Untold Mythology

Part 1 Feast and Fate

This story takes place long, long ago, back when the Olympian gods were more than just myth. In those days, mortals worshipped them widely across the plains of the Mediterranean.

It has been thirteen years since Heracles’ ascent to godhood. The Olympian gods have gathered for a grand feast in the Great Hall of Mount Olympus, where marble pillars gleam beneath flickering golden torches and divine laughter fills the air. Tables overflow with ambrosia and nectar, their sweet aromas mingling with the tang of incense.

Music drifts through the evening like a gentle breeze. Each of the gods wears a distinctive banquet toga reflecting their domain.

At center stage stands Pan, dressed in a bright green toga bearing the symbol of a brown oak tree on his back, its leaves fashioned from gold. He plays the panpipes, performing a duet with Aegipan, who wears a dark blue, almost black, toga adorned with diamond patterns shaped like the Milky Way. Aegipan accompanies him on the reed pipes, their melodies weaving together in divine harmony.

At one table, Dionysus, in a cream toga adorned with purple amethysts resembling grapes trailing down one side, shares a quiet word with his father, Zeus, King of the Gods. Zeus is draped in a white toga embroidered with a golden lightning bolt across the back, a storm-shaped gold buckle at his waist, and gleaming gold bangles on his forearms.

His eyes wandered to the wine bottle in Dionysus’ hand, its vibrant purple contents glowing with an otherworldly shimmer.

“What’s that alluring vintage, Dionysus?” Zeus asks.

The God of Wine smirks, swirling the bottle. The liquid gleams like molten amethyst. “My newest batch, stronger than any I’ve crafted.”

Zeus leans forward, eyes glinting. “Then pour your father a glass.”

Dionysus hesitates, his grin fading. “Are you sure?”

Zeus’ brow arches. “Of course I’m sure, plus, it’s rude to bring wine to a feast and not share some.”

“Usually I would,” Dionysus said timorously, then, spotting Asclepius, beckons him.

The God of Healing makes his way over, dressed in a purple toga adorned with a large emerald serpent coiled around the lower half of his toga. The God of Wine embraced him, wrapping his arm around him.

“Nephew, examine this wine and tell His Majesty here what potential dangers it yields.”

Zeus waves a dismissive hand before he can respond. “No need. Pour it.”

Reluctant to defy his father twice, the God of Wine summons a golden automaton with a flick of his wrist. The radiant figure glides forward, its polished surface catching the torchlight, bearing a crystal goblet.

Dionysus pours the luminous purple wine, its hue pulsing like liquid starlight, releasing a sharp, intoxicating aroma.

The King of the Gods inhales deeply, downing the goblet in one swallow, and slams it down with a loud “Ahhh! Another!” he demands, Zeus’ voice full of gusto.

Dionysus cautions, “This isn’t a game, Father.”

Zeus’ eyes flash with mischief. “Why not make it one?”

He gestures to Asclepius, who calls out loud, “Everyone, can I have your attention, please?”

Everyone stops and stares at Asclepius. Then the God of Healing continued to speak.

“A moment of silence, as our King wishes to speak!”

The hall falls quiet. All eyes turn to Zeus, who nods in acknowledgment to his grandson, then addresses his guests.

“Dionysus has brewed his mightiest wine ever, a purple elixir unmatched in potency. Is there anyone brave enough to challenge me in a drinking contest?”

Poseidon, in a sea-green and purple toga with a dark gold trident emblazoned on the back, thorns facing up, leans forward.

“What’s the prize, brother?”

Zeus grins. “The one that falls first must bestow a boon upon a mortal of the victor’s choosing.”

Hera, in a radiant pink toga woven with diamonds, adorned with a white peacock on her back, interjects, “And who here is brave enough to take on my husband’s challenge?”

A voice calls from the crowd. “I am!”

“Then show yourself!” Hera demands.

Heracles steps forward, making his way to the table to join Zeus and the others. Hera’s face falls with disappointment.

Heracles is draped in a light brown, gold-threaded toga with a majestic lion’s head woven across his back, cinched at the waist by a golden buckle emblazoned with a roaring lion.

“A goblet,” the God of Courage demands.

The automaton swiftly brings one over and sets it on the table. Dionysus pours the radiant wine, and Heracles drinks swiftly, settling the goblet back down afterward.

Heracles spoke out loud for all to hear. “This wine reminds me of the time I drank with centaurs, back when I was mortal.”

Dionysus pours another glass for each of them. Zeus chuckles, his eyes twinkling, also raising his voice for the crowd to hear. “How did that tale go again?”

