Chapter 10: Strength
It was unlike anything Zoë had ever experienced. The sensation was divine and magical as if the very seeds of the primordial earth had been distilled into its sweetest nectar. She could feel the power of the fruit coursing through her body, circulating her greatest afflictions, mending and rejuvenating her from within. Her previously limp strides grew broader and bolder as the apple's magic worked wonders. In no time, Zoë found herself easily keeping pace with her two new companions, walking confidently at Prometheus's side, trailing just behind Perseus, who strolled leisurely through the orchard.
Zoë's gaze involuntarily lingered on Perseus's form ahead of her. Despite the miraculous healing she had just experienced, her mind was fraught with hesitation. The decision to follow this enigmatic figure, who suddenly appeared and altered the course of her life, weighed heavily on her. She questioned whether aligning her fate with this new savior was indeed the best path for herself. As she walked, Zoë grappled with her thoughts, pondering the nature of Perseus's intentions. Was he truly her savior, or had she merely exchanged one form of captivity for another? The more she dwelled on these thoughts, the more her initial trust began to wane, giving way to a growing blaze of distrust and a desperate search for reassurance.
Prometheus, towering above Zoë, cast a wary glance down at the girl walking beside him. His observant eyes caught the conflicted emotions dancing in hers. Deciding to break the silence, he voiced a thought that caught Zoë off guard. "Thou hast been granted a tremendous gift," he stated, his deep voice breaking through her contemplations.
The nymph flinched slightly at his sudden interjection, her focus shifting from Perseus to the titan beside her. With a quiet voice, she acknowledged, "I am thankful for the immortal fruit."
A snicker escaped the Titan of Foresight, his large hand dismissively waving through the air. "The apple's side effect of immortal youth is naught to be overly praised," he countered. He somewhat cynically elaborated that the type of immortality granted by the fruit was "half-immortality," distinct from the eternal existence enjoyed by Olympians or titans. "Thou mayst not age, but thou couldst still fall in battle as any mortal might," he concluded, casting a shadow on the notion of immortality.
The ex-Hesperide absorbed his words slowly, her gaze locked on Prometheus's mouth as he spoke. Yet, the gravity of his statement seemed somewhat lost on her, overshadowed by a lingering wariness of his reputation as a trickster. She nodded, her response measured. "Still, I am grateful for it," she affirmed, choosing to focus on the positive aspect of her newfound condition.
Not yet finished, Prometheus added a significant clarification to his initial comment. "The true gift thou hast been granted is the company of Master Perseus, to be taken into his care," he said, emphasizing that being under the protection and guidance of the god was a privilege far greater than the divine benefits of the fruit.
As Perseus paused in his leisurely stroll through the garden to admire a flower, bending down to touch its petals, Zoë and Prometheus also came to a halt. The weight of Prometheus's earlier words began to fade from Zoë's mind, replaced by a more immediate concern. She noticed the flower's vibrant purple hue and recognized it as Nightshade, a plant known for its deadly poison as much as for its deceptive beauty.
Instinctively, Zoë started to call out to Perseus, a protective impulse seizing her. She wondered about the plant's effect on him-dangerous to mortals, certainly, but what about someone like Perseus? Her hand, raised in warning, hesitated and then slowly dropped as she battled with her swirling emotions. It dawned on her then, with a clarity that pierced the confusion: she truly knew very little about Perseus.
Prometheus's voice cut through her thoughts once more, his words highlighting the privilege of walking beside the Prince of the Cosmos. He suggested that even the Olympian gods would forsake their thrones for such an honor if they only knew the full extent of Perseus's might. The nymph responded with a dry chuckle, skeptical of the notion that the Olympians, so consumed by their own pride, would ever entertain such a sacrifice. "Thou mightest be overestimating the balance 'twixt pride and loyalty," she remarked, her voice laced with a hint of disbelief.
Yet, as she lifted her gaze to meet Prometheus's, she was struck by a sense of unease. The look in the titan's eyes bore none of the jest or cunning typically associated with tricksters. It was a moment of sincerity that unsettled her, leaving her momentarily afraid that her words might provoke another outburst from him. But the garden remained peaceful as Perseus straightened and resumed his walk, the moment of tension passing without incident. Prometheus followed in his wake, and Zoë found herself caught between relief and a lingering curiosity about the dynamics at play.
Hesitating only for a moment, Zoë moved to catch up with Perseus and Prometheus; however, her gaze was inexorably drawn back to the Nightshade. What she saw halted her steps; the flower was not simply picked; it was obliterated, torn apart with such ferocity that it barely resembled its former self.
Turning her attention to the path they had traversed, Zoë noticed for the first time a trail of similarly ravaged flora. Each plant and flower along the way bore signs of destruction, a silent testament to a violence she had not perceived before. This observation puzzled her deeply. Perseus, who had shown such a tender interest in her stories of the garden, seemingly cherished this place. The thoughtfulness in his eyes as he asked about the orchard had seemed genuine. So, why would he commit such acts of destruction? The motive eluded her, casting a shade of doubt over her understanding of him.
Perseus's voice, calling out her name, snapped her back to the present, indicating that they would soon be leaving the garden. Zoë took a moment to survey her surroundings, but through her eyes, the world seemed drained of its vibrancy. The lush greenery and floral hues that once painted the garden with life had appeared grey and colorless to her, a reflection of her inner turmoil. Her thoughts wandered to her sisters, the fellow Hesperides who had once shared this sacred duty with her. Their absence felt more pronounced amidst the desolation, heightening her sense of isolation. With a sigh, Zoë brushed her chiton, the fabric whispering softly against her skin, a fleeting reminder of the world she had once known.
Resigned, she returned to her place behind Perseus, walking alongside Prometheus. The journey through the garden, a place that had once signified home and sanctuary, now felt like a passage through a realm of walls and bars. As Zoë caught up with Perseus and Prometheus, she tuned into their ongoing conversation. Perseus, with a note of curiosity in his voice, pondered aloud, "The skies above seem to churn and funnel before me?"
Stepping out of the garden - leaving behind its lush vibrancy - the landscape transformed dramatically. Beneath the shadow of the mountainside lay a vast expanse of barren, dark dirt stretching into the horizon. In the distance, a massive castle loomed, black as dusk and vast as the sea. Zoë, following Perseus's observation, noticed the strange phenomenon in the skies-indeed, it appeared as though the heavens themselves were being drawn toward the castle, gripped and stretched by an unseen force.
