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Eidolon: The End of the Olympians

Chapter 5: Acts of Forgiveness - Hermes

The pain was still there. Breath still felt difficult. And that weight, even greater weight sits upon my chest in these moments. Something about collecting two of the most coveted weapons in the Olympian dynasty will do such a thing to you. At least finding them may be easy.

It may have been long since I've played messenger to the gods, but that doesn't mean my calls don't still get answered. I found myself approaching the place where Poseidon told us to meet. Peculiar to say the least. The land was a mostly uninhabited island captured somewhere in the Atlantic. The few inhabitants it did have were intricate creatures—there were no creatures friendly to land that weren't equally as friendly to the sea, swinging straight from branches to dive under the water. There were many varieties of creatures, but not one I'd seen before.

I massaged my neck trying to forget the images of Phobos and Deimos. Meanwhile, my breastplate still sat uneven from Zeus' foot. I debated how I would address the situation or if I should at all. Poseidon hasn't been seen in ages, who is to say he will even care of Olympian affairs anymore? Though, that does not mean he does not care for the power. Taking that Trident is basically taking half of the man's livelihood. I am a fool to think he will be the slightest bit indifferent to its loss. Does he even know his brother is awake?

Well, I could wonder no more. The water swelled as Poseidon approached the surface. His demeanor was that of someone awaken from a peaceful sleep, one that should've fit his brother. I eyed his trident in his left hand, as he made his way to the shoreline. He twirled it in his hand. Loose, relaxed, immune to stress, it must be true what they say, no tension sits below the surface of water.

"It has been long, has it not?" Poseidon said with open arms.

I embraced him as I responded, finding comfort in his strength. "Yes, that it has been." Still, I had not figured the best way to tell him what I came for. I just know that his movements made me welcome, moreso at ease. As I juggled with many words in my head, he pinched the edges of my neck shaking my body slowly.

"You are tense. And if I may recall this stature looks quite familiar. My brother wasted no time getting reacquainted with you I see."

"So you know he walks among us again," I said.

Poseidon laughed, "You speak of him like he was a dead man. As much as you may have wished it, he was not."

"Never would I wish such a thing." At least never would I make the claim in times like these. "He asks something unnatural of me and the weight alone slows me in times like these."

I explained to him the situation as he stood in front of me and listened. His eyes never broke from me the whole time, holding as much sorrow as curiosity. The very mention of Ares gave him disgust. His brother, Zeus evoked something worse.

"Zeus moves differently now. And there is no need to take chances, not with you." Poseidon said. "Do what he asks, take this Trident with you. And when you see Hades, tell him to do the same, by my wishes. This is a matter among us three. We will speak to him." Poseidon walked back to the shoreline twirling his Trident once more in his hand. As he took a deep breath he stabbed it into the ground below him deep enough the waves couldn't shift the sands that held it. He stared at the ocean, somewhat nostalgic. This mixture of pride and pain. Guilt and angst. Love and more love.

Meanwhile, my gridlocked body stood there in jealousy. How, how could he really stand there so nonchalantly. You would think I asked him for him to do nothing more than make a wave in the ocean. I yearn to be him, I yearned to be—untroubled.

"Come here," Poseidon said waving me over, breaking me from my thoughts. "Take it." As I pulled the Trident out the sands, the ocean became clear as day. I could feel waves as the wind and the very air I breathe. Only when you can see the full depths of the ocean does the ground seem so high up. I could've fallen 27 stories, but it would never compare to the descent of me taking one dive anywhere in this vast sea.

Poseidon grabbed the Trident, snapping me out of my mesmerized state. We each held one hand on it, but he was guiding me. He pointed it out in front of us, not too far from this isle we sat. I finally saw what Poseidon was staring at. The pieces all fit together now. I turned to Poseidon. "They tell stories of Atlantis, still, 'til this day. I must tell them how little their stories uncover."

I looked at the country that it seems Atlantis has become. Vast cities, gracious towers, exquisite design. It was as if I uncovered the last marvel of the world, and yes the best is saved for last. I looked Poseidon in the eyes admiring him just as much as I feared for him now. "You've been here this whole time."

"Why after, all those years, did I find myself still stuck wanting more and more in this Pantheon?" His tone was regretful, spoken with pain. "When his sleep came I noticed just how unsatisfied I was. They spoke to me many times about taking Zeus' place after his sleep, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted his seat at the throne."

Poseidon's hand slowly coarse the length of the trident as he continued his story, "That is —until I noticed it wouldn't be mine. No matter how much time passed it still would've been Zeus' seat. A seat made for him, waiting for him. So I reclaimed my time, making a place I could call mine." He walked out slowly towards Atlantis as if the waves were pulling him in. "Here, I could be King and God. To a Pantheon of my own." I looked out still captured by the city, the empire that was Atlantis as his fingers fell off the tip of the Trident.

"Will you all be fine without this? Are they safe?" I asked.

"We will be fine, boy. You get to Hades before Zeus finds himself uptight."

Poseidon looked back at me, gave me a wink, and then jumped into the ocean—where he belonged. Where he belonged...

