RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block The Pantheon: After the Fall

Then there came the day when Olympus fell. . .

Like the other pantheons before them,
the Olympians slowly dropped before the
onslaught.

Dionysus wept, no more drinking and
merriment, grand bachhanalias replaced with
an orgy of destruction.
Their time was over.

The dark one looked around and smiled.
He surveyed the carnage slowly, taking
in the devastation like a breath of fresh air.

Moments earlier, he had held the severed
head of Zeus in his hands. The head had
cursed him violently and spat in his eyes,
before being ground into pulp between the
massive hands of the dark one.

Dionysus still wept, the dark one’s last
atrocity would be a living testament to his power,
for Dionysus would now be forever known
as the weeping god.


Now. . .

Thunder rumbled distantly in the grey skies as the rains fell lightly and wind howled through the trees. Aeolus, dark skinned god of the winds, took no notice. His gaze fell over the remains of the once proud home of the gods, Mount Olympus.

Marble columns and bronze statues shattered and broken. Pavement cracked and overgrown with weeds. Rivers and waterfalls where once sprites and naiads played, now run dry and empty. Once beautiful fields, now barren, lifeless. Aeolus wept at the desecration and ruin.

Who could have done this? He thought to himself. Who is the murderer of the Gods? Aeolus obsession grew by the day. Since the events of the Antarctic War, the Pantheon had kept a surprisingly low profile. They were not however, inactive. Their search for the being known only as "The Dark One," and their quest to restore life and glory to Olympus continued.

Aeolus looked up, as rain and sweat poured down his proud face. In vine, the truth. It was so simple, could it be? "Dionysus. .." He muttered under his breath. He turned and looked behind him.

Standing under a cracked archway, well out of the rain, in a resplendant violet toga, with golden rings encircling her smooth arms and legs, her lustrous black hair pinned up behind her head, and drinking from a golden goblet, stood Medea. Sorceress member of the Pantheon. Former wife of Jason, spurned by him, and now barely tolerant of men at all. Medea, who had joined Aeolus' group, for purposes of her own, barely hiding her contempt for Aeolus' leadership, or the majority of her teammates. Medea, who held several objects of legend in her home, the Argo, the Golden Fleece, and yes, the goblet she now drank from, the never empty cup of Dionysus.

"You had the same thought I did." Aeolus said, looking in her eyes and seeing what was there. For the first time since she'd joined he saw no trace of hate or envy, merely pity.

"Yes. Dionysus was there. He is still alive, although the legends say he is mad. He must know who the Dark One is." She reached out, handing Aeolus the cup.

Taking it in his hands, he lifted it to his lips and drank down several gulps of the wine of the gods. Lowering the cup, he smiled. There was a gleam in his eyes Medea had not seen before. "Summon the others. We're going to talk to Dionysus." Lightning flashed as thunder rumbled in the distance.

*************************

Earth.
Mars Munitions
Detroit, Michigan, USA

The office of Alexander Mars, CEO. The end of the day, for Alexander Mars. Significant financial contributions had been made to both major political parties, ensuring that no matter who won the upcoming election, Mars Munitions would continue to have excellent working relations with the US Government.

Under the table, they had also contributed significantly to several terrorist organizations throughout many countries in the world, including factions of the MBL, the Left Hand, and various other extremist groups of varying political beliefs and ethnic backgrounds. For Alexander Mars, conflict was life.

Standing up from behind his desk, he brushed down and straightened out his suit and adjusted his red silk tie. Walking over to the bookshelf on his wall, he pulled out a rather worn copy of Bulfinch's Mythology, allowing the bookcase to swing open, revealing a small walk-in closet.

Entering the closet, he walked all the way to the back. Standing there, he looked at a very old and battle scarred set of golden and red armor, stained and flaked with dried blood of countless opponents from countless battlefields.

THey're coming. At long last, they're coming. He said to himself. And when they arrive, it shall not be Alexander Mars, mortal CEO who greets them. But Ares, God of War!

The sun shined brightly out over the crystal blue waters as Medea leaned atop the bow of the massive ship once known as the Argo. Medea fought back the tide of memories that sought to overwhelm her. It was a day just like this. . .so many years ago. . .Damn you, Jason!! Tears began to roll down her cheeks, despite her efforts and she took another drink from Dionysus' cup.

"Are you well, Medea?" Aeolus' voice asked from behind her. She gestured, realizing that she was still wearing only the toga she had one the day before (and was likely revealing more of herself than she cared to), and her garments transformed into the more modern clothing she generally wore on her island home. "I'm fine, Aelous, really."

"Then let us be off." Aelous gestured as the winds rose behind the ship's enormous sails and carried it out across the waters.

Medea looked around at her teammates. Aelous had only deigned to bring a few of them along on this trip, Argus for his strength and bravery, and Morpheus, for a number of reasons, although he looked half-asleep. Although, to Medea, it seemed he always looked that way.

"Medea, Morpheus, your turns." Aelous commented as the winds picked up and carried the ship into the air. "I will never get to used to this." Arges commented, looking over the side of the ship.

"Give me your dreams," Morpheus said, a red light peeking out from his dark eyes, "Dreams of traveling far beyond the shores of man or god. Dreams of crossing the vast distances of the worlds unknown to any." The god spoke and blew a small mound of sand out of his outstretched palm. The sands swirled and coalesced and surrounded the ship as he continued speaking. Medea was never quite sure what was happening when he did this, although she knew more of magic than she'd ever dreamed she would learn as the daughter of an ancient king.

"Onward, to our journey's end!" Aelous shouted, as the ship passed through a starry void, resembling the night sky. "Onward. . .to the ASYLUM!" And the winds and sands rose again, as the combination of dreams and magic carried them forward. . .

It seemed even to the long lived members of the Pantheon, that their journey took some time. At last, the bone white spires of the Asylum came into view, the tops bursting with crimson cosmic energy.

"Careful, Morpheus," Aelous warned, "too far to the right or left, and we shall be pulled into one of the black holes that keeps this place in it's position."

Medea shivered slightly at the thought. She could feel the chill emanting from within them, as thoughts of the legendary whirlpool of destruction filled her mind.

"Would you have this dream become a nightmare?" Morpheus asked, knowing how effortlessly one's thoughts can turn to darkness. His eyes flashed briefly, although whether of their own accord, or merely reflecting the cosmic power from above, no one could say.

The ship landed perfectly, and the crew disembarked. Slowly, as if in expectation of them, the massive drawbridge of the fortress drew downwards, providing them entry.

"Argus, stay with the ship. We shall go inside and speak with Dionysus." Aelous commanded. The cyclops acquiesced, secretly glad not to have to lower his frame to enter the building.

Before they could enter, a short, fat, bald man wearing what appeared to be a red, latex dress ran out from within the building screaming, "Redrum! Redrum!" As he approached, Aelous and Medea could make his Salvador Dali-like mustache.

Reaching them, he jumped into Medea's arms, with a pleading look. "Redrum? Redrum!" He said, before she dropped him. "Aelous, tell this filthy creature to stay away from me!"

"Am being terribly sorry, comrades! Comrade Redrum is no wanting to eat his dinner." A large, purple skinned man with long red hair and a red goatee emerged from within the building. He was wearing black leather pants and a black vest. He was Blackwulf, known to some as The Everchanging. "How are we being helping you today?"

"Redrum?" asked Redrum, looking up at Blackwulf. "Yes, comrade, am being leaving visitors alone. Is time for dinner. Am making delicious gumbo which is being handed down in Blackwulf's family for generations."

"What-What is this?" Aelous asked in confusion. "We came to speak with Dionysus, not be assaulted by a menagerie of-"

"Crazy people? This is an asylum, after all. Or the Asylum. My name is Tatiana, and I will be your escort today. Mortis is busy with other concerns." A tall, willowy, female with red hair in a forties pageboy style haircut, stood at the entrance to the Asylum. She wore black pants with red, heeled boots and a red jacket, buttoned at the waist. "Follow me, we've prepared a room for you to speak with your friend."

"REDRUM!!"

"Shhh, comrade." Blackwulf attempted to silence him.

"Blackwulf, if he disrupts our guests one more time, I'm dumping both of you out into the void, you got me?" Tatiana glared at him.

"Yes, comrade, is no worry." Blackwulf saluted and Redrum did likewise in imitation.

"Don't have time for this shit. . ." Tatiana muttered under her breath as she walked back inside, the Pantheon members following her.

Aeolus had heard the stories of the fall of Olympus. He had heard the tales of the Dark One laying siege to the majestic pillars atop the mountain of the gods. He had heard of Dionysus and his descent into the bowels of insanity.

Aeolus had heard the stories.

But nothing could prepare him for the site before him. In a cell within the foreboding walls of the Asylum, he looked upon the once majestic god of wine and merriment... and was horrified. Nothing he could have heard would have prepared him for this. Nothing.

Bound in a straightjacket, the god sat almost motionless in the corner, his head hung in severe depression. His once long, noble tresses had been cropped short on his head - his hair reduced to a short buzzcut and his beard merely stubble. Dark circles gathered under his bloodshot eyes as pools of tears welled up within them, running down his cheek. They were not tears of laughter... they were tears of sorrow.

Aeolus turned his gaze from the weeping god, unable to look at the figure he remembered to be so regal. "I cannot do this, Medea," he whispered fiercely. "I cannot approach him. Not like this."

Medea rolled her eyes, holding the god's old goblet in her hand. "Men..." she sighed with disdain, strolling over to where the god sat.

Kneeling down beside him, the sorceress slowly said his name, getting the god's attention. Gazing upon her, perhaps for the first time, Dionysus' face contorted in further sorrow as a question managed to escape from his lips.

"Wh-who are y-you?" he stammered, returning to his crying.

"I am Medea," she answered stoically. "I am a sorceress, daughter of Aeetes of Colchis and servant of the Hecate."

At the mention of the goddess, Dionysus sobbed louder and harder. At the entrance of the room, Aeolus cringed slightly, unable to accept this tragic turn of events.

Slowly, Medea turned to her side, picking the never-empty goblet of Dionysus from the floor where she had placed it. Gingerly, she lifted the cup to the god's lips, holding his head as some of the liquid forced itself into his mouth.

As the sweet ambrosial nectar glided down the deity's throat, his demeanor seemed to change.

For a moment, the tears stopped flowing from his eyes. For a moment, a slight smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. For a moment, his face lost the contortion of melancholy. For a moment, the godly twinkle returned to his eye.

...but only for a moment.

And, in a wake of that moment of joviality, the sorrow collapsed upon the god once more, crushing his spirit like a small flower bud under the weight of a ton of bricks. And Dionysus bawled harder than ever.

Medea looked to Aeolus in confusion. The lord of the winds merely shook his head in resignation. Again, Medea raised the divine cup to the god's lips.

"No more!" he cried, shaking his head violently. "I cannot bear it! The memories... the memories! Too much to bear!"

Medea placed the cup down, uncertain of what to do next. Finally, she touched the god's shoulder and asked him a question. "Dionysus... who is the Dark One?"

The sobs returned to his eyes as he shook his head in an almost convulsing manner. "C-c-c-can't say..." he wept harder. "Can't!"

"Can't?" Medea asked, her voice belying her growing lack of patience. "Or won't?"

"D-dion's..." the god moaned.

"Dion's?" the sorceress asked, cocking her head slightly to the side. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sh-shrine," the god stammered out. "M-mine."