"Tis most ascertain my father's punishment for disobeying the gods," Zoë remarked, her voice somber yet filled with awe at the sight.
Prometheus, clearing his throat, hastened to elaborate on Zoë's cryptic statement. "To clarify, M'lord, Lord Ouranos was slain by the titans, and Atlas, the Titan of Strength, now holds the skies in place of the Primordial Sky," he explained, shedding light on the ancient myths that shaped their world.
Perseus's reaction-or lack thereof-to this revelation struck Prometheus as peculiar. The Perseus he remembered was known for his benevolence and empathy, traits that seemed conspicuously absent at this moment. The titan couldn't help but categorize this indifference as another uncharacteristic trait of the Perseus who stood before them now, reborn and seemingly different from the god he once knew. "Killed?" Perseus echoed, his curiosity piqued. He pondered aloud, "Can the protogenoi, in their full divinity, truly be slain by mere titans?"
The younger girl, drawing courage to contribute to the conversation, confirmed, "Tis true," before her voice tapered off into a whisper. "My father once spoke of such tales before his imprisonment."
Her admission was both a revelation and a retreat, showcasing her knowledge yet revealing her reluctance to delve too deeply into the painful memories of her father's fate. Perseus nodded, absorbing the weight of her words as they ascended the path that wound up the mountainside. His gaze lifted to the skies above, but no tears came; only a fleeting, sad glint flickered through his eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared, like a whisper of grief in the expanse of eternity.
His tongue brushed against his teeth, a contemplative gesture as he mused on the state of his realm. No trees. No water. No animals, no life. "Mine kingdom is so... silent," he remarked, his voice a reflection of the solitude that enveloped Mount Othrys.
As they drew closer to the castle, navigating through windy fogs and rocky cliffs, the journey seemed to compress in time, the sun still hanging above the horizon as they reached the summit and stood before the castle gates. Mount Othrys, in the years that had passed, had transformed into a monument of fear itself. The architecture of the palace was a study in contrasts, terrible and beautiful in equal measure. Constructed entirely of black marble, it stood as an heirloom of fear and shadow.
The palace's black towers, glimmering ominously, stretched upwards to pierce the clouds, their silhouette reminiscent of greedy fingers clawing at the stars. Surrounding mist added to the oppressive atmosphere, serving as a thick veil that separated the summit from the world below, intensifying the sense of lonesome and foreboding.
Confronted with the unsettling majesty of the palace, Zoë felt a chill of terror run through her. The aura of the grand edifice, with its dark allure and dominating presence, overwhelmed her senses, prompting her to step back instinctively. The sight of Mount Othrys, now a stronghold of horror, stood in stark contrast to the vibrant life of the garden they had left behind. It was a physical manifestation of the changes that had overtaken Perseus's realm, a symbol of the darkness that had seeped into its very foundations.
Perseus, with a casual gesture, pointed towards the castle, his thumb indicating the modified fortress that loomed over them. "My palace looks... a tad different, Prometheus," he remarked, his tone light yet laced with an unmistakable note of observation.
Under different circumstances, Prometheus might have responded with laughter, given Perseus's understated comment and poised demeanor. However, recognizing the gravity of the situation and the person before him, the titan quickly assumed a posture of respect, bowing deeply. "I beg thy pardon, my lord, for my failure to preserve the integrity of thy palace," he apologized, his voice carrying a mix of regret and deference.
Perseus, however, let out a soft chuckle, easing the tension of the moment. "The duty to uphold Othrys was mine alone, and none other's," he replied, absolving the titan of any blame with a generosity that spoke of his character. "Thou art pardoned, Prometheus."
Zoë's attention was drawn to the balcony above, where the skies seemed to converge in a tumultuous display, the clouds swirling and storming with increased intensity the closer one got. "Father..." the daughter of Atlas whispered, her voice carrying a mix of longing and sorrow, her gaze fixed on the chaotic heavens.
As Perseus turned to her, reaching out to take her hand in, possibly a gesture meant to offer comfort, Zoë instinctively pulled away. The sudden contact startled her, prompting a swift retraction. Prometheus watched the exchange with a penetrating gaze, his look serving as a silent warning that further unsettled Zoë.
"I apologize," Zoë squeaked quickly, explaining her reaction. "Being touched without for-warning maketh me uneasy."
Perseus nodded in understanding, his response marked by empathy. Then, shifting the subject, he pointed towards the interior of the castle. "It seemeth someone hath broken mine stairs," he observed.
Indeed, the entrance to the palace was a scene of destruction. The bottom of the castle lay in rubble, and the grand staircase that once welcomed visitors was now annihilated, reduced to fragments of stone and dust. The devastation extended beyond the stairs, with parts of the castle visibly damaged, entire sections obliterated as if by a great force. This ruin spoke of battles fought and calamities endured, the once majestic palace bearing the scars of a kingdom under siege.
Prometheus revealed the harsh truth that, following the end of the Golden Age, the 'false gods' had laid waste to Mount Othrys, reducing its grandeur to ruins. The revelation painted a picture of divine conflict, of battles fought between entities of unimaginable power, leaving behind a legacy of destruction. Perseus responded with a sigh, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and annoyance. "Some deities hath no reverence for other's property," he muttered, his comment highlighting the disregard some gods showed towards the realms and creations of their peers.
Turning to Zoë, Perseus tilted his head slightly, a polite gesture as he extended his hand towards her. "May I?" he asked, seeking her permission in a manner that was both respectful and cautious.
Zoë hesitated, her gaze fixed on his outstretched hand, before slowly placing her own in it. The moment she accepted, Perseus swiftly pulled her close, and they were immediately surrounded by a brilliant flash of light. In an instant, they materialized atop the castle, the abrupt transition leaving Zoë overwhelmed. Collapsing to the ground, Zoë was gripped by a wave of nausea, the disorientation from the divine teleportation proving too much for her mortal-like constitution. Sounds of discomfort escaped her as she struggled to regain her composure.
Perseus couldn't help but laugh at her reaction, finding amusement in her discomfort. "I recall a similar feeling," he shared, recounting his own experiences with divine travel. "The first time my mother took me from planet to planet, I too was unprepared."