It's something we've all dreamt of. We still get jealous. Jealous of Zeus. Jealous of Prometheus. Even at times Hades. Even Hades has a land of his own. What do those humans say? 'It may not be much, but it's home.' And that it was. I ran over land and sea dragging Poseidon's Trident behind me. It was heavier than I expected. It hindered my movements as I made my way towards Persephone's Garden—making for a trip far longer than I wished. Persephone's Garden was, by far, my favorite way to enter the underworld, and for many of us, it is the way we must choose if we wish to speak to Hades. Persephone has saved many lives guarding that gate, turning us away on days Hades plays more like his Father in Tartarus—ready to snap on anyone at first sight.

I came to a halt just before reaching the garden. As one enters Persephone's Garden, it must never be done with haste. A blessed hand has touched all that has grown here and these days there is nothing that doesn't grow here.

The path she made was laid purposely, lovingly, patiently; berries, fig, sage and such—forcing the air to hold an aura, a beauty, a distinct scent so unknown. My steps were soft, as to not disrupt their growth around me. I dare not be a hindrance to their day. My breaths were deep, knowing that I couldn't pick from the garden so these whiffs must do.

After winding down this single path of the garden where the foliage limits all view except for these marble slabs and greenery, I find myself at the arching gate that welcomed you to where, at most times, Persephone lies. With her garden so close to Hades there is little reason for seasons of change. They've made their peace and she gained much of her freedom.

As I walked towards the lawn I was given a sight not many would be granted, even in delusion. There sat Persephone, berries in hand, under the same the shade of the tainted tree that grew the pomegranates that poisoned Zeus. And laying down in her lap was the Lord of the Underworld himself, "Hades."

My voice startled him and he proceeded to wipe the juices that leaked from the corner of his mouth. He was smiling. It is wrong to interrupt someone, but even moreso when in their sanctuary intoxicated and embellished. Who is this man before me, and "What are you doing up here?"

Hades slowly rose to his feet brushing himself off as if he could get dirty. With every brush, his black cloak of ash spewed smoke the source of which will be ever unknown. He rose his rigid head full of grey hair up to me, "Mad Gods and Dead Titans, my boy."

For some reason I played confused, even though I knew what he meant. The face was really just a response to his diction. "A dead Titan came to my doorstep looking for asylum from Tartarus." A long pause proceeded before he continued. "He told me much. But the gist was that the underworld would not be worth watching for much longer. So I decided to take my leave early, and it could not be better." Hades looked back and Persephone, who once stood behind him but now draped herself over him, continued to feed him once more.

"Gods don't die, especially not Titans."

"We used to live by rules. The lengths you must go through to kill a god. No one would dare. But times have changed."

More than tipsy, Hades was obviously drunk as I walked towards him. The lust lingered from the two as Hades now babbled towards Persephone. I was trying to find a place to interrupt, but not soon after he abruptly turned returned to our conversation.

"I see you have paid Poseidon a visit. Tell me how does Atlantis look?" I was surprised he even knew. "Atlanteans may live long, but even they must die. They are few, but they all speak so well. They tell such great stories about the city—well cities now, I guess. Have you heard of..."

"Hades!" I said tired of the stale conversation. "I have come for your scepter."

I was trying not to be rude, but every second here angered me. Zeus has gone mad, Titans are being killed, wars are gearing to be waged on the surface, and this was all he could talk about. So much insignificant matter. Everyone is just so relaxed—so comfortable.

Hades shifted his demeanor. Pushing Persephone off his shoulder, he leaned forward—eyes looking straight through me. I silently regretted my outburst but committed to it on the outside.

Hades' cloak smoked no more. He raised his left foot and stomped the ground, splitting the earth between around his very foot. Hades kneeled, reaching his arm down into the abyss, searching for something. As he rose, I saw the scepter rise with him, and suddenly I could breathe again. But the relief I felt quickly escaped as he brought that scepter straight to my throat.

I tried to speak, "It is Poseidon's wish..."

The specter pierced into my chin as he shut my mouth.

"This is not your time to speak." His voice seemed to come not just from in front of me, but beneath the earth. My knee shook as the vibrations moved up from my feet.

"You are too tense for days like these," he said, slowly lowering the scepter just enough to make it comfortable to swallow again. "That is the problem with you gods who have never seen war. Are you ready to die? Gods live and gods die, but in war we all die, and in the most gruesome ways. Man is still learning to maneuver like us."

Hades released the scepter from me and continued to speak.

"I know I must give you this, but are you ready for what comes next. I would recommend you relieve yourself, treat yourself, because this will be the last time life will be as you know it. Enjoy it, enjoy these last moment."

His voice faded as he walked away. Meanwhile, he let his scepter fall, not caring much where it fell or if I would catch it.

I stepped over the crease in the earth to pick up his scepter. I hesitated before I would touch it, contemplating his words.

"Is this how you think it all ends, Hades?" I asked.

"This is war. Whatever comes from it will be anew. What be the Olympians without Zeus, or all forbid, just Zeus? Nothing. Nothing the same as before." Hades said.

Hades was one of the oldest of his generation and his years surrounded by souls facing eternity has him embodying even more wisdom. With that being said, why would I not trust him?

