Behold; My bullshit story. Beware swearing, sex mentions and mild trauma problems. Not murder and stuff, casual talks on some sensitive topics. Like brushed over. ANywho-
He let go, almost immediately, the words entered his brain like. Well, an intrusive thought. A collective ringing in his head as he stepped back, didn’t try to lift up the blade, didn’t explain a thing.
The mocks stopped, the man wasn’t buff, but he wasn’t made of blubber. Strong legs, not toned, but a dad bod. With a healthy amount of stomach and fat, his arms weren’t entirely muscle, but thin and lean muscle over years of repeated actions. Dressed in simple robes, he carried a short sword, using magics with… something else, not a wand at least.
He hopped off the rock, the sword was just about to be lifted, the man’s features turned from peculiar to… well.
Hiking up his clothes, not designed for such fast movements, a man. Somewhat girly, jested at for his care for clothes, even if they were hand sown, embedded with personal items and stitchings.
The air then shimmered, dark brown hair, white robes to the mage’s blue. A perfect spot of hair, freckles, a spear in his hand as a helm rested on their head.
A flash of gold, armoured, a spear in hand. Olive skin, his eyes radiated divine power, wielding a shield as the man didn’t turn. Stopped, sure, but his middle finger immediately raised behind him. Voice calling back as he snarled, glaring as he turned around to…
“FUCK YOU, I DON’T GIVE A SHIT. I AIN’T… pulling that… shit… out-?”
Warriors dropped to one knee, the fighters had… bowed their heads in respect. One knee down, weapons untouched, the grove stood empty. Sword shining brightly as…
A mop of brown hair, his clothes looked… divine. Divine magic filled his being, the light shining in the grove, a loose smile on his lips as his annoyed, not panicked. But certainly aversed features stopped. Staring at him.
A smile, a… familiar face. He raised the spear slightly, warriors getting off their knee. Rising, a warm expression to protectors, young and old. His voice was musical, a divine foreign accent to it.
The man didn’t acknowledge him, head turning, baffled. Like a confused chicken, features pulled closer together. Sheer confusion as he remarked eventually.
The man died, like, I’m decently sure he died died, like. Not coming back short of… Oh… I see.
His voice cut off… the god. Expressions narrowed, staring at him. His loud clearing of a throat as he stood there.
The name was… an old friend’s, taken in honour of his death. An unfortunate thing, a fire sparking as Americans did what Americans did best.
[Start a war over fucking taxes]
“... I… Sure, your funeral.”
Their god seemed to let it go, this man… knew him? Knew their god, a divine representation of-
His hood had been removed, a very proud face looking back at him. A knowing smirk, the two chuckled with each other, proud to see each other not dead.
“... HEy, are you going to smite me for that?”
It looked around them. Mortals staring in absolute confusion, this… foreigner, it’d grasped the sacred sword and then… It had a role to play.
He saw the eyeroll too late, mild confusion crossed his mind, crossed his face, a flicker of emotion. His face stretched, mild shock.
“... feeling merciful today, so I’ll…”
“Fuck you, you stupid bitch.”
Several jaws opened, the man openly showing his right hand, a middle finger raised against the god being. Several gasps, the man’s features narrowed. Then he sighed.
A divine sigh, exasperated, confused, stammering as he looked around him. A few devote followers, proudly showing signs of worship, looked horrified by this man’s actions.
“You heard me cunt, fuck you and your stupid fucking death.”
He raised the second finger. His hand motioning calm, for now at least. His expression somewhat confused as he managed to stammer out.
“... Are… Are you looking for a fight?”
“Why wouldn’t I wanna fight a bitch of a god?”
Short as he’d asked it, his tone was… blunt. Sharp, simple as his tactics really, taking the shortest, simplest route…
His sword was… The same, it seemed. The sheathe at least, but there wasn’t any mana leaking this time. It… It got better since he was there last.
Looking around him, worshippers, some hesitant. Others looked at him for a simple answer. He motioned quietly, just, move on. Slowly walking forward as he tried…
“But… like… DUde. Do you have-”
His voice cut him off again, his respect seemed to… vanish. Vanish the moment he registered his divinity, the very strict christian hated other gods, what a surprise. Sarcasm, not entirely false, not entirely true, fed back into him.