Zoë's response was a mix of pain and annoyance, a groan that conveyed her displeasure at his lack of empathy for her current state. Perseus's laughter, though borne out of shared experience, did little to ease her discomfort. After ensuring the nymph was relatively okay, Perseus turned away to take in their new vantage point. The balcony upon which they stood was familiar to him, a place imbued with memories and significance.
It was a gift from Chaos; the very edge of the castle's keep transformed into a place for him to oversee his realm. The railings, the intricate carvings on the floor, and the expansive view it offered were all as he remembered. Her words, the day she created the balcony for him so long ago, echoed in his mind. 'That way, even when you are far above the clouds, you can still gaze upon the gardens, the meadows, and the forest in comfort.'
Yet, amidst the familiarity, something was starkly out of place.
Dominating the center of the balcony was a massive figure, a titan burdened with the weight of grey, swirling skies. This was no mere intruder; it was Atlas, tasked with holding up the heavens, his presence here a fairly evident observation from the vantage point. Perseus approached the titan, with Prometheus closely following, while Zoë, still recovering on the ground, watched the encounter unfold.
"Tsk, tsk," Perseus began, his tone playful yet edged with a hint of disapproval. "The view is somewhat obstructed by a rather inconvenient statue," he commented, eyeing Atlas with a smirk.
Atlas responded to the jest with a low growl, his immense strain visible in the bulging veins on his neck, his burden seemingly becoming heavier with his irritation. Perseus couldn't resist further teasing. With a feigned yelp of surprise, he covered his mouth in mock fear. "Oh! Prometheus look! The man was kneeling so still, I mistook him for a rock," he exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
The Titan of Strength exhaled deeply, his breath a manifestation of his growing frustration and annoyance. His voice, as deep and unyielding as the mountains themselves, broke the tense silence. "Mine patience for the mocking grievances of an Olympian pawn is wearing thin," he declared, his tone imbued with a mixture of weariness and warning.
Perseus, undeterred by the titan's stern admonition, allowed a giggle to escape him as he approached Atlas, stopping a respectful distance away. With a click of his tongue, he greeted the imposing figure. "Thou must be Atlas, Titan of Strength and Endurance," he said, his voice light yet carrying an undercurrent of recognition.
In a playful rebuke, he added, "Thou shouldst be kinder to visitors, or ye shalt find thyself lonely once more, with only the company of my dear brother, Ouranos." Leaning in, Perseus offered a word of advice, half in jest, "Believe me, Ouranos' company is far from desirable."
Atlas grunted in frustration before his eyes settled on the Titan of Foresight. "Prometheus?" he uttered in astonishment, his statement tinged with incredulity as if questioning Zeus's permission for the titan's freedom.
Prometheus, observing the exchange, sought Perseus's approval with a glance before addressing Atlas. With a respectful bow and his hand crossed over his chest, he corrected his fellow titan's assumption. "Be not so unwise. The God King hath come again and hath raised me from my curse," he stated, emphasizing the significance of Perseus's return.
"Why art thou being so formal? Hast ye traded thy tongue for liberation?" Atlas taunted, his words sharp.
Disdain apparent, he spat on the ground, a gesture of contempt. "Kronos would be disappointed in thee," he added, invoking the name of the King of Titans as a final jab at Prometheus's perceived betrayal.
Perseus's reaction to the mention of Kronos was one of genuine confusion, his eyebrow arching inquisitively towards Prometheus for clarification. However, it was Atlas who responded, his voice carrying a mix of reverence and solemnity. "Kronos is the titan king, slayer of the Primordial Sky, and lord of all the cosmos and time," he elucidated, painting a picture of a ruler of immense power and authority.
Prometheus, upon hearing Atlas's grand description of Kronos, couldn't hide his slight astonishment. Undaunted and perhaps intrigued by the discussion, the prince turned his attention back to Atlas, stepping closer once more. The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with palpable tension as Perseus allowed the total weight of his gaze to meet Atlas's. His eyes, voids of unfathomable depth, vibrated with a force that seemed to transcend the physical realm.
"I grant thee no leave to speak," Perseus stated, his voice carrying an authority that seemed to echo from the very fabric of creation itself.
Atlas, despite the immensity of his strength, found himself recoiling as much as his burdensome duty allowed, the pressure emanating from Perseus's gaze almost tangible. The standoff between the two was intense, with Atlas seemingly trapped in the gravitational pull of Perseus's will, his energy draining into the swirling abyss of the seemingly younger deity's eyes.
It was Prometheus who finally broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension. He provided further context on Kronos, detailing his role as the Titan of Time, the ruler of Mount Othrys, and the crown jewel of the titans, born of Ouranos and Gaea. Perseus, taking a step back from Atlas, nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the complexities of the titan hierarchy and the pivotal role of Kronos within it.
Laden, with the weight of the revelation he was about to receive, Atlas' exhale was heavy, as if he had been suffocating. The question he posed to Perseus, marked by incredulity and a hint of desperation, echoed around them: "Who is this youngling?"
Prometheus, sensing the gravity of the moment, stepped forward. With a fluid grace, he descended into a kneel, extending a hand towards the prince in a gesture of respect and deference. The titan then proceeded to introduce Atlas to the figure before them, not merely as Perseus but as a deity returned. "Behold the heir to the eternal empire. Master of creation."
As Prometheus's words filled the air, a subtle magic began to weave around Perseus. Tendrils of black and silver light enveloped him, tracing patterns across his skin and clothing. The transformation was both majestic and otherworldly, as Perseus's simple attire morphed into a regal ensemble.
"Lord of the Kingdom of Whispers. Lastborn of Chaos." A royal black chiton adorned with silver accessories that denoted his royal status replaced his plain white clothing. Dark brown footwear, wrapping elegantly around his calves, completed the evolution.
"The Primordial Prince."
Prometheus proclaimed few of the many names Perseus beheld, his voice imbued with a reverence that underscored the veritable nature of the prince's divinity. Perseus, for his part, seemed unfazed by the grand titles bestowed upon him. He glanced down at his new attire, his expression emotionless, his fingers idly adjusting one of the vambraces now encircling his arm. From her vantage point, the daughter of Atlas observed the scene unfold, her initial nausea replaced by a profound sense of realization. The truth of Perseus's identity - that he was a primordial god - struck her with a force that rendered her speechless and immobile. No mere boy, demigod, or hero stood before her but a being of primordial essence, a god among gods.