I walked away from the scepter and sat with Hades and Persephone to simply forget about everything that was coming—for just one moment. Besides, the clock starts by my hand. I couldn't avoid it forever, but there was time for me to enjoy it all before it was lost. So together we drank, we laughed, and we ate—but only from the fruit that were overjoyed with the best juices. And as the sun set, my legs became too heavy to move, and my heart finally felt contentment. Tomorrow, tomorrow will be a much better day for it all.

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Read Chapter 5: Acts of Forgiveness - Hermes from the story Eidolon - The End of the Olympians by writteninparables (D...

Chapter 5 of Eidolon is up now. Hermes now has to collect the greatest weapon from Posideon and Hades. One finds himself far removed from godhood and the other simply removed. Visit Wattpad to see what happens.

Eidolon: The End of the Olympians

Chapter 4: The Forge's Fire - Zeus

"The knife of Perseus, armor and shield of Heracles, my Aegis. The chariot of Helios and of Ares, and the eagle that tormented Prometheus." I let off a smile before continuing, "But. How can I not forget? The armor and shield of Achilles, a spear and knife for his father Peleus, and a corselet for Diomedes."

I paused pace in front of the boy, "Tell me Hephaestus, do you take pride in making gods of men?"

"That was a war we all found ourselves involved in, father. You question my loyalty as if I have not done everything you've asked." He snarled, showing much more backbone than I could remember. "Make gods of men? I molded the clay and box that forsakes them 'til this day. That keeps them hindered 'til this day," Hephaestus replied, wiping sweat from his face. I sat on the perimeter of his workspace.

The gods were all at peace, not one quarrel of size as most of them didn't even speak in my sleep. They've all found independence. And yes, the humans were always at war but, as he said, he has no real habit in building heroes. But for some reason, the forge was hot, and the boy finds himself worked. It was something that failed to make any sense.

"Why is the forge hot then? Do you work for no purpose?"

"I work for pleasure, and there is always work to be done." Hephaestus picked up his hammer and slammed it once more on the item on his anvil. He picked up what looked to be a feather, inspecting the edges closely, running his finger across the top, before bending down behind him to attach it to something.

From where I stood, the mess of other creations prevented me from seeing exactly what it was, that is until he rose it from the ground. "My craft still improves. 10,000 feathers, all sharp enough to kill and strong enough survive even your lightning bolt." Hephaestus said equipping the silver-plated wings to his back.

He stepped away from his creations and with one flap propelled himself high into the air. "It is a new age, father. You could not have seen what we can now become."

My stomach boiled as the boy glided back down towards me. Hovering, boasting his "skill" above me. The words echoed in my head. 'A new age.' He speaks of a new age like I do not stand here before him. Like I have passed on.

It happened quickly before I even noticed, I suddenly found myself with my hands gripping under his arms and driving him out the air to the ground. I barely reached his chest with my leap. These wings. They were as impressive and horrific. "So, you make weapons to defeat me now? That is what you look to improve on? Since your last attempt has failed." My fist struck his face reminiscent of his hammer moments ago. "I have seen the cost of ushering in a new age. Tell me what that means to you."

"Father," he yelled as he pushed me off. I grabbed my bolt and sent a stream of lightning his way. His wings closed in an instant and not one did more than give off a sliver of smoke after seconds of shock.

My eyes widened, and heart slowed. "You don't lie." I exhaled.

Hephaestus threw the wings to the ground with anger. "Has your mind really left you?" He said storming towards me. "Don't treat me as your other children, Zeus. I have always served you without question. I, am not one to poison you. I, am not one to destroy you. If anything, I, should be praised for my contributions."

I gripped my bolt tighter, "You are bold to speak my name, boy, and in such a tone..."

"You are bold, Zeus!" he said, reiterating the disrespect. "My forge has always been an extension of your will, yet you come here with accusation and claims of treason. Come to me like you don't know who I am!"

What the boy said spoke to me. It may have been the first time I've been spoken to since I slept. In return, I met him with the most respectful words one could earn from me, "I am sorry, son."

He didn't accept the words nor even acknowledge them. He simply returned to business, "What is it you come for, Father?"

My tone was more mellow, my words more equal. "You are right, it is time for a new age. This age is coming to an end. Abandoned and bastardized, these mortals do well at killing each other below, but the process is slower than I wish it to take. I do not know how I wish to usher in what is next, but I will need something impressive. And you do impress."

"If I could have learned anything from below, it is how small we gods think. Their thoughts, their creativity makes them half as powerful as us alone." His words were exaggerated, but with what I'd seen of them now, true.

Hephaestus equipped his wings once more and flew above his forgery. Ever so elegant, he kept one wing piercing deep into the top of the structure while he swanned around it. Securing the pierced roof with both his hands, he flew up slowly pulling the top off the forge. The fire reached the roof of the sky–a flame the likes of which I had never witnessed in all my time.

"Do you wish to burn all the heavens and below!" I yelled. But as he catapulted the roof away, he flew above the center of the flame and spun–so fast I saw nothing but silver flashes peeking through the flames. The flames were attracted, absorbed by him. That is until he gave one gust that drew the flames irrelevant. I stood recanting ever being known as the God of Fire.

