olympicoath

[olympicoath]

CHAPTER  TWO  : NEWSFLASH  :  IT  GETS  WORSE

Aspen didn’t even remember falling asleep.

           Well, for the record, it wasn’t often that he even got out of bed, so this oddity didn’t necessarily mean anything. Still, he would have remembered falling into the Dream Space, a subsection of Erebus Hypnos frequented whenever he needed to contact Aspen. Figures. The old daemon never stopped by, even to say a quick hello.

These random visits were far and in between, not that Aspen cared very much. Hypnos could stay far away from him for all it mattered.

           He stood idle in the field of opium, unable to move and unable to speak.

Great. Just lovely.

This was the only thing he hated about this place. Unless he was addressed by name, it was like his lips were sewn shut. If the situation had been some practical joke set up by his patron, Aspen didn’t find it very funny. He despised not being able to speak.

Hypnos, of course, relished in seeing his prodigy angry. He was cruel in that way. The two had an unspoken respect for one another, a fact the young McCarthy would never be quick to admit.

“Power Rangers?” Hypnos materialized at Aspen’s feet, his black wings lifting to reveal the daemon’s ruby eyes.

Aspen looked down at himself, muttering a curse in Ancient Greek. Here he was, in front of the god he served in his sleeps best – a pair of Power Ranger pajama bottoms with a matching tee shirt. His day couldn’t get any worse, he was sure of it.

Upon realizing he couldn’t respond to his comment, Hypnos yawned out his prodigies name, leaning back on his elbows.

           Once he could speak again, Aspen ran his deft fingers through his mess of midnight hair, ridding it of any tangles it may have acquired. “What do you want?”

All around him, dreams and memories swirled in and out of existence, vanishing into the poppies at their feet. He caught a glimpse of a girl blowing out her birthday candles. A small smile curved his lips at the sight.

Ten. She was turning ten – it was an age Aspen never had the chance to reach. At least, not how he wanted to reach it. When in doubt, blame the gods for your troubles. In Aspen’s case, it was the gods’ fault.

“What do you think I want, boy?”

A couple of things came to mind, but nothing he dared to say out loud.

Erebus wasn’t Olympia. If Hypnos got pissed and decided to smite Aspen here and now, there wouldn’t be a second chance. No do over for him. He wouldn’t go to Elysium, either. With his absolutely rotten luck, he’d end up a servant in Hades’ palace in the depths of the Underworld.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Aspen grunted, motioning for the daemon to continue his spiel, whatever it was about. With a snap of the gods lanky, boney fingers, Aspen’s usually hazel eyes flashed an odd pink color, plunging the immortal teen deeper into the world of dreams.

#

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to what he was seeing.

His body ached in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe. Once he’d managed to get to his feet, ignoring the protest of his pounding headache, Aspen analyzed his surroundings.

Where the hell did the old bastard send me?, he thought, kicking aside bits of rubble as he traveled down the crumbling corridor.

The walls were made of marble and might’ve been beautiful once. Etched into the marble were inscriptions, though he couldn’t read them and wouldn’t bother trying. Whatever it was Hypnos wanted him to see, it was definitely not some stupid wall messages. There was a fork in the path in front of him, each hall as dark and unassuming as the next.

For once he’d like an easy route to the main objective. Was that so much to ask?

Hall one looked nice enough, as the marbling on the walls continued into it.

Could be a trap, said the little voice in the back of Aspen’s mind. As much as he wanted to argue with himself here, his conscious was right. Even if this was some dream, he knew better than anyone that dreams could still hurt you, whether it be in a mental sense or physical. So, he focused his attention to the remaining two halls, both decrepit and neglected in their own right.

He wanted to run away, find his way back to wherever Hypnos was hiding and beg him to send him back to Olympia. Olympia was clean, tidy, and well taken care of. Olympia wasn’t a broken-down temple that looked like it was about to cave in on itself.

That wasn’t an option, though. He had a task to complete, whether or not he actually wanted to do it.

Aspen lifted his palm, the pinkish red light his sigil gave off illuminating the temple walls. Great. It was even more horrendous now than it was in total darkness.

He swept his hand into each of the corridors, letting the light from his tattoo do most of the heavy lifting. If need be, he’d summon the poplar branch he used as a weapon every so often, but for now he was safe. He wasn’t in any real danger.

There was a break in the third hall’s stonework. Aspen, still being groggy from the nap he still denied he ever took, turned on his heels and trekked down the second hall. In it were ( go figure ) more wall writings. These, though, pulsed with a yellow light. The pacing of the flashes seemed familiar, but why he wasn’t sure.

