fair this was not a situation that most would think of to be cordial.

"What does it matter?"

"Because it is not possible? Surface Gods like yourselves cannot be down here without an invitation and even then? What are you?"

Ah, so that's what it was. Thanatos must have called his brother here, for something regarding him. Well, it didn't matter. He chose to ignore Moros, instead focusing on a few things. The first being that the souls of the dead were basically left here to rot until a space opens on Chiron's boat. The second…the second was the idea that the lake absorbed forsaken souls. The third…that the Underworld was a haven for all spiritual entities…the issue lied in getting across to the actual land of the dead. There must be something about the boat that made it possible to get across…but any plans involving the boat or taking it would be foolish. There was a system here he didn't understand, things he quite literally has no concept of at works here. He needed knowledge, only then would a solution present itself.

"Agnes."

The girl turned to him, her face a mess. She was shaking…whether from rage or sorrow it mattered not.

"Where is your husband?"

She scowled.

"He…he ran."

…wait what?

"…he what?"

Agnes' tears flowed more.

"He ran. I haven't seen him since…"

She bit her lip, rubbing her stomach. Images of Agnes' corpse echoed in Hephaestus' mind, but they found no purchase in a mind of steel like his. The time to mourn…that could wait until he knew for certain if this child truly was bound to the river. Hephaestus rose from the ground, staring Agnes down. She felt her breath, or whatever facsimile of it existed here, catch in her throat. His words and tone broke no argument.

"It will be alright."

He seemed to speak nothing but truth.

"I will return, with your child in tow."

He paused, EMIYA's experience screaming at him that platitudes like this were a gateway to further hurt.

"Whether I succeed or not…at the very least you will know that your child was not abandoned."

It was horribly put and a little confusing but Anges nodded, the words quiet in her thanks…and in her reverence. It sent a shiver down Hephaestus' back, but he persevered. Whatever his discomfort of being a figure of worship, her child was his priority, not a lecture. Moros, Thantos, fuck even Hades would have been nothing but white noise to Hephaestus right now. He walked, using the time to consider a variety of avenues. What he could do, what limits that existed. Within his reality marble lay a multitude of receptacles of the soul. Places that he could store a soul or spirit. The issue was in releasing the soul. As a God he could brute force a lot of things, but the use of noble phantasms required a degree of knowledge and control. A rough 18% of his reality marble was now committed to his conscious memory, years of dreaming used to consolidate the knowledge within his soul. In memory there was only a single blade, demonic in origin, that could house a soul. Even as a basis for creating something new, it was useless. It burned the souls within it for power, a demented left over from what of the more eldritch adventures of Chaldea. As he neared the river, he decided that there was really only one recourse.

Jump in.

The boatman tried to stop him, the grip on Hephaestus shoulder a lot stronger than one would think with the boatman's wiry build. But Hephaestus? He was stronger still, shoving past Chiron placing his hand into the river Styx. It burned at him, peeling away at his skin, but he cared not. Direct contact like this? He could invoke structural analysis and at least get some information. There was a history here that he could learn if he kept at it long enough. The natural healing his body was capable of was able to stagnate the Styx's damage to his third layer of skin, pieces of his muscles now visible. The river was chock full of spirits, the wailing of the unnamed, the forsaken, and the cursed echoing through his skull. Their torment eased however slightly by the kindness of the spirit within. The Nymph of this river. However, this kindness was not borne out of a personal desire.

Hephaestus scowled, he needed to be deeper. He removed his hands, letting them steam and heal. His reserves of energy were high, and he cared little for the flimsy piece of cloth that hung around his body. The spirits around him were gawking, watching as the layers of muscle slowly steamed, covered by skin once more. He jumped right in, and the pain grew ever greater. He sunk like a rock, the weight of his prosthetic legs dragging him to the depths of this river Styx. There was a call, an echo of some sort to let something in. A blessing.