Her attempt to conceal herself behind the broken walls of the castle's keep was a reflexive act of self-preservation. The fear of her father, which had always loomed large, and even the paralyzing horror of Mount Othrys paled in comparison to the awe and terror that Perseus now inspired in her. The revelation left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, caught between the known fears of her past and the daunting uncertainty of her future.
Atlas, meanwhile, managed only a fleeting display of fear upon recognizing Perseus's true stature. However, he quickly masked his apprehension with a facade of denial, unwilling to fully acknowledge the implications of Perseus's heritage and the power dynamics it entailed. In an attempt to dismiss the gravity of the situation, he scoffed at Prometheus's proclamation. "Your jests are unfounded and wearisome," the Titan of Strength declared, a visible cold sweat betraying his outward show of disdain.
Doubting the claim of Perseus's primordial nature, he boldly asserted, "This boy could not possibly be a primordial god. His energy feels no more potent than that of a minor god." He let out a dry laugh, adding, "I daresay the spawn of Zeus who visited just yesterday could likely match this Perseus."
At the mention of Heracles, Prometheus straightened up from his kneeling position, his voice carrying the weight of the name. This caught Zoë's attention, sparking a flicker of recognition and a surge of mixed emotions. Attempting to rise, Zoë's movement was hampered by the rubble beneath her, causing her to slip and inadvertently reveal herself from her hiding spot behind the broken wall. The resulting noise drew the gaze of the three divine beings towards her prone form amidst the debris.
As the girl clumsily revealed herself from behind the wall, her movements were a mix of haste and panic. Perseus, noting her awkward tumble, voiced his concern with a softness that contrasted sharply with the tension of the moment. "Zoë~," he called out, his tone gentle, a beacon of empathy amid the brewing storm.
Her father, however, embodied the storm itself. His voice, laden with disdain, didn't bother with her name but branded her with a harsh label: "Traitor!"
The word thundered across the space between them, his face twisted in a grimace of revulsion as he glared down at Zoë. The air seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his accusation, the contempt in his gaze cutting more profound than any physical wound. Her complexion drained of color, Zoë faced Atlas with wide, fearful eyes. Her body shook visibly, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil. As she attempted to speak, her lips trembled, and her voice emerged as nothing more than a fragile whisper laden with desperation.
"Father, I beg of thee," she implored, her gaze flickering between defiance and despair. The admission that followed, "Heracles deceived me, wooed me, and stole my hairpin," was fraught with a mix of shame and earnestness, a plea for understanding from someone she once revered.
Atlas's response was unforgiving, his voice cold and unyielding. "A maiden who betrays her own for an Olympian's favor is no daughter of mine but mere swine, cattle, a harlot!" he declared.
His words were a verbal blow, casting Zoë not just as a traitor but as something less than human in his eyes. At that moment, Zoë's posture collapsed further, her shoulders slumping as if Atlas's words had physically struck her. The titan's condemnation left her visibly shattered, her face a mask of anguish as tears welled in her eyes, unshed but imminent. The realization that she had been irrevocably cast out, not just from her home but from her identity as Atlas's daughter, was a burden too heavy to bear. Her plea for mercy had been brushed aside, leaving her isolated and vilified in the eyes of those she had hoped might understand.
The girl collapsed under the weight of his words, her body convulsing with sobs as she curled into a fetal position on the cold, hard ground of the castle's keep. Her hands covered her face, attempting to shield herself from the reality of her father's hate as her tears flowed silently.
Unyielding and harsh, Atlas looked down upon her with scorn. "Pathetic, weak, and overly emotional," he scowled, his voice laden with contempt. He saw her breakdown not as a sign of her being but as a confirmation of her frailty.
"Beneath all thy pretense of diligence, thine art naught but a mere woman," he sneered.
Atlas shakily raised an arm in her direction, letting the weight of the skies fall further onto his shoulder, "One day, even if it takes millennia, thine shall perish by mine own hand." His declaration was a chilling vow of vengeance, spoken with a cold finality.
Sheer terror enveloped Zoë's small form; her eyes, wide with fear, mirrored the depth of her agony while tears mingled with snot on her face. Perseus observed the painful exchange with a sense of detachment. Having never known the bond between father and child himself, he found the traits of their relationship perplexing. The intensity of Atlas's animosity towards his daughter and Zoë's profound grief were alien concepts to him, leaving him uncertain about how to intervene, if at all.
After a moment of contemplation, marked by the tapping of his sandal against the stone floor, Perseus's demeanor shifted. Clearing his throat, a wide grin broke across his face, but it was not one of warmth or amusement. Instead, his laughter was dark, carrying a nuance of malice. It was a sound that did not alleviate the tension but intensified it, filled with a sinister challenge that seemed to resonate through the very air, pressing down with an almost physical force.
Perseus's demeanor shifted as he addressed Atlas once more, restating his earlier advice, "Thou shouldst be kinder to visitors."
With a deliberate act of disrespect, Perseus licked his lips and spat directly onto Atlas's head. The saliva slowly trickled down Atlas's forehead, his face twisting into an expression of utter revulsion. Undaunted by the titan's disgust, the prince revealed something deeply personal. "I hath never a father," he stated, his voice carrying a mixture of indifference and contemplation. This admission momentarily halted Zoë's tears, drawing her attention to the prospect of further insight into Perseus.
Gazing out over the landscape of his kingdom, Perseus reflected on the apparent disparity between its once-vibrant life and its current desolation. "In mine world," he mused, "a maker who causeth harm unto their creation is naught but disgraceful." His words carried a conviction born of his own experiences and beliefs.
Returning his focus to Atlas, Perseus's gaze hardened. "Thy threats art foolish," he declared, his tone dismissive yet firm. "Thou art free maketh thy attempt, but know this-I shall forever impose stand betwixt thee and Zoë." The declaration was a clear line drawn, a promise of protection and defiance.
For all his might and anger, Atlas found himself at a loss for words. His frustration was palpable, his nostrils flaring as he grappled with the inability to respond effectively to Perseus's challenge. Perseus, noting Atlas's silence, let out a scoff. "Tis' the Titan of Strength?" he questioned, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of mockery.
"Thou art weak." With those final words, Perseus turned his back on Atlas, walking away with a resolve that left no room for further dispute.