The tile was cold on his bare feet. A few more seconds standing here would mean game over for his toes, so Aspen continued his unwanted journey through the temple, making a mental note to talk to Alistair or Cora about the light and it’s spacing. They’d know what it meant.

           After what felt like millennia of walking – Aspen was never too sure considering time passed oddly as an immortal – the hall led into an atrium where a casket sat alone.

From what he could see, the coffin was elegantly dressed, wrapped in a golden shroud. It reminded him briefly off the funeral pyres they burned on Olympia whenever another prodigy fell outside of  the training grounds boundaries. But if there was one thing Aspen learned from the horror movies Lilith had forced him to watch, it was to never approach a coffin. Death was more his sister’s forte anyhow. Aspen, on the other hand, hated the dead. They could stay dead for all he cared.

A voice resonated from the other side of the atrium. Considering he wasn’t looking for a fight right now, Aspen ducked behind a larger piece of debris, peeking over its rocky surface in order to see what was going on in front of him.

           From the opposite end of the atrium emerged a sickly-looking woman, her strawberry blonde hair falling down her back in waves. She would have been pretty if it weren’t for her sunken in face and hollow, dead looking eyes. She placed her hands upon the coffin, confusing Aspen even more. Why in Zeus’ name was she was near that thing, much less touching it?

It wasn’t an open casket, so the idea that this was some sort of funeral or mourning session was out of the question. But what the stuck out the most about the woman’s appearance wasn’t how anemic she looked; it was the obvious hourglass that seemed to be burned into the pale skin of her forehead.

           The coffin then pulsed with the same light as the writing outside, her odd forehead tattoo reacting in the same way. Just like that, her appearance shifted before Aspen’s eyes. What once remained of the sickly woman he once saw was replaced with one of indescribable beauty. She had the same wavy blonde hair and striking green eyes, but her figure was more filled out, and for a moment he found himself staring.

“The plan is almost complete, Father,” the girl muttered, drawing her hand back from the coffin’s cold exterior.

Father? Aspen’s eyebrows knitted together, and he took her distraction as a chance to move closer and get a better view of what was happening. Stealth had never been his strong suit, but he had to risk it. If this is what Hypnos was so interested in, then there has to be some reasoning behind it.

Aspen stalked forward, careful not to fall into the woman’s line of sight. “The Olympians are oblivious; Aaron has made sure that none of our moves have been traced back to Mount Othrys.”

           Aspen couldn’t help but stare at the sigil branded into her skin. Every time she spoke it seemed to hum and, as far as he could tell, was channeling some sort of energy from the coffin. Why did he have to be the one to analyze the situation? There were several other prodigies he could rattle off from the top of his head that could easily piece this situation together. He was clueless.

This temple didn’t ring any obvious bells, and yet Aspen felt as though he should know it. He peeked over the side of the pillar, catching the gaze of something or someone on the other side of the room. His breath caught in his throat, causing him to screw his eyes shut.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

What was he supposed to do now? He was done for, caught. As footsteps neared the pillar he called his base of operations, Aspen shot a quick prayer to Hypnos. The sleep daemon was stubborn as a mule, and he was unsure if he’d actually answer.

Just as someone took ahold of his wrist, Aspen’s body disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a pile of poppy petals.

           He woke with a start, sweat beading his forehead. It felt real. He knew what he saw was real and there was no denying that it was. It took a moment for Aspen to recollect what had happened in that temple.

He was there, and yet it still felt as though he experienced through someone else’s eyes; all up until that woman – whatever her name was – grabbed his wrist. Taking a look around his chambers, Aspen pushed himself out of bed, for once wanting to leave the comfort of his mattress.

If there was one thing he hated more than the visits from his patron, it was reporting his dreams to the Olympian Council. He wasn’t left with much of a choice now. Some unknown force was plotting against the Pantheon. He wasn’t losing another family to something he had no control over. Not again.

 #

           The Hall of the Olympian Council looked over Olympia with an almost imposing look about it. Similar to the temple he’d seen in the Dream Space, the palace was made of a mix of ivory and marble, held together by towering pillars sculpted to resemble beautiful women. To the naked eye, they were just that and nothing more. To those who resided in Olympia, they were more. Much more. There were nine in total, each pillar representing a different Muse, goddesses of the arts and science. While the others seemed to fancy the Muses’ sculptures, Aspen chose not to regard them. Right now, he meant business and had no desire to get caught up in a two-hour long song and dance about some ‘amazing’ Greek hero.