"Very well," she said, rising, taking the goblet with her. Crossing the room, she stood by Aeolus, folding her arms in from of her. "He is too far gone," she said stoically. "He will tell us nothing."

"But he has told us something..." Aeolus said pensively, bringing himself to look over at the pale shadow of the god he once knew. "Come," he motioned for Medea to follow him, as he stepped out into the hallway to join the rest of the Pantheon.

“What has he told us, Aeolus?” the sorceress asked as the door closed behind her. “Dion’s? A shrine? What sort of information is that?”

“Dion’s?” Morpheus responded in a lackadaisical sing-song manner. “I know where that is.”

“Indeed?” Aeolus asked, peering at the god of sleep with great interest.

“Yes,” he nodded, his head lolling a bit as he did so. “It’s not so much a ‘shrine,’ though as it is a temple…”

“A temple…” Echo responded eerily.

“How so?” Pandora spoke up, clutching her box tightly against her chest. “Were not all the temples destroyed long ago? Before the modern era?”

Morpheus laughed a lazy chuckle and looked the human in the eye. “Ah, but one must adapt, mustn’t one? In order to survive, we gods needed cunning most of all. We needed worship. Athena erected a library. Aphrodite, a whorehouse. Asclepius, a hospital. And, Dionysus…”

“A bar,” Stheno replied, her hair hissing beneath her veil.

Morpheus smiled and nodded to her. “What better way to worship the god of wine?” he responded.

“Very well,” Aeolus responded with a decided air about him. “We shall visit the lord Dionysus’ temple and there take our next steps towards finding the Dark One.”

Medea turned to go, but as she started walking, a heavy black hand fell upon her shoulder. Glancing behind, she beheld the imposing form of Aeolus, holding out his other hand towards her.

The woman glowered at him, her grip tightening around the goblet in her hand. “A problem, Aeolus?”

“We must pay tribute to that last of the Pantheon,” Aeolus said, beckoning for Medea’s cup. “We must all drink from his goblet.”

Reluctantly, the sorceress placed her chalice into the waiting hand of the wing king. Taking a long, reverent drink, Aeolus then passed the mug onto Stheno, who did the same and so on until the cup once again rested with Medea. Looking around at her teammates, she put on a mock smile and drank from the cup. As she pulled it from her lips, she said bitingly, “Hail, Dionysus,” turned on her heels and marched toward the exit.

“Perhaps you should wait for our escort!” Pandora cried after her.

“Let her go,” Aeolus said, holding out a hand to stop the woman. “She will find her own way back to the Argos…”

To simply call Dion's a 'bar' is a bit of a misnomer, truth be told. Dion's was no more a bar than Fort Knox is a bank. Leave it to the god of wine and debauchery to never do anything small.

Dion's was a hub in the entertainment world, where god and mortal alike would come to unwind. And, as one would expect, Dion's was located in the heart of Las Vegas, Nevada - the Sin City itself. As Aeolus walked through the front doors, he immediately saw the influence of the Dionysus he knew... and, in a strange way, it made him feel slightly better about the god's fate.

Naked women danced on tables and on poles, writhing in faux erotic passion. Slot machines, blackjack tables, and roulette wheels littered the other side of the bar, as people got more and more drunk. Beautiful, half-clothed waitresses delivered tall glasses of wine to gambling tables and the adjoining strip club as the patrons lifted their glasses, involuntarily paying homage to Lord Dionysus.

As Aeolus, dressed not in his noble robes, but rather in an Armani suit, surveyed the Dionysian temple, on either side of him, Sthenno and Medea looked on in varying degrees of disgust.

"Typical male fantasy," the sorceress quipped, shifting her briefcase in her hand. She was dressed in a typical black business suit, her hair pulled back behind her head, the white streak running through the center the only sign of age. "Objectification of women, coupled with massive consumption of alcohol. Utterly shameless."

"There is no need for such finery," Sthenno agreed, her gloved hands pulling her floor-length coat around her. On her head, she wore a white shawl with a pair of dark sunglasses over her eyes and a fine scarf to cover the lower half of her face. "These people are soft and weak. Were a true menace to confront them, they would likely piss themselves and wallow in their own drunkenness."

"Which is exactly what Dionysus would prefer," Aeolus spoke up. "He once told me that there was a certain security that came from these activities."

"And yet, a vulnerability," Sthenno countered.

"Indeed, Forceful One," Aeolus ceded. "Therein lies the paradox of the god of wine. And now, to find our host..."

The three deities made their way over the bar area, where a portly, smiling man served drinks to the people who sat around. Aeolus took a seat at the bar, Medea and Sthenno standing behind him, almost as though they were acting as the Wind King's bodyguards.

"Excuse me," Aeolus said, raising a finger to attract the bartender's attention. The old man turned, revealing a cropped white beard across his ruddy features. "I seek to do business with the proprietor of this establishment. Might I speak with him please?"

The bartender's jovial face suddenly fell serious. "Good sir, I regret to inform you that our founder Dion Bacchus is unavailable at this time. May I ask who it is that wishes to know?"

"I have been called many things by many people," Aeolus answered. "At present, I am known as Lord Aeolus, keeper of the Four Winds. I wish to speak of a matter of pressing importance and haven't time for tact or formalities."

The bartender's eyes widened and his demeanor immediately changed. As the Pantheon looked on, the man's eyes aged suddenly, belying wisdom of many years... wisdom enough to teach the gods themselves "As I said, m'lord," he spoke, his voice slightly older, "the proprietor is not here. Perhaps, you could speak to the manager?"

"Perhaps," Aeolus said, observing the man with curiosity. "And who might that be?"

"Myself," he said, bowing his head. "These mortals know me as Sal, but when I taught lord Dionysus in the ways of the vine, I was known as Silenus."

"The satyr?" Medea spoke up, arching her brow. "Surely you jest?"

"I assure you, my lady, I do not," Silenus said setting down his bottle on the bar. "In fact, all the male employees of this establishment are satyrs as well. All of us owe a debt to Dionysus."

"And the women?" Medea asked, her indignant spirit becoming noticable.

"The Maenads, my lady," Silenus replied.

"Do you know what has happened to... Dion Bacchus, Silenus?" Aeolus asked.

"I must confess, sir, that I do not," the satyr barkeep answered. "It has been a long time since he abandoned this temple to aid our Pantheon in a matter of pressing importance. I have not heard from him since."

Aeolus' expression became grim. "Then we have much to discuss," he answered with a nod. "Could we withdraw somewhere more... secluded?"

"Very good, Lord Aeolus," Silenus answered. "Allow me to call one of the Sileni to take my place and we will withdraw to the 'Jazz Room'. There is a booth there where we will be able to discuss our business in full."

Aeolus nodded as the aged satyr bowed slightly and scurried off to get 'back-up' at the bar.

"Are you certain about this, Aeolus?" Sthenno hissed. "If he does not know of the whereabouts of Dionysus, how can he tell us the identity of the Dark One?"

"Perhaps he cannot," Aeolus answered simply. "Then again, perhaps the Dark One attempted to make contact with... Mr. Bacchus before the Olympus massacre. Either way, the weeping god did not lead us here for naught."

"Says you, Aeolus," Medea said, leering at the dancing Maenads on their poles. "Says you."

"My lord Dionysus is... where?"

"The Asylum," Aeolus answered. "It appears that he is one of the last surviving deities of our Pantheon. Why the Dark One left him alive remains to be seen."

Tears flooded the satyr's eyes. "By Zeus..."

Medea laughed harshly. "Zeus is dead, old satyr," she said guilefully. "To swear by him is as useless as it is stupid."

"Medea," Aeolus chastised in a commanding tone. The sorceress merely glowered at the demigod, crossing her arms in front of her.

"How can this be?" Silenus cried. "Was our Pantheon not unbeatable? Were they not immortal?"

"Indeed," Aeolus said, leaning forward. "For this reason, we are in the face of a great danger. Whoever the Dark One is, he..."

"Or she," Medea interjected quickly.

"...is capable of killing gods," Aeolus finished. "Surely we cannot allow such a power to continue posing such a threat. He made war with the gods of Olympus. And now, there are those of us who choose to make war with him."

"Who are among your ranks?" the satyr asked, a slight glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"With me now are Medea of Colchis and Sthenno of the Gorgons," Aeolus said, indicating each. "Also among our ranks are the Cyclops Arges, the remaining Gemini, the first woman Pandora, a nymph called Echo, and the Shaper, Morpheus."

"A valiant group," Silenus affirmed, wiping tears from his red face. "However, might I enquire as to how mortals, demigods, monsters, and the dream god will bring down someone who was no match for even the Olympians?"

Aeolus' face narrowed. "It is not as though there is much of an option, is there?" he said sharply. "We are all that remain who are willing to make a stand! If there were another, I am quite certain they would have found us!"

"Not necessarily," Silenus answered, a knowing smile coming to his lips. "Indeed, there may be one here tonight who would be willing to join you in your quest."

Medea raised and eyebrow as Sthenno leaned back in her seat in the booth, incredulous. Even Aeolus could not stop his face from taking on a surprised look. Silenus smiled, reaching to a small dial on the booth, which was attached to a speaker.

As the satyr turned the dial, music began to flood their meeting - a jazz duet of clarinet and bass. The singer who accompanied the musicians, however, had the most beautiful, haunting voice any at the table had ever heard. Medea stirred as she listened.

"That voice..." she whispered.

Silenus smiled. "I thought you might be the first to recognize it, Queen Sorcerer," he said. "The voice that tamed the fierce Cerebus. The voice that silenced the menacing Sirens. The voice that charmed Lord Hades himself and, for a time, was even able to hold back the bloodthirsty Maenads. He has been performing at Dion's since Lord Dionysus found his disembodied head and constructed for him a body of clay."

"Orpheus," Medea whispered, holding her hand to her mouth.

"Orpheus," the satyr nodded, looking the Wind Lord in the eye. "What say you, son of Hippotes?"

"I would... be honored to speak with him," Aeolus finally answered. "The Dark One will be a valiant foe and we will need all the help we can get."

"Very well," Silenus said with a smile. "He and Pan will finish their set shortly and I will direct him here."

"Thank you, Silenus," Aeolus said as the aged satyr bowed, exiting the booth.

"Orpheus?" Sthenno said. "Do you really think he will join us?"

"Why not?" Aeolus asked.

"Why would he feel the need to join a group avenging the very gods who betrayed him?" Medea asked, bringing cold reality to Aeolus' quest. "Or have you forgotten the ordeal with Eurydice?"

Aeolus lifted a brow. "I had not forgotten," Aeolus answered. "However, it would seem that he at least had a good relationship with Dionysus, who gifted him with a body."

"The least he could've done after the Maenads devoured his old one," Medea countered, her eyes ablaze.

"We shall see, Medea," Aeolus said after a moment. "We shall extend our offer to Orpheus and see how he responds..."

Orpheus had changed much over the years, to be sure. Instead of a lyre, for example, he now played an upright bass in a jazz duet with the satyr Pan (on clarinet). He was also no longer clothed in the toga and other regalia he used to wear, but was now dressed in a black suit and burgundy shirt, perfect for a contemporary performer.

The one thing about him that hadn't changed, Medea noticed, was the look of lingering sadness in his eyes. He looked like a man who had lost everything... and, in truth, he had.

"I will not lie to you, Wind King," Orpheus said, sipping his beer as he sat in the bar next to Silenus and across from the Pantheon members. "I have never had many loyalties to the Olympians aside from my father."