Zeus downs his goblet, his gaze fixed on Heracles as the God of Courage continues his tale.

“They got rowdy and couldn’t handle the wine, leading them to forget who I was. So I did what any reasonable demigod at the time would do,” Heracles replies.

He seizes his goblet, gulps the wine, then lets out a satisfied “Ahh.” Slamming the glass onto the table, he turns to the crowd and declares. “I reminded them that I am the son of almighty Zeus.”

The crowd cheers as Heracles meets Zeus’ gaze. Both gods have now had two glasses. The spectating deities notice their divine composure cracking. The Gods of Lightning and Courage start to sway like willows in a breeze.

“You don’t look well, Heracles,” Zeus taunts, steadying himself with his fingertips on the table, his eyes dimming.

Heracles snorts, his voice now beginning to slur. “I think you’re the one who doesn’t look well, Father.”

Zeus listens to his son, then dismisses his comment with a jestful wave. “Bah, I don’t know what you mean.” His voice starts slurring. “I’m as well as I’ve ever been, merely admiring the tablecloth. You could make a fine toga out of it for a mortal, wouldn’t you say, Dionysus?”

“Indeed, sire,” Dionysus replies, turning away, rolling his eyes when Zeus isn’t looking, murmuring toward Heracles under his breath whilst readying the next round.“Definitely nothing to do with the wine taking effect.”

Heracles tries to contain his laughter, only managing a small smile.

Zeus sees his smile and starts to grin himself, before speaking out loud once more. “See, young Heracles? Dionysus also recognizes the quality of the cloth, it has nothing to do with the wine.”

Nearby, Ares, in a cream and blood-red toga with black spear sigils on both sides of his chest, stands with Athena, who wears a gray toga adorned with an olive tree made of gems and a gold Aegis shield belt buckle. They wager in hushed tones.

“I bet Father falls after the fourth glass,” Ares says.

Athena’s owl flies over and perches on her shoulder, and chirps.

“Bubo and I say he won’t make it to the fourth,” she replies.

Ares smirks. “If I win, you stay out of the next war of my choosing.”

“And if I win,” she counters, “you’ll only watch, no interference, not even if Zeus commands it.”

“Agreed,” says Ares.

“Agreed,” says Athena.

Dionysus finishes pouring the next round of glowing purple wine, its scent so sharp it stings the air.

Mnemosyne, in an indigo toga with gold woven around the edges and a large gold closed-scroll symbol on her back, stands with Demeter, whose toga is ice blue with an outline of navy blue around the edges, adorned with a large silver snowdrop on her back.

Hestia, in a black toga with flame patterns around the bottom, crafted from multicolored red, orange, and yellow gemstones, stirs her nectar.

“Boys will be boys,” Hestia says warmly.

Demeter scoffs. “You’re right. He still acts like a youth.”

Mnemosyne smiles. “It’s heartening to see him enjoying himself. Once upon a time, Demeter, you would have prayed for such a moment.”

Hestia nods. “She’s right.”

Demeter shrugs. “If you say so. Look, they’re about to drink again.”

“Ready to submit?” Zeus asks, his words slurring.

“No more than you, Father,” Heracles retorts, swaying as he speaks.

“Then let us commence the next round of drinks!” Zeus yells.

The crowd cheers. Both lift their goblets high and give a nod to the crowd, then the pair starts to gulp.

Heracles gags halfway, then vomits into his goblet. The crowd lets out an “Aww” of disappointment. The wine is so strong it can only be compared to drinking liquid lava. Heracles sets his goblet down. As he doubles over, Asclepius hands him a bucket.

Zeus finishes his own drink, slamming his goblet down triumphantly.

“Good try, Heracles!” he says, tapping him on the back as the God of Courage continues vomiting into the bucket.

Raising his arms high, Zeus bellows, “Still King of Olympus!”

The crowd cheers and applauds.

Zeus, basking in his victory, suddenly lets out a deafening burp.

The hall falls silent.

“Excuse me, I wasn’t expecting that,” Zeus says, followed by a hiccup.

The hall erupts in laughter, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Zeus stumbles, and Dionysus quickly slides a chair beneath him. Sitting heavily, His Majesty glares up, his eyes clouded. “What in Olympus did you put in that wine, Dionysus?”

The God of Wine shrugs, trying not to laugh. “No idea. I was drunk when I made it.”