The Titan of Endurance remained silent, the weight of Perseus's parting words heavy upon him like the skies themself. Atlas, once a symbol of enduring strength, was left to contemplate the implications of their exchange, the reality of his own limitations laid bare. Prometheus's smile, radiant and triumphant, illuminated the tense atmosphere that followed Perseus's confrontation with Atlas. The titan's joy was unmistakable, a declaration of his satisfaction with Perseus's assertive display of authority over Atlas. Offering his praise to Perseus, Prometheus's admiration for the protogenos' actions was evident.
Perseus acknowledged Prometheus's accolade with a nod, his attention then shifting to Zoë, who was still reeling from the emotional tumult of the day. Rather than speaking, he chose to kneel beside her, offering his presence as a silent show of support. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, conveying solidarity and understanding without the need for words.
Looking up at Perseus, the nymph found her face awash with a myriad of emotions-fear, anger, disappointment, but above all, curiosity. His choice to remain silently by her side rather than inquire about her well-being left her both puzzled and oddly comforted. It suggested to her that Perseus recognized her need for companionship in her moment of vulnerability, acknowledging her pain without pressing her to voice it.
The effort to maintain eye contact with Perseus was a struggle for Zoë. Her gaze wavered, turning away involuntarily, yet she remained transfixed by his presence. The physical toll of her ordeal was evident-chapped, bleeding lips, bloodshot eyes, pallid, cold skin-all contributing to a visage that she half-jokingly considered fitting for the underworld. Despite her battered state, Zoë managed a fragile smile, which quickly morphed into a grimace of mixed emotions. Seizing the moment, she asked, "Would thou share more about thyself?" a request born from a desire to understand the enigmatic deity who had so drastically altered the course of her life.
Perseus responded with a nod, an affirmation that he was willing to open up about his own story. He held out his hand to her. She took it.
Prometheus's inquiry about their next destination was met with a light-hearted response from Perseus, who chuckled at the question before stating that it was apparent. His gaze shifted to Zoë, who, in her attempt to adjust her now distressed and dirtied chiton, seemed momentarily preoccupied with her appearance. Understanding dawned on the Titan of Forethought, "Thy next course of action would be to recover Zoë's stolen possession."
Zoë paused in her adjustments, her expression one of disbelief and surprise at the titan's declaration. Perseus, ever at ease, stretched his arms above his head, admiring Prometheus's insight. "Your knowledge and foresight are as impressive as ever," he remarked, acknowledging the titan's unchanged acumen despite the years of his absence.
Prometheus, ever humble, bowed his head, deflecting the praise with a modest refusal. Dismissing the titan's modesty, Perseus turned his attention to the nymph, bending slightly to bridge the gap in their heights. "Evil hath no place in mine realm," he assured her, offering an encouraging smile that was meant to bolster her spirits.
Prometheus then focused his divine energy, raising a hand with the palm facing upwards while closing one eye. The subtle glow around his pupil hinted at the exertion of his godlike powers, preparing to enact their plan. While appreciative of Perseus's determination, Zoë couldn't help but voice her concerns. "I do thank thee for thy endeavors," she said, "but Heracles is a mighty man."
Her caution seemed to go unheard, or perhaps it was simply that Perseus appeared utterly unfazed by the challenge. His confidence was unwavering. Momentarily lost in thought, he casually dismissed the girl's concern about Heracles's strength with a simple scratch of his head. "It matters not," he confidently asserted, pointing to himself, "for I am the mightiest."
Zoë, taken aback by his bold declaration, found herself without a reply. Their exchange was interrupted by Prometheus, who brought the conversation back to the matter at hand. "My liege," he addressed Perseus, "I hath found Heracles."
Perseus responded to this news with a small round of applause, his excitement barely contained as he bit his lip, eager for what was to come. However, as Perseus surveyed the inner sanctuary of his palace, a wave of nostalgia overtook him. This place, where he had spent countless hours during the era of the protogenoi, was filled with memories, especially those of his family and, most poignantly, his mother.
These memories brought a mixture of joy and pain, causing an ache in his chest as he reminisced. The clash between his memories and the present reality was material. Each blink seemed to merge the past with the present, blurring the lines between the two. One moment, he was a child again, racing through the halls with his mother in a playful chase; the next, he was staring at the ruins of what used to be their playground, longing for a past that could never be reclaimed.
Though unsure of his family's fate or whereabouts, Perseus confidently held onto the idea that they were somewhere in the cosmos, perhaps watching over him. Lost in his thoughts, Perseus felt a gentle yet firm grip on his vambrace. Looking down, he saw Zoë's slender fingers clutching him lightly, a silent gesture of empathy and connection.
Prometheus, observing the poignant moment between Perseus and Zoë, approached and offered his arm, creating a support for Perseus to lean on. This simple act of solidarity from Prometheus underscored the deep bonds that tied these beings together, each with their own burdens and histories, yet united in their current purpose.
Leaning into Prometheus's sturdy frame, Perseus allowed the titan to support his weight. At this moment of contact, a radiant burst of light enveloped them, shooting upwards into the heavens as a pillar of pure white, its speed defying the sight of the human eye. Within the span of a mere heartbeat, they found themselves transported several hundred kilometers away from the desolate grandeur of Mount Othrys, landing amidst surroundings utterly unknown to Perseus.
Before them lay an ancient Greek village, a tranquil tableau of pastoral life unfurling under the gaze of the gods. Fields of golden wheat swayed gently in the breeze, extending towards the horizon in neat, orderly lines. The village itself was dotted with marble structures, their classical architecture speaking of a community that, despite its modest size, possessed a keen sense of beauty and harmony. Tiny houses, their walls washed with sunlight, lined a pathway paved with rubble, creating a charming, if somewhat rugged, thoroughfare through the heart of the settlement.
Prometheus, stepping forward, assumed the role of a guide, introducing Perseus and Zoë to this slice of mortal existence neither had encountered before.
"This," he began, his voice imbued with a hint of elation, "is the village of Anavra, nestled northwest of the great Mount Othrys. It is a bastion of mankind, a civilization whose lifeblood is drawn from the soil. Here, agriculture is not merely a means of sustenance but a purpose, a way of life."
He paused, allowing his words to paint a vivid picture of the village's essence. "In the wake of Kronos's fall and the end of the Golden Age, these mortals have turned their devotions towards Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest, embracing her blessings in place of the titan's rule."