“Did you seriously die due to your flat ass- going nyoooooooo-”
He lips made the o sound, repeating onwards as she slipped under his arm. Sliding out of his way, turning as she continued to make the sound his body went.
His voice breathier than normal, annoyment in his voice, hers kept going. For a surprisingly long time, like her deepthroat skills really.
It proceeded to then warble. Mimicking the panicked death throes, garbled speech he gave near the end. Panicked, rubbing his face, she really was, such a child.
Clapping her hands together, the man leaned to one side, smirking as his finger glowed for a moment. Looking directly at the goddess.
“Then slipped that flat ass-”
The insulting little shit turned, that finger raised again. Smirking as she began lifting them up and down slightly.
“-into a pool of hungry piranhas."
Firing finger guns at the god, several eyes looked behind the man, “discreetly”. Like it wasn’t obvious to him, like he hadn’t spend however long transferring a constant desire to be aware of his surroundings into a passive skill.
Their blades met, locking, magical sparks appeared as his cloak flickered into nothing. Simple black armour, thin sword catching the man’s wood. Glowing hand grasping the spear as his feet didn’t even need to change.
Her eyes stared into his, a combative personality, snarky and quipping as much as it were silent. Not mentally ill, not that way, but the cold calculating stare. Hollow, less hollow than Her, but still.
Deeper, their normal tone of voice. Deeper, disappointment, mild vitriol and hatred. Like when he’d failed something he said he could do.
“And you lost that, lovely smell babe.”
And back to flirty. Already back to his position, the next try, and another… Failed warrior. Priest watching in poorly disguised interest, mild confusion as he spoke to her. Plainly.
“... What is your angle?”
“Nothin’ much, but I thought you’d know what an Asshole thinks like at allllll, times.”
She then started to quote the ensuing sounds, so her memory was great as always. AMAZING, six thousand years under that woman and he hadn’t changed much. If at all, how… awesome.
He stepped back, an eye on her, watching him, fight Them. He dropped the shield, it flickered into the domain. Adjusting his grip as he exasperated, rolled his eyes. Obviously, she’d do this, obviously, she’d try to get on their nerves.
Quoting even his accent when sick, that snow woman was… quite something. Mostly mage based, Borneas was… not exactly healthy or helpful.
She smirked at him, body shifting to one side. Large masculine frame baiting him with the same training move. Her voice was… snarky as always, but he could hear the vitriol, the silent question.
He looked at him, an old friend, a partner in fighting. Where he’d be blunt, he’d try to translate. To pretend to care more than he did, hold some degree instead of none.
His palm flickered. Magic countered before it could reach him, stepping back, she glared at him in disgust, contempt, not hatred. Disappointment at his state.
Her voice came harsh, hard, not snapping at him. But looking down at him, and he knew. He knew he should’ve practiced, tried to keep to the same skill…
“Ooooh, does bitch baby-”
Mocking, jesting, several warriors had stepped out of line. Several eyes were on this… person. Draped in dark blue robes, clothes adjusted in vanity as their voice went back to unnatural deepness. Thicker, richer, like a snarling beast in the dark.
Hands ripped out of their shadows, weapons vibrating violently in their hands, the air crackled for a few moments as his chest glowed like his eyes, blue.
“... Do you want to die?”
His words came first, theatrics, always theatrics. Like a filthy politician, none of the cunning or spine to step out of line than the good ones. Decent ones, steeped in the world of corruption, left to configure a step forward. However improper, exploitable it were.
“Are you seriously weak enough to need these fellow mortals for your survival?”
Her hand was offered first, an open palm, sword calmly sheathed by now. Weapon returned to the realm, staring in disappointed contempt as he managed a reply.
“... I didn’t exactly get a choice, mate.”
She raised an equally good point. Flirty, joking, voice deeper and more bedroom as she helped him up.
“Neither did us when we came into industry, but look at me now. Fighting an ascendant god.”