Zeus opens his mouth to reply but lurches forward, collapsing to his hands and knees in pain. His form swells, skin reddening as if choking, eyes flashing white with lightning. He expands tenfold in size; so does his divine toga and jewelry, as his body topples over tables and chairs. With a thunderous retch, Zeus vomits a massive black stone.

Everyone stares in awe.

He looks down at the stone before he begins vomiting once more, this time expelling a slime-covered woman in a brown toga on top of the stone. The hall falls silent. The gods and guests freeze, their faces lit by flickering torchlight. Zeus slowly shrinks back to normal. His skin regains its natural tanned hue.

Dionysus and Asclepius rush to him. “Are you alright, Your Majesty?” they ask as they go to pick him up.

Zeus shrugs them off. “Tend to Heracles,” he growls.

Standing tall, he approaches the woman, recognizing her as she wipes slime from her face. “Metis,” Zeus says softly.

Her eyes flutter open. Her voice is faint. “Zeus, my love?”

He lifts her from the stone and cradles her in his arms. Their eyes lock. His intense gaze begins to soften, and he whispers. “It’s you.”

Metis reaches up and touches his face. “Can you stand?” he asks.

She nods. He sets her down gently. “It’s good to see you again, Metis,” he says.

“And you, my love. Oh, how I’ve missed you,” she replies.

“And I you,” Zeus says, embracing her.

Suddenly, the stone begins to shake violently. Everyone turns to look. Then it stops. Metis whips her head back toward Zeus, hysterical. She pushes against him. “You’re in danger! You must flee!”

Zeus grabs her arms, restraining her. “What do you mean I must flee? What do you know about that stone moving just now?”

Metis grows frantic, trying to push him away. “Please, my love—listen to me! You must flee!”

Zeus’ voice bellows, his eyes turning white, lightning jolts shooting out. “I will not flee. Now tell me what you know about that stone. I command you!”

Metis cries out, “It’s your son!”

Zeus recoils, his eyes changing back to brown.

“What are you talking about? We had a daughter, Athena. Look, she’s over there.”

He points at Athena. Metis glances at her, then back.

“See?” he says. “The prophecy never came true.”

“No, no, no! We didn’t just have Athena, she had a twin brother!” Metis cries.

“You’re saying that stone is our son?” Zeus demands.

A voice suddenly emanates from the stone, deep and dark. “What’s wrong, Father? Are you deaf?”

Zeus’ heart sinks. The stone begins shaking violently. All the guests step back. Then it stops, then starts stretching, taller and thinner, reshaping like clay under invisible hands. It halts again. Cracks form across its surface. Smoke pours from the fissures, engulfing the stone. Within it, the silhouette of a man takes form.

Part 2 Heart of Stone

Zeus’s voice thundered through the hall. “Hermes!”

In a heartbeat, Hermes materialized at his side, swift as a gust of wind. “Yes, Your Majesty. How may I serve?”

His sky-blue toga shimmered, cinched with a golden belt buckle shaped like outstretched wings. A gleaming gold caduceus was emblazoned on his back.

“Clear the guests from the hall,” Zeus commanded, his tone brooking.

Hermes replied with no delay. “It shall be done.”

With a sharp snap of his fingers, the grand entrance doors of the Great Hall swung open. Hermes lifted into the air on his winged sandals and addressed the gathering with crisp authority:

“His Majesty has brought the banquet to an early close due to unforeseen circumstances. I kindly ask all esteemed guests to make their way calmly to the front entrance. Thank you for your cooperation. Should you have any questions, I’ll be available once we are outside.”

He made his way toward the main entrance, hovering around the mist from the stone creature, gliding swiftly toward the exit, humming softly to himself. Suddenly, a sinister voice slithered out from the swirling veil of smoke. “Why not stay?”

From the haze, the stone figure, unprovoked, leapt toward Hermes at frightening speed, its feet never touching the ground.

“Watch out, Hermes!” shouted Maia from somewhere in the crowd. She wore a black toga with the Seven Sisters star constellation embroidered on her back, each star a sparkling diamond, except her own, which shone as a green emerald.

Hermes spun around, eyes widening as the stone creature drew back its fist mid-air, poised to strike. Just as the blow was about to land, two arrows cut through the air, one glinting silver, the other blazing gold.

They struck the creature’s right flank straight and true in perfect unison. The force of their impact sent the stone monster hurtling through the air sideways crashing through the centre stage and into a marble column with a stone-splintering crack.

The creature let out a ghastly, inhuman wail as it slumped to the ground, smoke pouring from its wounds. Guests screamed and fled in blind panic; only the Olympians remained.