He descended into the center of the forge and walked out with one item in his hand. "The cyclopes have never stopped making lightning since the last time you asked. The dumb beast. You never told them to stop, and your word is the only one greater than mine." What he held was only the size of his palm. Spherical in the middle, but impressions of lightning frozen while escaping in all directions. Dark and black, it confused me. "10 million lightning bolts, compressed and bonded, are now one."

As he dropped it into my hand, I expected it to light, but instead, it stayed dark. "Not even you will be able to light this alone." He continued. "This is, this will need the light from the sky itself to come alive. But that it's with that power it molds."

"What exactly are you say?"

"I'm saying that more than this era needs to end. Every era has worsened. We missed the Golden Age and have seen past the Heroic Age. What ills come from the next? I say this time, don't remake the world in your image, with this, turn the world dark then bring it back with your image. Just as you imagine it in every way."

I laughed, a child truly made in my image. To think this is the product built from the lessons of mankind. At least they are good for one thing. "I appreciate your thinking. The last bolt." I said looking at this creation that sits in my hand.

"The cyclopes may have forged bolts, but what I give you is a star. The last star." I smiled as he spoke it, the sound rang through my ears so euphoric.

"My son, my son, my son," I said grabbing his shoulder. "A better gift I have never received. You have given me much more than I came here for."

"I impress. It's what I must do."

I couldn't take my eyes off the pickled orb. It calls to something deep within me, and that something called back to it. I swear I could see a glimmering spark for a second deep within it.

"I assume you'll be back to continuing your work now?" I said.

"No more work for me. That fire was aged for eons, it may have even been older than you. I will be here waiting for your will and protecting my creations from those who wish to obstruct it."

"A fine mission," I said. "I do have one more favor I must ask though."

"Do not hold back, father."

"Prometheus, have you anything to locate him?"

"Remedial. He keeps that eagle I crafted around like a pet. Forgetting she will always serve her creator. I will call, and she will come to tell."

"Well please do give her a call. Prometheus and I have much to speak about."

After the Attack

After the tears, crunched eyes, and unreasonable amount of fears, I’m still here.

Even after all the times I was told I couldn’t breathe, and all the many times I told myself I could.

How could you?! Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore people, to try to throw people out at 4am.

Well, how rude of me, inconsiderate. But look what’s done is done.

So 4am I sit still feeling echoes of past tears Broken molds of steady heartbeats Temptation and disbelief.

Ask me, what is 4am made for? Conversations with my anxiety

#poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #anxious #anxitey #fear #black poets on tumblr #black art #dopeblackart #blackauthors #poetic #author #black author #writers on tumblr #writeblr #blackwriters #writer #writers #writing

Read Chapter 4: The Forge's Fire - Zeus from the story Eidolon - The End of the Olympians by writteninparables (D. Colb...

Chapter 4 of Eidolon is live now. Zeus is looking to Hephaestus for a weapon that will help him in these coming days. But what he gets he’s not even sure he can wield.

Eidolon - The Death of the Olympians

Chapter 3: Taken for Granted - Hermes

Why is it the moments when you must be silent that breathing feels the most difficult? The weight that sits upon my chest now, is it adrenaline or it is fear? It is something that courses within me to warn me that missteps may be commonplace but are unacceptable in this place.

Ares built his lair intending to harness these feelings: dread, despair, hopelessness. It embodied this sadistic feel about it that made me want to renounce any acknowledgment of our common roots-as if I had not already renounced most of mine long ago. God of Travel, son of Haia, but nothing further than that, besides that I am just Hermes.

I could hear echoes of Ares and Zeus speaking as I tried to move closer, words Zeus carried throughout the lair with the same vibrations as thunder. Screaming is the only method of communication he has remembered since awakening apparently. The closer I got the more distinct those words got.

"Who!"

"Am I forgotten?"

"Prometheus! Damn Prometheus"

It seems my brother was doing his best to persuade Zeus to believe that Prometheus was the one who poisoned him. For all the sense it made, I still wouldn't believe it to be true. Neither do I think Ares does- the difference is he doesn't even care to know. He just cares to wreak havoc, as only those two know how to do.

Ares continued his instigation, "Do you not see how the humans have grown since you sleep? They claim now to fly, claim all beneath the seas, harbor themselves creationist, claim that which are for gods. This is Prometheus and his lot, all finding themselves ever prosperous in your absence."

Zeus grabbed one of Ares horned helmets and pierced it into the wall with a force that threatened to tear the whole place down. "Again! Again! And Again!" Zeus said. "The incessant rat never ceases to leave me alone!"

"There has not been a trustworthy Titan since the Titans took first breath, father. If anyone, you should know that. He should have long been..."

"Do not question me! Have you forgotten too? Have you!? He will die, I will find him myself if he hides...damn!"

I could see Ares smirk the more angered he saw father get. He had no heart beneath him. Darkness and Ego at best, perpetuated by his refined face and earthy beard. "What about mankind? Tell me what I should make of them please." Ares spoke as he gave a slight bow.

"Continue at your will. I've seen their transgressions. And I will have my moment to judge them. Ages have come and gone, this is no different. But next time I will not be mistaken in letting another creating life-those persistent pests. These gods are just as foolish as men I swear."

"There is nothing you need from me. Nothing at all, Father?"

