The Beast Of Both Worlds: A Drunk Mythology 14 Burning Poin

A couple of weeks flew by without incident. Brushing it off as paranoia, Ginrius and Minea went on with their lives, both doing a nine-to-five routine for their respective careers, and then spending the nights together as normal couples would. The plan to tie the knot was also in the works at the time, so when tragedy finally struck, it was all the more devastating.

One day, Ginrius just felt something off about the day he woke up to. He couldn't explain it, so he went to his Olympian smithy to ponder it over as he worked. Hopefully, the exclusivity of the celestial plane would help him figure it out. And if even that failed, he found comfort in knowing that the pantheon's counsel was just a cubicle away.

That was when he heard Minea's voice, calling for help over the sound of his hammer strikes. He needn't even think twice; the sole intention of rushing to her aid was enough: before he knew it, he was out of his workshop—out of Olympus altogether—and standing next to his demidamsel in distress. Her fearful eyes switched to relief when he appeared, literally out of thin air—too bad Ginrius couldn't say the same for himself.

Because he recognized their third wheel right off the bat.

Ginrius didn't even have to see him. The air just went ahead feeling charged and dangerous. Even as a full-pledged G.o.d, it made his hair stand on end, something which Zacleus couldn't pull-off on his best day. He dreaded to turn and greet the unwanted company of Zeus, and when he did beyond cue moments later, he rightly fenced Minea behind him, for whatever measure of protection that amounted to.

Zeus was no fool. He knew his G.o.dsmith didn't come to bless the union, or even join in on the soiree. But he still played cool, displaying ire only through his lightning motes, which grew and buzzed like intent killer bees. "What brings you here, child?"

"You know full well why I came, my king," Ginrius said darkly himself. Well he was no idiot either. G.o.d or mortal, his wit was probably the only thing he had going on. Minea's eyes gave him all the details he needed.

It was common knowledge that whenever Zeus appeared before a woman, it was because he couldn't keep it his tunic; case in point, Zacleus and his extended family of demibrats. Ginrius held Minea closer to him now; wrapping her in his arms so the other dude couldn't pull a fast one.

This caused the G.o.dking to raise a silver eyebrow, and the motes around him to spark. The wind smelt singed when he spoke next. "Speak now or never again!"

Both Minea and Ginrius inched away as the thunder G.o.d advanced. And at this point, the lesser divinity decided to drop the civility. "Really? And here I am thinking you already knew, being king of the G.o.ds and all…"

Ginrius' tone was apparently so brash, it made Zeus stop and throw a storm warning tantrum. The sky above grew bitter-dark in an instant; clouds swirled to show off some good old bottled lightning. "And even before G.o.dhood, I a.s.sumed you'd know better… I cannot be denied, child—not by you or the entirety of Olympus!"

After delivering his villain line, Zeus up and vanished, only to reappear as a streak of terrible lightning from—you guessed it—his not-cotton-candy clouds. To up the fear factor, said energy also danced around like a hyperactive serpent, right to the tune of impending doom.

With all his G.o.dly upgrades, Ginrius didn't know how to defend from such level of power—power that could topple forces far beyond his own. In the end, he chose to shield Minea with his body, in hopes that it would be enough to keep her from harm. He whispered his last apology and the girl replied with a kiss. "I have to admit, when I asked you to come back in a bolt of lightning, this isn't how I pictured it," she said, still smiling amid the tears.

"I know," Ginrius told her, now shedding his own. "I'm really sorry… I want you to know that my time with you was the best of them all—I lived a short but good life because I had you."

But this book would be too short if it all ended here. And apparently, the other G.o.ds agreed.

Just as death streaked above in blinding gold, a familiar, misty darkness began to form around the couple. It was the same frozen, depressing aura that appeared before Ginrius all those days back, when beach picnics were still pro peace and quiet. Suddenly they weren't there anymore, and were instead up the nearby promontory, watching Zeus' divine lightning hit nothing but silt.

The G.o.dking then reappeared looking more aggravated, this time at his brother, Hades, who had uncharacteristically picked someone else's side. "Brother, you conspire against me as well?!" Zeus raged. He looked even more b.u.t.t-hurt this time, his motes overcharged and ready to explode.

Hades looked at his brother with unchanged austerity, as though the intensifying energies weren't an issue. "He's my son, brother…"

"Only but," Zeus retorted—with 40% more impatience. "There was a time when we sacrificed anything for one other."