“Nice shot, sister,” Apollo called, his voice warm with pride. He stood poised in a resplendent gold toga, an amethyst lyre emblem glowing faintly upon his back, a golden bow held ready in his hand.

Artemis stepped forward, her silver bow drawn and steady. Her sumptuous silver toga caught the torchlight as she moved, and upon her back, a green emerald bow-and-arrow sigil tilted toward the sky. “And you, brother,” she replied, her eyes never leaving the fallen creature. “It has been many moons since we hunted together.”

“Indeed,” Apollo said, following at her side, his expression darkening. “I must say, dear sister, this prey has become somewhat personal to me.”

“And why is that, dear brother?”

“I won’t be able to play my lyre tonight,” Apollo replied dryly. “This stone beast frightened my audience away, ruined my performance before it ever began. Most frustrating.”

Artemis narrowed her gaze. “I, too, am disappointed. Which is precisely why its head shall serve as a trophy.”

The divine twins strode toward their quarry, stepping over shattered glass and overturned platters. As they passed Hermes, Artemis smirked at the messenger god.“You’re getting slower.” she taunted.

Apollo glanced at Hermes with a grin as he walked by. “Don’t mind her, she’s still bitter you beat her in the last race you had.”

“I heard that,” Artemis called back.

“I only jest, dear sister,” Apollo replied with exaggerated innocence. “I’m merely trying to lighten the mood. It’s grown rather gloomy all of a sudden, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Focus, brother,” Artemis said, her eyes locked on the target. “Unless you wish for our prey to escape.”

They advanced through the ruined hall, stopping roughly fifteen feet from their quarry. Bows raised. Strings pulled tight.

The stone creature lay still, cracks spider-webbing across its form, smoke seeping from wounds left by the arrows. Despite its battered state, it chuckled. Then it looked up, neon-blue eyes glowing, then grinned, revealing its gold teeth. “I was only going to give him a hug,” he said sarcastically. “So why the hostility? I've only been born a few minutes.”As it started chuckling to itself

Artemis called across the hall, “Shall we deliver the coup de grâce to this stoned beast, sire?”

Zeus looked down at Metis in his arms. She met his gaze, her voice trembling. “Please, I beg you, my love, send him to Tartarus. There, he can do you no harm.”

Zeus paused, then gave Artemis a silent nod.

Artemis and Apollo released their arrows.

“Noooo!” Metis cried.

But before the arrows could strike, a shield streaked through the air, intercepting both mid-flight. It struck them with a metallic clang, sending sparks flying. The arrows ricocheted to the floor as the shield rebounded off the column across the hall, snapping back into Athena’s waiting hand.

Part 3 Divine Judgement

Athena stood firm before her peers, shield raised defiantly.

“How dare you get in my way!” Artemis snapped, aiming her bow at Athena.

The Great Hall fell into stunned silence. Every God stood motionless, tension thick in the air.

Zeus’s voice broke the stillness, his tone calm, but heavy with authority. “Explain yourself, Athena.”

Athena spoke. “Are we not Gods?”

Zeus’s gaze hardened. “And what exactly is your point?”

“With respect Sire, why are we acting like frightened mortals? As if a lion prowled among us?”

From the opposite side of the Great Hall, Hera’s voice rang out, furious. “You dare insult your King while defending that abomination? You forget your place.”

Athena retorted. “Since when does a King need his Queen to speak for him?”

Hera’s fury rose in her voice. “Enough! I don't have to listen to this, Guards, seize her!”

Without warning, four pods descended from the ceiling at speed, embedding themselves into the marble floor. Upon landing, they split open in four directions. From within each, a silver centurion automaton emerged. Their red eyes flared to life as they awakened, drawing polished spears, gleaming shields and shining helmets with a red plume. Heading to restrain Athena.

“Delay that order,” Zeus commanded calmly.

Instantly, the automatons stopped, standing at ease, their eyes dimming.

“Thank you, Father.” Athena said.

Zeus scowled at his daughter. “In this moment, I am your King. Address me as such.”

Athena bowed her head slightly. “Yes, Sire. And forgive my outburst. But how can it be just to execute a creature one believed to be your son, my brother, in cold blood?”

Zeus said nothing. She continued, her voice steady and resolute.

“Sire, I have served you faithfully for many millennia. I’ve never questioned your rulings, no matter how swift or severe. But justice begins with knowledge of a crime. Condemnation without that knowledge is nothing but tyranny.”

A murmur rippled through the Olympians. Even Hera hesitated.

Zeus' voice echoed above the murmuring crowd.

“Silence.”

The crowd hushed.

