Doomsday Clock Strikes to Ten
Part 5
"It still paints me as odd that Stan Edgar of all people has invited me over for lunch," Wodime said as he eyed the delicious-looking cocktail in front of him. Champagne mixed with a traditionally grown collection of citruses just outside of the former CEO's villa.
His former direct competitor merely presented a sly smirk as he continued to neatly slice a pinch of his succulent dish before carefully placing it into his mouth. Chewing, the duskier man looked fairly comfortable and happy in his presence while he wiped his lips to speak.
"And why would that be, Mr. Wodime? I am essentially out of the business, what ties I have with the company and me being your former business competitor are null and void. What we have in this little lunch date of ours, is of two like-minded people in a world of suits and deals that wish to have a good time."
Wodime smirked back as he began cutting into his own meal as well. The steam from the well-cooked roast beef from practically one of the priciest chefs on the East Coast was truly remarkable. It reminded him of the many same talks that he had with Clock Tower Lords on official business, or on Play Dates with some of the female heirs of those families. One particular young female heir filled him with nostalgia just recalling her and her very distinct mercurial golem. She was a joy to talk to, if only for her mannerisms and her 'sibling' in all but name.
This conversation had the same weight and tone to it but given how lenient Stan Edgar was compared to their last meeting (while not as antagonistic) gave Wodime some form of an idea as to where this was heading.
"I concur. Due to all of the things placed in my lap currently, having a peaceful day of the two of us just talking seems like a godsend." Wodime playfully said with full honesty on his part. The fact that Caenis had to drag him to sleep almost every night was embarrassing enough on its own but due to the rapid changes the world had been experiencing due to their efforts, his work was just piling harder than he could ever go through with them even at the pace he was having.
Delightfully, Stan Edgar started talking with his very distinct smooth voice. Sipping his own drink, he looked at him with a glint of an expression that made Wodime recall his old mentor, Marisbury. "I can tell… even if at the most generous, conservative estimate Vought International may not have reached the heights that Mt. Olympus has garnered, but the job in itself was still hectic. Especially when you can't control the main reasons why said company was functional and successful in the first place."
Wodime chuckled. "Oh yes… and I can imagine it was much worse on your end."
"Oh, definitely so… as a man of color myself, with how unpleasantly idiotic my predecessors were, you can tell I had to go the extra mile to put everyone in line. Especially the problematic ones. In your case, I find myself envying the fact that it's not much of an issue. You choose the right people well, putting them in places that are outright correct for where they belong and that to me already tells me of how good you were, even at day one when you first started."
Wodime smiled with appreciation. "Believe me, as much as I want to say that my people are in every essence, trustworthy and loyal, there's been a lot of hiccups along the way. Some unintentional and some… more in terms of personality when looked at on the surface."
"But it was success, nonetheless. The kind that makes my former associations look incompetent."
"I wouldn't say it like that with all due respect, sir. You have done a remarkable job handling Vought as is and I can imagine if I didn't exist, you would have continued to do so with impeccable charge while leading at the front." Wodime remarked, making the older man nod to the compliment as he crossed his fingers together.
"I thank you for the praise, but it's unneeded. Try as I may, that ship was a ticking time bomb in the making. With the way how the former golden goose was going, I only saw very few outcomes that would make up a beneficial victory for Vought. Survive, yes… but to prosper and come out of it unscathed, I severely doubt. More so when we had no idea if there was anybody at all capable of matching him."
"Much as the idealist in me wishes to disagree, the realist says otherwise. Though, you'd have to have contingencies, a man of your talents is someone I would have expected to have a solution."
"And again, you praise me far too hard. You see, he's always been a roadblock. Try as I may, even if I could care less about all of the things he's done, no Supe would ever measure to him. Not even his son. He was a genetic anomaly born through a sheer fluke of science. If I could recall, not even our top minds could ever replicate what made him special, for even his father was inferior to him in ways that we could tell."
"Until I came… I suppose?" Wodime asked to which Stan Edgar replied with a grin.
"Yes, even with the secrets you hold close to your chest, I can assume that you have something that makes your own people, special. The world to me would have been worse if the day arrived that so many Homelanders would exist, but you… you made it the opposite. You made it possible that men and women with great power are both subservient to your whims and stable enough to appear as decent, calm folk. If it had been in a different circumstance I would have commended you with high remarks."
"Oh?"
"Yes… if you had approached me or worked with Vought you would have led the company to a Golden Age that trumps even that of the founder's wishes. Not that his wishes were good, to begin with, but even so… it makes me happy to see you succeed. In a different world, I could have treated you as an unofficial son and I would die happy knowing that the man I chose to succeed me was everything I ever wanted… and more."
Wodime felt a wave of nostalgia hit him again. The vein of the conversation may not have been one-to-one with his interactions with Marisbury Animusphere, but the tone of those last words… the honesty Stan Edgar gave had the same energy as his former mentor. Just distilled in a different form. In a way, the two were similar, just with different intentions, and even though Wodime expected Stan Edgar to be a cold, calculating, and emotionless man, he was none of that.
Instead, he was an intelligent individual with his own morality and ethics. One who both respected skill and power with the utmost efficiency and neither berated nor talked down on others who were lesser than him. He was… complicated as a person, much like Marisbury was, possessing traits that most people would find deplorable, but also endearingly respectful.
The kind of man who through sheer charisma alone had earned his spot in the world.
He would have made a good Clocktower Noble had he had the bloodline to make it so.
"But that is neither here nor there… and quite frankly, Mr. Wodime I wish to take less part in that world I used to associate with. Not because of some morally right choice or epiphany… that's utter bullshit, but because I'm very much tired of everything."
"I keep hearing that from most of your people that wish to be part of mine… Mr. Edgar." Wodime chided as the man chuckled.
"So, I've heard… but that doesn't remove my point. Our wonderful excursion for today wasn't only for pleasure as I know you also expected." He said as Wodime raised his brow.
"I did… but I wish to know what is it that you're proposing."
Stan Edgar's grin widened.