“... You’re not a god yet.”
The way he didn’t meet her eyes, that hesitation as he tried to say something. DO something. Looking for… An excuse.
Her expression lowered even more, her mask, however shitty and poor, dropped. Not with horror, but contempt. Disgust.
“... I’m a… champion, a-”
He glared at them. Stared into their eyes, anger in his features, unmoving and unchanging. The jokes paused as he looked around himself.
He summoned his cloak, it appeared over his body again. It’d been fun, interesting, but this? This was…
Their divine representation had a palm against the chest, the two men didn’t say a word. The man staring at the dirt in a face of… some sort. Hard to tell, it barely changed.
“You’re telling me you went from beating Ares, to some-”
They looked back at his eyes, the years had changed them, like a friendship torn apart and finding… A relationship was there, an understanding between the two men, looking over them. Comfortable, the man who quit a multi million dollar salary to fight things beyond their understanding…
And then the air shifted. The man’s back tensed before the other man’s eyes could drop. Covering it, several figures looking back into the dirt, warriors registering that sensation…
The man looked up, wincing, a frown over his features. It’d been a pleasant moment, y’know, he finds his old friend, fights him a little, they have a short chat, turns out he’s… comfortable here? And then this bitch, with the bravado of a theatre kid but none of the… child-like charisma. I guess.
“... Well hello knock off Athena.”
A divine rage, flames make leaves curls, the grass to flatten. A divine visage, female. Armour and a helm, with a spear and shield, unlike Oliver’s spear and gun. Which also doubled as a hatchet, because bro really likes chopping firewood.
“YOU INSO… who’s Athena?”
And then the dirt exploded, a rush of earth ripped out of the ground, her body tensed, shield raised as a flash of gold…
“Someone smart enough to counter any spells applied into dirt.”
His randomly swung arm before had enchanted a specific patch of the dirt. Covered in pink… fluid? It looked like fluid at least, glaring at him in confusion. Then her champion, and then…
A short burst of flames covered the woman, her divine white clothes returned. Looking at him, regal and perfect as… words.
“... Oh, lovely, you can pretend not to be ragebaited by a mortal.”
She looked morley closely to them. Remarking loudly as the priests, one of three in the area who had barely managed not to land on their ass at their goddess’ champion, a god in their own right. Did so in the presence of said goddess.
“... He really is quite annoying.”
The man looked back at her, a smirk as he opened his mouth with them.
They looked to the repeated sounds, glaring into each others eyes, a familiar, if not annoyed expression. A smirk on his face, a scowl on theirs.
Annoyance, their stupid face started repeating what they said before they said it, at the same time. Sometimes early, but quickly falling into cadence.
At a certain point, the goddess let out a sigh. Her words… at least trying to be exasperated, more annoyed than done with the situation. Frustrated even.
They didn’t register the change, it seemed, friend punching for their face, the man calmly twisting their arm as he stopped mid sentence.
It took a moment, the sword flickered. Shimmered in pride, confidence.
He adjusted his tunic, the final adjustments. Hesitant, looking at her champion, this… powerful mortal was…
His voice cracked a little, flinching, that sound was… rare to hear out of a grown man. Looking at him, a divine look as he…
The first half of the statement was him stepping up to her, looking at her. A cold glare as he pointedly spoke to her.
“I said I don’t need a sword, these meatheads can keep draining themselves all they want. But I ain’t draggin’-”
A pause. A turn, the divine light of gods, examining them. Silent, head tilting, robotic like form analysing this… thing.
“... Oh, NOW, you can talk?”
It spoke in a mocking tone. Hands slapped together, condescendingly with a thin enough accent it… didn’t help.
Anger, magic flushed forward, emotions rushing ahead as the man opened his mouth again. Whatever he was going to say, a running engine rumbling as their fist clenched.
“Oh my god you’re soooooo, cute.”
The divine power rescinded. Priests barely able to stumble aside, warriors watching as the sword’s illusion flickered. The sword itself drifted to the man, slow, steady, ready to cut him down… And then it didn’t. A simple sword, powerful and imbued with divine might…
“Look at you, with your rosy cheeks and-”
The man started making… baby noises, the kind people made when looking at a baby… that… that… didn’t make sense, the accent making them self conscious, looking towards their mother.