He rejected it. The blessing of the Styx, to be invulnerable to all threats both physical and magical save for a single point, was a boon for many. A boon that Hephaestus had no care for. Accepting the blessing would remove any ability for Hephaestus to enter the river again. One need only look at the story of Achilles. Why would a mother, who knew of her child's weakness, not dip him into the waters again? Why not make him completely invulnerable? The truth was that taking the blessings of the Styx removed any ability to reenter the river, period. A curse would be inflicted, making it so the water would always avoid you, no matter the depths you went. The river would reject you entirely and in death bind you to the river forever more.

As he used his magic, Hephaestus learned even more of the history of this lake, the skin peeling off his body little by little. There was a little error, in the story of Achilles, something that had always bothered Hephaestus. Why would the spirit of this river grant such an incredible boon to the legendary Achilles? Why curse the boy's soul to be bound to the river if you were willing to bless them with nigh invulnerability? A history, blurred and difficult to decipher, revealed a sort of binding. The river's spirit, the nymph named Styx, was a powerful spiritual force, one filled with immense power. She was easily the equal of any titan and with her sisters, easily capable of overthrowing Kronos. Whether it was Kronos, Gaia, or even Ouranos, something had bound the spirit here, forcing her strength to be given by those that would bathe ion her waters. To prevent her strength from being abused, two core tennets were created. Only mortals can swim within these waters, and whoever survived long enough for the blessing would have their soul forever bound to her.

There was a startling shit ton of the story that he could really understand. This was a river for fucks sake not a blade, not to mention that he was literally being torn apart little by little. However, now he knew the truth at least. The river here was…trapped. Caged and forgotten. Zeus made a show of placing all oaths on the Styx but even that was a platitude. He knew what he needed now, he could ferry the soul directly across the river, so long as he could get to the other end. He just needed to find a single infant soul in a literal sea of untethered souls. His eyes focused back in, the burning not unlike chlorine on horrific steroids. But he persevered, he looked up, ready to analyze every cubic inch of this river, only to be face to face with what had to be one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

This was not a sexual beauty. A swirling mass of what seemed like stars reflecting of the water. It was beautiful and…peaceful. Yet, it shifted, coalescing into a singular shape. No, into the face of a woman. Her face was sharp and angular, her lips a perfect curve. Her skin was a deathly blue pallor, her eyes a striking hollow white. Strange symbols echoed across her body, the wreath of broken vows swirling around her not unlike a cloth. Her hair was midnight black, with streaks of light blue pulsating through it. Her human form was likely a reflection of his own state, a…attempt at politeness? Hephaestus hoped so because he was pretty sure she was more than capable of hurting him and quite possibly ending him. Her mouth moved but her heard nothing. She gripped his head in a death grip, the decay of his skin progressing beyond the stagnation. Bone began to become visible…but all Hephaestus could see, even with his burning eyes, was the chains that were wrapped around this Nymph's arms and legs.

The burning lessened as his body began to slowly repair the damaged tissue.

WHY

ARE

YOU

HERE

The words were slow but echoed deep within his chest. A tickle on his mind as he pushed his thoughts outwards. He used words, images, and emotions to bring his intent forward. She tilted her head and…did she smile? It was a soft one, barely a twitch on her face. She softly shook her head.

YOU

REMIND

ME

OF

HIM.

SO

RESPONSIBLE.

AND
STUPID.

He narrowed his eyes, wondering who she could be talking about. In her hands….was a small flickering soul. What was once a formless thing, had become a small child. She placed the child's soul within his hands, and for a moment Hephaestus felt it try to enter him, straight into the cracks between his divine and mortal fragments. The flow of the river even piercing his very being. It was nothing to prevent that…but it was an idea that gave him pause. He looked to her, gratitude echoing from him. She lost her smile, a sense of…resignment was what he felt from her. He was than launched with extreme force right out of the riverbank.