"An offer that I know you won't skip."
Wodime leaned closer, smiling back.
"Does this involve Victoria?" he asked.
"Oh, my dear boy, it is so much more. You are in essence my successor as I've already established, and I'm here to make sure that you triumph every step of the way forward. So, I could retire peacefully with a smile on my face."
It was strange… drinking regular, ice-cold orange juice. It both felt oddly familiar and nostalgic of a time when things were far simpler. The consistency and taste alone provided comfort as it smoothly drained down her throat after licking her own lips in the aftermath.
Ordinarily, she would have preferred alcoholic drinks over something as mundane as this since it would have… helped given everything that had happened to her thus far. Yet she knew that drinking such excess vices proved to be a temporary relief to her emotional turmoil. Said vices only worsened as time went on and with each subsequent bottle drained down her throat, it only served to make her remember as clarity in the inevitable hangover kicked back harshly time and time again.
Her general mood was utterly blank nowadays. Unfeeling, uncoordinated, cursedly walking day in and out just literally drifting along the sails like a lonely boat lost at sea. She seldom found anything joyful or anything close to meaningful with her actions and any joy she felt was more of a rush than anything considerable. Numbness was the word that drifted in her mind.
Numbness that she barely paid attention to her appearance anymore compared to before. Where she, considered one of the most beautiful women in the world, now looked like a pale reflection of what she once was… hair and body size among many things.
Would she consider herself fat? In a way, she was to her own eyes. She did visibly gain weight because her waist was a lot less thin and her arms had more fat dangling onto them than before. She still supported the same shape to her face, but her prominent cheekbones were harder to spot in a subtle manner now. She still looked relatively important, or better yet she still resembled Queen Maeve that most people publicly knew.
It's just that she wasn't sure if she was needed in this climate and why she continued to humor doing things for Vought when it gave her no shortage of grief. Worse, she could hear the rather loud protests of both sides outside the campus she was on, and she knew that part of those protests was about Vought's presence, hers specifically.
They might be supporters in the crowd that was on her side, but she knew deep down that their number was massively dwarfed by those who were very angry still at Vought and those who supported Olympia quite well.
Olympia…
Sighing, the woman known to the public as Queen Maeve drank the last of her juice as she crumpled the empty remains of its container in her hand. Now that Elena and her daughter were in hiding, perhaps in the same Olympia Foster Care facility she found Maya in. She told her that one of Olympia's heroines, this Europa was a caring, loving mother-like entity. She trusted them to be safe, especially with anti-supe violence, mostly due to Vought-sponsored ones being on the rise outside.
Those who supported Vought or disagreed and hated Olympia existed, of course, but they were very few and far between due to the organization being very observant and prioritizing more on the safety of civilians over themselves.
It wasn't like they were vulnerable at all to getting hurt. People were not idiotic enough to subscribe to the reality that was Darwinism because as far as she could tell, people were still instinctively protective enough for their own safety. It was a reverse sort of case with Homelander, she observed. While there were a lot of people who actively believed and loved the man, his presence and aura felt superficial. Even the most devout of believers felt this, as they were actively, subtly afraid of him ever lashing out. Like a God in tales of old…
Not overtly friendly or loving. Mainly authoritative, prone to emotional outbursts, and jealousy. They treated him like a Hellenistic, Classical deity that both needed worship and support and oftentimes people would kowtow to even his worst impulses. Basically, a child that had to be pacified. A very unruly and spoiled child.
The Olympia heroes represented the other side of the equation. The classical idea of some deities. Those who upheld order and were natural disasters gave thought and form. What separated them from such barbaric, pagan reflections was the fact that their CEO conveniently found decent people to act these miracles.
An impossibility given how power consistently enabled greed within people.
"Hm." Though since the world was already strange once they entered the stage, maybe she was just becoming too cynical. Maybe it was just because of her life's experience, numbing her perception to the point that she no longer found happiness as it once was in the world.
Shaking her head in exasperation, she began walking towards the restrooms as the echo of the various protests of people outside began to fizzle out as she went deeper into the campus. Many of the delegates and important business partners were still preparing for their summit deep inside so she still had time. Ample time to have some privacy for herself.
She was just here after all to represent Vought's business interests and also because she was the only one amongst their roster that was available to be their pawn. They were that desperate now to put anything just to make up some form of public image and due to her pathetic work history recently, she knew that they were just as unhappy as she was with this ordeal.
Frankly speaking, she wondered why she still hadn't quit.
A question that deeply continued to haunt her as she stalked the lesser populated halls where science graduates and professionals didn't even spare a glance in her direction.
"Hm."
Arriving at her destination, she was about to open the door when she heard a rather uncharacteristic squeal from a very familiar voice filling the Women's Restroom. The owner of the voice who like her was previously questioning why she still stuck to Vought…
"I… I don't know what to say… but THANK YOU! Oh my God, Thank you so much!" the voice said as she began laughing with so much glee. The moment Margaret opened the door further she saw that it was Ashley. The poor woman who took a considerable brunt of a lot of anger from Vought recently was now happily giddy and excited in front of a mirror as she held her phone onto her ear.
An absolute stark contrast to the barely caring woman days, even weeks before.
At times Margaret even wanted to intervene on her behalf when she saw Ashley pulling out her own hair and looking suspiciously suicidal with everything she did. She didn't bother however, as things stand, her presence would only worsen the poor woman's depression further and they historically did not have a good relationship to begin with.
"You won't regret this sir! I mean it, you won't- oh, I mean, yes Mr. Campbell. I appreciate it."
In hindsight, Margaret realized that the fact she didn't try at all to help her spoke volumes of what kind of hero she was. This was also not counting the many times she failed to save anyone whether through the callousness of the job she was in, carelessness, or the painfully truthful fact that her initial idealism was now nothing more than a painful sham of what it once was.
She even stared at the scar on her arm, when she saved that school bus. The feat that made Queen Maeve a national, some would argue, an international figure worthy of praise amongst the greats. It felt so long ago that looking back, she felt the age with her current disposition.