“So be it, I shall let judgment ensue. Themis, Goddess of divine justice, approach. Your King calls upon you.”

From where Athena stood, the crowd parted as Themis made her way forward, her flowing white toga edged in silver. A golden scale emblem gleamed on her back. Her eyes, hidden beneath a black blindfold, marked her impartiality.

“How may I serve, Your Majesty?” she asked solemnly, standing before him.

“Themis, my most trusted adviser in all of Olympus, grant me your wisdom to cast judgment this day,” Zeus requested.

“As you wish, my King.”

Themis stepped back several paces. She brought her hands together, palms glowing gold, then twisted—right over left—and drew them apart. Between them shimmered the golden Scales of Justice. She raised the scales to her lips and began whispering in a language lost to all others. A silver light radiated from her form. The Gods held their breath. The scales remained still.

Then the stone creature laughed.

“So this is how you Gods dispense justice.”

“Silence beast,” Apollo snapped. “Lest you welcome another arrow.”

The creature went quiet.

Suddenly, the divine scales tipped for all to see.

Judgment being made Themis began to close the scales between her glowing palms until they vanished from sight. Zeus moved Metis to his right, then spoke. “Step forward, Themis.”

She made her way to The King’s side and began to whisper her counsel in her lost language.

Zeus stood looking out at the crowd, his face unreadable asif in a trance. When she finished, she stepped back and curtsied, making her way back into the crowd.

Zeus lifted his gaze to the assembled Gods once more. His voice echoed through the marble hall.

“After taking counsel, I have reached my judgment. For the good of Olympus and all the realms, execute the stone creature.”

The monster laughed loudly and began to rise. Without hesitation, Apollo released his arrow whistling through the air.

Athena turned sharply toward her stone brother, witnessing just as the arrow struck his skull, embedding itself directly in the right temple. The light left his eyes as the head fell lifelessly to the ground.

A cry tore from Athena, her anguish echoing through the Great Hall. Metis collapsed to her knees, sobbing openly. “My son…”

Zeus turned without a word and began walking away towards the back of the Great Hall.

“Hermes,” he called.

The messenger God appeared in a blink. “You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

“Clear the hall.” Zeus commanded.

“And the body?” Hermes asked. The King replied. “Deliver it to Hephaestus. He may find use for it.”

Hermes bowed. “As you command.”

He clapped twice, floating high in the air for all to see. “All Gods are to exit immediately by order of The King.”

Athena’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Don’t you dare walk away, I’m not done with you!”

The Lord of Lightning froze to his daughter’s words.

“I am not some lowly peasant you can dismiss! What gave you the right to extinguish his life just now? I demand an answer, Zeus!” Athena bellowed.

Zeus called out. “Hermes.”

The Messenger God returned once again to The King’s side, then he continued to speak.

“Delay that order. All shall remain and bear witness instead.”

Hermes clapped again, floating high once more. “The King commands all to stay and bear witness.”

A spark of white lightning jolted around Zeus’s body as he turned to face his defiant Daughter.

Part 4 Wrath of the Voiceless

Zeus made his way toward Athena as she continued to provoke. “Ah, so His Majesty does have the guts to face me.”

Before Zeus could speak, Hera stepped out in front of him, a cold smile curling on her lips. “Well, well… look who’s acting mortal now.”

Athena paused and looked away from her Queen resting her forehead on her fingers for but a moment, letting out a dry laugh, raising her head, she glared at Hera and then spoke. “It’s been ages since I let myself run wild with emotion,” she said, almost amused. “Is this what it’s like to be you, Hera? Constantly filled with emotion, I pity you.”

The Queen of the Gods’ face hardened as she replied. “Coming from a stone-cold killer like you, that’s almost a compliment. O, my apologies, that was insensitive of me just now, considering all that’s just happened.”

A hush fell over the chamber. Athena’s expression shifted, shadows gathering in her eyes as tension mounted. As the Goddess of War and the Queen of the Gods faced off against one another, all eyes watched as the clash of the century was about to unfold.

Zeus’s voice broke through the tension like a thunderclap. “Enough.”

His eyes blazed white lightning arcing out from them. The pair stood frozen for a moment. Both adjusting their gaze at their king, Hera turned back and faced the Goddess of War once more, speaking in a sarcastic tone. “Now you be a good little girl, and do as your father tells you.” Smirking as she turned around and walked away towards her husband’s side.

In a heartbeat, Athena addressed the crowd shouting out for all to hear. “Perhaps then my father you should learn to keep your wife on her leash and you wouldn't have to raise your voice and call her back.”