He gasped as the cool sensation hit his raw skin and nerves. He looked into his arms, cradling the soul. He couldn't hear anything, the dead silence gives away that his ears had been damaged. His eyes were blurry, but the color blue that swam across his vision must have been souls mulling about over him. He could feel his skin grow little by little, his slow healing perfecting every inch of his damaged body. His legs twitched, the metallic prosthetic having some minute rust. While not painful, he could feel the rust like a callous or scab. His vision began to clear and sure enough, Agnes was over him. She shook him, smiling as the soul of her child became known to them. His throat hurt; the water of the Styx having burnt it out. In a hollow rasp, Hephaestus raised her child.

"Name…her…"

The child was a girl, he could tell just by holding her. However, the fuck that Agnes knew, Hephaestus couldn't tell you. Perhaps it was that fabled mother's instinct or something. Agnes helled her child aloft and with a whisper that sounded more like a gong, she named her.

"βιοτέχνης," she whispered.

The modern Greek word for Craftsman. A homage to him. His arms functioned now as he rose up, the flesh on his face fully grown. He smiled as Agnes cradled her now crying baby. What was once a blank face was now alight with eyes that shone like amethyst. The child held onto their mother, and Hephaestus felt pride…and sorrow. The job had been done…and with it the torrent of emotion and regret. They all died for nothing. Playthings to a God he didn't know of. Revenge was the least of his concerns. For revenge was nothing short of retribution, and he didn't want a measly retribution. He wanted evisceration, the complete and utter desecration of whatever God had done this. The feelings he had for Calliope were compounded with a need for familial love, he saw that now. But even so, even if it was by far a rather unhealthy emotional connection, it was still HIS. Whoever created the chimera's would die. Whatever God did this will wish they could die. Chiron's voice echoed through the bank, a raspy breath that held no words and yet was understood by all.

All Aboard.

The souls around him glowed and Hephaestus blinked in surprise as Calliope and the others were absorbed into Chiron's boat. He looked to the boatman, and while their bony face offered no emotional clues, their eyes did. The boat man nodded, a raspy grunt that was understood all to clearly.

Well Done.

It was easy to forget that the gold Chiron used was not merely for collecting, but also for the purpose of cleansing the souls of their attachment to the living. The amount of gold used was a damn pittance in comparison to what he collected, but a worker like Chiron deserved their vices. All Hephaestus cared about was that the people he cared for were taken to their resting place. Now…he had something else to do. He could not ignore what he saw down there. The chains, the howling souls, the utter contempt for this river. It was all disgusting to him, abhorrent even. The chains that bound the river Styx were indestructible, completely immune to all removal attempts both physical and magical. There would be no getting around the chains by mystical or physical design. Which is why Hephaestus knew exactly what he needed to do.

He quite frankly couldn't give less of a shit about sealing or anything. The rest of the pantheon and minor gods may be content to let this injustice last, but he was not. He had the power to free the spirit of this river, and her siblings. He could do it…and so he will. He jumped directly into the river once more, the shock of the spirit felt in the tremors. First things first. Hephaestus waited until the nymph appeared before him again, bringing her chains with her. The confused expression was ignored. If anyone asked, Hephaestus would just call this a debt paid. She had retrieved a soul that he realistically had no means of tracking down or even ensuring it was the right one. He may be able to trespass into the realms of the other Gods but that didn't magically mean he had all their skills. She attempted to speak to him once more, but felt her chains enter Hephaestus' hands. She scoffed, wondering if this fool would attempt to bind her to him, as Hades had tried to. To be fair to the lord of the underworld, it was done merely as a show of power, even in failure. But Styx did not believe for an instant that Hades would have been a benevolent master, the Gods were all the same. Power was all they cared for and dominating others was all that seemed to echo in their minds. Zeus was seemingly different…but even he had a dark center that Styx would rather avoid. This young God was much the same, intent on owning her, using her! It was why Pallas was so beautiful to her-

CRACK.