How her own name was now a literal means to drag the name of Vought and everything it stood for without impunity.
"W-What? I g-get to come by tomorrow? To meet Medea? R-Really? Oh my Gosh, is this for real?!" Ashley continued to squeal as Margaret watched. The mention of the name made her think about the infamous, elfin beauty that pumped out design after design into the fashion world as if she were just a machine of pure and utter creativity.
It wasn't without merit of course. Many of the dresses were something that Margaret herself loved with full admittance. Even the ones she saw at the Gala were amazing. It told much about her skill that she could create such intricacies in many styles and forms tailored to the person she was dressing. In her own time, she wondered if this Medea could make her something beautiful as well…
But that was a far-fetched dream.
"Thank you so much… y-you don't know how much this means for me… really…" Ashley said, almost to tears, which was uncharacteristic for her. It made Margaret feel guilty as she stared at the woman who seemingly did not even notice her presence through the mirror. Her eyes were lined with so much appreciative joy and relief that it made Margaret pause.
"T-Thank you… I won't disappoint, I promise…" Ashley softly said. The melancholy of her words made Margaret realize yet again how things had changed. Ashley was as flawed as she was in terms of character, but the fact that she was spurring this much emotion through acceptance made her think of her entire history with the business.
How everything was a deliberate sham on its own.
How her own initial ideal was twisted to no tomorrow.
It was like seeing her young, naïve self in a mirror. She may not call that young girl deliberately better than the person she became, but ultimately, she was the better person. She was the one who was right… the one who would look at her and feel disappointed at the woman she became.
"Maeve." Ashley suddenly said as Margaret finally returned her focus back to the present.
Their eyes met through the mirror as she stood there at the doorway awkwardly.
"Ashley." She responded as Ashley gave a silent fake smile after wiping away any evidence of her being teary-eyed. She then started to walk away to exit the restroom when Margaret outstretched her hand towards her.
"What's this for?" Ashley asked, some hostility and confusion rapping up her face.
Margaret didn't know herself either, but she sighed and reached for the woman's hand, strangely having no resistance before she squeezed it with a supportive nod.
"I'm happy for you." She whispered making Ashley blink before she nodded back.
They went their separate ways as Ashley went out the door, leaving Margaret alone again in the silence. She stared at herself in the mirror and whispered to herself softly…
"…maybe just one bottle will do…"
A much younger Margaret would also realize at that moment if she could ever see this, that she had been running away from both her past and responsibilities because she was far too scared of facing them in the first place.
"Thou claim to me that every man, woman, and child who walk on the very soil of this country, this world, is comparable to a homunculus?" Artoria asked as the daughter of the local God seemed to shift at her words.
"I do not merely claim, Miekankantaja, I am stating a fact. Whether you call it by any other name that exists outside of mine country and domain, does not remove the reality that the very last human is long gone and what remains is an imitation. A poorer imitation than what currently existed."
Artoria looked at the godling with confusion as she stalwartly spoke back.
"I don't see the difference."
"Oh? Does thou not see it? A person of thine caliber, one whose existence should not be a possibility for this world." The godling said as the swampy lake around her started to stir. The image of their surroundings turning from the murky greenish lake before it swirled into a sunset-like background with its pale yellow-orange colors and the blurry image of the sun at the proposed hour.
"My question yet stands, Vellamo. Thou proclaim that there is a difference between humanity as it was when it was still alive compared to the confusing 'sham' that thou proclaim which now walks the World entire." Artoria asked, her expression still miffed with assertiveness as any reason for such remarks was still left unanswered, which was typical for Fae or Divine alike. Their usage of words typically flows in such a flowerful way that oftentimes the point of the entire conversation vanishes in two or three exchanges.
Her experience on such matters, even with just a conversation with Merlin would prove useful. Especially with how inexplicably important this entire revelation was. For the mere confirmation of another Divine figure outside of Greece has been encountered. Lady Raikou had her own investigation in the lands of Japan, but she only had snippets and evidence that was far too anecdotal in nature as of yet. Drake had done the same, looking into various peninsula islands and their local inhabitants for traces of such things but came up with little to no evidence.
This was a first, and for the sake of her master, she had to make sure the conversation would bring about an advantage for them at the end of it.
"Miekankantaja, thou were not there when mine father fostered man. When the skies were once bright across the landscape. When the mere glance of each village where men walked was filled with smiles, love, and care." Vellamo says while Artoria remains stoic. Her surroundings change to mimic the godling's words down to the smallest detail as she sees a peaceful, Northwestern European village and its people moving on and about.
They looked content and as the godling stated, outwardly they were full of joy as if heaven had already existed on Earth. Crops were in full swing, the townsfolk and villagers happily interacting with each other, and the overall mood felt like a paradise…
"…Men were beautiful creatures. Full of love. Full of compassion as mine father told me. Whose lives were as colorful and vibrant than even us Divinities."
…a paradise that one silly little stable girl in the countryside once wished for herself before she had ever thought of pulling the sword from the stone.
But quickly as that blunt of nostalgia hit her, Artoria quickly found her footing again for those memories were long gone. A different person now stood in her place and contrary to most of the more optimistic Artoria's in the Throne, she was one of the more blunt and realistic-thinking facets to exist alongside them.
It was not that she had forgotten her dream, no. It was mostly because of trial and error. Through wrath and hope, her mettle was tested until she was inevitably the King of the Storms. She did not consider herself heroic, unlike the others, but she was a king who both wished for the benefit of her people but also held them in a stranglehold to consolidate and expand her own power, all for a complicated love that inevitably made up the collapse of her regime.
Not through blood, mind you…
Nor through being assassinated by rebels like in Proper Human History…
But to fade from time entirely, for her barbarism and violence. She was a forgotten relic of a branch in the World Tree that was rejected. An anomaly that, unlike The Lion King, was a wasted trajectory who wasn't able to save her own great, conquering kingdom.
A legacy wrought in ashes due to how twisted her efforts became through each conquest.