"No," Zeus said, but at the same time slowly raising his hand to grasp Ares by the shoulder. I couldn't see his face, but I knew their eyes now met for a reason. "But for my son hiding in the shadows..." As soon as the words registered to me, I tried with all might to make my way back out of the lair. "...for you I have much need and use."

The words caught up to me as I tried to escape. "Sons, greet the great Olympian!" I heard Ares respond next.

Dust and rocks shuttered beneath my feet as I struggled to reach my top speed. My eyes shifting and shuffling as I turned to escape this maze-like cavern. As I neared the exit, I was met with these visions. A lion, lounging, mouth agape, with teeth the size of hands. In one instant I came to a halt with my heart still far out in front of me trying to escape. I stood face to face with Phobos, his eerie black-bearded figure haunting my very reality, his furnaced breath burning my face and eyes as he looked down at me. Grabbing me by the neck, he picked me up. My feet could move as fast as they wanted, but all I could make of myself was a man flailing in the wind.

His strangle made it hard for me to breathe, but even harder for me to blink. My eyes felt swollen, about to explode as I finally found the strength to blink. Then I blinked once more, and regret ever opening my eyes again. There beside Phobos appeared his brother Deimos. My heart became calm, drowned in fear now. He held the same smirk his father did seconds ago, but his made tears want to fill my eyes. I didn't see him move, but I felt his hand now clutching my face. As my head made a hasty descent to the ground beneath me, it felt as if my legs and body were being lifted, called above the heavens.

I opened my eyes to Zeus standing above me with a foot on my chest. As I came to, I began to realize I must have passed out from the blow, feeling the burgeoning pain drilling the back of my skull. Zeus bent down towards me, so close that his beard brushed against my face and breath enveloped my nostrils. "Are you not going to say hello to your father?" He spoke slowly and softly.

"Hello father, how have you been?" I responded.

"Not well, but I'm sure you know that. You know everything, just as you tell all," he pulled me up from the ground as he finished speaking. "I can see contempt in your face."

Zeus paused waiting for me to speak, but when it became obvious I would not, he continued. "Is this about what you heard of Prometheus? If you feel I am wrong, then tell me who gave me the fruit?"

"I do not know," I said.

"So much to my surprise," Zeus said sarcastically. "Tell me then, tell me a story of who makes sense to blame. Can you at least tell a better story than your brother?"

My eyes met with Ares. His face still holding that damn smirk of indifference. I look down and spit, clearly in his vicinity, before speaking, "I cannot tell a lie better than this one."

My disrespect made him choke up his spear, while my words made him want to skewer me. "Call down boy." Zeus said degradingly to Ares before returning to me, "But what do you really want to say? Tell me, tell me that the King of Gods has seen treason against him, but that he should simply let it go."

When I wouldn't even look him in his face, he found his victory. "Exactly. You know nothing, just hold words of weakness," he snarled.

Zeus began pacing the room, knowing that I wasn't going anywhere. "You find yourself close with my brothers, which I find particularly advantageous right now," He said placing his hand on my shoulder - something which sent shivers down my spine. "I need you to pay them both a visit and when you return, I will need both Poseidon's Trident and the Scepter of Hades. Is that too much for you, my son?"

"Never, father. Nothing is too much to do, not for you."

"Good," Zeus said as he pointed me away.

I began running, hearing him speak as I left. "Now. I think it is time I pay Hephaestus a visit..."

Read Chapter 3: Taken for Granted - Hermes from the story Eidolon - The End of the Olympians by writteninparables (D. C...

Chapter 3 of Eidolon is live now. Check it out on Wattpad!

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Eidolon: The End of the Olympians

Chapter 2: Days Will End - Prometheus

"My garden was not supposed to be so. This garden, before vines captured the walls and this moss showed hints of direction, was where I first created you. All of you."

I looked out onto mankind, the way a proud father should. "For you, I gave the world. For you, I would've died if my makeup was made for me to do so. But instead, I am free, as are you. Two things I thought I would never see."

I said this same spiel, or something similar every day, just before sunset. That is when the pain was close to its worst—when the eagle grew tired of clawing and the process of regeneration was all but ready to begin. Back then the last two lines were, "But instead I choose to stay here another day, knowing these chains can't hold me but will save you." Heracles didn't just save me from those chains, he saved mankind from his father.

"Do I interrupt?" Apollo asked as he entered. It startled me, breaking me from this one-way conversation. I turned, pointing him to take a seat beside me. He looked nervous, but I just waited for him to speak. "My friend, you are my friend, correct?" He hesitated.

He has seen me often, but this time was obviously different. He struggled to meet my gaze before continuing. "Of course we are friends," he said, "but I come here not as a friend, I come as I was born to." His voice started to find composure, "I've seen things, visions, and heard them speak...of you, Prometheus."

Fear, Anger, Pain, Depression. I turned towards the great Olympian in a mix of emotions—trying not to berate the messenger, as I'm sure he feared. "Tell me what they speak."

He closed his eyes as if trying to remember something. I couldn't help but focus on the struggle on his face. That face was still one of youth. The difference in our faces may be why he saw me as his elder. I respect his view but, in reality, that just spoke to how far out of place I was—out of power. We were equal at best, but he will never see that.