Hera, enraged, turned back to the Goddess of War, striking her with a slap of blind fury across her cheek with such force that the impact unleashed a sonic boom, causing everybody’s togas to shake in the wind even the very pillars of the Great Hall groaned from the pressure.

Athena remained standing, her head snapped to the side. Her hairpin dislodged, falling to the ground, causing her long brown hair to spill over her face like a curtain.

Hera growled. “I am your Queen. You will show me the respect I am owed! Do I make myself clear.”

Athena doesn't move; she does not respond, enraging Hera even more.

“Look at me when I'm speaking to you!” Hera screams.

Ares watched from the sidelines, thinking grimly: (“Oh no. You're in for it now, Mother.”)

Athena slowly gathered her hair into a tight coil and gave a soft whistle, turning her head to face her queen. Bubo, her owl companion, swooped down and landed in her hair, pinning it back into place with his claws as he perched atop her head. With her hand now free and her eyes sharp, she glared directly at Hera. Then, in a single fluid motion, she curtsied low, bowing her head before she spoke. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the Goddess of War rose, she drove a devastating front kick into Hera's stomach, sending her flying over Zeus to the far end of the Great Hall.

Zeus bellowed, “Guards, seize her!”

The four Silver Centurion automatons Hera called forth earlier stirred back to life. Their eyes blazed red as the grinding of ancient gears echoed through the chamber.

Athena readied herself, holding the Aegis shield in her right hand, ready to repel the silver clockwork guards.

The silver Centurion closest to Athena discarded its spear and shield, and leapt headlong with arms wide, aiming to constrain her.

The War Goddess snatched its left arm, pivoted, and hurled the automaton over her shoulder with Godlike speed. Slamming it into the marble floor with a groundbreaking crash that sent cracks spidering outward along the floor.

Trying to recalibrate itself from the impact, Athena recoiled her right shield arm and brought down the shield's edge across its neck, severing the head clean off in a decisive blow.

As everyone watched Athena, none noticed the corpse of her stone brother having a sudden jolt of neon-blue lightning surged over its body.

Athena stood face to face with the rest of the Silver Centurions as they charged the Goddess of War all at once.

Without hesitation, she kicked the severed head of the automaton she'd just decapitated toward the one closest on her left. It raised its shield in time to deflect the projectile, then lunged its spear straight for her chest.

Athena sidestepped, seized its spear arm, pivoted a full 360 degrees, and hurled it into the other two advancing guards.

The trio collided, sparks burst, metal screamed, tumbling past the King of the Gods' right side missing his face by inches, his hair waving as it flew by.

Zeus stood there like a statue, not even a fibre of him flinching.

The Goddess of War fixed her eyes on the King of Gods. “No toy, you forge, will ever restrain me.” She said, her tone brimming with defiance.

Zeus's gaze hardened. “We shall see about that.”

Part 5 Silver and Gold

From the shadows of the Great Hall, the mangled wreckage of the Silver Centurions began to stir. Twisted and broken, the machines twitched, their shattered forms started writhing together.

Then their cogs revved back to life, this time at speed. Friction scorched their inner workings until the silver cogs glowed orange-hot. Eyes lit up, burning red light flared from them like rays of sun blasting outward, piercing the shadows.

The lights strike the pods they descended from. Suddenly three of the pods begin to spin and take flight toward the Silver Centurions, hovering above the mangled machine's heads. The spinning pods turn into liquid metal pouring onto the mangled Automatons. As the clockwork guards begin to rise, the liquid metal fuses and reshapes them into a monstrous, centaur-like automaton.

It has four legs and six arms. The first pair of arms juts from its lower torso, just ahead of its front two legs. Two more extend from its shoulders like a humanoid giant. From its back protrudes the final pair, an amalgamation of leg and arm components, over twice the length of the others.

Atop the mechanical beast, the three heads have merged into a single rotating cluster, now capable of 360-degree vision.

The fused Super Silver Centurion begins its advance—slow, methodical, its gaze fixed on Athena.

As the automaton now twice the height of Zeus stomps past the King of the Gods, its gears grinding like distant drums of war, the god speaks: “Now, Athena… will you submit? End this pointless rebellion.”

Athena stands firm and resolute. “Never shall I submit, retreat, or cower in the face of tyranny. Not even if that tyranny comes from you, Father.”

Zeus exhales slowly. “Call it what you like. But I am your king, and it falls to me to do the ugly things that must be done for the good of the kingdom.”