Sheer confusion, the man talking about their… construction, the prison, the… mocking tone he used, that accent hid… Rage ignited it once again, the silent undertones, the repeated compliments all of it, very poorly hiding his sniding remarks against how ugly of a blade it were.
He stared at it. A smug expression on his face, sword snapping to him, words not being the true spell. A dome, whatever that bolt did, it hit the outer layer of his body, a thin dome like structure over his… body. Flickering away, fading fast as he stared at him. Stared at it.
Silence, once more. A legend, an old story, of a son who couldn’t take the grief of death, a mother who forged chains and bound them within a weapon for their sorrow. But they didn’t learn, they’d destroy the world, and only a hero of blah blah balh. You know the story. You know the prophecy.
His voice went back to his normal deep tone, smiling as he walked forward. Smiling as he calmly, grabbed them by the hilt. Examined the blade, before tossing them into the bushes.
“... What was that supposed to do exactly?”
Looking at his friend, the man could… only let out a laugh. An awkward, socially awkward laugh, champion smiling as the goddess looked in… Surprise. Just… normal, human surprise, no divine fakery.
Of course he would, piss off gods, judge their power. By himself for once, he… he really hadn’t changed. Same old, just… Different now.
“Like, seriously, we fought Ἐπήκοος [Epekoos]. I fought his charioteers-”
The sword floating back into the air. Bound to him, or at least able to. He started the process, like edging a partner, bringing them closer for a kiss…
He looked at them, honest, the blade was pretty, perfect, but… Not his style, not his preference. A cold stare, a single flicker of real emotion, of reason, intent behind those eyes…
With a single, practiced, look the man stopped a divine blade from…
His voice became mocking again, his friend let in a fake sigh, ready to… try to cover him.
“I don’t need to hold respect to beings dependant on how much people worship them-”
His body shifted, smoother, shifting and adjusting like comforted second skin. A thin smile over his face as his voice became… French. [I don’t know how to explain it, but dude speaks with a thick southern accent. It’s more spanish than german in your mix of languages with two balls in your mouth.]
“-that shit’s not helpful to mu-wa, so you, bitch baby-”
Turning on his heel, still keeping the accent, smiling as he stood like a ballerina ready to dance.
Wincing, he threw a knowing smirk. One of the reasons they weren’t close friends, at least for a while. The man was built off sarcasm and sass, but at the very least…
“I know it pisses you off, mon-i-sieur, bitch boy who insists they are not a girl anymore.”
It took a moment, their expression forced neutral. Waiting for the emotions to subside, just enough he could…
It took a moment, a few vocal stims, and then he looked back. Australian meets american fucking over the english and sixteen seperate language accents. Mostly to piss off linguists and VAs. [Also because my man really needs to stop making friends internationally. He picks the most annoying parts of the language into his accent. Like the parts that make you pay attention to what he has to say intuitively.]
He was going to say something dumb. That twitch of the thumb, that shift in the left corner of his mouth. A few other things really, he got ready for it.
The goddess didn’t see any of that, her child thrown aside, the bonding began but… CUT. Cut before this clearly powerful and wise individuals…
He turned to her, a single, sharp tone. Condescending, a teacher’s tone, teaching someone a vital life lesson.”
“Why the fuck do I need to help some prepubescent tween of a poor emulation of a goddess I’ve come to respect, someone who’s youthful aspect is able to show actual fucking wisdom-”
He took in a second breath. Letting the words sink for a second. Eyes glaring at her, cold and brown, calculating features as he looked at her. Taller than him.
“In actual fucking warfare, which reflects positively on their “children”.”
Quotations, each spoken in harshness, sharpness. Her mouth closed, she… she saw the magic, didn’t she. She knew this man was… chaotic, but controlled. Like a thunderstorm, only…
“Why the fuck do I need to help them do that shit when they’re stupid enough to let meatheads not get the hint that maybe. Just, maybe, pure strength doesn’t get a MAGIC SWUOARD out of a MAG-GW-IC R-WOCK-r?”