"I am long out of practice so forgive me for the broken language," he said. "I will speak it as best I can:

The stars will call just to hear him speak, and he will sleep no more. May lightning fall again, but this time not whole, for he is no longer one. He is more, for better or for worse.

His grace is not in forgiveness, his movements are not for life. First fall the scarred, second the sun. And the light of redemption will come in the dark.

The world will fall and it won't be enough. Let all fall and rise again for him. Let him come once, then let him come again."

As he finished I found myself rubbing my chest and abdomen. The world failed to stay still and suddenly I was grasping air, trying to catch a spot next to him on this stone bench. My hands rushed back to my chest and my heartbeat was racing. The scars are not there, Prometheus, the scars were never there. But the pain is, the fear is.

Apollo grasped my leg as I sat there next to him and slowly, the world started to slow down—its sudden rotation growing still. I pressed my eyelids closed and took a deep breath, "I am the one scarred, am I not?"

Apollo wrapped his arm around to my far shoulder, dropping his head. "It would look like you are from my position," he said.

How do I find myself again in this position? Zeus has taken so many years from me once. "Tell me, why me?"

Apollo rose, his face telling me that I should be able to figure such things out myself.

"However we may feel, to poison Zeus, or anyone for that matter, is an injustice. And the first question in injustice is motive."

And there I find my answer. In all these years Zeus has slept, no one has benefitted. The gods have gone their separate ways, no one has dared sit upon his throne. Everyone has just behaved as usual...except for me.

"For all the years after Heracles freed you, you were no were to be found. Unknown even to me," Apollo continued, "but now we see you often. You have made yourself known and present as if an Olympian yourself. Who would risk sowing in Hades and stealing from Persephone's garden for no reason."

"I know. I know!" I stopped Apollo, that potent mix of emotions suddenly began to return, bubbling in me, all lead by anger.

"Damn!" I said rising to my feet once more, "damn."

"My friend, I am..."

"You have no reason to apologize," I said. Closing my eyes, I took a moment to regain myself. I took a deep breath, trying to grip all the air that surrounded me. Followed by a slow exhale.

Somehow this is my doing, and regardless of the reasons I must pay. I must overcome. I straightened up my body and rose my right arm holding my wrist flat. In a gust, an eagle flew over—seeming to come from thin air—and gripped my wrist, slightly piercing the skin.

I could see Apollo smirk, impressed once more. I told him our story, "Every day, she would tear at my ribs. Starting between the ninth and tenth, before slowly moving up. When I was freed she was the only one that could find me, no matter how far I went. I accepted her as a friend, but more importantly to remind me. To remind me of the pain, the anguish, the strength which it took to never once ask for mercy or feel regret. I question every day if I still have that strength. Could I endure it again, without once asking for mercy? Can I endure even the imprints still left in my soul?"

Apollo looked me in my eyes, honestly, respecting me for the first time since he entered today. "You will not have to," he said. "He will make it quick this time, that I've seen."

"At least I know he will make haste of me," I said as I walked back to look over the world. "But what of my people?" He seemed surprised that—in this time—I would even speak of them, but truly mankind will always be my greatest creation, and more important than me.

"It will not be enough. Your sacrifice will not be enough this time." He saw the disappointment on my face as he answered and rambled on, "What I've seen stretches far past you, but I have learned more than to interfere too much. It will tire me, but the effects will be minimal at best. You, like I, know, what is written is written." He waited, for me to say something, but my silence only led him to continue. "What is coming is dark, so dark that I can't even see it all, or do not wish to." I turned and grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to just stand next to me, hoping he'd appreciate my view of the sunset.

We stood next to each other, both trying not to acknowledge any more of the situation. Instead, trying to find some enjoyment in the moment. It grew more awkward until I retreated to my workshop. I came back bearing my flute, gifted from Apollo himself, and a phorminx he gifted me as well. I handed him the phorminx as I held my flute, "I've been practicing," I said, "It calms me at my worse, as you said it would. Play with me. I would not want to miss the chance to play with you."

I followed his lead as we played an ode I never heard before, a tragedy of some sort. It was slow, recognizant of not just my pain, but the journey—the plight. It became ever apparent that the song we played, was for me. I could see the tear holding still in his eyes, I knew he wouldn't let them fall. I closed my eyes and played, letting my tears fall for the both of us. I could see it—these visions—as the notes escaped. He saw his last visions of me and passed it on, however unintentional. Knowledge is no gift when you have no power to make change. I'll play ignorant though, acting as if it was never passed.

We finished playing and as the sun finally set over the lands below. I went to carry the instruments back to the workshop before hearing a call from within the forest. I could not see him, but it was still Apollo. "Prometheus." He said to me, "He has already awoken."

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Beer is Food

There is something about being lost that has a certain excitement about it. But not the cliché ass, 'I don't know where life is going' bullshit — no one knows where life is going. Any moment you may redefine yourself, find yourself, gain passion. So, leave that for something different. The excitement I'm talking about is from the real kind of lost. I'm talking, "threw my phone out the window while I was driving when it's been 366 days since I last missed a day on social media", type lost and withdrawn. The "I don't recognize any of these town names nor the landmarks you speak to me like I should know" lost. I mean I am so lost...and it feels good.