The war machine’s rear right long arm reaches back, retrieving a spear resting along its horse-like lower body. With that spear, it slams the butt end of it into the decapitated head of the fourth fallen Centurion spiking it. The bottom jutting right arm takes over rotating it upright. At the same time its two long back arms retrieved two more spears, holding them high above its heads; it locked the spear ends together, fusing them with liquid metal.

Now armed with its newfound head-forged halberd hammer and spear twice the height of Athena. The Super Silver Centurion is ready for round two.

Standing tall, it raised the halberd hammer high and slammed the bottom spike of the weapon into the floor, cracking it, awakening the hammerhead. Its cogs begin to turn, igniting orange-hot, eyes burning bright red, its rays locked on Athena. The hammerhead’s jaw splits open. A piercing shriek erupts from its orange maw, shattering every pane of glass in the Great Hall. Athena raises her shield and protects her face from the shock wave. Unaware of the centaur-like machine leaping in front of her and strikes her with a devastating left hook from its lower left jutting arm. Athena goes flying across the great hall into a pillar, breaking it, creating a cloud of marble dust.

A heartbeat later, the other heads on its amalgamated body unleash a single, guttural roar. A mechanical war cry that shakes the chamber, making even the columns shudder.

As the dust settles Athena stands tall, unshaken, eyes locked on the giant machine as it once again starts approaching.

From the crowd, Ares watches in silence. A single question echoes in his mind: (“What will you do now, Athena?”)

The Super Silver Centurion raised its halberd's hammer again and roars once more with its disorienting shockwave. Athena launched her Aegis shield, striking the jaw of the halberd with its edge dislodging its jaw from its head falling to the ground disabling it. Athena holds out her hand, catching the Aegis shield on its return.

“You caught me out with that once it won't happen again.” Athena announced. As her advisory lifted its front legs like a horse rearing before it charged.

The Goddess of War dashed toward it at godlike speed only to be met with that same speed as its body's front legs were still rearing. The machine passed the long spear to its left jutting arm using the weapon sweeping its blade's end a hairline distance from the ground across the surface. The sweeping pole met Athena; she blocked it with her shield with her right arm. The Super-Silver Centurion stomped down its front legs, so too did the halberd hammerhead, hammering down aimed for the Goddess's skull. She disengaged, ducking underneath the sweeping spear she'd blocked and jumped into a front somersault escaping the halberd's earth cracking strike.

Creating distance, she looks back and sees the automaton raise its long spear high above its head, spinning it effortlessly with its elongated, metallic arms, steadily inching closer and closer once more.

She watches for a moment, taking the initiative she attacked.

Leaping with her shield in front like a battering ram. The automaton responds by whipping the spear downward at the goddess like an axe to wood. Athena pivots and continues her charge only to be met by a thrusting halberd hammer, shield and hammer collide CLANG! Sparks fly on impact incinerating its plume.

Machine and god, stuck in a stalemate.

“Submit!” Zeus bellows.

“Never.” Athena replies. Jumping up into a front summersault, breaking free from the stalemate. Only to be met with a top right uppercut from the silver guardian. She managed to block its strike with her shield but that did not stop her from being hurled backwards across the Great Hall.

Midair, about to hit the ground she twists into a cartwheeling then to a backflip and lands, sliding backwards across the floor. Wasting no time, she launches the Aegis shield toward the Centurion’s main cluster of heads.

The automaton counters, spinning its spear in a defensive blur, deflecting the shield with a metallic clang. It rebounds cleanly, arcing back into Athena’s grasp.

“How are you holding up, Bubo?” she asks.

The owl chirps in response, resolute, fierce.

“Good,” Athena replies calmly. “Let’s take this overgrown cooking pot down.”

Part 6 Overwhelming Olympus

Bubo perched on Athena’s head, screeched out a divine hoot, accompanied by a gust of wind sweeping through the Great Hall, blowing every god’s hair and toga to billow like sails in a storm. Poseidon watches in silence. Hera steps beside him, pausing to glare at the battle. The Queen of Olympus spoke aloud. “Has that whore been put in her place yet?” sneering as she speaks.

Poseidon continues watching the battle and responds calmly. “Are you talking to me, dear sister? I never like to presume, especially when such colorful language is involved.”

Hera scoffs. She turns and looks at Poseidon. “I’m talking to you, brother. Stop pretending to be so dense, you are King of the Sea after all.”

Poseidon grins and turns to face his sister. “I see nothing gets past you sister, unless it’s Athena’s kick just now. Now that took you by surprise didn’t it?”