She did not die, no. If anything some would consider the rebellion led by her son against her to be the correct path due to her Tyranny. How the Knights of the Round, even dearest Lancelot and Gawain died by her hand, leaving her alone in a wasteland that was once Britain.
Immortality that was almost akin to the Witch of Dun Scaith.
Or how in another world, Bedivere was lost in time trying to return her sword.
There was no happy ending to her own story. It was just loneliness before she was inevitably turned into another facet of Artoria on the Throne. The legacy of the Immortal Storm King was just that, silence and ash…
"Mine Father cherished man as if they were his own children. A Father not just in name but towards every living soul that resided in their motherland in peace. Yet after the Great Scourge, mine Father was left in silence amidst ash and burnt rock. An immortal life, empty, without meaning, for even his own kin hath been erased by the Enemy."
…and through the melancholy that this godling's words procured, she oddly felt sympathetic to her plight. For she in turn had experienced it. That empty silence.
"Doth thou not understand still? What legacy mine Father wished to impart to Man before they vanished?" Vellamo asked, her eyes melancholic as Artoria met her glance.
Artoria looked around and saw the peaceful surroundings again. Smallfolk and perhaps nobility exchanged smiles and laughs while they went on with their lives. Artoria had quickly ascertained an observation before looking back to the Godling.
"What is that thou consider inferior to Man whom walks the earth today? Thou preach of goodness, of peace, of tranquility, but thou should realize that this line of thought is… unrealistic?" Artoria probed, hoping to make the godling see why she was so skeptical.
Their surroundings were in essence a utopia. A primordial wish that many even in the modern day would want for their own societies. It was purity and kindness in its most astute form. Where children freely laugh and run past without nary a thought of danger.
Even the skies in this 'presentation' were far too perfect. Not enough to be overtly warm, not enough to be hidden behind the clouds, everything felt tailor-made to show her this paradise.
A fantasy in basically everything it stood for.
Vellamo stared at Artoria, puzzled as she blinks. Like a child wholly shocked at the idea of being disagreed with.
"Thou calleth the legacy of mine father, no, that of mine mother, unrealistic? The paradise, nay, the virtue of those who stood in the solace of mine people as that?" she nearly shouted. The world around her shifted like the tidal waves as the authority of the Sea God, weak as it was compared to its prime, still shook the inner world Artoria was still a prisoner to.
The rumbling subsided, however, as the godling looked at her in a contemplative sense.
"Vellamo, mine name is merely a symbol. Mine father, great Ahti before he was lost to time, hath procured a lover. Romantic their story was, filled with love, kindness, and genuine trust allowed mine father to tame his stormy side."
The world around Artoria shifted as it showed a murky-looking man and a beautiful woman sitting by the coast of a great sea. Looking into the horizon. Love exuded from their forms.
The woman looked human and if the words of the godling were to be believed, the murky-looking man covered with that strange aura was a deity. They stared into the sunset where the rivers met the oceans as they held hands. Lips embroiled in a gentle, loving kiss while Artoria watched.
She remembered Guinevere. She remembered the day she discovered her conspiring against her kingship alongside Mordred and Morgan. She remembered how the love within Lancelot and Guinevere's eyes stared against each other before she would divorce her head from its body.
She then remembered Kay and what they used to talk about in their childhood.
How finding love was in itself a treasure.
Artoria saw the vision the godling was showing and felt… nothing really. Love was an alien concept to her after she took the role of king. She was lenient at first, displaying care and genuine thought for subjects under her, which was why she had so much loyalty with her Knights of the Round, but the stress, pain, and the ultimate futility of one's love and passion for a nation became twisted.
Perhaps it was love, just not for an individual that the godling's parents shared.
Their passion was genuine and Artoria quickly understood that this godling had a remarkable relationship. One that reminded her of Ector and his wife.
"Father was not a warm person. He was the protector of the motherland, yes… but he was more so a guardian. A statue that forced oppressors away while he tended to the needs of his people. Yet at one point, he saved mine mother's life as she neared herself to drowning. Standing atop death's gate did he pull her back to the surface and met her."
Artoria watched as the world around him turned into stormy seas. The woman from the memory before being lifted by Ahti as he places her on the beach. Giving him the breath of life as their lips were sealed for the first time. Vellamo smiles nostalgically at the scene as the godling's parents eventually stand together, smiling at each other.
"Vellamo, her name was. Mine own name was derive'th of mine mother. The very first woman who hath taken Great Ahti's heart." The godling said as the world shimmered around them again, turning into memories. Memories of differing quality yet contained the beautiful aura of a placid ocean against a sunny sky.
The godling's mother stood upon the shore praying alongside her brethren for a bountiful harvest at sea for the fishermen. Her looks subtly change as Artoria quickly observes that with how she is clothed, down from her leaf-like clothes and such, she looks important compared to the typical civilian she was before. A slightly, thorny-looking crown derived with various sea-like features was adorned on her head as a beautiful green, satin-like cape flowed behind her.
Artoria watches as the seas part, Great Ahti, looking far less intimidating walks towards the grouped humans as they all bow and pray his name.
"Father and Mother did not wish to be treated any differently compared to before yet as word spread, and their love became ever more present… the people around them looked at them with wonder and faith."
Artoria watched as seemingly akin to her own ascension, there was a light that was shared between them, even if to the godling's mother, she did not wish such a faith. Yet both duty and love called to her. Her own country prayed to her as their roles became more important.
"Mother remained human, much to Father's plight with the situation, for he merely wished to partake with her love, not that of man around her. Yet both did not mind this change as they continued their affair well into the ages, until…"
The world around them shimmered as Artoria saw the godling's mother, heavy with child sitting on the steps of a house near the shore. Away from civilization. Away from responsibility and duty as Ahti embraced her from behind.
"T'was an age of prosperity. For mine motherland was never that large compared to other nations and Gods of faraway lands. It made our isolation more beneficial as the love shared between mine father and mother was the same love and virtue that Man shared amongst mine people." Vellamo explained as their surroundings shifted showing the people of these lands developed and prospered in a sedate, peaceful state even as the other gods in their region interacted with the populace.