I'm supposed to be murdered today — at sunrise. Not for anything that I would consider to be my fault in particular, but at the same time, not for something many would consider innocent. For years I'd been conveniently forgetting my morality then asking myself, "How much is a dollar worth?", just to go right back and do the same thing again. That is, until the time I couldn't.

Then for months, I dealt with my 'friend', Ant, following up with me while I struggled to pay back the money I 'lost' the person we work for. You know, the slick-haired, broad-shouldered, nicely-dressed, devilish woman. Every time I came up short, Ant convinced her to let me slide. Meaning broken ribs from his left-handed haymakers, while he choked me with his right. Damn near drowning me in a bathtub, repeatedly. Oh, and my all-time favorite, the steel toe boot to the shin. I couldn't even walk after that one. I found myself having to explain repeatedly how I got a severe fracture and the best lie I could come up with was that I suffered a bad crash from a dirt bike accident. For the next two weeks I had 13 tabs open on Google Chrome so I could answer questions about dirt bikes, which I never knew anything about.

I can't say the last two years have been much to appreciate, but at least I was here. So much time to live, but how do you live when you're hours away from death?

Easy, eating good.

I took a bottle out of the Yuengling suitcase I got from the mini-mart last time I filled up for gas. I took a gulp.

Horrible. I never liked beer. Never got acquainted with the taste. But back in the store, I stood there mesmerized as I was brought back to a shirt my father always used to wear. Beer is Food, it said boldly on a faded green background. I couldn't tell if the color was meant to be that way or it had just been worn out over time, but somehow that picture wouldn't leave my mind.

I looked at the bottle in my hand. How can people drink this so easily? But maybe the rest of my day will be easy if I overcome this. No, I'm counting on it to make the rest of my day easy. It has to.

As the sun began its rise, I was finishing up my third bottle. I was somewhere between the point where the taste couldn't overpower the silencing intoxication in my body, but the intoxication still couldn't overpower me. Basically, that meant it was a downhill battle at this point.

Has anybody really made peace with death?

I've heard the stories of people who have. But at the same time, I thought I was one of them. Maybe they were all like me and thought they were prepared until the day came. But then they thought, 'I'd much rather outrun it if I could. I'd much rather stay here,' except for Socrates maybe. The problem with running, in my case, is knowing there's only so many places to go. And in this world we live in, there are only a few ways to make yourself hidden, but so many ways to make yourself found. The amount of effort put into running, turning up your life to live as a poor nomad, forever watching over your shoulder is...illogical.

I heard a car pull up beside mine. I finished the bottle in my hand and proceeded to pull the last two from the suitcase. The door opened as I heard Ant speak to me....

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The second chapter of Eidolon is live now on Wattpad!

Eidolon: The End of the Olympians

Chapter 1: Scorching Hot Days - Apollo

I looked over the landscape, olive trees scorching on a hot day, stuck in contemplation. Reviewing so many events just to see how we got here again.

It was right here, that for many years I'd meet with the Pythia, the Oracle of Delphi, the priestess of this—this temple built to do nothing, but honor and worship me.

"What is my name?" I yelled, waiting for someone to answer, "Apollo, my lord."

I sipped my wine again, leaning back in this make-shift throne.

The world does not believe in oracles anymore, but if they did I'd warn them, I'd help them, as I always did. I always was here for them, regardless of their worship. Regardless of how often people moaned and complained once they left earshot of the Oracle. And regardless of how many times they cursed at me, mostly in drunkenness.

A woman stumbled in as that thought passed. She was dressed in a lavish dress, studded and sleek. Her hair elegant, coils tight and eyes so—comforting.

"Are you my Oracle?" I said to her.

"Your oracle?" She responded, eyes sizing me up. "I haven't really had much success telling the future, but I guess I can try."

I laughed, still knowing that what I hoped for hasn't existed for ages but deciding to continue anyway.

"No love, I tell you the visions, all you must do is spread them. Speak them to prophecy, make sure the world is prepared."

She hesitated for a second. I could tell she contemplated walking away, but natural curiosity, intrigue kept her. "What have you seen?"

"I have seen the end of this age. Man will once again see an end, just like the Golden Age, and Heroic Age, and all the ages to come before. I have not seen who will survive, or how they will survive, but you must be prepared."

"But what did you see?"

Her assertiveness perplexed me. She acted as if I didn't just say her world was ending, that everything she knew was coming to an end. I'll blame it on the fact that she thinks I'm crazy. Or...

Does she think I'm crazy? I put my chalice down below me paying close attention to the way she stood, her expression, looking for any bit of...doubt.

I didn't know where to start.

"I saw flames, flames that touched the sky," I said triumphantly, hearing my own voice echo throughout the hall.

"What else?" She said, again unphased.

I tried again, this time not trying to impress her, but instead simply speak my visions. "The oceans turned cold and broken. The earth broken. I—I'm still trying to make sense of it."

"What else?" She repeated.

"God's dying!" I said struggling to control the inflections in my voice. "An unholy war that brings mortality to those who shouldn't be."

She touched me on the shoulder. "What else?" She whispered.