Medea shot Aeolus an "I-told-you-so" look. Sthenno maintained her silence and observed with curiosity.

"However, this Dark One you seek..." he said, looking down at his drink, "...he sounds like one I have encountered before. I cannot be certain, but I know that I may be able to help you in your quest."

"You see?" Silenus said, clapping the boy on the back. "What did I tell you, Aeolus?"

Aeolus regarded Orpheus with a curious glance. "Where is your lyre?" he asked quizzically.

Orpheus' visage changed as his face dropped. "I-I lost it," he said. "Long ago, in my battle with the Maenads..."

Aeolus looked to his companion. "Medea?" he asked.

"I have it," Medea said. "Or rather, I have your father's lyre. It is back on my island, however. We would do well to retrieve it... as well as some other items we might need for our own protection."

Orpheus looked up at the sorceress with admiration. "Thank you, Medea," he said, a wide grin spreading across his face. "How will I ever repay you?"

The Colchian princess smirked. "We shall deal with that when the time comes," she answered.

"Agreed," Aeolus said with a nod. "Now, Silenus... one more question..."

"Yes, lord?" Silenus said, looking from Orpheus back to Aeolus.

"Your lord, Dionysus, led us here for a reason, I am certain," Aeolus began. "We thought that there might be evidence here as to the location or identity of the Dark One. Would you know where we might attain such information?"

"I do not," Silenus said, shrugging his shoulders.

Aeolus looked to Medea once again. The sorceress nodded, chanting softly in her ancient Greek tongue. A bright light emanated from her fingers, enveloping the satyr fully. As the light surrounded him, he was no longer the portly bartender they had seen, but the inebriated, long-bearded, pot-bellied man with legs of a goat that they had originally known.

"In this light," Aeolus said, recapturing the satyr's attention, "you are compelled to tell me the truth." Sthenno leaned forward, her hand at her scarf. "If I have found that you lied to me, Sthenno here will turn you to stone. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes," Silenus answered, visibly shaken.

"Very good," Aeolus said, folding his hands on the mahoghany tabletop. "Now... what do you know of the Dark One?"

"N-nothing, m'lord," Silenus answered.

"Did anyone attempt to contact Dionysus prior to his leaving for Olympus?"

"H-he received one call," Silenus responded.

"From whom?" Aeolus pressed.

"S-someone in Michigan," he stammed out. "He represented a c-company called Mars M-munitions..."

"A name, Silenus?" Aeolus asked.

"I-I... I don't know! He didn't say!" The satyr began to cry as he answered.

"Very well," Aeolus answered, turning to Medea. Nodding, the sorceress chanted again, the light fading and Silenus resuming the guise of "Sal". "Thank you, Silenus."

"Shall I proceed, Lord Aeolus?" Sthenno asked, her gloved hand already beginning to remove her scarf.

"That will not be necessary this time, Sthenno," Aeolus said, holding up his hand. "After all, we are not completely like our predecessors, are we, Silenus?"

Still shaken, Silenus shot an angry glance toward Aeolus. "You may be slightly more merciful, but you are just as manipulative," he said, tears in his eyes. "You may leave now. Take Orpheus with you."

"Thank you again, Silenus," Aeolus said, bowing his head. "You have been most helpful."

And, with that, the four members of the Pantheon were gone, leaving the lonely satyr to contemplate what had just happened to him...

Morpheus leaned against a lampshade outside of Dion's, awaiting the return of his comrades. In all reality, the god of dreams greatly enjoyed the diversions of laying back and keeping watch for anything in the night. After all, who better than the one who dwells in the dark parts of the human mind to keep watch for whatever may go 'bump' in the night?

Sighing contentedly, Morpheus looked around with half-opened eyes, scanning the busy streets of Sin City for anything that might prove... threatening. However, when you're a deity, you really don't find winos, sots, gamblers, bums, and whores to be all that threatening.

"Feeling lonely, stranger?"

Morpheus was almost startled by the voice off of his right shoulder. Turning slowly, he saw a beautiful young woman standing beside him, having snuck upon him unseen by his divine eyes. For a brief moment, Morpheus was disconcerted... until he took a deeper look at the woman beside him.

To the average onlooker, she was merely a lady of the night... a very beautiful lady of the night, but a prostitute nonetheless. Her raven black tresses hung long on her head, covering up about half of her face. Her dark eyes sparkled, the hue of them making it almost impossible to determine where her pupils began and irises ended. She was dark complected. In fact... there was very little about this whore that wasn't dark. A black halter top, miniskirt, fishnets, and stilletos, accented by a black trenchcoat which flapped gently in the soft breeze of passing cars and pedestrians. To the average onlooker, she was merely a lady of the night...

...but to the trained eye of Morpheus, she was the Lady of the Night. He smiled slightly, the lazy, lopsided grin he was known for among the old gods.

"My lady," he said softly, nodding his head. Taking her hand gently in his own, he stooped and kissed her slender fingers. "How do you fare in these... dark days?"

"Well," she said, her dark eyes flashing. "And yourself... lover?"

"Ah, Nyx," Morpheus cooed, running a hand through the goddess' jet black tresses. "I thought you'd forgotten our little... rendezvous of old."

"Not at all," Nyx - goddess of the night - replied, her bright eyes flashing. "However," she continued, gesturing toward her current garb, "times do change and one must draw worship however she is able. Where have you been?"

"Around," Morpheus responded, raising his eyebrows a bit. "And you? How were you able to avoid the destruction of the Pantheon?"

Nyx's dark eyes flashed. "Simple," she said. "I was too busy here to make the journey to Olympus. Surely, that's how you were spared as well...?"

Morpheus didn't answer, but merely tilted his head, gazing at Nyx with a sidelong glance. "I was certain that I was the last. How many of us are there remaining?"

"Enough," Nyx replied, a coy smile rising to her lips. "While the initial Olympian Pantheon may be gone, a few of us lesser deities still remain." Her lips curled slightly. "More's the better, I suppose."

"How do you mean?" the Dream King asked.

"Did you honestly feel any compulsion for them?" Nyx replied. "They scorned the lesser deities, yourself included. Mighty Apollo governed the day, but his siter, Artemis got all the credit for my realm... and she held dominion over the moon only! Tell me, lover: is that justice?"

"A wise man once held the belief that justice is doing that which we are born to do," Morpheus offered simply.

"Then he was a fool," Nyx said, a momentary spark of passion leaping into her dark eyes. "A fool deluded by the oracle of his master. The oracle, ironically enough, of Apollo."

Morpheus grinned slightly. "So, this is all a sort of conspiracy, then?"

"Call it what you will," Nyx said. "I, however, do not mourn the conquering of Olympus."

Morpheus said nothing. Instead, he gazed upon her, his eyes softening slightly. He looked at Nyx in a way he had not in millennia... a look of tenderness.

His hand reached up to her face, caressing her cheek softly. Momentarily stirred from her passionate blasphemy, the goddess of the night locked eyes with the god of dreams and for a wondrous moment... they remembered their once dark union.

Their lips met, the intensity that had once been on Nyx's lips now flowing to Morpheus' by virtue of their kiss - a kiss that dreams would be made of. Morpheus himself would see to that.

As they separated, Nyx looked up at the god with loving eyes. "Whatever happened to us, lover?"

Morpheus smiled. "Your dark side," he answered.

Nyx smiled teasingly. "Everyone has a dark side, Ever-changing One."

"True," he said. "Unfortunately - and, I suppose, ironically - your dark side is all I was ever able to see."

Their eyes met again and Nyx leaned forward, giving her beloved a peck on the cheek. "Farewell, Shifter," she said softly. "We really must get together before this century ends."

"Indeed," Morpheus answered with a smile. "Farewell, Dark One..."

As he turned his head, he caught himself. What had he said? Dark One?

Quickly turning back to confront the goddess... he was dismayed to find her gone. There was nothing at his side save the Las Vegan street and the various passersby.

"...dark one..." he whispered to himself, his mind and heart racing with equal intensity and contrasting points. Could it be? he thought to himself. Could she be the one we seek?

A heavy hand landed on Morpheus' shoulder. This time, Morpheus was startled, turning to see the Wind Lord Aeolus behind him, shaking his shoulder with his godlike strength.

"Morpheus," he said, looking at his friend with a certain concern. "Who were you talking to just now?"

The god's mind reeled as he looked Aeolus in the eye. "No one," he said resolutely. "Just... talking to myself."

Aeolus' look of confusion gradually changed to one of bemusement. "Come, Morpheus," he said, leading the god by the arm to where Medea and Sthenno stood with a young man in a suit. "Allow me to introduce you to our newest recruit..."

The Argo sailed skillfully through the sky, cutting through clouds and steering cleverly around flocks of birds and ducking below the occasional airplane. Aeolus, controller of the winds, stood at the stern of the ship, his arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed in concentration. No one but the most observant onlooker would notice the slight movements of the demigod's lips as he whispered to the winds, commanding their direction and velocity and, as such, steering the Argo through the skies.

In the bow of the ship, Arges lay back, his eye closed. The heavy sounds of his snoring wafted through the entirety of the Argo. In his mammoth hands, however, rested his axe and his hammer - two weapons of his own creation. Arges was a skilled weaponeer, having been part of Hephaestus' team which constructed Zeus' lightning bolts, Ares' sword and helm, Athene's spearheads, and so many more of the weapons carried by the original Pantheon. If there was one thing that Arges was never without, even when he was sleeping, it was a weapon.

Morpheus sat next to the sleeping Cyclops, slowly pouring his dream sand like an hourglass from hand to hand, guiding the giant's dreams. Still, in spite of himself, Morpheus could not help but let his own thoughts wander away to the chance encounter from earlier that evening... or the seemingly chance encounter. Could Nyx be the Dark One? Her dark side was, as he'd recalled earlier, all-encompassing. It was who she was, after all. This... this couldn't have been a coincidence. Why else would Nyx be outside of Dionysus' shrine if not to look for the god she had not killed? And, if she were not the Dark One... was it not possible for him to be a spy.

Morpheus' attention momentarily diverted, Arges' dreams suddenly became void and the Cyclops shifted restlessly.

In the crow's nest, the Gorgon Sthenno stood silently, alone - as was her custom. She was one of the final two Gorgons on earth and, while Gorgons are not exactly social, she was far less so than her sister Euyrale the Far-Roaming, whom she had not seen in at least 100 years. As the most forceful of the Gorgons, Sthenno was not known for words, but for action... and she defied anyone to tell her differently.

Toward the back of the ship, another member of the Pantheon sat alone... though not due to her own choice. She was not like the other members of the group. While Aeolus and the rest fought for survival, Pandora was a mortal... a mortal with a box. She was the first woman and, because of her, evil existed in the world. The weight upon her shoulders seemed too often more than she could ever bear... if not for the last remnant within her box - Hope. Perhaps it was this thing that kept her here at all. And then, perhaps not...

Echo's boredom, while not contagious, was surely evident by the look on her face. All was quiet on the Argo and, as such, there was nothing for the nymph to do. Rather than creating mischief, which was never her way, she looked over the hull of the ship and made clouds repeat patterns in the sky.

The Gemini, as he had been called since the death of his brother, sat silently, twirling his sword around on the deck, watching the light refract off of its glimmering blade. His thoughts were consumed by one thing - avenging the death of his brother. Pollux would not allow himself to be forgotten... and the bond the brothers shared was unique. Perhaps the reason why Castor was no longer called by his given name was the fact that others noticed too much of his brother in him...