           The sounds of his own footsteps bounced off the marble walls of the temple. Mixed with his breathing, it happened to be the only sound present as he made his way towards the main atrium. Aspen got a sense of déjà vu travelling down the pristine corridors. He imagined this was what Greece looked like back in its glory days before the Romans took over. Immaculate and oddly ethereal. Of course, this was only his sense of imagination filling in the blanks, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Compared to the rest of Olympia, The Olympian Council was so…shockingly different. It looked out of place next to the Renaissance era villas and the Medieval towers that made up Olympus’s profile. The different architectures were weird for sure, but it worked in ways that it shouldn’t have anywhere else. Maybe used Mount Othrys looked this way, too. He doubted it, but the thought was somewhat comforting. It brought a sense of hope to the decrepit temple. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped that no-one would be roaming the halls and Aspen could just leave. Maybe he could just put what he saw off until tomorrow or put it to rest completely. Another comforting thought. Aspen rarely got what he wanted. Two bodies rounded the corner of the corridor, their shadows being the indication of their presence. He had the temptation to run and stay out of sight. If they were Olympian prodigies that might have been the smartest idea. Those folks weren’t exactly keen on sharing space with the lesser prodigies, even the nicest of them.

           Before he could duck behind yet another pillar – another thing he’d been doing a lot recently – the two aforementioned bodies showed themselves. Aspen, in all of his confidence, froze like a deer in headlights. Before him stood by Audra Noelani and her right hand, Cato Knowles. Despite sharing Olympian blood, the two couldn’t look any more different. Audra was olive skinned; her usual braided hair thrown up into the messiest of ponytails. As for Cato, he stood with gloved hands folded behind his back, his face stone cold. Gods, those silver eyes terrified Aspen. They weren’t even gray – just pure silver. “State your business, McCarthy,” Should he bow? By status, Audra was the future queen, which made bowing seem like a good idea. Then again, Aspen was an overall asshole. Audra could shove those lucky shells of hers up her ass for all he cared.

           Add being referred to by his last name to list of things Aspen hated. “I didn’t realize there was some kind of invisible sign-up sheet for meeting with the pantheon.” Beside her, Alistair raised his shoulders which, for him, was the same as laughing. Audra took pleasure in ordering her ‘subjects’ around. He didn’t follow her orders like a lost puppy, unlike the rest of the prodigies. He had some independence, surprisingly.

           They are busy, Alistair signed, obviously referring to the Olympians. It wasn’t very often they all met to converse, but everyone took it pretty seriously when they did. What do you need, A-S-P-E-N? Signing was pretty straightforward. You didn’t necessarily need to say a person’s name, as it was pretty obvious who you were addressing. Alistair, however, did so as a sign of respect. Maybe a thank you for talking the time to actually learn ASL so they could communicate. Aspen’s gaze flickered to the golden doors that towered above them. He’d only been in the Great Hall only a few times on important runs for Hypnos, but it never ceased to amaze him.

           Dream. The sign for dream was pretty accurate. Aspen’s index hovered a few centimeters above his forehead, then he pulled away from it, flexing the finger as he did so. Alistair seemed to understand what he meant, but Audra was the exact opposite. She looked between the two boys, a look of pure confusion on her face. Figures. Unlike everyone else in the Council of Nike, she’d never cared to learn ASL. Aspen translated for her sake, annoyed and exhausted all at once. All he wanted to do was recount his vision to whichever god was present that day and then leave. In and out, but no. His life was never that simple, was it? Audra waved off the future daemon of sleep, pushing past him to go do gods know what. Alistair followed suit, placing a hand on his shoulder in apology. What was he even apologizing for? It wasn’t his fault that Audra wasn’t aware of when to lay off. Aspen waited for the two to leave before pushing the door open, straining his shoulder in the process. He ignored the pain and instead focused on the matter at hand. Twelve thrones surrounded a central fire. Even from where he stood twenty feet away from the pit, Aspen could still feel the residual heat that came with each flicker of the ceremonial flame. They had a smaller version down in the dining pavilion, but nothing as elegant or intimidating as this one. Compared to it and the rest of the divine furnishings, he felt like an ant exploring a garden. “Young man… I see Hypnos is still using you as his personal errand boy?” boomed a voice from above, causing Aspen to move his attention from the globe that sat on a wooden table, to the throne of Zeus. He cleared his throat and brushed his hair out of his face. Mouthing off to Hypnos was one thing, but no-one backtalked the King of the Heavens. Zeus was creative with his punishments. Just ask Prometheus.

           Aspen strained his neck to look up at the gray-haired god. “Yes, your grace.” It took everything in his power not to yawn or show just how tired he actually was. Sure, he was still in his pajamas, but no-one (well, except for Audra and Cato) dressed to impress anymore. You sort of lose your motivation after a couple of decades. Zeus motioned for him to go on. His hands trembled as he recounted the subtle horrors of Mount Othrys.