My lungs suddenly lost themselves. Mistimed breathes and mild hyperventilation made my next words barely come out as a whisper. "Souls that get no peace after death. Monsters and demons rising to where they shouldn't be."

I never saw her walk towards me as I spoke. Never truly felt her touch. Not until my head rested on her and her arms wrapped around me. It was in this moment, she let the truth speak.

"Something told me to come here today. I couldn't tell what or why. Something just kept speaking this word over and over until I was going crazy with images of this place in my head, looking just like this."

She referred to this illusion I created, returning my temple to its golden days, as I remembered. But maybe I return more than I hoped to its former days.

"What you heard, are you my Pythia?"

"Yes! I just heard it hiss over and over in my dreams."

I looked here in the eyes. The way she lit up, the satisfaction she heard from me speaking that one word, "then you must drink."

We took turns finishing the wine in the chalice. The wine was a work of the gods, more powerful than any mortal needs, but she handled herself well.

She leaned back, barely holding herself up, "I'm starting to see it now, what you saw. It's painful, scarring really. How did it all come to this though? Or am I to believe this just came out the blue?"

I looked at her, once more comforted in her eyes.

"It all started with the fruit. Rotten seeds born of darkness. A simple pomegranate. But it was made to maim. Made to put Zeus into an eternal sleep."

I investigated the chalice lifting it in hopes that just one more drop would bless my lips. Just one.

"Zeus slept, slept long. It has been thousands of years. But soon, he will awaken, and things will be nothing as they once were. There will be difference. There will be pain. Because when he awakes, his mind will be—lost."

"Damn." She said looking at the pillar in front of us. "But why not..."

"My Pythia!" I interrupted. "I'm afraid that our time has passed. These are the matters of gods. You must now figure how you will speak your prophecy."

I feared what I made of the woman who just left. I forgot the gift that it was to have someone to speak to of my visions. It was something about these mortal conversations, that was more relieving. That felt more humane.

I chuckled at myself for the silly pun.

I dropped the illusions of my temple. The throne dissolved behind me, the floor once again became disassembled, and the sun burned through now. It was just me and these tattered pillars.

I watched the woman leave wondering how far she'd get. Damn, I forgot to ask her name.

"My Pythia!" I yelled walking towards her.

But at that moment, lightning struck down from a clear sky. Burning her down to a crisp outline of bone. It's a shame, for she was as beautiful as they come.

This is what happens when God hears all, when God sees all. This is what happens when balance is lost. This is what happens Zeus has awakened.

A prophet has only one fear greater than see his visions recreated in front of him. It is that fear when he sees all, but the end. And a man who sees all is once again introduced to curiosity. When he must realize that some things aren't written—and he just must hope.

Who is there for me to pray to?

God’s Do Die

The best part of being a god is supposed to be immortality. Still, I find a certain semblance with this moment that is only brought...in this moment. Drawing on final breaths, all movement suddenly becoming uneasy. The pain has faded, and that which my eyes have accepted has become blurred, but, still, there's beauty -beauty in these moments, in every moment that now flashes by.

In these visions, I hear a voice ask, "What happens when God dies?"

A god cannot die: omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent all is he. And He is all...for a moment.

What does happen when a god dies?

Every memory inflates itself in ego until they explode into a universe of their own, inside out, encasing that which was meant to hold it. Each is filled with dead space that used to be. Some still shedding their time while others have long perished but continue to hold their space regardless. God is resilient like that.

I can see every incantation, from beginning to end, but only in my dying breath.

How many neurons would it take to light the night sky? Unsubstantial matter. Paint the sky gray and hope the stars still know how to speak to each other. Keep each other company and, at times, keep each other safe. It is sad, but they are on their own now. Not that you were ever the dependent ones, but independently feeding on the dependence of everything below you, beneath you; everything around you that you held indifference towards. Interpret it how you would like because perception is no longer the same among us. Among you.

Most of me has no place in this new creation of mine. But these bones that shattered in your genesis, scatter far across here and there - pushed away by echoes of my heartbeat hoping to leave an imprint on all these worlds alike. Have you not loved your father as he hast loved himself?

Impudent. Thousands of bastardized creations, so much of me for so little life. I lived too. I loved too. Simply for me. But maybe that is something I learned in time. It is not true for me to judge. It becomes difficult at times though. I can hear you. I can feel you. I breathe in smells unfamiliar, then all of a sudden familiar, then dated, just to miss you. And miss you, again.

Cold to the touch, but warm enough for you. Some of you will look to this mottled mess claiming patterns and precision, unaware just how right you are and nowhere near understanding its worth to you. Give it time. It will all become unfamiliar and irregular as the laws you find constant disperse. Then will you question my presence?

I am still here. After I claim myself dead, breath becomes inconceivable, and heart frozen in time. You will be all that is left for the time being. All that is left of me. Connected by fading axons sharing and promoting your progress alike. What else can a dying man do for you?

I watch, staring at these self-inflated beings, all so unique, impressed by my inadvertent work. I watch, wondering.

"Do these, all these beautiful creations sparked from my mind, burn out with me, or have they stabilized themselves to outlive my worth?"

What does happen when God dies?

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