It seemed as if they lived in a perfect equilibrium.
A far too perfect equilibrium.
It only further gave her doubt as to what she was seeing as Vellamo continued to tell her the story. The godling, even with her age at that point of her immortality, was still very much a child.
"Father told me that I was born under a bright full moon." The godling said as she raised her hand almost as if to reach towards the shimmering vision of her mother and father holding her tightly in their arms. "Men, the beloved people that father and mother cared for celebrated. They howled in joy as prayers and the like were sent to the bright stars. Almost as if thanking the heavens for such a gift. Thanking, that their paradise would continue on into the ages."
It was a beautiful night, Artoria surmised as she looked around.
A festival even, like the many in her own life when she triumphed in a battle.
She glanced back to the godling staring at the sight around her, a vision that was perhaps based more upon imagination rather than reality. Artoria was about to speak until Vellamo's lips curled into a frown.
"…but the prayers, their lovely celebration and howl to the stars was met with terror."
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR….
The air suddenly growled. The world shook slightly as the celebrations halted. The world stood still in silence as a streak of nearly white flame slowly manifested from the sky. It glowed brighter than even the morning sun as god and man alike stared as the ominous atmosphere grew in depth. Even as a vision, Artoria and the godling froze as the object.
The stranger from the stars…
"Valkoinen…" one of the men around Artoria says.
… as the world was struck true.
FRAAAAWAAAAAKAAABRUUUUUUUUUUUOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMM!
The heaviest and most powerful earthquake shook everything as before any man, woman or child could scream in terror, Ahti and his brethren of the local Gods stood fast as they kept their domains firm despite the titanic onslaught of the object's arrival.
Artoria, unphased physically, but disturbed emotionally, suddenly recalled the story that Merlin had relayed to her within her court as they were both alone. The tale of the Great Scourge that burned the world into cinders.
The tale of the White Titan.
It was a tale that she did not care much about back then, but even seeing a glimpse of it. A mere approximation of such an event made her pause as ominously, as if she was glimpsing the world through the eyes of the Gods, a bright, almost blindingly large entity stood up from its charred, burning surroundings. Red flaring eyes opened in full as it stood tall. Larger and taller than any mountain as it absolutely loomed over the world…
"It's going to be alright…" the godling's mother said through the memory as the baby cried.
Vellamo herself, shedding a tear as they all stared.
…the White Aberration, raising its colossal hands and spreading its influence.
"…"
Artoria's heart beat faster with fear until her surroundings shifted into nothing. She blinked in confusion until she glanced at the godling, almost in awe at how real it all felt compared to the idealized, perfect paradise earlier. Darkness consumed the two of them as the godling wiped her stray tears.
"Father hath been tight-lipped with what occurred, but it was clear to mine eyes that he harbored guilt. That such pain was wrought within him as he told me I was what remained after he cowardly ran away once everything had burned around him."
A burnt landscape greeted them both as a heavily burnt and injured Ahti cradled a child while hiding within a cave.
"Other Gods tried to fight back. Some of Man that were with them assisted as mine father recalls how he heard some of the last Fae hoping to create a weapon to brave the storm and gift it to mankind, only to die with futility as the Great Scourge grew more aggressive in battle against Gods of Atlantis."
Vellamo then looked at Artoria. "Those men were some of the last to survive. One of them gifted with the promise of Victory…"
Thunder and lightning shook the Earth as Ahti cradled the child in his arms while Artoria's eyes widened in understanding.
"…only to all perish to the most humiliating and harrowing accident in History."
Artoria recalled the story of the unknown man who once took hold of the Sword of Promised Victory. How it cleaved and ended the threat of the White Titan for good, but seeing how Vellamo had phrased her words, it only procured goosebumps within her. The kind that made her slowly realize in subtle terror, all its implications.
"The Last Hope, the one who would promise victory to humanity died alongside it. The tool, the weapon itself vanishing, never to be found or seen again." Vellamo finished.
"What happened next?" Artoria asked.
Vellamo stared at her. "The Scourge would pass… Man to mine father's knowledge disappeared from the world entirely and mine birth, due to the complications surrounding it, no longer made me exist as one of man."
The scorched landscape churned as Artoria watched Vellamo's father walk across the ruins of what was apparently a golden age now laid low.
Only to encounter something else.
"Mine Father wished to hope. Hope to see some survive, even if they were not our kin, or man that came from our motherland. What he encountered was something lesser."
Artoria merely frowned at those words as she stared at what Ahti was looking at.
A bunch of bloodied, desperate, demented humans feasted upon a deceased child and mother collectively as they ripped them apart piece by piece. Their feral state makes Artoria look at Vellamo as to what this all meant.
For it seemed the godling had a skewed view of Man.
Still, a question lingered within her. If the last of men died with what was probably collateral damage from the clashes of entities that could shake worlds, then what were these people?
What were these suspiciously feral-depicted humans in the first place?
Why did the godling describe and treat them differently compared to the similarly suspicious idealized humans before the Scourge?
Something was amiss with the story.
The initial quirky opening ceremonies of the convention were in full swing.
Nikola Tesla, the modern Zeus, watched with some doubt and suspicion towards some of the delegates that just arrived earlier. With all the money and important people in attendance, most would think that this would be a convention of such importance that most countries that had any form of support for Olympia had sent their representatives.
If anything, he was a tad bit miffed with the attention given to this sanctuary. This institution that Tesla himself had funded to renovate and expand in just a few short months. His final laboratory. The very last vestige of his dream before his demise as a mortal man.
The Wardenclyffe Laboratory, now functioning as a science institution, an actual laboratory, and now an expansive university with the funds that his master had procured. In totality, he simply wished to make this place into a haven for all scientists to give their share and support the betterment of humanity. He did not wish for it to be this publicized.