Any though she had exploded into a nulled silence. She stared as the chain in his hands was blown apart. She stared intently, watching as he destroyed the second, the third! It wasn't until the final chain that she noticed what it was that he did. He rewrote the enchantments of the chain itself. It was complete gibberish what he wrote, the ancient runes of Greece a mystery to the young God, obviously. To directly alter the enchantments of something that is more like a phantasm that a physical object, it spoke well of his experience and power. But the fact that he could do something like this with an enchantment made with divinity from the age of Titans, was nothing short of sheer raw power. She saw within him the domain of creation, of creating and metal working. So long as he could hold it, there was no object he could not create…and apparently no object he could not theoretically destroy. Yet…his core was flawed, cracked and ugly. She felt nothing but sorrow and pity…for when she looked at HIM and saw HIM…all she saw was blank. There was no name to his soul, no center of being. Should he pass, it would be his memories that would grant him weight, not his name, for he was nameless. Her form shuddered and dispersed, her appearance changing to reflect her newfound freedom, her newfound strength!

She swam upwards, ignoring the God who freed her. Every ounce of her soul echoed outwards, reaching for her beloved Titan, her one and only. She emerged from what waters, her appearance restored in full, and her beloved Pallas was there to greet her. He had remained in the underworld all this time just for her, manning her shores to this end, only getting the briefest of looks, the smallest of touches, before her chains would drag her back within the lake. Her children would visit, but even they had difficulty seeing her like this. Still, her beloved did not falter, even in the face of temptation like Leto. He stared at her, her now caramel skin and her ashen grey hair. Her form was full and strong! Unchained by the pettiness and weakness of Kronos and his ilk. Her nubile form was covered in a silk like chiton that flowed from her shoulders to her knees, the feel of Pallas hands on her face was like fire, a warmth she had been aching for all this time.

"…You are free," he said simply, his own human form manipulated to exactly how she liked it. She ironically hated it. She tapped his nose three times, reminding him to merely be as he was. What was once a normal looking man, strong in build but delicate in feature, turned into a towering warrior. His musculature, while human, was not achievable by mortal means. His face was like granite, chiseled from stone into a perfect picture of strength. He towered over her, a solid 7 feet. His blue eyes were dazzling as always, and his black hair was rich and deep. She loved this shade, loved it enough to alter her hair to this shade even beneath her waters. It mattered little how taxing this was, she was concerned only with having some connection with him.

"I am free," she whispered, kissing him long and deep.

The kiss, after all this time, was sweeter than any imagination could ever be. But as she fell from the high of her reconnection, she couldn't help but focus back to her river. She could feel that the waves themselves were untouched. But…there was something going on. She turned to the waters, and felt her grip loosen as she watched the light of the souls funnel to one space.

"Beloved?"

She rushed back to the water, intent on stopping that idiot, but ceased as she watched his head emerge from the waters. His face struggled with the weight of all the souls within him, a decent chunk traken out of her lake. His body was bursting at the seems, blue cracks echoing across a stalwart frame. He had swum from across the lake, to the shore of the underworld proper. He grunted, letting the spirits that he had collected within himself, flow free from his body. The blue glow dimmed as more and more shooting darts fired from him, not a single soul left behind from his collections. His skin steamed as he healed, he nodded towards Pallas and Styx.

"…you stopping me?"

Styx blinked, the sheer shock rendering her mute. She stared at this young godling incredulously, and merely shook her head. With that, he promptly ignored her, and went back into her river. He absorbed the souls within once more, sinking as deep into the river as he could, to better control the flow of souls. One trip, two trips, three trips, and more. It was like watching a machine move and within a few hours…the souls were gone. Her lake was pristine. Pallas stared at Hephaestus, his intent clear. He owed this Godling something fierce, and that debt would be paid, in some way. When Hephaestus stopped moving, he fell to his knees, his body screaming to be free of the pain. He felt the hand of the nymph he had freed rest on his back, a blessing attempting to emrge with his core. He rejected it of course.