The words were slower, focused, loudly proclaiming to the people around him. Nobody was dead, just bruises and a few light cuts. A rune flickered on the backs of several of the anxious warriors, he didn’t say a word but…
I snickered. What a child I was, smiling as I looked up at this goddess.
He looked to the blade, Grabbing it by the handle. Hilt, his body flickered with runes. Neck shimmering as sigils burned into the air, hundreds of calculations run in moments, a… orb floated out of a pocket in his robe as he grabbed the blade.
“What a concept, y’know, if you’re gonna present yourselves as sooo-”
He put the sword back, trailing off on the last vowel, his friend letting out a long sigh. Turning to the goddess as she… stared.
The blade sunk into the rock. Clicking, the moment it did, suddenly, he appeared. Slowly walking… forward? Backward, hand miming it holding a hat, standing upside down as one hand was held… backwards? To catch… something for sure.
“-oo-oh. My. God, you, really, are, so, pathetic. Baby.”
The blade let out a series of enraged roars, stuck back into the rock, magic locked at least temporarily in the stone. Floating back to normal gravity, his body stopped spitting out random runes and magic shorthands.
A body flickered, rushing forward, frozen mid motion. Ribbons bound the god being, the man standing closer to the goddess, just out of range of both magic blade it’d summoned and… well.
[Egyptian] magic. A single lick of the thumb, touching the projection’s… forehead. A nonexistent magic forehead that was charged… charged with divine energy…
Out of everything else, that… that didn’t make sense. She could see before her child cried out in sheer outrage, snapped back into the blade. Small groups of warriors quietly backing away from the blade.
If there were any not watching the scene, the man sniffed the empty air. Pinching his nose as he said… something to “Oliver”.
“With what little respect I have for gods, ma’am, respe-...”
He stopped himself, friend rolling his eyes, walking over to the prostrating priests. Blade quivering in rage, divine magics locking the blade in place, more magics jammed, binding it entirely to the rock. Like a child in the time out corner, left to watch other children play.
“... Actually. DISrespectfully, grow a pair.”
I began to float, legs drifting in the open air, rising to her height, like a Primarch only marginally less childish. Childlike, whatever difference that made.
“You might have the power to smite me,”
I looked at her, a cold face to call. Floating at her height, levitating, as I spoke.
“-you might be able to beat me,-”
I drifted closer, further, voice consistent as I willed myself forward. It wasn’t hard, used to be, any starters struggled not to land on their face. Like tensing a distant muscle, unseen, unfelt. Flying closer to this goddess.
“-by the powers of a god.”
I floated even floatier, closer, goddess staring, body language shifting. Willing my magic to make my eyes glow like my apparent morality.
“But that ain’t your power.”
His eyes gold glow, staring at her. Unnerving as the first sentence, nothing off, nothing strange… but she was… a personification of the very concept of warfare, she knew how magic worked. She was partly made of systems magic worked from…
“They ain’t nev’er, your power.”
The goddess took a step back, head slowly tilting, the light around her seemed to… flicker. Fade.
“For all the shit I give the Hellens, their descendants and all that. Least their gods reflected truth.”
His face stared forward, a cold mask, another few steps. Slower, very slow, slowly pressing against her personal space. That tilt of the head… unnerved her, the sun seemed to lessen its warmth. Sounds didn’t reach her as the dirt… the dirt didn’t shift under her feet.
“Reality, not some pompous ideal.”
It wasn’t that, not entirely that at first, but now it was. Nothing, she could hear… the beating mana in the air, shifting circuits of energy, something shaking apart every atom in not even a moment. Nucleic power, but… something more… powerful, stronger.
“An idea, a fictitious idea.”
Flinching, she almost jumped as the words echoed to her right. Panicked, the man appearing at her side, staring at him, she didn’t… she didn’t seem to notice.
Tensing, she swung her spear behind her. Diving power caught by… the man. Smirking, floating, staring at her. Words said…
She lowered the spear, her composure… but she shook. He could see it, the fear, the questions, he didn’t remember what he programmed. But it was… certainly something.