Because as far as he knew, given how many people of different races, ranks, and positions in their individual governments had shaken his hand and greeted him with glee. The most egregious was that of the United States representatives, as well as some other European countries, with China and Russia in the fold. Conflicting interests all around by his observations, but all culled and curtained with a mirage of peace due to them not wanting to lose all support from Olympia.
All of them were in his burgeoning, small institution that he wished to preserve with humbleness and grace after his bitter memories of the place. All of them, came here to this impromptu tech convention because he was here.
An ironic state of events, given how he was treated when he was alive.
Now, it seemed like due to his prowess, feats, and contributions to some of the technology that Olympia slowly shared, it seemed like every single person who would have ignored him in the past was now desperately trying to meet with him. It was absurd, for some of his contributions were relatively minor, from helping to understand the calculations for the existence of White Holes, to even something as simple as enabling a much easier access to cold fusion for humanity.
Most of these were credited to the scientists that Tesla and his master had hired to support their efforts. If anything, he wished to tell the world that everything, especially in science, was a collaborative effort and simply to label each discovery or invention with one single name was a disservice to everyone involved.
Yet the world did not see it that way. Sensationalism was at its peak, to sensationalize who spearheaded a project, whose name produced the most attention to spread to the masses.
Primarily, this peaceful convention was more so a showcase of his and his comrades' wish to show the world their special reactor that enabled renewable energy to be accessible on a large fundamental scale. Allowing alternatives to oil to be feasible and to allow humanity a step closer to the dream his master wished for the world.
This of course brought over attention both positive and negative…
Ever since his master had announced this facet to the world in the Gala, conversations and such regarding the subject of his contributions became mixed. With the economy and trade since even his era in history having grown into this complicated, complex mess that functioned as a flimsy house of cards…
"-I'm sure the secretary of defense will love having to reduce fuel costs. The things we could do with our vehicles alone would be amazing." A man in uniform, possibly from the Marine Corps alongside his comrades from different parts of the Military behind collectively nodded in agreement as they shook Tesla's hand.
…that heavily leaned against existing worldwide trade, especially to the most invaluable of resources as a crutch that both benefited and weakened mankind as a whole, at least in his eyes.
Multiple countries that supplied these invaluable products had a very negative perspective on the free energy goal that Tesla wished to employ on a greater scale. The realization of his lifelong dream. That of free, renewable energy that harnessed the natural current of the world.
Admittedly, his scientific leanings were incorrect at the time when he was alive, it was only through magecraft, his status as a heroic spirit, and the collective information brought about by the summoning that he allowed himself to study and re-assess what worked and not.
He wished another scientist other than Edison was with him, for he would have exchanged ideas with them and allowed such a better collection of minds that would make humanity prosper together. A few he supposedly met in the Throne, or at least knew of him as their names came into his mind. Some well-known and some practically as niche as he once was…
Yet all had the drive to make the world a better place.
"Asset has entered the grounds. I will relay the information they share to you soon because the security in this place is becoming flimsier at the minute." A voice through the link said as Tesla returned his focus back to the real world.
He then glanced at his surroundings and saw a group of men in suits with Middle-Eastern features walking around, trying to blend in. He hummed in confirmation as he glanced around again and saw the undocumented targets that they were able to detect the moment they arrived.
"Do we have eyes on the other suspects?" Tesla worriedly said as he acknowledged that despite his dislike for Politicians and their representatives, most of them did not deserve to be harmed. Sighing, he then begrudgingly recalled that despite having funded most of this event, they weren't the main party responsible for leading it or handling its security.
From Helena's voice alone through the link earlier, he knew that she was as frustrated as he was when he continued to watch the many people who started to make him feel suspicious.
"Unfortunately, no, our Hoplite units are in play but there's only so much we can do in this crowd… and our Asset is tied with contacts of her own."
Tesla raised his glass of champagne and shook it slightly as he frowned.
"Is she alright? I don't want Raikou to think that I put her daughter in harm's way."
Helena's giggle was heard through the link despite her frustration as he smiled a little at her optimism. "I'm more convinced to tell her that you don't trust her daughter that much, Nikola. She might be more angry with that." She teased.
"I do hope that doesn't come to pass. Her 'anger' is more mothering than anything with allies." He said as he looked around as another speaker and presentation from scientists from Croatia began speaking to the crowd on the venue's big stage. Earlier, Austria's own group presented an alternative fuel source that was closer to the efficiency of fossil fuel from plants. It made him feel proud given some of those scientists were his countrymen.
Another reason to feel frustrated given that security was starting to become problematic.
As if someone had orchestrated it in the first place.
"Meet with the Asset, Helena. We have to be ready for whatever happens."
A hum of confirmation was heard through the link as Tesla sipped his drink. Ignoring some of the men and women who wished to talk to him by excusing himself.
As good as their master's foothold on reducing Vought's influence and all the unsavory groups around the world from doing anything, they were currently spread too thin, due to another problem that was now looming over their heads.
The recruits were not that ready yet, according to Chiron, as Tesla walked around the venue and saw the various innocent scientists presenting their works with faces full of inspiration and hope. A contrast to how the political and business world viewed any of the innovations of this convention.
It showed yet again to him that the biggest obstacle for humanity to succeed was itself.
It disappointed him, but it was sadly the reality of things.
"Hm."
He suddenly paused when as he watched another booth prepare their presentation, he saw a particular, familiar face that he remembered from the Gala long ago…
An unforgettable first interaction made him slightly perk in interest.
…
SWASH!
A bottle of liquor shattered and splashed on his chest as a drunk and angry woman began sobbing without reason. Most of the guests had left except for this one. Thankfully, for her own dignity, he was happy that nobody saw it except for him along the corridors of the hotel they were in.
He did not even wipe the mess that made up his handsomely made suit from Lady Medea for he saw the flailing woman, sobbing and now unconscious on the floor while glass shards littered around them. He knew she was one of the Enhanced, but he carefully cleaned her off as best as he could before lifting her gently into his arms.
"G-get your hands off me… l-leave me alone." She whispered in a daze.
"I will refuse, ma'am… at the very least until I get you to your room."