"And quite frankly it's gotten tiresome," Hades said, looking like he'd throw a yawn for effect. It would be another four-thousand years before bromance became relevant again. "Especially when you always get the best of said 'sacrifices'"

"So it's come to this?"

"It doesn't need to be. Just leave my son alone and we should be square… After all this time, I think we can both agree that you've had your fair share of women. Why not cut these lovers a slack?"

In confrontations, the silent intermission part is the next worst thing. When testosterones decide to stop the chatter, it's either s.h.i.t is about to come raining down, or something/someone decides to play United Nations; either way, someone gets hurt, be it the audience or whoever has the weakest plot armor. It's a dangerous tug of war, especially when G.o.ds are doing all the tugging.

So when the brotherly bond of Zeus and Hades ran out of banter, the tension reached its foremost peak. If these two forces collided, the world was as good as dead, and that was the best case scenario. With Hades gone, who will manage the dear departed into nice single files down the Underworld? And although very unlikely, Zeus running out of spark would probably end badly as well, what with the score of bad guys out there wanting to sow pain and chaos across Creation.

But as wise as Zeus was given credit for, issues involving women apparently took priority over things like Ragnarok, genocide, or whatever the Greek spelled apocalypse with. A king's bane was often sourced to his own pride, and this seemed applicable to G.o.ds as well, understandably even being more so. The king of Olympus would not stand for any form of treason, as evidenced by the humiliation of Poseidon and Apollo during their midlife rebellious phase.

And when it came to getting c.o.c.kblocked, he had something even bigger planned.

Summoning back all the lighting from the clouds, Zeus prepared to smite his traitorous kin. The javelin of energy he produced was so intense, everyone felt an extent of damage before it even struck them. Even more terrifying was the roar the G.o.d unleashed before issuing judgment, which acted as the accompanying thunder to the locked and loaded lightning bolt.

Again Ginrius could do nothing but shield Minea, hoping still that it would prove enough. Though pointless, he labored to close his eyes, as the immense lightshow was enough to blind half the world.

Hades, however, had a director's cut version for the ending. He knew it would be embarra.s.sing to have come and failed, especially when he sounded really bada.s.s just moments ago. This was not a story by Akira Toriyama—the supporting cast get to win some too.

So once again his dark mist covered them, granting a modic.u.m of shadows back to the area. Ginrius heard thunder but never quite got to the smiting part. He didn't even see the resulting devastation, if for some reason they got lucky twice in a row. Instead there was the profound cold and silence that was akin to anything and everything Hades.

"Rest easy, child, we are safe… for now at least," whispered the familiar, h.o.a.ry voice of his father.

Ginrius opened his eyes to see Hades retire to his dark, calcium-rich throne, before proceeding to stroke Cerberus around the central ears. The three-headed, fire-maned dog was a sight to behold, but so was the rest of the Underworld reception.
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There was just something majestic about how the stalagmites—and stalact.i.tes—formed in the nether. They looked menacing enough, like giant monster teeth before bracers, but they also completed the motif obligated by its premise. It opposed every principle Olympus upheld: whatever was ivory was ebony instead, the usually golden complements dabbed, for a change, with the color of blood. It's a domain fit for a king of melancholy taste, limiting everything else to gray, fire, and the occasional excess of its neighboring rivers.

Then there's the augur presented by the mouth of Tartarus, which spewed even meaner licks of fire. It was the darker side of the Underworld, open for business twenty-five hours a day, even during holidays. Divided only by its lines of spectral customers, this annex was paired with the awkward Elysium vestibule—light at end of the tunnel taken on a literal sense, like a bunch of other things in mythology. Ironically, this latter extension reminded Ginrius of the horror that was Mount Olympus.

Pitch in the rocking earth from the upper floors and you get yourself a very steep, very rocky climb to the story's climax. Zeus was going crazy out there, getting c.o.c.kblocked by his number one wingman and all.

Ginrius and Minea looked genuinely fearful that the ceiling would collapse on them. And it didn't help that the Lord of the Underworld fell short of pep talks too soon.

"Will it hold?" Ginrius asked his father, who looked none too keen of the showering rubble.

"Not forever," confirmed Hades rather coolly. "Even among us Zeus is G.o.d. And if he wants to impregnate a domain, he would succeed… eventually."

"We're doomed then?"

"Not just yet."

A semblance of hope lit up Ginrius' eyes. Even with odds stacked high against him, if there was a chance to fight back and win, he'd take it. "What do we need to do?"