Huddled in a corner by himself, Orpheus covered himself with a blanket, not yet used to the fierce winds at such high altitudes. His cropped black hair shifted slightly as Aeolus' charges carried them ever closer to their destination. He suddenly felt someone walking up to him and, looking up, he beheld the familiar place of Medea.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, sliding down next to the hero.

"About as well as can be expected," he said, glancing around his surroundings. "As often as we were on this ship, I never really got the hang of sailing."

"Especially not at these altitudes," Medea said, her stoic features unchanging. "You'll get used to it."

"So..." Orpheus said after a moment of silence, "...how are things since... well... since the last time I saw you?"

Medea grunted and narrowed her eyes. If she was anything at that moment, she was brooding. Orpheus had expected some resentment, certainly. The history between she and Jason had been anything but pleasant, to say the least... but he detected a hint of sadness behind the bitterness and anger in the sorceress' eyes.

"I... have become something of... a collector," Medea answered shortly, doing her utmost not to allow her emotions to show.

"How do you mean?" Orpheus asked.

Medea reached up a hand and patted the hull. "How else do you think I came into possession of the Argo? Or your father's lyre? Or this?" Medea raised the goblet of Dionysus to her lips, enjoying the ambrosial nectar within.

"So, you've collected items from our past?" Orpheus said. "Items of the gods..."

"Among other things," Medea said.

"Where do you keep all these things?" Orpheus said. "The treasures you must have accumulated over the last few millennia... surely you can't keep them here on the Argo?"

Medea smiled subtly. "No, surely not." Standing, she beckoned for Orpheus to follow suit. Peering over the edge of the Argo, she looked at her hands, which began to glow with magical energies. Medea held her hands together and slowly parted them. As she did, the clouds that obstructed their view of the ocean separated, revealing the Mediterranean below.

"Where do I keep them?" Medea asked, pointing to a small island located some ways off the coast of Greece, just off of the Cyclades. "My home, Orpheus. The Isle of Lesbos."

Dino's
Las Vegas, Nevada
USA

The crowd at Dino's never seemed to grow weary or restless as the night wore on. The endless clinking of slot machines merged with too loud music as the dancers/barmaids did their thing, and as house dealers shouted over the din for players to ready themselves.

Into all of this, strode Enyo. Naked, but for a battle helm, dented and covered in the blood of long gone foes. Carrying a spear in one hand, a small one sided battle axe in another, shield slung over her back.

Enyo, whose name itself means horror. Enyo, called by those who know her "Waster of Cities." Enyo, foremost companion of Ares, the God of War.

None blocked her way. Satyrs and nymphs conferred quietly as customers gaped in amazement. If Enyo took notice, she did not show it. Silently, steadily, she walked through the entirety of Dino's until coming upon the one she sought.

Sal sat alone, drinking. The bottle of wine was nearly empty. As Enyo approached, the satyr turned and looked upon her presence.

Enyo spoke as she raised her spear arm, her voice cold and terrible, "The god of War sends his greetings. . .BETRAYER!!!!!!!!!" The spear flew from Enyo's hand and pierced Sal's heart, scarce before his prayer to Dionysus escaped his lips.

Enyo retrieved her weapon and turned and left Dino's in the manner in which she came. Seemingly oblivious to the screams and protestations of the patrons of the "Heart of Sin City."

None dared bar her way.


******************************

Mars Munitions
Detroit, Michigan
USA

Alexander Mars continued to stare out his office window at the city beneath him. A small smile of contentment crossed his face. Behind him, still on display from the secret compartment in his bookcase, the armor he wore in battle stood magnificently. Rivulets of fresh blood appeared and streamed down the battlesuit as new instances of violence instigated in his name claimed victims across the globe.

Mars turned and sat behind his desk, lighting a cigar and taking a deep drag before pressing the button on his intercom.

"Harmony, tell my captains to come in out of the field. Now."

"Yes, sir." The extremely pleasant voice on the other end of the intercom sounded.

The god of War smiled. It had been a long time since he had found foes worthy of personally doing away with. But if his spies at Dion's were correct, a challenge was finally coming his way.

Medea's home
The Isle of Lesbos
The Mediterranean.

It seemed months had passed since The Pantheon had come here to Medea's home. Although made to feel at home, the male members were never quite completely at ease as the nature of the inhabitants was both exciting and frustrating to them.

Though in truth, only Medea was really comfortable in their surroundings. Each member of the Pantheon busied themselves with their own diversions.

Echo found some measure of merriment playing with Medea's servants and repeating their words and sounds back to each other.

Sthenno remained for the most part, locked in her quarters, repulsed by such close contact with the humans and demigods. Only Gorgons knew true beauty, she reasoned, why none of them even have snakes for hair. . . she thought as she unwrapped her scarves, finally free to be herself.

The Gemini, Castor, spent his time practicing with sword and shield. Mace and chain. Axe. Whatever he could find. The formerly pleasant and outgoing twin withdrew into himself as he thought only of finding his brother's killer.

Argus spent his time in a variety of ways, sparring with Castor, occasionally "accidentally" intruding upon some bathing handmaidens, or sleeping. The giant seemed for the most part, agreeable to wait and see what the group's next move would be.

Morpheus and his son did spend some time together while on the isle, although it could hardly be said that they truly became closer or got to know each other better.

The Shaper, by his nature, was a capricious, half hidden entity. His thoughts known only to himself. Orpheus tried to content himself with this, at night, singing to the isle's inhabitants as they swooned to his voice.

Even Medea, would occasionally be seen seeming to fall under his voice's spell, before catching herself and resuming her regal bearing.

Pandora, fretted over her box, as always.

and Aeolus, brooded. The Wind King sat on the Argo and thought uneasy thoughts. His mind flooded with questions. He did not hear one afternoon as Medea approached him.

"How do the mortals put it? Ah, yes, "A penny for your thoughts", Wind King." She said, sitting across from him.

"I think of our foe. Of what we learned in Las Vegas. Of what your sorcery revealed to us when we arrived here." Aeolus did not feel like speaking, truely, but it was not wise to ignore a king's daughter. Especially this one.

"We know where he is and who he is. Why do we tarry here? I am not. . .accustomed. . .to having so many guests in my home for so long. . ." Medea was growing restless.

"We cannot simply walk up to Ares and make demands of him. We are not powerful enough." The Wind King grew angry at the sound of his own words. "What of the other potential recruits your magics showed us? Can they be of use to us?"

"Ah, yes," Medea lifted her hands as lights of various colors danced about and images began to take shape. A tall, dark haired beauty, battle scarred, stood before them. "The She Wolf, Lykopis. Long have I admired her. . .prowess." Medea smirked.

"I wager you have. As many would. Can she still be of use to us?"

"She keeps a home not too far from here, although she seems to have not been there for a time. But it shouldn't be too hard to find one such as her. She leaves a. . .lasting impression."

"And the other?" Aeolus asked.

Medea frowned. A young, blond haired man replaced Lykopis in the visions. "I'm not as pleased with this choice, Aeolus. He is a braggart and a fool in this incarnation. Like most men." She rolled her eyes, trying not to think of her former husband, the one who spent his last days much as Aeolus had been spending his recent ones.

"But if it is he who we think him to be, he could be a great help to us." Aeolus smiled. A bit of purpose seeming to be given back to him. "Find them, Medea."

"We will split into groups. One to find Lykopis. Another for Icarus. Then, we shall head back to America. . ."

"To make demands of the god of War?" Medea smirked again.

"If need be," Aeolus grimly responded. "If need be."

Stockholm, Sweden

D.P. Sidewinder sat on the veranda on the balcony outside his penthouse apartment. He held a cup of hot Darjeeling tea in his right hand and a copy of Nikola Tesla's My Inventions - his favorite book - in his left. His reading glasses were low on his nose as he pored over the pages. On the table beside him were several pieces of machinery - likely the makings of a new invention of some sort.

Sidewinder sipped his tea and pulled at his cardigan as the gentle breeze that blew over the balcony began to pick up. The pages of Tesla's autobiography began to flip wildly as the breeze grew to a full-on wind. Abandoning both book and tea, Sidewinder rose and began to make his way toward his apartment...

...only to find his way blocked by a large black man in an impeccable suit. At the moment their eyes met, the winds died outright. The large man smiled.

"Hello, Daedalus," he said with a grin. "Long time, no see."

"Lord Aeolus?" he said inquisitively. The Wind King nodded. "H-how can this be?"

Aeolus said nothing, merely arched his eyebrow. Daedalus Sidewinder began to sweat.

"I... I was unaware, sir, that you were even aware of my existence. It has been many years since..." Sidewinder was becoming flustered, which flustered him even more. "Would you care for some tea, Wind-Keeper?"

"Unfortunately, Inventor, this is not a social call," Aeolus said. "I have come to issue you a warning."

Fear swelled in Daedalus' eyes. "Y-you're going to tell them I'm here, aren't you? The Pantheon! Please, Wind King, please! I beg of you! Do not tell Zeus that I am here!"

"Zeus is dead." Aeolus's words cut the man to his very core. A shiver went down Daedalus's spine as he heard them.

"...what?" he barely whispered.

"The Pantheon has been destroyed," Aeolus said. "We few who remain seek to pay back their faceless destroyer, known to us only as the Dark One."

"And... and why have you come to me?" Daedalus asked. "Surely, the gods would not require an invention of me fit to destroy one of their own?"

"Not in the sense you take, Inventor," Aeolus said. "We have need of your only son, Icarus."

"Icarus?" Daedalus asked, puzzled. Then, his eyes widened in realization. "You wish to have Icarus join you?"

"We do. He is a skilled fighter and his abilities will be of use to us."

"Y-you can't! Lord Aeolus, I beg you! He is not ready!"

"This is not a request, Daedalus," Aeolus said. "I have not come seeking permission. This is... a courtesy call." The Wind-Keeper's lips folded into a smile. "Just to let you know what will be going on with your son."

"Y-you can't mean...!"

A sudden gust of wind silenced Sidewinder, blasting him directly in the face. Closing his eyes, he waited until the momentary gale had subsided before opening his eyes again. Aeolus was gone.

Daedalus P. Sidewinder stood alone on the veranda on the balcony outside his penthouse apartment. A cup of Darjeeling tea and a copy of Nikola Tesla's My Inventions sat abandoned a few feet away, next to a table containing scattered parts of machinery that may or may not have been a new invention.

There was no breeze.

He had never felt more alone.

*written by Cowgirl Jack*

Orpheus and Castor went with Medea to the Greek countryside where Lykopis's villa was located. The grass was green with a little bit of blue, and one could imagine Beethoven's Pastoral playing in the background. Her villa was surrounded by small pines, and they were nearing the main entrance. "What do you know of Lykopis?" asked Medea to Castor.

"The last of the Amazons," said the single Twin. "Well, almost the last, if the rumors are true." While Lykopis was restricted to the affairs of mortals, many of the gods and demigods knew of her and her sisters. And everyone in Olympus knew that Jocasta, her rival, had made a pact with Hecate. The two were destined to fight each other.

"Let's not gossip like this behind her back," said Orpheus. "It doesn't seem fair."