"D-Don't need help."
He didn't respond back as he carried her after asking the staff where her room was.
He knew that look. He knew the sound of those words, as he too was in that state at the later stages of his life. Penniless and effectively a walking corpse due to depression and failure, Tesla saw a mirror, or at the very least something close to it.
He didn't know what her story was, but given how she acted, he knew that he had to act.
He was a coward once for taking that route… but as the idealized representation of what Nikola Tesla was, he would do everything in his power to put her to safety.
Even if in hindsight, she was an enemy.
"I pray for a better future for you, ma'am." He said after entering her room and gently putting her onto her bed. He left shortly after, with Maeve not knowing who her unlikely savior was….
…
"Nikola?" Helena's voice said as he watched Queen Maeve trying to look around, asking around for something with that pained look in her eyes.
"What is it?"
"I've talked with the Asset… we have a development that I need to act on, quickly. Lest we risk the lives of a lot of people here."
Nikola looked around as he began to frown. There were merely ten units of Hoplites in play with their covers intact. Achilles was in backup just a block away, waiting for orders but due to the volume of civilians present, this would need to be a delicate operation.
He then returned his gaze to the wandering Queen Maeve.
"Helena, did we have confirmation that only one Vought hero is present today?"
"Yes, publicly they wrote down Queen Maeve, why?"
"I don't like where this is all going." He said as an ominous aura of dread filled him.
Artoria watched the flames burn around her as the vision showed her a group of ferals slaughtering each other. Blood bathed their forms as it seemed like their adrenaline overpowered their reasoning. It was an awful sight… to the uninitiated or inexperienced.
To Artoria, she only felt apathy.
Even as innocents died. Even as she watched a feral violate a corpse right in front of her. The visions were potent. The very depictions of these ferals would seemingly portray them as animals, rather than humans with actual thoughts and aspirations…
But given the centuries she endured as an immortal tyrant, things like these, felt oddly common. Especially to the lesser privileged parts of society that were unable to fight back against corruption and the like.
"T'was centuries after the burning of the world did mine father encounter these creatures. These… lesser beings. He was happy at first to meet them, for it hath been a long, long time." Vellamo explained while the shimmering surroundings turned into different sets of civilizations and time, apparently created by these 'ferals'. "Father only found them disappointing. Whether it was because of mine mother's demise, or of any other reason, he considered these pretenders, lesser."
"And what did you feel?" Artoria asked with an eyebrow raised as they watched empires, both more ancient and recent than hers progress with violence and atrocities that only seemed to increase with time. Not only was it a showcase of blood, but of every profane act that these 'ferals' seemed to have done across the ages.
Artoria continued to watch as a Roman soldier butchered an innocent, elderly man in cold blood as he screamed, begging to be spared and to be released from the pain.
She watched as a Grecian, much more violent, feral Amazon bisected a young man's body into two as their enemies were locked in gruesome combat with her sisters.
She then returned her glance to Vellamo who looked disappointed, scared, and through Artoria's own observation, apprehension at this supposed facsimile of the humanity her father had known and interacted with. It made the King of Storms feel as if she was experiencing this with an idiot.
"I felt as if these… art not what Man was. Before the Great Scourge… they had dignity. They had love, compassion, and empathy. Traits whose mere goals were to better their fellow men. Not to supplant, eviscerate, and destroy everything in its path… like barbarians." Vellamo said as if speaking like a child. The discontent of Artoria only increased as they watched their violent surroundings turn from that of Native people of the Americas butchering Spanish Conquistadors to a more violent version of the slavery of the darker-skinned peoples of Africa in the Northern American colonies.
Artoria was disappointed.
Greatly so.
The godling was showing her things that she already knew.
The atrocities.
The butchering.
The sheer indifference of violence on a scale unlike any other.
It was all a rubbish representation of pure embellishment and misconception. Turning to the godling, Artoria only found herself growing tired of the visions around her as she was beginning to understand who and what this godling was.
"Doth thou see it now? What monster this facsimile is. This is not Man as your bloodline, your ancestor once defended against the Great Scourge. This a lesser creation, whom mine father had quickly ascertained the moment he felt and understood what they were made out of. What sham, a rival divinity, far more powerful than even mine father had done to recreate Man as it once was."
Artoria paused. Out of all the rubbish said, this was the one that took her interest.
"Thou say that this facsimile of man was created by another? Did thou father know who it was? And why he considered this as being no different to Men that existed before?"
"What does thou imply, with the tone in thy words?" Vellamo asked as the world shifted around them to that of the early modern period. The sound of guns, planes, and explosions rattling behind them as the sky became pale red due to the smoke, and the surrounding picture of No-Man's Land turned into a haunting massacre.
Where screams and the like seemed to echo in the background before the world shifted again to a scene of the line of Abraham being executed by those who considered themselves the Greater Men. When people were bathed with gas they suffocated and burned under the rage and violence of those whose purpose was to fulfill a violent ideal.
Artoria remained unphased as her gaze pierced into the godling without as much of a change in her reaction. The contempt, the disappointment, akin to that of an adult staring at an inexperienced, spoiled child.
"Does thou not see? What these wretches have wrought upon thy world? What great horror these foul beings have done to the paradise thy world once was?"
Artoria sighed heavily as their surroundings froze almost in conjunction with her action when she looked at the godling with some pity and finally spoke her mind out towards her flawed viewpoint.
"Thou hath yet to prove to me the difference, Vellamo. For I do not see any such thing. I do not see the merit in the proof thy father and thine own belief over this subject has concluded on."
Vellamo frowned. "How dare thee say that mine fat-
"Be Silent.Thou have yet to hear the completion of mine words. T'was our deal, was it not? That I let thou hear thine words and for thou to heed and listen to mine."
Vellamo taken back looks at Artoria with some fear, like a child being scolded.
"Yes… b-but I cannot let thee spoil the legacy of mine Father and people."
"And I am not…" Artoria said with a surprising amount of softness in her voice as she started walking and looking at the surroundings the godling had conjured. An image of great violence and profanity that essentially spoke such deep, thought-provoking words just from a glance.