Hera’s jaw drops. She turns away sharply, breathes, and composes herself, then turns back to him. “One must say, I was not expecting that to happen just now. But as soon as this fracas is over and Athena is bound in chains, this matter will come to an end, and no one will speak of this day again.”

Poseidon replies calmly, “For your sake, sister, I hope so.”

The King of the Sea looks away, back to the fight. Hera looks down and murmurs to herself, “Me too,” before lifting her gaze back to the battle.

Meanwhile, Heracles stirs, groaning as he wakes from the fog of divine wine. Asclepius, who has been watching over him, calls out, “Dionysus! He’s coming around!”

Dionysus turns from where he stands and strides toward them. “Good. Let’s see him.”

The God of Wine kneels beside Heracles, who is still groggy and squinting. “Glad to see you finally waking up, Heracles.”

Heracles frowns, trying to focus. “What happened? Last I remember… I’d just finished my second glass of wine.”

Dionysus chuckles softly.

“What’s so funny?” Heracles asks.

Asclepius chimes in, “Probably the fact that you don’t remember vomiting in Apollo’s lyre case. But this isn’t the time to reminisce.”

Heracles scrunches his face, clearly distressed. “I didn’t do that, did I?”

Dionysus laughs. “Good one, Asclepius. His face just now was priceless.” Then in the background the sound of metal colliding echoes through the Great Hall, Dionysus' tone shifted suddenly becoming serious. “Now, Heracles, you need to sober up.” He hands the God of Courage a glass. “Here, have some nectar.”

Heracles’ took the glass of nectar from Dionysus.

“What’s going on?” Heracles asks. Still groggy from the wine.

“Drink,” Dionysus says firmly.

The God of Courage obeys, draining the nectar, and slowly begins to rejuvenate.

“Now listen, Heracles,” Asclepius says, “we’re in the Great Hall still but a battle is currently raging on.”

Heracles blinks. “A battle? Who’s fighting?”

“See for yourself,” Dionysus replies, gesturing toward the crowd.

Heracles pushes himself to his feet, still a bit unsteady, and his eyes widen as he sees Athena locked in combat with a towering automaton.

Asclepius continues, “From what I’ve seen, the Silver guardian's defenses are unyielding. Its 360-degree vision lets it anticipate her every move.”

Dionysus nods. “Even her shield throws are deflected by its spear. Every close strike is countered with perfect coordination between hammer and spear.”

“The spear forces her to react, disrupting her advances,” Asclepius adds, “while the hammer drives her back, not letting her get close.”

Dionysus responds. “Neither side is giving or gaining ground, for now.”

“But Athena can’t hold out forever,” Asclepius says quietly.

Dionysus nods grimly. “That hammer will end it.”

“Then why isn’t anyone stopping this?!” Heracles Questioned.

Asclepius answers calmly, “Because she’s defying Zeus, over that creature lying near Apollo, on the ground beside the damaged pillar. Zeus had him executed not so long ago.”

Heracles becomes incredulous. “Athena is defying Zeus… over a stone monster? Why?”

Dionysus exhales slowly. “Because of a prophecy. Long ago

His first wife Metis fell pregnant. So Zeus seeked an audience with the Fates, they foretold Zeus that if she was to bore a son he would usurp him, just as he overthrew his own father Kronos. So, in fear, he tricked her into turning into a fly and swallowed her whole.

Some time after Zeus had Athena sprout out from him when Hephaestus split his skull with an Axe. We'd all thought the prophecy was done, unforfilled, Zeus even tried to release Metis to come out after but she did not budge and now we know why. Still to this day we would never have known if not for my wine, only time will tell if it is a blessing or a curse that I have brought on to Olympus.”

Asclepius Speaks. “ Enough Dionysus we can worry about all that later on, right now it's the least of Olympus worries. “ “ Your right Asclepius.”

“Look out.” A voice shouts out in the crowd.

Athena comes hurtling backward through the air at Dionysus and Asclepius the pair react, catching her either side. They look at her as she spits out some ichor. eyes still locked on the Super-Silver Centurion she speaks. “ Thanks gentlemen, I will take it from here.” With that she jumped back into the fray.

Heracles clenches his fist, crushing the nectar glass in hand. “This madness must stop!”

Asclepius speaks once more. “No one here dares cross Zeus. His wrath burns even his own blood. None are safe from his judgment.”

Heracles stands at the crossroads of duty and honor, bound by blood to Zeus, his father and king, yet honor-bound to Athena, whose wisdom and guidance raised him to godhood.

Both paths lead to damnation, but with no option but to choose one.