"I agree -- said Medea, before an arrow cut her off. It wistled by her ear before landing in the ground and burrying itself in the dirt. "By the brow --"

The three Pantheon members looked at the villa. The main door was open, though it was blocked by an imposing figure. A dark-haired beauty had her bow drawn taut. Her curls weren't tied back, so they moved with the evening wind. She was dressed in a light and almost sheer halter dress that showed off her toned arms and taut legs. She looked first at Orpheus, and then at Castor, until her eyes finally settled on Medea. "I do not approve of magic on my lands. Go away and leave me."

"Do you know who I am, Amazon? I am Medea."

The bow remained taut. Castor was getting nervous. "Should we -- "

"Just let her think," said Medea.

Up until that moment, the Amazon's face had a cool anger to it. But suddenly the eyes changed, and Lykopis realized who was standing in front of her. Not exactly an old friend...but...one of the few people she had respect for. Lykopis put the bow down. "My appologies, your grace. It has been a long time."

*** *** ***

The three were invited into the main hall. Lykopis led them to a smaller room where they could all sit. Castor and Orpheus had never been inside the villa before. But there had been rumors of an unaging aristocrat that collected treasures from the past. And it was all true. Statues from Persia, rice paintings from Japan...it was all here, a testament to the long life Lykopis had lived.

"I brought a gift," said Medea. It was a small bronze statue of a horse with Samurai riding gear.

Lykopis held the statue and smiled. "How fitting. How did Homer put it? 'Beware of Greeks bearing gifts'? And here you are, in my own home, presenting me with a gift horse."

"The irony was not lost one me," said Medea. "But I happen to know this horse was based on the stallion owned by Sasaki Kojirō. I believed you were quite fond of him, even after he finished teaching you the 'Turning Swallow Cut'."

Lykopis nodded. "Best swordsman I have ever met." She put the horse down on a table. "Well, you have my undivided attention. What do you and your friends want from the She-Wolf?"

Medea explained everything -- the death of the Gods, the Pantheon and its goals, and what they learned from Vegas. Lykopis didn't ask any questions, or make any move save for blinking and a few polite nods. She seemed surprised when Medea explained who the two men were -- but even more surprised that Medea wanted her to join.

"I don't understand why you need me," said Lykopis. "You are talking about battling a God-killer. I am good, but I am not that good."

"You are Lykopis," said Orpheus. "The greatest mortal warrior that ever lived. The Gods themeselves have written poems in your honor."

Lykopis laughed. "Do not believe all the myths you hear. Surely you did not really travel to Hades to -- " Lykopis saw the sad look in the muscian's eyes and stopped. "Athena's shield," she uttered. "It is all true, is it not?"

Castor leaned back. "Didn't you ever believe in all the stories from your childhood? We are real, just like you."

"No, not like me. You are...you are divine." Lykopis moved further up in her chair. "I'm just the long-lived daughter of an aristocrat. A warrior, maybe, but I am not up to the standards that you require."

"We're not all divine," said Castor. "You can help us. Medea seems to think you can."

Medea nodded. "If you would like something in return -- "

Lykopis got up and walked to the window. "What can you possibly offer me? I have plenty of wealth."

Orpheus turned around to see her better. "There are other reasons for fighting, Lykopis. You of all people should know that."

"So says the singer. Tell me, Medea, do you know what my heart desires? Because even I do not know." She moved to face the window. "I once dreamed of immortality. I do not care for it anymore. Everything has changed since I saw Jocasta again. I have traveled the world, learned all I can, and for what?"

"You seek peace, Lykopis," said Orpheus. He understood that better than Medea or Castor. "You are tired. I too feel like I have lived too long. Perhaps only the gods can answer your questions. Perhaps only they can help you find what you are looking for. You have knowledge but you are looking for wisdom and understanding."

Lykopis lowered her head. She felt old inside. "I do not even know what I am looking for anymore."

Medea realized it would be no use to argue. "I see we've already spent too much time here. We'll take our leave." And without another word, the three rose from their seats. Orpheus took another look at Lykopis, staring out of her window.

He had just crossed the threshold of the room when her low voice startled them. "I will go with you, Medea, though I do not yet know why."

Jake's Bar - Puerta Mibela, La Perdita

It wasn't really the last place you'd expect to find Icarus Sidewinder... but it certainly wasn't the first, either. After all, Jake's Bar in Puerta Mibela was often seen as... well, as a hangout for pretty hardcore metahumans. Many of these men looked at humans - 'norms,' as they called them - with derision or contempt.

Icarus Sidewinder, however, was another manner. Perhaps it was the way he walked. Perhaps it was because he was a member of the European office of Vanguard. Or maybe because he'd managed to drink Chewy under the table. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been able to sweet talk Kat, the hard-to-get girl at the bar. Maybe it was the fact that he was currently on a roll in the high-stakes poker tournament. Either way, even the more hardened patrons had to hand it to Sidewinder - for a norm, he was alright.

There was a pile of chips sitting next to him as the hotshot pilot looked over his hand. His spread, he had to admit, was pretty impressive, even by his standards. Icarus had never much cared for luck - after all, who needed luck when they were as good as he was? - but he had to admit that he was definitely on fire tonight. Behind him, Kat purred as she rubbed his shoulders, her claws poking out as she got excited. Bet she's dynamite in the sack, Icarus thought.

Before him, three stoic faces peered out from over their own hands. To his immediate left was an attractive, muscular black woman. Her close-cropped hair was colored a shocking bright orange and a flame tattoo covered her left arm. She wore a form-fitting grey tank top and khaki cargo shorts, dogtags - one bearing the name 'Joanna Winnfield' and the other inscribed with 'Bad Motherfucker' - around her neck. There had been whispers that she'd once been a part of an underground meta-liberation group and that she'd taken part in the Chicago meta-riots. From the look of her, it was probably all true.

To his right, a man with a white business suit, spotless from head to toe, sat. The man was large, though Icarus had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't all girth - there was undoubtedly quite a bit of muscle under that suit. He puffed from a large Cuban cigar, glancing casually down at his cards, betraying nothing. He looked like a "Sopranos" fan, if you know what I mean and I think you do. Rumor had it he'd been a part of an unknown metahuman organization and had once been a powerful kingpin in the Chicago mafia. From the look of him, it was probably all true.

Immediately across the table sat a pale man with dark sunglasses and a bemused smile. He wore a dark, rumpled T-shirt under a dark, rumpled sports coat. His dark hair was disshevled and, Icarus could tell just by looking, he had dark circles under his eyes. No one seemed to know who he was or where he'd come from. He just sort of appeared. He was a terrible gambler, though, only having two chips left in front of him. Someone had said he was probably just some tourist looking for a way to lose money. From the look of him, it was probably all true.

Boss Tweed drummed his hand against the table, knocking some ash from his cigar. His eyes narrowed as he cocked an eyebrow across the table at Joanna. "Bet's to you," he said, his Chicago accent thick on his voice.

"I fold," the Sunbird said as her cards simultaneously caught flame. Icarus wondered why no one seemed concerned about the missing cards. "Too rich for my blood." With that, Winnfield scooted back, folding her arms and watching the men.

"I'll raise," Icarus said, tossing a handful of chips at the pot in the center of the table.

Tweed raised an eyebrow. "Ballsy," he said with a nod. "You got spunk, kid, I'll give you that. I'm gonna fold." The man put his cards down, holding up his hands in mock surrender. Icarus couldn't help by wonder why a man like him would back down from a game like this so civilly.

The dark man smiled. "I'll raise you, Mr. Blucher," he said, "or should I say, 'Mr. Sidewinder'?"

For some reason, Icarus didn't think it was odd that this man knew his real name, not the pseudonym he'd been given as a field op for Vanguard Europe. The real implausibility lay with the fact that this man would be able to raise at all.

"With what?" Icarus belted. "Those last two chips? You wouldn't have enough!"

The man said nothing, reaching into his interior jacket pocket and coming back with a bouquet of red flowers which glistened like rubies under the bar lighting. Icarus immediately knew that they were something of value.

"I'm all in," he said without thinking, shoving his towers of chips into the center of the table.

"I'll raise again," the dark man said, reaching once again and pulling a small cloth bag from the pocket of his jacket and tossing it into the center of the table. A dusting of sparkling sand puffed out of the top as the bag hit the table.

Icarus was stuck. He knew he couldn't call. Not yet. It wasn't his pride that kept him from doing so, either. It was almost as if he were compelled to keep raising. However, all of his chips were in the center. Knowing he had nothing on his person of value, he put down the one thing he knew he had to offer.

"I bid my services!" Icarus bellowed, his voice filling the suddenly quiet bar. All eyes and ears were suddenly on him, the only light seeming to come from directly above the table.

"And what could you possibly offer me?" the dark man said with a smirk.

"I'm a pilot, marksman, skilled hand-to-hand combatant, and member of Vanguard Europe," he called. "My father is the famous rogue inventor, D.P. Sidewinder. I'm the best there is at what I do, no exceptions."

"A braggart?"

"No," Icarus said. "Not bragging. Can't be bragging if it's true."

"Alright, then," the dark man said, his grin widening. "I call."

Icarus smiled, tossing his cards onto the table. "Full house! Read it and weep!"

The crowd around him cheered. Kat began to purr wildly in his ear as he leaned forward to collect his winnings.

"Not so fast," the dark man said, holding up his finger. Once again, the room was driven to a screeching halt.

Slowly, methodically, the man began to lay down his cards. Ten. Jack. Queen. King. Ace.

All spades.

"R-royal flush?" Icarus whispered, feeling suddenly very alone.

"I'm afraid so," the dark man said. "And it gets worse, Icarus..."

"How can it get any worse?"

"Well... it's time to wake up..."

The dark man snapped his fingers...

...and Icarus Sidewinder sat up in bed, cold sweat pouring down his face, covering his chest and matting his luxurious blond locks to his head. Beside him, a slender German female slept soundly.

Taking in his surroundings, Icarus breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back to his bed as his heart rate slowly began to decrease. "It was just a dream," he said said reassuringly to himself. "It was all just a dream. It wasn't real."

"Well, I'm not sure I'd go that far..."

Sidewinder's hand shot out to his nightstand, pulling out the pistol he kept there for emergencies. Some might call it paranoid. Icarus liked to think of it as 'preparing for the worst'.

The lamp on the far side of the room came on and Icarus' blood ran cold. Before him stood the dark man, sunglasses and all, from his dream.

"Why, Mr. Sidewinder," he said playfully, "you look as though you've seen a ghost..."

"You're not real," Icarus informed him (in the event that he wasn't aware he was a hallucination). "I just dreamed you."

"Yes, Icarus, I know you did," the dark man began. "Do you know how I know? I made you dream me."

"What?"

"Let me explain. My name is Morpheus."

"Like in The Matrix?" Icarus asked, confused. "So help me, I will shoot you if you start comparing me to Keanu Reeves."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Morpheus said, sitting on the end of the bed before muttering under his breath, "Though there certainly are some similarities..."

The dark man cleared his throat and started again. "No, not like in The Matrix. No, that guy was named after me. I'm the original Morpheus. The first one. The god of dreams."

"Wait," Icarus said, shaking his head, still pointing his gun at the intruder. "Did you just say you were God?"

"Not 'God-god,'" Morpheus said, shaking his head with a laugh. "No, I'm just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill, pantheon-clubbing god. Little 'g'. I'm one of the last ones left, actually."

"Oh?" Icarus asked. "And why might that be?"

"They've been murdered," he said. "My entire pantheon. Zeus, Hera, Hermes, Aphrodite... all of 'em. That's actually why I'm here. Those of us who are left - gods, demigods, monsters, and heroes - are banding together to find out what happened to them... and why."