Perseus and Zoë, absorbing Prometheus's explanation, found themselves akin to tourists discovering a hidden gem, their attention captivated by the details of this unfamiliar world. The prince repeated the names "Anavra," "humans," and "Demeter" with a sense of wonder, each word unfamiliar and intriguing to his divine sensibilities. These concepts, so integral to the mortal world, were novelties to him, sparking a curiosity that had lain dormant.
"Verily, the world hath turned into a place of wondrous intrigue," he mused, his interest piqued at the idea of mortals building their own communities. He expressed a desire to explore and learn more about this realm once Zoë's possessions had been reclaimed.
Zoë, on the other hand, found herself captivated by the village of Anavra. Despite the overcast skies that lent a somber hue to the landscape, there was a charm and simplicity to this place that she couldn't ignore. For her, each step away from the garden and into the wider world was like a liberation, a journey into the unknown that filled her with a sense of exhilaration she had never known.
The more she saw of the world beyond her former confines, the freer she felt, the garden's strings unraveling with every new experience. Prometheus brought their attention back to the task at hand, informing them that Heracles had recently made his way into Anavra. "He seeks sustenance and hospitality at the town's entrance before continuing his journey back to Zeus," he explained, providing them with a clear lead on their quarry.
The mention of Heracles's name instantly shifted Zoë's state of mind from wonder to anxiety. The hero's presence, so close yet so fraught with painful memories, sent a jolt of misery through her. Her breathing quickened, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a manifestation of the dread and turmoil that Heracles's name evoked in her.
Perseus's keen observation of Zoë's mannerisms revealed much about his capacity for understanding those around him. His gaze, analytical yet not devoid of empathy, picked apart the subtleties of her distress. Her eyes darted about in fear, her lip caught repeatedly between her teeth in a nervous gesture, and her fingers absently toyed with her braid as if seeking comfort in the familiar action. These small, unconscious behaviors spoke volumes to Perseus. He was calculating, intelligent, and knowledgeable, but what made him the most dangerous being ever to walk the planet's surface was his adaptability and perception.
However, his observations led him to a somewhat blunt conclusion. "Zoë, thou doest that too much," he remarked, pointing out her nervous habits.
At this moment, Perseus's extraordinary capabilities in adaptability and perception met the limits of social tact. His comment, though perhaps intended to draw attention to her anxious behavior, highlighted his disconnect to cues and emotional mannerisms.
His critique, though direct, was not born of malice but rather a straightforwardness that came naturally to someone unaccustomed to navigating the nuances of modern politeness. For Zoë, already on edge from the mention of Heracles and struggling with the turmoil of her feelings, Perseus's observation might have seemed like another layer of burden added to an already overwhelming situation. The nymph's gaze finally settled on Perseus, her wide, anxious eyes morphing into a blend of offense and confusion at his comment. "What dost ye mean?" she inquired, seeking clarity on his observation.
Perseus, realizing the need for elaboration, explained, "Thou thinkest too much." His words, meant to highlight her tendency to overanalyze, inadvertently led Zoë to introspection.
She paused, reflecting on his statement, only to find herself spiraling into further contemplation. Recognizing this cycle, her emotions shifted towards indignation, and she turned away from Perseus, a gesture of frustration with both his criticism and her own inability to escape her thoughts. Perseus, puzzled by Zoë's reaction, exchanged glances with Prometheus, seeking some understanding of her discontent. Prometheus, equally baffled, shared Perseus's confusion, as they both found the assessment to be accurate and not deserving of such a response.
Regrouping, the prince adjusted his vambraces and cracked his neck, a physical preparation for the task at hand. "Well, I shalt presently recover the purloined item of fair Zoë and redeem her honor from that knave of ill repute," he declared his voice firm with resolve.
He then turned to Zoë, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, a gesture of readiness. "Pray, tell me exactly what the youngling boy hath taken from thee," he requested, his tone sincere yet commanding.
Zoë hesitated, torn between her frustration with Perseus's earlier remarks and the necessity of his assistance. Her silence lingered, a structure of her internal conflict-displeased with his lack of tact yet acutely aware of her dependence on his power to confront Heracles and reclaim what was hers. The gentle breeze and the ensuing quietude helped to ease Zoë's tumultuous emotions, if only slightly. In a hushed tone, barely above a whisper, she disclosed, "Twas a hairpin."
Surprisingly, Perseus heard her soft admission, his acute senses picking up her words effortlessly. With a single clap, he confirmed, "A hairpin!" before swiftly making his way down the hill towards the village of Anavra, Prometheus following close behind.
Momentarily taken aback by Perseus's keen hearing, Zoë watched as the two engaged in a brief conversation with one of the village guards before disappearing through the gates. Realizing she was being left behind, she hastily gathered the folds of her chiton and hurried after them. Approaching the village entrance, Zoë's path was abruptly halted by the guard, who positioned his large spear across the entryway, effectively barring her advance. The guard's attire was notably simple: he wore no armor but was clad in a long tan tunic that draped loosely around his frame.
At first glance, he scarcely resembled a guard at all. Zoë surmised that his casual appearance likely stemmed from Anavra's small size and urban character, where the perceived need for rigorous protection was minimal. "Halt!"
As the guard demanded Zoë to stop, her immediate reaction was one of surprise and defense. She raised her hands to her chest, a universal gesture of peace while stepping back slightly. Her eyes darted past him, seeking any glimpse of Perseus or Prometheus within the village square, but the guard's imposing figure blocked her view. "Where is thy husband?" the guard pressed, his inquiry rooted in the traditional expectations of the time.
Zoë, taken aback by the assumption, quickly clarified, "I am not betrothed."
Unsatisfied with her response, the guard insisted, "Pray, bring thy man who is in charge of thee."
The girl's confusion turned to indignation. "Why must I need a man to speak for me?" she retorted, her voice tinged with frustration.
The exchange escalated as the guard's demeanor grew increasingly assertive, his stance suggesting he would not entertain further discussion without the presence of a male guardian. Their argument was abruptly interrupted by a voice that cut through the tension, inquiring about the cause of the commotion. "Good knight, what ails the matter?"
Zoë's heart sank as she recognized the speaker. It wasn't the calm, collected tone of Perseus but rather a voice marked by a certain roughness and audacity. She turned to face the source of the voice and found herself staring at Heracles.
The demigod stood large and menacing, his silhouette framed against the setting sun. In one hand, he wielded his massive club, and in the other, he held Anaklusmos, Zoë's stolen hairpin now transformed into its rightful state as a blade. The shadow cast by his figure, combined with the backdrop of the sun, lent him an appearance more befitting a monster than a hero. Zoë's encounter with the guard was forgotten in an instant, replaced by a far greater concern. Heracles's presence, so suddenly and imposingly before her, reignited her fears.