"…I dare not ridicule thy people or thine Father. I dare not ridicule anyone at all… but…"
Vellamo blinked as they met eyes. The King of Storm's own blaring with such intensity and conflict as she continued with words that would haunt them both moving forward.
"…but this. All of this is a facet of Man. One of its greatest. Man is a violent, murderous breed of living organisms infesting this dear Earth. Tis' a species born with conflict, war, and arrogance that even the smallest of reasons can bring about death and destruction."
Artoria recalled her own past.
"…I asked thee, what the difference was of Humanity as it was in thine Father's time, to Humanity that thou consider lesser now, whether in creation or by form, because simply speaking… there is no difference."
Vellamo's eyes widened, like a child losing its innocence as she looked at their surroundings.
"…Thou calleth Man to be a virtuous, empathetic, loving race? Then consider it the opposite as well. For humanity no matter the age or form is capable of both and whether thy father's words have truth in them about these ones being manufactured, it does not change what Men are…" The King of Storms emphasized each word as she reached the climax of her side in the debate.
She frowned with both admittance to herself and what Humanity in its broader nature was.
"…That we are Monsters."
"But… that… that cannot be," Vellamo whispered. "Thou carry the blood of the one who was supposed to give Victory and Hope to Man as it was before. How can thee think such a thing?"
Artoria's face turned ominous. For she was going to announce with utmost honesty, what her history was in the broader scheme of things. What exactly her role was in her timeline…
"Because I am one as well."
They both became silent as the world churned into nothing but black afterward…
For that was the truth, was it?
Humanity was an embodiment of both extremes, and the King of Storms was no Saint.
BRWOUSH!
The area around them shook. A thunderous impossible earthquake in terms of scale and strength manifested as two massive beings were interlocked into a battle to the death. The world was utterly devastated around them as the last dregs of his children, his mortals were wiped out from the collateral as their blows impacted the Earth.
His brothers and sisters were unfortunate not to have taken this fight seriously as with a heavy heart, the youngest of the great Titan's children, had to take up what was left of their corpses to incorporate them into his own.
It did not have the intended effect of swaying victory in his favor.
The Invader was ruthless, even with his most powerful form, now smudged with the combination of all of his deceased sibling's abilities, he was still incapable of achieving any hope of victory. His power, his might, both in its former, robust form as a pioneer amongst the stars was spent. None of his children, the mortals survived to even give him the boost to make the impossible, possible. It was fruitless as he wrestled with all his might with Lightning and Ash against an enemy that was unbeatable.
Their perpetually phosphorous-white aura and form with temperatures that made any living matter evaporate in milliseconds had completely caught his brethren and countrymen off-guard. So much so that once it had scavenged and conquered his son…
…Ares, did it use their gifts against them. Against him.
It was apocalyptic. Many mortals asked time and time again in his domain if Gods were to perish and disappear. He had always counseled them that it was merely speculation, for he and his brethren would remain as guides to Man even as they will eventually leave their cradle and reach for the stars. That sentiment was no longer a reality for with all his gifts, his advantages…
The King of the Gods was now alone.
Bitter, mourning, and weak, he continued to carry the memories, hopes, and dreams of his children both mortal and immortal alike.
Yet he shouldered the pain and screamed on in defiance, even if it meant his own life perishing.
That was 14,000 years ago…
He had forgotten what occurred after the Scourge.
He had forgotten, as a half-laden corpse wandering the wastelands what it was to have others to speak to.
He had forgotten what it was to feel companionship and family as he sentenced himself to exile on the remains of an isle that was once a powerful civilization. To guard what remained. To make sure that he would forget no more of his treasured past.
The old man had created a thousand mistakes trying to fix things.
Trying to right the wrongs by bringing back what once was… only to fail with futility.
Even his existence was tainted.
His legacy outside of stories embellished and expanded was also forgotten.
He became a Stranger to those who lived on the surface. To those who now continued to walk upon the soil of the world.
A watchman in all but name with the heaviest responsibility.
"We finally meet. Father." This boy says. From his lamentation, the old man stood from his sitting position and walked slowly towards the one who carried most of his aura. His legacy.
A boy who should not exist. A bastard child of the King of the Gods.
His son.
The old man feels guilt for dragging these poor souls from another world into his problems. He is happy, yes… to see the fruits of their labor. To see how they changed his world for the better. Even then he still lies to them, in some form.
Even then, as painful as it is to see his son. What remains of his family, alive and breathing…
He also feels guilt for not telling them the ultimate truth.
That the continuing existence of the Invader was the reason this world had yet to come out of its stasis.
"You are… beautiful, my son." He says with genuine love and emotion in his words as a tear comes out of the pitiable old man.
Please forgive me. All of you… I wish for you to forgive me.
TO BE CONTINUED…
AN: Again, I am thankful for those who are patient enough to wait for this fairly meaty chapter (about two chapter's worth) to come out. It's been a very fun time writing it. Mostly on a philosophical standpoint as I kept on reading a few books that I had bought on the subject matter a few weeks ago.
To those who read this in the other sites, I do apologize for the huge wait. As stated a family tragedy had forced me to stop writing for nearly a week and I'm still recovering from that ordeal.
Lastly, the next chapter would be shorter to this, perhaps 8k words or 7k. It'll tie up the Maeve storyline as well as transition it to the much awaited Homelander POVs, the continuation of the Kore chapters (which I'm very curious what ultimately you guys think why I named those chapters as such, I will confirm its not because of Caenis, but ultimately of something else). I quite like what's in store for the next chapter, because I cut a lot of content here to move it to the next.
Anyway, we are very close to the last legs of the Vought/HL parts and while that ending up there promotes something that may go to a direction, I assure you it won't go there, it'll go somewhere. Somewhere… more wholesome.
Oh, and I hate cutting out Mordred's scene going nearly berserk in worry of her dad. That'll be moved into the next, where they have a heartfelt reunion. :)