"Where do I fit in?"

"You're going with us."

"Whoa! Hang on there, kemosabe!" Icarus said, waving his gun back in forth in lieu of shaking his head. "I haven't agreed to helping you yet!"

"Actually, yes, you did," Morpheus said, very seriously. "Back in your dream, you offered me your services. I'm cashing in."

"What?" Icarus yelled. Beside him, Helga (was that her name? Helga?) moaned slightly and rolled over. "You probably rigged that whole thing! How can I possibly trust that you didn't?!"

"Oh, no, I rigged it all, no doubt," Morpheus said with a grin. "I am the Shaper after all. However, I take oaths and deals made within my realm very seriously. If you reneg... well... I'd really rather not think about it."

"What can you possibly do to me?" Icarus said, unfazed.

"Well, for starters, I can get my team's lesbian sorceress to hex you... or the Gorgon to turn you to stone... I could feed you to our Cyclops, but you'd probably not be more than an amuse bouce for him. There's always letting Castor use you for target practice, too. Personally, though, I'd much prefer just giving you the most horrifying vivid nightmares for the rest of your life. But, really? It's all up to you."

Icarus slowly lowered his gun, furrowing his brow in thought. After a moment, he lifted his head. "You can really do all that?"

"I wouldn't wanna find out if I were you..."

Icarus considered it a moment, looking around the room - probably desperately searching for an out and finding none. After a long pause, he finally nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I'll go. Sounds like fun."

The pilot got out of bed, finally noticing that Helga (or was it Ingrid? No, definitely Helga) hadn't so much as roused during his exchange with Morpheus.

"Is... uh... is she gonna be okay?" Icarus asked, pointing to the girl.

"Oh, don't worry about her," Morpheus said, his signature smirk back with a vengeance. "She's dreaming about someone smarter, funnier, better looking, and far more well-endowed than you could ever hope to be."

Helga moaned again and began to talk in her sleep. "Oh, God, yes... yes... oh, Tommy Foxe is a sex god!"

"Cute," Icarus said, glaring at Morpheus. "Real cute."

Deep within Lykopis' home was a temple to the old gods. She had made it herself and no one was allowed to enter but her. Within the center of the room stood a small altar, lit by several candles. The She-Wolf walked into the furthest corner of the room, as far from the light and as deep into the shadows as she could and softly spoke a name.

". . .Edmund. Edmund, I know it's been a long time and the world has gotten very strange, but if you can hear me, I need to speak with you."

Lykopis waited for a few moments. Nothing. She began to count off minutes. She started to grow impatient.

"Damn you, Edmund, do not make me beg!" Lykopis tapped her foot for a few moments before deciding it was a lost cause. She turned and began to leave the temple.

A voice stopped her.

"Princess."

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

"Princess allow me a moment."

She looked back as the darkness of the room began to expand and congeal in the center of it. The shadows began to take the shape of a tall, thin man in a dark suit with a widow's peak hairstyle. He was wearing dark glasses even though he couldn't have possibly needed them in this room. His suit, although obviously tailored for him, was ripped and torn in several places. Streaks of dark cloth hung from his limbs and dark liquid was spattered across him. A pale arm hung about his neck attached to nothing yet gripping a curved blade. As the man finished materializing, he stepped out of the shadows and a scream permeated the chamber as the arm around his neck spat out black liquid and released it's grip on the blade. The blade clattered to the floor loudly as the arm landed next to it. The man smirked as the scream faded. Edmund Gaunt, the Shadow Chancellor, had made what was for him, as close to a dramatic entrance as possible.

It was quite difficult to stun the long lived She-Wolf, but then Gaunt had a way of doing the "quite difficult" with equal amounts of finesse and aplomb.

"Edmund. . .what. . .?!"

"Forgive me, Lykopis. I was in the middle of preventing the assassination of a high ranking official within the Umbra. Allow me to clean up my mess." Gaunt half bowed with sincerity as the shadows began to move forth covering the arm, blade, and Gaunt himself. Within a nanosecond they receded, and Gaunt's suit had been repaired, the dark ichor was wiped clean, and the arm was gone. Only the blade remained, now held within Gaunt's hands. He extended them towards Lykopis.

"A gift. Something for your trophy room. A blade of the assassins guild of the Umbra world."

Lykopis took the blade and studied it's onyx hilt and the unfamiliar markings upon it.

"The history of the assassins guild and of the bearer of the blade is inscribed upon the hilt of each blade. For an assassin to lose his weapon is a great embarassment and is punishable by stripping of their rank, uniform, permission to traverse the Umbra, and death." Gaunt peered down as his strange eyes looked oover his glasses, he was still smirking somewhat. "Not always in that order."

Lykopis looked away from his eyes, as it gave her a headache."Thank you, Edmund. It is a fine weapon."

"I sense that this is not a social call, Lykopis." Gaunt stepped over to a wall and studied one of the shields that hung from it.

"No, it is not. Would that it were. I do miss the friends I have made in Vanguard. Edmund, I need something. I have undertaken. . .a quest. . .an oddyssey. The Gods of Olympus have been struck down and I have joined with others like myslf to search for their murderer. But I fear we will not be enough. Edmund, will you help us?" There was a look in Lykopis' eyes that in any other woman would be pleading.

Gaunt studied the shield for a long moment before speaking, his back still to Lykopis. "I cannot."

"Edmund. . ." Lykopis shook her head, somewhat angrily.

Gaunt slowly turned towards his former teammate. "I cannot join you on your journey. However, I will help you, and perhaps, we can help each other." Gaunt reached within his coat and pulled out a small, folded slip of blue paper. He handed the paper to Lykopis. "There is someone at this address that I have been meaning to look into for some time. I suspect he may have the spark of divinity that your allies seek. Now if you will excuse me, dear Ly-Ly, I must return to my business. Farewell, Princess." Gaunt melted back into the shadows and vanished from the temple even faster than he'd arrived.

Confused, Lykopis unfolded the scrap of paper. The side that she was looking at was blank except for several words written in a fast scrawl: "The Void also gazes into you."

"Isn't it the abyss?" She thought before turning over the paper. On the other side was a photocopied image of what seemed to be a gothic industrial rock band with a show date and time beneath them. The show was scheduled for this weekend in Atlanta, Georgia.

A sudden realization crept across Lykopis' face as she began to smile. "He called me Ly-Ly. Why Mister Gaunt, you are just full of surprises."

Lykopis left the temple and returned to her packing before rejoining her new allies. . .

"

Lesbos

To many of the 'old-guard,' the old ways were seen as the best. Perhaps that is why so many of the gods of the Greek pantheon had fallen by the wayside by the inception of the twenty-first century. Modern conveniences were not seen as 'convenient' so much as a hassle or a diversion from worship. It is said that even unto death, Hermes swore by his winged feet than the more modern forms of travel, such as bullet trains, automobiles, and jets. A pity that even his great speed could not save even him from an even swifter death at the hands of the Dark One.

There were those, however, who readily embraced new technologies. These were the ones who adapted best to the ever-changing world around them. Perhaps this alone is the reason they are still alive at all. While not all in the Pantheon felt this way about technology, one who allowed for such things was Pandora the All-Gifted.

This is not to say that the First Woman, wife to Epimetheus, was skilled in using technology. Quite the contrary, she was never one for frivolities like cars and cell phones... but she did find herself rather attracted to the television.

To the casual observer, this might seem a bit odd, indeed. However, for Pandora, living with the guilt of releasing upon the world the Seven Deadly Sins, escapism was a necessity. She had done her share of drugs through the sixties and seventies, but had tired of them by the eighties. She had only done one hit of acid - 'a bad trip,' the man had called it - which only recounted her horror of the day she had opened her damned box in vivid, garish colors and maddening gremlins.

It was then that she discovered television. She was particularly attracted to soap operas and cartoons, stories that numbed her mind, making her forget, if only for a moment, the guilt that she had bore so long.

Indeed, this was exactly what she was doing even now.

Medea, being by her very nature, ensconced in the old ways, did not have a television on her property, so it was up to Pandora to find her own entertainment. She had spent many a day walking the island, clutching her small wooden box beneath her arm, looking for a box of a different sort. One day, she found one, outside of a little pub in the center of town. The women there were quite friendly, but Pandora paid them no mind.

Today she sat at the bar, her box clasped across her chest and ginger ale chilling before her, watching the images that played on the screen. Most of the patrons seemed oddly interested in the news of the days events.

"...in the Sudan. We turn now to another part of Africa - Darfur - where, even now, the Muslim Janjaweed militia group wages their war with the rest of the local tribes. Thousands of civilian casualties have been noted including women and children. These photos, taken just hours ago, show a local hospital, specializing in the treatment of children, being firebombed by the Janjaweed..."

Few people in the bar noticed as the beautiful woman with the wooden box slipped off her barstool and made her way into the restroom, her long brown hair covering her reddening eyes. Closing the stall, Pandora sat on the commode and wept.

Why? Why does she keep doing this to herself? Surely, she will have come to terms with her sin by now? One mistake made thousands of years in the past... but one with consequences that have only worsened with time. And, thanks to the foresight of the gods who had created her, Pandora had lived to see that worsening. Through her tears, she looked at the wooden construction in her hand.

Surely now, she thought to herself. Surely now more than ever, the world needs what I have to give... hope.

But, no. It was her box that kept her going, her box that sustained her always. For all the good it would do, the contents of her box must stay with her. That is how it must be.

Then, with a sudden resolve known only to her, the all-gifted one rose from her seat, exited the bathroom, and exited the bar, never to return...

Atlanta, Georgia, USA

"And, why are we here, She-Wolf?"

Lykopis could not help but grin as she lead the three of them down a back alley in downtown Atlanta. Her companions, she knew, were not used to 'slumming it' as some might say. Truth be told, neither was she, but she had lived many lives... and it is difficult for one who has lived so long in so many different states to be fazed by much of anything.

"Stop whining, Lord Aeolus," she said, leading them past a couple winos passed out in the alley. "I have on good authority there is one here who can help us. Surely, any assistance against this 'Dark One' of yours would be greatly appreciated?"

"Certainly," the Wind King said, looking rather remorsefully at his form-fitting black digs, including the spiked dog collar about his neck. "These raiments, however, are most unbecoming someone of my stature."

"Stop complaining, Aeolus," Medea bitched from beside him. "At least you aren't parading around in glorified underpants..." She didn't seem to like the fishnets, thigh-high boots, chainmail jewelry and black leather corset. "These would have looked far more becoming on your, m'lady."

"A wake of your hand and they change anyhow, Medea," Lykopis said, ignoring the unwanted advance from the sorceress. The Lady herself had donned a flowing black dress which completely covered every part of her. Medea, it seemed, had a roving eye worse than many a man. "Now... here we are."

Looking up, the three of them took in a small neon sign over a door. The sign had no words, just an ampersand symbol blaring out into the surrounding blackness. A large man with a black goatee and heavy flannel glared at them as they approached. As they neared, he put out his cigarette against the brick wall and stepped in front of the door.

"Help you?" he asked gruffly, his Southern accent shining through.

"We were hopin' to get in, see the show," Lykopis said, seemlessly mimicking the man's drawl. Behind her, Medea and Aeolus shared a look - partly for the accent and partly because they knew they didn't need to be inside to see the show... they could hear the music just fine from where they stood.

"Sorry," the guard said. "Full house t'night."