A wrong move.

"….You best have a good reason to reject my blessing Godling."

He felt the pressure she exerted, feeling her fingers dig into the muscles of his back, piercing through skin and bone. Perhaps a blessing freely given would be different, but the nature of the blessing was something he did not want. The idea of being…attached to another God through something like a blessing reminded him too much of the time he spent with Alaya. She supplied him strength yes, but ensured he had no true actionable will of his own. He would not go through that again. But he did have another reason, one that he could actually speak on without sounding like a lunatic.

"If I accept your blessing, I will be unable to return to your waters," explained Hephaestus, his body healing despite the wound she gave him. A few finger sized punctures meant little.

She seemed confused, but allowed him to continue, removing her hand. He stood, looking back at the river behind him.

"I speak of the souls still falling to your waters. You cannot eject them; your very nature prevents you."

It was the reason that Gods like Poseidon were so beloved by water spirits. Unlike the nymphs and other like beings, Poseidon and other sea gods of his level could purify and clean water of any type and detriment. It was like asking a person to just reach inside themselves and remove a piece of dirt. An outside power was necessary to clense her waters…and Hephaestus saw no other way to save the souls that were abandoned to their fate. Perhaps in the future, he could devise a way to automate the process in some fashion, but for now it had to be done manually. Still, he would not make the mistake he did in his past life. Being Emiya…he would have simply stayed here, saving every errant soul, never living a day of his life. He would not do this.

"I will return in time, and I will cleanse your waters again of the broken vows and scattered souls."

The broken vows were easy enough. A burst of power and they were gone. It wouldn't surprise him if Pallas was originally the one who did this duty. If Hephaestus were to hazard a guess, Pallas must have been restricted in some fashion from interfering to much with the state of his wife…partner…lover? He wasn't sure what they were but considering the romantic air about them, he assumed they were romantic in some nature. He seemed dutiful too…so there must have been something. Well, it mattered little to him. She was freed from her chains, and he had rescued the souls of those left in these waters. More importantly, Agnes and her family were free to move on, together as intended. As such…he was done here. Rewards and such were unnecessary, as he cared little for being in debt to anyone or "owing" anyone anything. In the realm of the divine, gifts were never freely given. At least, in Hephaestus limited experience.

"You will return," scoffed Styx, "and cleanse my waters for free? Ridiculous, you're insane!"

He shrugged.

"I am done here, if there is a way out, I will take that as my reward."

He felt the pressure of the great Goddess before him crush on his shoulders. He may not have fallen to his knees but he certainly buckled. He grunted, using his strength to stand.

"You are a fool," growled Styx, grasping his head.

He felt her blessing wash over him…but the connection between them for such a thing was cut off.

"My blessing is nothing like the tainted promises of the Olympians. You need not feel indebted to me."

Ah…so she knew. Right. Gods…can't really lie to them or obscure the truth. Divine senses and the like. Shit.

"My gift, my REWARD, will not be from me."

….what?

Styx sighed, a face filled with pity as the pressure left her.

"You have never known the feeling of a true blessing. A shame, as that is usually given at birth from one's parents."

She gestured to Pallas.

"You are correct in that if I bless you, my waters are barred from you. If you are truly intent on keeping your word, then accept the blessing of my beloved Pallas. He is the Titan of War, his strength should be one that you are more accustomed to, no?"

Again, the feeling that she knew more than she let was aggravating him. Still, he knew that escaping this place would be more difficult without her help…so he allowed it. But instead of a blessing, Pallas merely nodded at him. He placed his hand on Hephaestus, and a connection was born, one that was closed.

"There is much to you," grumbled Pallas, "potential yet untapped. I'll leave my blessings for another day. Know, that once you have an idea of what you need, I will form whatever you need."