The girl backed away; her retreat was a desperate attempt to distance herself from the immediate threat Heracles posed, but her movements were futile. Just as before, her balance betrayed her, sending her tumbling backward in a helpless display of vulnerability. The sound of Heracles's growing smile was audible in the air, a chilling prelude to his recognition and amusement at the situation.
An ominous chuckle broke the tense silence, the demigod's voice carrying a note of amusement as he remarked on the fates and their cruel sense of humor. He casually twirled Anaklusmos, the celestial bronze blade gleaming ominously in his grasp, as he advanced towards Zoë. The guard, witnessing the exchange, stepped aside, his earlier posture of authority dissolving in the presence of the demigod. With a bow of his head, he deferentially inquired, "O Great Hero, doth this woman belong to thee?"
Heracles responded with a booming laugh, affirming his ownership over her in a display of arrogant possession. "Aye!"
Zoë's attempts to retreat were met with relentless pursuit from Heracles. Her whispered refusals grew in volume, a mantra of denial as she sought to reclaim some semblance of control over her fate. "Nay... nay... nay... nay, nay, nay, nay, nay! Nay!"
Her resistance only seemed to fuel Heracles's amusement. Further, his laughter morphed into a predatory growl as he swiftly captured her, lifting her off the ground and tossing her over his shoulder as if she were nothing more than an object for his amusement. Her screams and pleas for release filled the air, a noticeable divergence from Heracles's gleeful giggles, reminiscent of a child with a new toy. Zoë's cries went unheeded, her desperation mounting as she realized the gravity of her situation.
Heracles's true nature laid bare-a figure of imposing strength and capricious whims, his actions driven by a sense of entitlement that saw Zoë not as a person but as a prize to be claimed and controlled. In a harrowing scenario, Zoë found herself trapped and powerless, desperately trying to break free from Heracles' grasp. Her futile attempts to resist him demonstrated her vulnerability as she fought against his overwhelming strength.
The demigod howled, "Thou dost wish to be my concubine with such fervor that ye hast pursued me for a day's trek!" Heracles then took a menacing action, thrusting his weapon, Anaklusmos, into the ground, symbolizing a significant and ominous event.
Heracles' actions took a disturbing turn as he subjected the nymph to far more grotesque advances of degradation. Using his now free hand, he struck her rear, spanking the helpless girl. The sounds she made as his hand slithered across her body made him groan in delight. The feeling of his rough palm violating her frame caused her to struggle even harder, her cries and screams resonating throughout the area. The commotion drew the attention of nearby guards, who were alarmed by the noise and approached the scene.
As Zoë's eyes frantically sought help from the guards, her plea for freedom was met with chilling indifference. The smiles on their faces, far from offering solace or support, were twisted into expressions of amusement at her plight. This horrifying realization-that her suffering was a spectacle to them-quelled her cries, leaving her in a terrifying silence. Heracles's presence loomed more extensive, his breath hot and foul by her ear, each word he uttered feeling like an assault on her dignity. His attempt at flattery, comparing her favorably to the town's harlots, was meant to disorient and belittle, stripping away her agency and reducing her to an object of his desire.
In that moment, Zoë's reality seemed to fracture. The horror of her situation, the betrayal by those she hoped might intervene, and the degrading words of Heracles converged into a maelstrom of despair. She felt detached as if her consciousness had retreated and could no longer reach her. This dissociation, a defense mechanism against the overbearing trauma, left her feeling as though she was observing the scene from afar, a disembodied spectator among the guards who watched her ordeal with perverse fascination.
She felt as if she were drowning, as if everything had faded and became muffled. This disconnection, while offering a temporary respite from her pain, underscored the depth of Zoë's fragility. Isolated and powerless, she was ensnared in a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape. "I shalt relish in the use of thy body," the son of Zeus ominously declared.
The world is corrupt. However, in the darkest depths of this world, a new voice shattered the tense atmosphere, pulling Zoë back from the brink of despair.
"Thou touched her," the voice stated.
She recognized this voice. It resonated with a depth and smoothness like velvet. It was unmistakably Perseus. His intervention was like a lifeline, snapping Zoë out of her dissociative state and anchoring her to the present. Perseus stood out starkly among the guards, his princely demeanor and attire distinguishing him as a figure of authority and power. In contrast to the guards' casual and indifferent attitudes, Perseus exuded a sense of purpose and resolve. His presence brought a splash of vivid color to the monochromatic scene, marking him as someone of significance.
His expression, however, was an enigma. The usual dynamism that animated his features was absent, replaced by a calm that was almost unsettling. His eyes, often alive with the light of swirling cosmos, were still, belying the intensity of his focus. This change in demeanor did not go unnoticed; Zoë, along with everyone else present, could sense an underlying shift in him. Perseus might have appeared outwardly unchanged, but the atmosphere around him suggested otherwise. He radiated a sense of danger, a departure from his known self that bordered on the malevolent. It was evil.
Reiterating his accusation, Perseus's voice carried a weight that underscored the gravity of Heracles's transgression. "Ye touched her," he repeated, each word laden with implication.
Heracles, undeterred by the palpable change in Perseus, responded with a dismissive huff, his confidence-or perhaps ignorance-unshaken even in the face of Perseus's ominous aura.
Perseus advanced towards Heracles, each step deliberate, closing the distance between them. The confrontation was charged with tension, a clash of wills that promised to escalate beyond mere words. The question that hung in the air was whether Heracles's confidence stemmed from a genuine belief in his superiority or if it was a gross underestimation of the threat Perseus now posed.
Heracles flung Zoë carelessly aside as a display of brute strength. It may have ended in injury had Prometheus not been there to catch her. Using a long wool cloth to soften her fall, the titan ensured her safety, a stark contrast to Heracles's reckless disregard for her well-being. The Son of Zeus, ever the provocateur, taunted Perseus, "Hast thou fallen beyond love with that wench?!"
His arrogance was visible, matched only by his combat prowess. Heracles was haughty, ignorant, overconfident, and perverted, but he was not stupid. The hero was known for his extraordinary fighting skills, possessing a keen sense of battle that allowed him to rival even the gods. As Perseus slowly closed the distance between them, Heracles unleashed a powerful swing of his club, an attack capable of lethal damage. Yet, astonishingly, the strike did not meet its mark. Perseus, undeterred and seemingly unaffected, continued his approach, leaving Heracles to question the failure of his attack.