"Surely you jest," Medea piped up, raising her hand to point at the man. "If you are suggesting that I put on this get-up not to get into this establishment, then you are sorely mistaken!"

"'Fraid I can't help ya," he said, shrugging his massive shoulders. "Guess you'll hafta find some other place to go t'night." With that, he folded his thick arms across his broad chest, reavealing a slew of intricate tattoos covering his forearms.

Medea's eyes began to glow a subtle shade of red. "I am warning you one last time, you imbecilic oaf! Either let us in, or..."

"What is he doing?"

At the sound of Lykopis' voice, the heads of Medea, Aeolus, and the bouncer turned down the alley to see a thin, waifish figure leaning over the drunken bum they'd passed earlier. He was pale, sickeningly so, dressed all in black. In his hand, he held a long pole. He was staring intently at the vagrant, who was now awake and seemed to be quite frightened.

Lykopis was now running for the young man. Flying into the air, she landed a kick to his shoulder, knocking him off-balance and onto the ground. A sound of rushing wind and both Aeolus and Medea were by her side, gazing down at the form of the crumpled Goth boy. His pole had rolled out of his grip.

Her Ladyship had noted that the boy's breathing had slowed - he was unconscious. She peered at him curiously. There was something odd, here.

"Gods..." Medea whispered under her breath. "It is the Void..."

"How did you know that name?" Lykopis asked, remembering the crumpled flyer Edmund had given her.

"I've run into this boy before," Medea said. "He has killed gods. Monsters. Hades, he is a monster himself."

"If he's a monster, it is only because he has battled them for so long," Lykopis said.

"He is a devourer of souls, She-Wolf," Aeolus chimed in. "Look at this fresh victim..."

Lykopis had forgotten the sot by the wall. His form was rigid against the wall. His breathing, stilted and fast. However, there was no life behind his eyes. His soul had been claimed by the Void.

"We cannot allow him to come with us," Medea said. "No matter what this... man told you, there is no place for him in our number."

"Unlike you, I trust my friends, Medea," Lykopis said. "Like it or not, we face a monster. Who better to have on our side than a monster of our own?"

Medea remained unconvinced. Aeolus's gaze was stern, but ultimately unreadable.

"Either he joins our quest, or I part company with you here and now."

Both the sorceress and the demigod were taken aback by that one. After an infinite moment, Medea sighed.

"Very well," she said, "but I will not carry him back to the Argos."

"Agreed," Lykopis said, nodding. With ease, she hefted the boy over her shoulder and, without another word, turned in the direction they'd come.

Medea turned and followed the warrior with her eyes as she walked away. "I swear," she muttered to Aeolus, "if it weren't for that ass, I would have killed her just then."

"So much the better you didn't, Medea," he said. "I imagine she will prove her worth sooner than later."

"We must hope," she said, preparing to go.

"One last thing," Aeolus said. Medea turned, an eyebrow raised. The Wind King pointed back toward the door of &. Standing outside, the large bouncer stood glaring, his mouth agape.

"A memory spell, if you could please, Medea?"

The terror of Colchis smiled sadistically as she cracked her knuckles. "With pleasure," she said, advancing toward the man. "With pleasure..."

Mars Munitions
Detroit, Michigan, USA


Harmony's voice crackled worriedly over the intercom. "Mister M-Mars? You have visitors. . .they're very insistent. . ."

"Send them up, Harmony. I've been expecting them." Alexander Mars was gone. In his place stood Ares, God of War. "Deimos, Phobos, heel." The two massive dogs sat next to the desk, growling. "Bellona, stand ready."

"Yes, lord. Do you really expect them to be a challenge?" Bellona spoke from beneath her hood, the red veins that streaked over her face, briefly visible.

"Aeolus' little band of misfits and outcasts? Hardly! I will relish destroying them."

******************************

The Pantheon entered the building, with the exception of the massive Arges, who remained behind to watch the ship, and the Void, who remained unconscious.

"Top floor, the private elevator is ready." Harmony said, as the group filed past her. Medea cocked an eyebrow appreciatively. "Not bad, dear, but shorten the skirt. Maybe tease your hair out a little. . ."

"Medea," Aeolus half turned, "We are here on business."

The sorceress sighed. "Sometimes Aeolus, you are such a bore." Medea gestured and a slip of paper with her phone number on it appeared in her hand. She handed it to the started receptionist. "Call me." She winked as she joined the rest of the crew on Mars' private elevator.

The group was silent on the long ride to the top floor of the building. Each mired in their own thoughts.

The Gemini thought of his twin, and the sacrifice made to attempt to gain information for Aeolus' cause. He could not help but bear some resentment, although he did believe in their quest.

Pandora, as always, focused on her urn.

The Gorgon's hair writhed excitedly. The group inched back as much as possible. She smiled at this.

Icarus Sidewinder smiled nervously at Stheno. "Charming friends, you have here, Ly-Ly."

Stheno sidled closer to Icarus. "You know, we gorgons have ways of lovemaking that put you humans to shame. Think about it, pretty one." Stheno giggled at Icarus' frightened face under her veil.

"I'll keep it in mind," Sidewinder moved over to the other side of the She-Wolf's body.

Lykopis could not help but stifle an inner laugh. She had been nervous about joining this group initially, but soon found her doubt and fears fading. She had found herself feeling something. . .a kinship to these beings that she did not even feel among Vanguard Europe. Perhaps this was what she had been waiting for. Perhaps the Pantheon was her destiny. . .

Ding!

"Top floor." Icarus said a little too quickly. "Everybody out!" Sidewinder hurried out as Echo said behind him. "Out out out."

They approached the office doors the name Alexander Mars, C. E. O. written boldly in bright red paint. The door swung open at their approach.

"Enter!" The booming voice sounded from within, "And face, Ares in his domain!"

The Pantheon entered the office and found themselves instantly transported to a field of battle. The smell of blood and smoke was everywhere. Cautiously they moved forward, as low growls sounded on either side of them.

The two huge dogs glowered at the group, red eyes shining brightly, as saliva dripped down from their lips. Bellona stepped forward, motioning with a gloved hand, her body concealed beneath her robe. "State your business with the god of war."

Aeolus stepped forward and bowed. "I am Aeolus, known as the lord of the winds." Aeolus rose and gestured towards the rest of the group. "I am joined by we who are called The Pantheon. We seek vengeance for the murder of the Gods of Olympus!"

Ares booming laughter sounded throughout the battlefield, deafening the group. His armored form loomed over them, twenty feet tall. He approached the group, shrinking in size, a vulture perched menacingly upon his left shoulder. The god of war doubled over in laughter, to the confusion of the Pantheon.

The battlefield vanished, in it's place a rather ordinary office, although decorated with implements of war. Alexander Mars sat back in his leather recliner still laughing. Bellona remained silent, her appearance unchanged, although she now stood behind Mars. The two dogs also remained at the desk's sides.

"I fail to see what is so funny." Aeolus stepped forward, the winds outside the building beginning to rise.

"You wouldn't, oh "Lord of the Winds," Mars began, his voice a mocking tone. "You wouldn't. Oh, do please give me a moment." Mars swiveled around in his chair, allowing his laughter to die down before returning to face the still confused group.

"So let me get this straight," Mars continued, "You have taken it upon yourselves to avenge the deaths of the Gods, correct?" Mars raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Aeolus said resolutely. Winds were howling outside the building now.

"And you've come here to face me because. . ." Mars continued.

"Because your hatred of the Olympians is legendary." Medea offered. "Everyone knows how they shamed you during your little tryst with Aphrodite. . ."

"Still your tongue wench!" Ares momentarily returned, angered at the mention of what had been done to him so long ago. Returning to "normal" he adjusted his tie. "That was long ago. While we do not exactly see. . .eye to eye shall we say, we have agreed to let the past be exactly that. The past."

"I do not understand-" Aeolus began, cut off by a gesture from Mars.

"You know who I am, and still you brazenly enter my domain to confront me for Zeus' murder! I am the GOD OF WAR! I am power! Rage! Bloodlust! and sworn enemy to Olympus! But even I am not powerful enough to desecrate Olympus on this scale. Behead Zeus! Oh, often have I thought of such things. . ." Mars looked off into the distance. "But even I am not capable of it. Think, fools! The most powerful of the gods, my father, Zeus, my uncles Hades and Poseidon, divided the realms of sky, water, and the underworld between them! With Zeus, the most powerful taking his pick of all domains!"

The Pantheon looked among themselves, not fully comprehending what Ares was talking about at first, but then slowly, a glimmer of recognition began to appear in their eyes. "I am capable of many things, oh "Wind King" but destroy Olympus? Even I cannot do that, though the thought does give me pleasure. I am not the one you seek, and if I were, it would not be a secret. Were I the ravager of Olympus, I would have shouted my victory from the heavens!" Mars laughed again.

The winds died down as Aeolus' eyes dropped to the floor. A dead end. They had wasted their time in preparation for this conflict with Ares, a conflict that they had little hope of winning, for nothing. Though he was somewhat gladdened that they would not have to face him, at least, he hoped that would be the case. That they may actually leave alive.

"Hold," Mars looked upon the group. "One among you is known to me. Step forward, Amazon."

Lykopis did as she was bid, bowing to Ares.

"You are indeed one of my daughters." Ares sounded somewhat impressed. "I had thought none of you left. You have done well, Wind King. The God of War is pleased. What is your name, child?"

"Lykopis, sire." There was a slight tremble in her voice. She hopped no one else could detect it. Especially Sidewinder.

"The She-Wolf. Excellent. Are you all there is? No? No, I can see it in your face. There is another. Somewhere. Ares thought for a moment, holding Lykopis' chin in his hand. "I will grant you a boon, She-Wolf. One boon, of your asking. You may go now, Pantheon. Farewell, daughter." Mars returned to his desk, the dogs sitting on the floor, calmed by his show of affection (if you could call it that) to the Amazon.

The Pantheon, somewhat deflated filed out of the building. They were shaken and disturbed by the effects of Ares' presence. Medea did not even bother to flirt with Harmony on the way out.

Lykopis stood in silent thought upon the bow of the Argo. A boon from Ares. The gifts of the gods always came with a price. What price would Ares demand for his gift? She shuddered at the thought.

Saint-Tropez, Côte d'Azur, France

She sat quietly on the bustling beach, gazing out at the Mediterranean Sea, sipping her glass of chilled Champagne. Around her, children laughed and played, women sunbathed (many of them topless), and men attempted to appear as if they weren't watching the women around them. This simply made her smile all the more as she closed her eyes and lolled her head back, feeling the natural warmth of the sun caressing her soft skin.

Her blood chilled momentarily as a cold, dark shadow fell across her midsection.

She squinted as she attempted to gaze up at the darkened face of her sudden visitor. "Is there something I can help you with, stranger?"

A deep, echoing chuckle answered as the figure lowered himself to be seated beside her and swept his hand out toward the Sea. "As a matter of fact, Scylla, I was just wondering if you would care to join me for a dip."

She chuckled herself, never able to withstand his humor. "Very funny, m'lord," she said, turning her attention back toward the Sea with a sigh that was at once rueful and wistful. "I never did thank you, did I?"

"There was no need," her visitor answered. "I understood your gratitude. Mobility has its advantages after all and you had been too long at sea."

"I can only assume by your showing up like this that it is time for me to fulfill my part of the bargain?"

He smiled. "Indeed. Your services are needed. Apparently, there are others who have risen to replace the Fallen."