"You probably wouldn't like it… But since you chose to oppose the mighty Zeus, how much worse could it get, right?"

The tremors intensified, causing even something as fearsome as Cerberus to whimper. Tormented cries from within Tartarus also grew louder, imagine that.

Ginrius snubbed it all for that hanging resolution. "What do you have in mind? And please spare me the suspense—there's too much of that to go around already."

Hades shot Tartarus a glance.

"No…" Ginrius muttered, rightly unnerved by the idea of depraved, vengeful monsters, giants, and everything in between. "Can't we just talk this through? Maybe we can still plead to the king—maybe this is all just a big misunderstanding."

"I'm afraid it's our only option going forward, not unless you are willing to part with the love of your life." Hades stood up with Cerberus in tow, and the three of them walked to the edge of the abysmal gate. "You have to go in there to fetch my Erinyes, and then forge a pact with willing t.i.tans—even the odds a little bit."

Involving the Erinyes made sense. They were enforcers of the Underworld after all; defending it was part of their job description. The t.i.tan part on the other hand, sounded like a steaming pile of Minotaur s.h.i.t. Ginrius looked really confused as he pointed out the obvious. "But don't t.i.tans hate G.o.ds to their guts?"

Hades flashed a faux, non-a.s.suring smile at his son, who was now even paler than he was in his teens. "Exactly…"

"Well I am one! You just made me into one, remember?!"

"Yes, but you do have one overlooked advantage, see…"

"And what's that?"

"You are a new G.o.d. They don't know you, and technically does not hold a grudge against you."

Ginrius got the point, but still ended up more horrified than relieved. New G.o.d or not, Tartarus was still a prison of all things terrifying. And ravenous.

"Just pick one of those chaos monsters if you're not feeling lucky…" Hades added. "And whatever you do, stay away from Cronus—he'll stop at nothing to bust out of his penance."

After a few moments of rumination (and a whole lot more of Zeus tearing the place apart), Ginrius gathered up enough courage to enter the cursed gates. "What about you?" he asked his father, before shooting Minea a worried look.

"Do not worry about us, child, just focus on the task at hand," Hades said. "I'll round up our allies from high and low—buy us as much time as possible. When you return, Zeus will have a full-scale uprising to deal with." He then gave a Minea a second notice. "My wife, Persephone will look after her. Go ahead and be the champion you chose to be."

Somehow Ginrius managed a smile, dry but valid. Then he waved Minea goodbye, which she answered by gifting him another kiss. "I'm on a roll today, aren't I?" he jokingly told her.

"Seriously though, you have to make it through this. Otherwise…"

"Huh?"

"…Otherwise we all die and your pervert uncle will **** me," spat Minea in an effort to inspire her beau.

Ginrius snorted, and rather gloomily at that. "There's always that, of course…" He took another step

in but this time Hades stopped him. "Now what?"

The dark G.o.d waved his hand and out appeared a golden helmet. It wasn't too fancy past its material; in fact it was the only thing that grounded its grilled visor and needless horn attachments. "Use this. It will help a lot in exploring the area."

It was the Helmet of Darkness, one of the three legendary items from the t.i.tanomachy. Its ability to make one invisible was instrumental for the victory of the G.o.ds, and possibly, for getting Hades a stable lovelife. "Don't you need this?" Ginrius inquired, more for intrigue than concern. The G.o.ds were known for guarding their personal effects jealously. "You know… in case Zeus makes it in?"

"If Zeus makes it in before you return, no divine artifact will be able to save us," Hades said. "Besides, I've never been a huge fan of the color. It's just… not me."

Ginrius then welcomed the gift, laughing genuinely for the first time in what now felt like forever. And to think it was someone like Hades who came up with the punchline. He was all set to brave the unknown, but again, before he could take another step, Hades held him back. "What is it this time?! Am I going or staying? Because I'm perfectly fine with staying, just so you know."

"Hold out your hand," Hades instructed him, which he did with but mild bemus.e.m.e.nt.

Moments later, there was clinking and swooshing, as though something metallic had taken flight and was headed their way. "What was that?" Ginrius asked again, to no avail. His answer came a few while after, when the smithing hammer of Hephaestus cut through the darkness and landed cleanly in the palm of his hand. Amazement was distinct in his reaction—not so much in his words. "It did that?" was all he came up with.

When he looked back up at Hades, the G.o.d was smiling with even more guile. "Just in case," the Underlord said, before grounding his son into the depths of Tartarus.