He raised the middle finger to her.
He pointed with his middle finger at… the sword? Her eyes followed him, her expression coming out of shock as his hand shifted a fraction of a second after he said the words.
“- fuck- him -in particular.”
Then began motioning… gripping… a pole? Moving his hand up and down, middle finger still outstretched as he finished his sentence.
“Right up that tight asshole.”
Her mouth opened, then her eyes bulged out, and her mouth dropped wide open. His friend looked back, baffled, but still responded.
He smiled, turning to him, raising the index then waving… three fingers off his head?
“FUCK YOU TOO MATE. KEEP STRETCHING.”
He spoke plainly. Sharply, her face disgusted by the implication. Not able to look back at the man, wincing as she felt… a hand touch hers.
“Now if you excuse me, I’ve got debts a…”
Warm, strange, sensual, leaning closer Floating closer. Her… features soon shifted to confusion once more.
This was… certainly strange. His voice turning into velvet, her features processing the… statement.
Those eyes glowed yellow, gold, she swallowed. Not everything, but flashes, gods lay strewn about, god killers. Unrighteous and unrestrained, bleeding from several wounds, the man killed god killers.
Innocent, releasing her face. She stumbled back, several steps as the man had a twinkle in his eye. Landing on his feet as he finished.
“... You really must have a deathwish.”
The man made some adjustments; to his ponytail, the cloak, the broach; itself an owl and a sword.
“If you’re really a War Goddess…”
His bag appeared in his hand, the cloak shifted off one arm, the other sliding it over his head. Lowered to put the bag on, the only time he gave anything like a nod.
“If this is just some… test of piety…”
I looked at her, a divine being in the shape of something mortal. A space beyond, the world between, a short flicker of my soul. Expanded above her own, something massive momentarily looking down at her, looking up at her.
“... I expect it to be a difficult test…-”
She touched… something over her chest. Eyes drifted aside, unforming itself before anything could look back. His words… not polite, but curt. Societarily respectful.
She regained her composure. This was… intriguing. Perhaps.
“... If it were, you failed… So-”
To regain control, she returned to practice regality, a fine form if it weren’t so easily cut through by sheer stubborn middle fingering and lack of recognition of such placid social normalisations.
“If you don’t pull all the stops you can, short of calling me a heretic and siccing your entire cult on me, I suggest….”
He was quick, trailing off, looking at her. Watching her, he… he was testing her when he did that. Watched her response, whether she’d break the convention to regain… control.
Someone spoke behind her, actually, behind her. Feminine, hungry, flirty. She flinched, actually flinched. Her hair popping to match her frazzled state, a mess of hair as she…
The man smiled, questions on her lips as he walked on by. Smiling as he left a silent question.
The words didn’t… feel right. He didn’t have control, but he took it when he saw fit, saw openings. Playing the fiddle when nobody looked close, kept it close. Hiding it in plain sight by the outrage of how… intentionally poorly he played it.
She didn’t sound sure of herself. The man smiled, the words coming out like a stream of diarrhoea.
“And I hope you have a wonderful morning, I’m going to go beat up a god to pay their fucking debts. You have a shitty day. I hope to see you in the deepest worst pits of hell so that you and your stupid bitch baby over there can die. Fuck off and die in a hole.”
He walked backwards, smiling as he started throwing…
“I hope your chiton’s always a little off, whenever you adjust it.”
Curses? I mean, it… it sounded like curses, but… they weren’t…
“I hope you always stab yourself at least one to five times when you put your brooch on for every adjustment.”
I mean, they… just sounded inconvenient, just inconvenient that… his legs got further. His voice raising, calling as he reached the further end of the grove.
“I hope your favourite meal always tastes off unless a minor misfortune happens when you eat it.”
He ended on something loud, boisterous. Calling to her specifically, a smile under his words.
“And I hope YOU GET DICKED DOWN- KNOCK OFF ATHENA.”
Cackling, thunder rumbled overhead. The man stopped his laughter for… a moment, calling into the sky.
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