She shook her head. "You'd think they'd have learned by now. Just from the observations I've made, I can tell you that this is no time or place for gods anymore."

"It is the way of things. So," he asked turning toward her again, "are you in or out?"

The nymph called Scylla smiled as she drained her glass of Champagne. "Well, after all you've done for me, Dark One, I don't see myself taking any other side in this whole debacle!"

Tartarus, The Underworld, Eighth Circle of Hell

While there was no sun in Hell, there was no shortage of heat. Even the hottest days along the Equator were no match for the sweltering hotbox that existed in the lower levels of the Underworld. For some, the punishments were worse than for others.

The Eighth Level of Hell, as described by the roving Italian Alighieri, was reserved for those guilty of the deliberate acts of fraudulent evil. Surely he had been guilty of his share. He had murdered travelers, shared the secrets of the gods, and even managed to make Thanatos stand in his stead in Hell. Each of these things was akin to a pen stroke of his own death sentence.

His burden was a heavy one to shoulder, but it was his alone to bear. He grunted as his muscles strained, every one of them aching as they had for millennia. His feet dug into the scorched earth under the weight of his tremendous load. Sweat drenched his naked form as the furs he wore between his shoulders and the heated stone began to slip. As he neared the top of the hill, his grunts became screams of agony as his furs slid, causing him to lose his grip on the large stone he had been shoving up the hill.

As he fell face first onto the ground and his boulder rolled onto the ground below, Sisyphus began to weep bitterly. The absurdity of it all, repeating the same actions over and over, doomed to repeat them for all eternity... it was beginning to be more than he was able to bear. A deep, rumbling voice interrupted his sorrow.

"A shame, to be sure," the dark figure noted. "Your predicament is an unfortunate one."

"What do you know of it?" Sisyphus snapped, pounding his fist on the dried up wasteland. "An eternity of meaningless torture... and to what end?!"

"You are clever, Sisyphus, but time ultimately has a way of catching up with us. You, in particular." The keeper of the sinister voice knelt beside the naked Sisyphus. "What if I were to tell you that I could put an end to your litany of repetition?"

For the first time, the tortured soul beheld his strange visitor. "Y-you?" he gasped, as a smile suddenly curled along his face. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you could."

"Don't get any ideas, sly one," the Dark One warned, pointing a finger at the man. "The gods who imprisoned you here are no more. I have seen this to be true. You are in my debt now. I have need of your cunning and skills to defeat those who have chosen to replace them. Know that anything I do can be undone just as easily."

"Understood," Sisyphus said, offering his hand to the Dark One, who hoisted him to his feet. "I am with you."

Mount Olympus

This was a place where gods had tread.

Now, there were only two feet visible on the surface of this once-majestic mount. As he walked around, he could barely contain his sorrow. Each image he saw only further cemented the pain he felt in his soul.

Apollo's mangled lyre.

Athena's mutilated helmet.

Artemis' broken bow.

Hephaestus' shattered hammer.

The remains of Poseidon's once-fearsome trident.

The shards of Zeus' thunderbolts.

These, in particular, caused the Cyclops Steropes great pain. He wiped the tears forming in his eye as he picked up the shards and ran them through his fingers like sand. As he did, his fingertips sparked with lightning, the piece of the puzzle he himself had added to Zeus' mighty bolts of justice.

"Master," he muttered to himself, "with everything that is within me, I swear that I will avenge your murder..."

"Will you?" came a deep, rumbling voice from the edge of the mountain. "Well, this should be an interesting encounter, then..."

"YOU!" Steropes screamed, his fingertips beginning to spark more violently. "You would dare desecrate this place with your presence?!"

The mysterious figure smiled. "My, and here I'd thought that my role in this had been significantly downplayed..."

"I was here," Steropes rumbled, "and I alone beheld what you did to our Pantheon!"

"A shame you did nothing to stop me," the stranger mused, both hands clasping something behind his back. "One must wonder if you wanted to at all."

Steropes fumed, a blast of pure lightning arcing from his fist toward the darkened figure before him. The energy seemed to hit a wall before connecting with the man, who simply laughed dismissively at the Cyclops. "Oh, you should know your abilities mean nothing to me." The mysterious man raised an eyebrow, mocking the beast. "One can't help but wonder why you didn't join with those who would replace your beloved gods like your brother Arges did..."

"Would that I could have," Steropes dismayed. "Would that they thought enough of me and my gift that I would have been included in such an assembly. Still, as long as they are dedicated to bringing you to justice, I will be amongst their ranks in spirit!"

"What a pity. And here I was hoping I might persuade you to join me against them..."

"You WHAT?!" Steropes boomed. "Why would I join YOU after all you've done?"

"Funny, your brother had quite the same reaction..." the dark man pulled his hands out from behind his back to reveal the decapitated head of another Cyclops.

"B-Brontes?!" Steropes' eye widened in horror as his brother's lifeless eye gazed back at him. His vision then narrowed in hatred as he looked back toward the Dark One. "What have you done to him, you monster?!"

"I asked him to kill your brother Arges and his new comrades and he had the audacity to refuse," the man said, swinging the head slightly as it rested in his grip. "I am offering you the same deal. Kill your brother Arges and, not only preserve your way of life, but give your brother Brontes his life back. You know I am capable of this."

Steropes gritted his teeth as the rage began to consume him. "Y-you..." he muttered, looking between the fiendish man and the disembodied head of his brother. "You are a monster..."

The Dark One smiled. "I know. And now you are my monster."

Chewy Walrus nerdy User 10000+ posts 4 minutes 43 seconds ago Making a new reply
Forum: Writer's Block
Thread: Re: "The Calling" - An Interlude in Four Parts: Part the First

Las Vegas, Nevada, United States

The atmosphere at Dion's had suffered immensely since Sal had been murdered. An almost constant stream of police had slowed the flow of customers to a simple trickle. Eventually, the police interference led to FBI agents, which killed that flow entirely. Marsyas (or 'Marcel' as he was known to the patrons) was not as old as Silenus and didn't quite have his business savvy, which only made matters worse.

Nyx had taken to visiting the bar not so much to take in the ambiance as to pay her respects to Dionysus and the fallen Silenus. Business had slowed for her - times were hard all over, especially for a washed-up goddess of the night. Taking a drag off of her cigarette, she looked up onstage as three of the Maenads finished their performance. Their function as strippers was not one they were altogether unfamiliar with - as devotees to Dionysus, revelry had become their stock in trade. The alcohol generally helped their revelry, but in this case, with no patrons to draw their worship, the dancing that had once been raucous, spirited, and sensual was a simple going through the motions.

It was tragic, really... but Nyx still came and watched nightly. Not for anything so banal as personal enjoyment, but because she had become friends with these women, out of respect for Dionysus.

"How was the show, Nyx?" came the deep, slightly raspy voice from behind. The chair next to her was pulled out and an imposing figure sat down next to her.

"Not bad," she said, smiling a sly smile. "How much of it did you catch?"

"Just the end," the dark individual smiled, "which, when it comes to these kinds of shows is the best part."

"I suppose," Nyx said, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray. "And what exactly brings... you into a place like this?"

"I'm recruiting," the man said, "putting together a new outfit. I've heard you met my competitors recently."

"One of them, anyway," Nyx said. "His group created quite the stir here... not directly, of course, but it happened."

"Indeed," he nodded. "And it is no secret that there was no love lost between you and the Olympians."

Nyx laughed at this one. "None whatsoever! So superior with little cause or provocation. No respect for their elders nor their betters..."

"Then we are in agreement?" the Dark One raised an eyebrow.

"Hell, if you'd asked me to help, I'd have been among the first to put my name on the dotted line."

"Excellent!" the Dark One smiled. "It seems as though I've found my leader, then."

"Sure," Nyx said, extending her hand. "Why the hell not?"

"Good to know!" he smiled, shaking her hand. "And, as your first official duty... I need you to pick up a few more members for our entourage."

"Who'd you have in mind?"

"The Maenads for starters," the Dark One answered, nodding toward the stage. "At least the three who were performing. I need them to take care of some... unfinished business."

"I'll talk to 'em," Nyx said, "but I don't think they'll take much convincing. They've been itching for another gig since Marcel took over things here. Anyone else?"

"Your ex-husband, if possible? There's a new wild card element that his particular talents would do well against."

Nyx grinned. "Haven't seen the old coot in awhile. Suppose I might as well stop in his realm for a bit of 'meet and greet.'"

"Very good then," the Dark One said, standing. "You take care of those and I shall handle the rest. Meet me here," he scribbled on a cocktail napkin and slid it toward Nyx, "when you're done."

"Can do," Nyx said with a smile. "Glad to be of service."

New York City, New York, United States

Matthias X Industries was once again in danger of breaking a variety of laws involving insider trading and anti-trust suits. Inquiries had been made, accusations leveled, and key board members toted off in shackles on live television.

It was not good for morale, this much was certain. It was enough to make company CEO E.P. Matthias so much more nervous than the manner to which he had grown accustomed. At the moment, he was busy lording over a paper shredder trying his best to get as many incriminating documents into it as possible.

There was a brief and frantic rap at his office door. Without waiting for a cry to enter, the head of Miss Watts, Matthias's secretary, appeared behind the mahogany. "Yes, Miss Watts?"

"Uh... Mr. Matthias... there's a man here who wishes to speak with you..."

Another document was fed through the shredder. "Cop?"

"I... don't think so?"

"Reporter?"

"No...?"

"Well, just..." Matthias was visually flustered. "Just tell him I'm a little busy right now..."

"Busy, are you?" came the booming voice from the other side of the door. "Why do I find that hard to believe?"

"Uh... Miss Watts... what was this person's name again?"

"My name is of no consequence at this juncture," the unmistakably male voice said again as the large form moved into the room behind Miss Watts. "What is important is what I represent..."

Matthias's eyes widened at the man who entered the room, recognizing him instantly. "K-k-k... uh... Miss Watts, would you give the two of us a moment please? And if anyone calls, tell them I've left for the day..."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Matthias." The door clicked lightly as Watts left the room. Matthias and the foreboding stranger were all that remained in the luxurious office.

"Well, Epimetheus, you've done well for yourself," the dark figure boomed. "I must say, I'm surprised considering your... mental faculties."

"Hey!" Matthias called, rising to his feet. "That's not fair! I may have made some mistakes in my past, but I've more than made up for those!"

"Which explains the level of trouble you're in now? Why you're ducking reporters and law enforcement?"

Matthias slunk back into his seat, gazing intently at his loafers. For a long moment, nothing was said. Nothing needed to be.

"I can make this go away, you know..." the Dark One said. "I just need you to stand with me against some upstarts trying to restart the 'natural order' of things..."

"What are you talking about?" Matthias asked, suddenly no longer the clownish flop-sweating buffoon he'd been moments before.

"The Olympians are dead, Epimetheus," came the reply. "I killed them. There are others who would attempt to replace them. I cannot have this. Stand with me and all your troubles will come to pass."

"Why me?" Matthias asked. "Why not my brother, Prometheus?"

"I think you'll find you have a vested interest in this endeavor," the intimidating man spoke. "Your wife is among them."

"Pandora?"

"She cannot be allowed to ascend to that level, Epimetheus. Will you join me?"

Matthias stood, no longer the CEO of a doomed Enron parody, but suddenly a moderately regal Greek. He was Epimetheus.

"I stand with you... Dark One."