The scene left Zoë in shock, barely able to process her rescue by Prometheus, much less express her gratitude. Her confusion was evident as she witnessed the exchange, questioning aloud the nature of the missed attack. Prometheus, observing the encounter with a calm detachment, provided a simple explanation for Zoë's bewilderment. "Perseus evaded," he stated matter-of-factly, his tone suggesting that such feats were within the realm of expectation for someone of Perseus's abilities.
"His swiftness is so great that it seemed as though he had not moved at all."
Fueled by frustration and the primal urge for victory, Heracles launched another assault on Perseus. The gravel crunched under his feet as he surged forward, his club swinging from the side in a faster, albeit slightly less powerful, arc. The air crackled with anticipation as the weapon found its mark, or so Heracles believed. He grinned, confident in his triumph, expecting the sound of impact to signal Perseus's defeat.
However, the anticipated collapse never came. Instead, a sharp, resonant crack akin to lightning filled the air, leaving Heracles startled and bewildered. The club, rather than felling Perseus, was halted mid-swing by an unharmed Perseus, who had deftly positioned his right hand across his body to shield his face from the blow. The intensity of the god's gaze, penetrating and unwavering, sent a shiver down Heracles's spine, a reaction abnormal to the demigod known for his indomitable courage and strength.
Breaking the silence that followed the clash, Perseus commanded Heracles in a calm, authoritative tone. "Pick it up."
This directive, coming from a figure who had effortlessly withstood Heracles's formidable attack, accentuated the disparity in their powers. Heracles, visibly shaken by Perseus's resilience, hesitated. The mane of the Nemean Lion, a symbol of his previous triumphs, seemed to bristle with his agitation. With a roar, he sought to reaffirm his might, pounding his chest in defiance before launching into another charge, his movements fueled by a mix of desperation and determination.
As he regained control of his club, Heracles executed a fluid maneuver, twirling and aiming a potentially crushing strike at Perseus. The sound of thunder echoed once more, a witness to the force behind the attack. Yet, in a stunning display of control, when Heracles released the club, expecting it to crash to the ground or through his opponent, it remained suspended in the air, defying gravity and expectation. As the club shifted to reveal Perseus's formidable grasp, Heracles's astonishment turned to disbelief. Perseus, with a display of strength that belied his mortal appearance, had not only stopped the club mid-swing but was now crushing it within his grip. The wood, unable to withstand the force of Perseus's hold, cracked and groaned, betraying the immense power contained within the hands of the primordial god.
Perseus's voice cut through the air. "Weak."
As he tightened his grip, the club succumbed to his will, the cracks deepening until it finally shattered, disintegrating into splinters with a sound reminiscent of thunder. Heracles, unprepared for such a display of power, instinctively retreated. Seizing the initiative, Perseus advanced. In a blink, he disappeared from sight, only to reappear directly in front of Heracles. The speed at which Perseus moved was beyond comprehension, blurring the lines between presence and absence.
His fist, drawn back with precision and intent, connected with Heracles's cheek with devastating force. The impact sent Heracles flying, but Perseus, unrelenting, pursued him through the air. With a graceful twist of his body, he delivered another powerful blow, propelling Heracles back toward the earth with an unstoppable momentum. The force of their descent was such that when Heracles's body rebounded from the ground, Perseus was there to meet him, driving him back down with a ferocious kick that snapped Heracles's arm.
The sequence of movements, each executed with a speed and precision that defied the limits of human capability, left no doubt as to the disparity in their powers. Heracles's cries of agony, a sharp dissimilarity to his earlier bravado, were quickly silenced by the relentless force of Perseus's assault. It seemed almost as each second passed; Heracles was bombarded by a strike more painful than death itself, booming like the drums of time.
Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM. Tock. BOOM. Tick. BOOM.
Each blow, delivered with the precision and strength of a god, left Heracles begging for mercy, his voice breaking under the weight of his injuries. The once indomitable demigod, revered for his feats and strength, was reduced to pleading for his life, his face barely recognizable beneath the swellings and bruises inflicted by Perseus's fists. "P- please..."
Pausing in his onslaught, Perseus allowed a fleeting smile to touch his lips-a chilling indication of his dominance over the situation. He then dismounted the beaten form of Heracles, taking a moment to survey the extent of the damage he had wrought. The sight that greeted him was one of utter oblivion; Heracles's once formidable physique was now a grotesque illustration of pain and despair, his continued survival proof of his godlike resilience.
With a movement that seemed almost casual, Perseus raised a blood-stained finger toward the broken figure before him.
"Lock."
The command was imbued with a power that resonated through the very air. In that instant, the true depth of his primordial might was unveiled, a glimpse into the essence of destruction and control that he wielded. Proof he was a protogenos.
The energy that emanated from Perseus enveloped Heracles, a visible manifestation of his decree. Under the weight of that power, Heracles's skin began to change, his flesh yielding to stone. Heracles's transformation was swift and irreversible; the demigod who had once roamed the earth, conquering monsters and defying gods, was now rendered immobile, a stone effigy of his former self. It was as if Medusa herself had fashioned a punishment befitting the demigod's crime. Heracles: petrified, to forever bear the pain and humiliation without the gift of death.
Red blood dripped from Perseus's hands. It's color, he was not familiar with. Perseus turned away from the statue of a defeated Heracles.
It was his first time killing a mortal. It felt good.
AN
Hello! I made an announcement earlier, but I would like to reiterate my apology for the long wait. I won't bore anyone with my personal reasons because I'd rather you all focus on the content than myself as an author. As an apology, I made this chapter far longer than I thought that I would, and to be completely honest, I really enjoyed how it turned out (not to be biased)!
The story has a lot more content, like, a LOT; I really hope that you all are enjoying it as much as I am, or perhaps even more. I finally concluded a large portion of Zoë's origin, and I can't wait to continue building her character into THE Zoë Nightshade. The next chapter will most likely be sort of an exposition as I want to let Perseus get up to date with everything that has happened to continue the world-building (I promise it will still be fun)!
Please leave your thoughts, comments, criticism, and the like for me to review. Thank you!
- ANAKX
Word Count: 10215