Styx looked at her husband like he was a fool. Open ended offers like this was the absolute worst thing you could give to another God. Once a God gave their word, it could be twisted and used by others as needed. Pallas merely gave her a look, his eyes steady. She sighed and waved Hephaestus away, ensuring that the likes of Hades and the others would have limited information on his involvement, however long that lasted.

"Beloved," muttered Styx, "what you promised."

"He is steady," he said simply, "he will not call on my strength, nor my resources. I will not be able to let this rest until my debt is paid in full. Within him was the potential for something I didn't think was possible…but it will be up to him to achieve this. I owe him everything, so if he requires something different than what I saw, I will give that to him. If he needs my spear, my very soul. Than so be it."

He turned to her, his gruff voice echoing through her being. She bit her lip, enjoying his warmth has he wrapped her up in his arms.

"I have you once again, any price is worth that."

"You act as if you would fight against Olympus," snickered Styx.

She said it as a joke, but Pallas knew that he would wage a war against the very world itself if it meant having her like this. His greatest flaw was love, this he knew deeply. Know thy enemies, and you will conquer battle. Know thyself…and you shall conquer war. She was everything to him, and if the world have to burn, if he had to join up with Kronos in some far off future, than so be it. But none of that mattered anymore. Her chains were gone, and she was here. As a powerful Goddess, and more spiritual in nature, the distance she could travel from her river was immense. He carried her, ignoring her gruff complaints. He held her, his nose buried within her hair. All those thoughts of revenge and plans fell into dust, as the two disappeared to whatever love nest they had. Eventually one would hear of this tale, many many years later…and would come to call it the day of christening, the day that Hephaestus became known as the Lord of the Forsaken.

But that was a story for the future. Instead, as Hephaestus found himself on dry land once more, the surface sky and air caressing him, he set out to do what he does best. To forge weapons. He had a spear to forge, a weapon of unprecedented power in the Greek Pantheon.

He had a lightning bolt to create, but it couldn't be any lightning bolt, not like the ones that Zeus used. No, it had to be greater than that. Something far beyond those. It had to be more…he needed to create the Master Bolt, and kick that cyclops screaming from his position. For that he needed appropriate materials. He stalled, looking around the woods and realizing one thing.

"…where the fuck am I?" he muttered.

At least Hestia, voyeur that she was, dropped him off where he was left!

-End Chapter-

Some have asked for a more direct correlation for the appearances of Gods and people. Below are direct inspirations of the appearance of Gods and People! I will only usually post about 2 – 3 of them each time, as I'd like for this to become something of a reoccurring theme:

Hera (Some alterations were done to better shape her in relation to Shirou Emiya and Grecian features, to better relate her as Hephaestus Mother) Inspiration: Krysten Ritter. Her demure but striking facial features were a heavy inspiration for Hera. The way her eyes seem to sharpen if she looks down on your plays a great role into a leadership esque position, like the Queen of the Gods. Her hair is deep brown, and her eyes are a bright Gold, but aside from that, almost exactly like I expected.

Styx: The Nymph Styx has two distinct appearances. The first is taken from art done for the Roirdan series, the form she takes from being locked within the confines of her lake. The second is the form she takes when she is free and is no longer restricted in how she appears. Her appearance is Zenobia from Fate/Grand Order, without all the thirst trap clothing XD.

Pallas: He's just fucking Henry Cavill people. Honestly, the first time I thought of the Titan of War, his face just punched me in my mind and the rest is history.

Hephaestus: Shirou but with a wider jaw, and more solidly built. As a person, Hephaestus would look more in place in Ireland, rather than in Japan or Greece, but that's more to do with the crazy red hair than anything.

Well folks, I hope this chapter was to your liking! Please let me know what you think about this passion project. I admit, I'm becoming more and more invested in the world overall. Was not expecting support! Speaking of support, as always review and follow if you'd like!

I SWEAR TO GOD THE NEXT CHAPTER I FATE/CLOVER! I KEEP FUCKING IT UP BUT I'LL GET IT DONE!

(I'm Sorry).