[olympicoath]

CHAPTER  ONE  : COUNCIL  OF  WAR

Zeus sat on his golden throne with pride, although a storm surged below him in his anger.

           Flanking his right and left was his faithful, if not angry, sister-wife, the White-Armed Hera, her silk dress adorned with a cloak of green, blue, and purple peacock feathers. The Queen of the Heavens gripped her scepter tight in her soft hands. Her hair was well-kept, laying in a crown of braids atop her head.

To the Thunderhead’s left sat his second-in-command and brother, Poseidon, King of the Seas. He bore blue tattoos in which depicted his undersea kingdom. In his hands was his trident, a mighty symbol of power forged from bronze and whalebone. The Earthshaker’s hair and long beard was a sea green, his sides bore a set of fish-like gills.

           The Mountain King’s most adored son and daughter walked into the atrium, bowed, then took to their thrones awaiting council.

Phoebus Apollo, God of the Sun and Patron of the Arts, golden-haired clad in a golden tunic, thrummed the strings of his lyre, filling the room with the sound of his sweet music.

Pallas Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and Strategy of War, wore a long blue dress reinforced with pieces of bronze armor and a helmet decorated with a plume of blue horsehair. Her eyes were gray, her skin fair, her hair a jet black. The owl that perched itself on her shielded arm bore feathers the color of rainclouds.

“Where are the others, your Highness?” Athena asked, tucking her helmet in the crook of her arm.

           “They will be here soon enough. My bastards arrive now,” Zeus gestured to the Warrior and the Blacksmith. Ares Enyalios, God of Warfare and Murder, glowed like the bloody red of his fallen enemies, a spear in one hand.

Ares said nothing to Zeus, not even looking in his direction, but he did march to his mother Hera. He planted a kiss to her cheek, then asked, “Why have I been called, your Majesty?” One couldn’t even see his face through the darkness of his iron helmet with a crest of fire, although they could lay witness to the horror of his exposed body. He had no skin, showing only pink and red muscle, sinews and tendons under his armor.

Hephaestus, on the other hand, was not as large or as strong as his brother Ares. He was lame, his left leg shriveled like a sun-dried worm. He made up for this, though, with his industrial intuition. He burned with an orange light and used his black sledgehammer as a crutch. He, too, walked to his lone parent Hera, asking, “Where is my beloved, your Grace?”

“I’m here, you pig,” Beautiful Aphrodite walked into the room, the violet silk of her dress covering the marvel that was her body. A mortal would see their wildest desires come to life, but Aphrodite put on a specific appearance today for the Olympian Council. She was fair skinned with flowing ginger hair. She stalked to her love Ares, running her perfectly manicured hands down the length of his body. The Smith ignored his wife’s infidelity, as he still loved her with all his heart. “Is there a reason as to why I’ve been evicted from my lovers, your Bitchiness?”

“You will cease your perversions, Patron of Prostitutes.” Zeus commanded, slamming his lightning down onto the marble floor. “My love,” Zeus pointed to Hera with the bolt, “The floor is yours.”

Hera rose from her throne and tapped her lotus-tipped scepter on the oval floor, creating a window of magic on the grounds surrounding Mount Olympus. “The Titans are back. They have broken free from their prisons and are declaring war on the Greek Pantheon. My messenger, Iris, has informed me that they have gained the trust and support of the Hecatoncheires.”

“How many are still alive after billions of years in Tartarus?” Ares asked as he sat Aphrodite on his lap, her soft hand continuing to run along the swirls and slivers of his flesh.

“Enough to storm Olympus and burn it to the ground.” Poseidon solemnly answered.

“I see,” Ares picked up his spear and paced the length of the room, the fire of his helmet leaving behind a trail of embers. “And what of us? What say you? Are the Olympians fighting alone or are we fighting the Titans with our full ranks?” As Ares paced, his bronze armor changed and shifted. He remained skinless but was now armored in many plates of SWAT gear. His spear had been replaced with an assault rifle adorned with a grenade launcher, and at his side was a large assortment of explosives.

The waves of the sea stirred along with Poseidon’s mind. “We can all fight for a millennia if we must, Manslayer, but it will hardly be enough. The Moirai, who will be fighting in their own ways, have glimpsed the future. They have told our King what will happen after this war…”

Zeus held his head high, “We will all perish, my bastard son. You will die, as will Atlas. Aphrodite will fall, as will Mnemosyne. And I will die, as will Kronos.”

Ares sat back down, now wearing no armor, the entirety of his flayed body on display. “I see…” He now saw a young woman with sharpened teeth singing of war and destruction for a crowd of rejects. “We need new gods to replace us. The war will end us, but the universe still needs to be kept in balance. We will hold the line, and Olympus will prevail!” Ares now stood in his iron fortress at the edge of Mount Olympus, his soldiers ever ready. They were all dead veterans, all spanning different time periods.

Apollo rode on his Sun chariot, watching over the confounds of Olympus. He called down to Zeus, his father, “We need a contingency.”

Zeus nodded, then wore a gray business suit. The King now stood on a beach, where children were being taught how to surf along the waves. As he walked, his thundery hair and lightning filled eyes crackled with solemn determination. He conjured his lightning bolt, a column of crackling copper, silver, and gold coiled around each other.

He paid no mind to the surfing children, focusing his attention solely on their instructor. She was young with long black hair with a gray streak in it, stormy blue eyes, and a mind that wanted to command. A mind that wanted to rule. She was happily clapping at one of the young ones for managing to surf along a sizeable wave. Zeus put the bolt between her hands, and in that instant, Audra fell to her knees in pain. Her hands burned as glowing gray lightning bolts branded themselves into her palms. “Audra Noelani, I give you my blessing.”

Artemis walked through the tents as the soldiers of the Northern Union recovered themselves. Apollo walked beside his sister as they searched the tents. It was then that they saw them.

One child bore long, wispy black hair and gray eyes, while her cousin had golden brown eyes and blond locks. Artemis and Apollo, Twin Gods of the Sun and Moon, took aim with their golden and silver bow and arrows, then released them with pride and determination. As the arrow pierced Charlotte’s shoulder, a crescent moon burning itself into her pale skin, Artemis knelt before her and said, “Charlotte Reiner, I recruit you.”

As Charlotte’s younger cousin fell to the ground in agony, a sigil replicating the sun itself etched into his Adam’s apple. The Golden Archer kneeled before the young boy, offering a smile and smaller bow and arrow constructed of gold and cherrywood, and said, “Gabriel LeBeau, I choose you.”

Hephaestus rolled around the Microsoft headquarters decked out in a brown pinstripe suit, his electric wheelchair humming as he went. The God of Fire ventured to a room where a paraplegic boy with red hair and a lanky body moved wires around one of the many generators of the building.

Hephaestus’ hands conjured a flame, eliciting a flow of lava to pour out of the seams of the walls surrounding the boy. Hephaestus retrieved his massive sledgehammer, then struck the boy in his kneecaps. The blows burned into the shapes of orange anvils, causing the boy to bellow in pain, tears pricking his eyes. Hephaestus leaned in close to the boy’s ear, whispering a quick, “Leslie McKenna, this is my gift to you.”

Ares, wearing a full set of riot armor, perched himself at the balcony of the underground club where punks and rejects and society’s shit stains gathered to relax. On the stage, illuminated by red, black and white lights, was a band which deemed themselves Bloodshed Werewolves. Then he saw their lead vocalist, a rather tall Latina with short, choppy brown hair and somewhat sharpened teeth. She was infertile, Ares immediately noticed, and she had an athletic build. A crow, as if on cue, perched on her shoulder.

Ares Enyalios, God of War, drew his long, razor sharp spear, then took aim. “Aloisa Alger, I enslave you.” Ares threw his spear at the girl, her collarbone now burning as a red boar’s head took its place where the wound should have been. She laughed at the pain, proceeding to pull out her pocketknife and lunged at her guitarist.

Athena wore a simple linen gown, though it was adorned with identifying plates of Athenian armor. She studied the scrolls strewn across the villa floor, her face as stone cold as it had been during the Council meeting. Most depicted machines that would never work, others were just the ramblings of a madman. She set one of the scrolls onto the mahogany table, casting her gaze over to the boy who stood idle in the doorway. He was twelve, maybe older, with hair was that was so blonde it was nearly white and striking silver eyes.

Before he could speak and alert anyone that could be lingering outside, Pallas Athena took a paintbrush from one of the cups littering the table and broke the art supply into two, jagged sticks. The boy stared at the Goddess of Wisdom with wide eyes, the papers he’d been holding crashing to the floor. She approached him carefully, a rare smile on her wise face. Kneeling down to his height, Athena used the broken end of the brush to carve an owl into the side of the boy’s neck. The young one seethed in pain, digging his nails into the palm of his pale hands. The sigil burned with a silver light, and Athena took the opportunity to claim him as her successor. “Alistair Knowles, I bless you.”