Under a starry, moonlit sky, a festival thrives in a human settlement. Candles flicker in every corner. The village is decorated with vibrant flowers and woven ornaments. Children play and dance in the central plaza. Elders sit nearby, watching with warm contentment. Adults share food and dance traditional steps around a roaring bonfire, their laughter mixing with the music.
Prometheus moves among them, sharing a meal, ruffling a child's hair. For a moment, the simple joy almost feels real.
Then his eyes drift upward to the moon. It is red. A dull, bloody red.
He freezes. The laughter around him becomes a distant hum. 'Ominous.'
He steps away from the crowd, his movement slow and deliberate. He scans the treeline, the shadowy paths between homes. He finds nothing but peaceful night. Anxious energy burns through him. He walks to the edge of the village, to a serene lake that mirrors the crimson moon, and sits on its bank, staring at the wrong-colored sky.
"Tonight's moon is quite beautiful, isn't it?"
The voice is right beside his ear. Prometheus jolts to his feet. His sword materializes in his hand with a flash of gold. He takes a fighting stance, heart hammering against his ribs. A cold sweat traces his temple.
"Who's there?" he shouts, the command edged with fear. "Show yourself!"
Only silence answers.
"Isn't today's moon's colour quite similar to this punny creatures' blood." the chilling voice whispers again, now from his other side.
He spins and slashes at empty air. The motion leaves him off-balance, and what he sees next roots him to the spot.
The lake is no longer clear. It is a churning, muddy soup of blood and viscera. Floating on the surface, staring at the sky with clouded eyes and a slack smile, is the head of the little girl he had just played with in the village.
His sword hand begins to tremble violently.
A surge of rage burns through the fear. He channels his divine energy, making his blade blaze with golden light, and pivots to deliver a furious, cleaving strike behind him.
The strike stops dead. Oceanus stands there, catching the radiant blade between his thumb and forefinger as if plucking a troublesome thorn. He smiles, wide and empty.
Prometheus's blood runs cold. "…Oceanus."
"Prometheus," Oceanus replies, his tone polite, chilling. "A pleasure to meet you."
Prometheus summons another sword, and armor plates shimmer over his body. "Did you do this?" he snarls, gesturing to the lake.
"Yes."
"Why?" Prometheus's voice cracks. "What did they ever do to you?" He lunges, a golden arc aimed for the Titan's heart.
Oceanus doesn't move. He catches the new sword with two fingers of his other hand. With a slight, almost casual motion, he shoves the hilt backward. The impact smashes into Prometheus's armored stomach.
CRACK. HEUK!
The divine armor shatters. Shards of metal bury themselves in Prometheus's abdomen. The force lifts him off his feet and hurls him into a large rock. He slumps down, gasping, golden ichor spilling from his mouth, nose, and the new wounds in his gut.
Oceanus walks toward him, his steps silent on the grass. "These fragile creatures forget their place. They hunt the children of my rivers without thought. They poison my pure currents with their waste. They even dare to dream of defiance against their creators." He bends, his hand closing in Prometheus's hair and yanking him up to eye level. "And you... you protect this blight."
Prometheus grits his teeth, trying to pry the fingers loose. Oceanus's grip is immovable.
"I have a proposal for you," Oceanus says, his breath cold. "Be my slave."
"Go... to Tartarus," Prometheus spits. The saliva freezes in the air before it can touch Oceanus's face.
Oceanus's free hand moves in a blur. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.
The blows are not meant to kill, but to dismantle. They crack bone, split skin. Prometheus's face swells into a pulpy, unrecognizable mask, dripping gold. His vision swims.
Oceanus pulls him close again, whispering into his bleeding ear. "Let me offer again. Serve me. Or I will drown every last one of your precious humans. I will pull the seas over their mountains and leave not a single spark of their fire burning."
Prometheus's one good eye stares, defiant but drowning in despair. "The Celestial King... the other gods... they'll stop you."
Oceanus releases him. Prometheus crumples to the ground.
Hahahahaha!!!
Oceanus laughs. It is a deep, booming sound that makes the bloody lake ripple and the earth tremble. "What a delightful fantasy!" He wipes a mock tear. "The world sees a kind, retired king. If that king weeps and speaks of polluted seas and mortal arrogance, who will doubt him? Who will side with vermin over the Father of Rivers?" The laughter vanishes, replaced by absolute zero. "Choose. Now."
Prometheus's mind races, trapped. 'He is right. No one would believe me over him. If I agree, I survive, and maybe I can protect them and myself. If I refuse, he will make the lake of blood look like a puddle.'
As he hesitates, Oceanus turns and points toward the distant, glowing lights of the village. "Is that another settlement? I wonder what color their festival becomes when painted red from the sky down."
"No!" The word is a raw wound. Prometheus forces his broken body to kneel. "Stop. I will swear. I will be your servant. But you must vow—swear on the Primordial Deep itself—never to harm a human."
Oceanus looks down, his head tilted. "You have my word."
It is a trap. Prometheus knows it. But it is the only move left. He raises a trembling hand. His remaining divine energy doesn't flare—it bleeds from him, a sickly gold mist. "I swear upon my divinity... I am bound to your will." The energy coils in the air, not like a band, but like a living serpent of law, and constricts around his neck with a silent, final click he feels in his soul. The weight is the weight of his own compassion, turned into his chain.
"Good," Oceanus says. "Your first task, my new herald. Spread a prophecy. Say that the child Metis carries will overthrow Zeus and shatter his throne."
Prometheus's swollen eye widens. He understands the game now. He bows his head, the movement agony. "As you command... my master."
---
SHOOM! Shazam!
A pillar of lightning scorches the earth, leaving ozone and silence. When the light fades, Zeus stands with his arms crossed, studying the Earth Mother's temple.
It is a place of unsettling beauty. The path is a tunnel of living vines and soft petals. Moonlight filters through the leaves, dappling the ground. It feels like a sacred sanctuary.
Dryads and earth spirits bow at the entrance. He ignores them and strides inside.
The interior is rich and cold—floors of polished emerald, veins of gold. A dryad come forward and bow "Lord Zeus let me guide you."
Zeus nod in agreement then dryad guides him to a deep chamber with towering doors. They swing open the door.
Gaea's court is a garden brought indoors. Servants line the walls, still as statues. She sits upon a throne of root-woven gold and deep green jade. "Welcome Zeus to my temple."
Zeus approaches. "Greetings, Primordial Gaea."
She acknowledges him with the barest dip of her chin. Then she wave her hand, a single servant steps forward, holding an ornate case. The servant presents it to Zeus and then all the servants leave the hall leaving only two in the vast grand hall.
Zeus opens the case. Ten smooth orbs, each holding a miniature, swirling galaxy of azure light, rest inside. Sky Pearls. The essence of Uranus sky domain.
He closes the case and looks at Gaea, his eyes sharp. "My rise taught me one truth: no one gives anything freely. What is the price?"
A faint, approving smile touches her lips. "Perceptive. There was a prophecy, long hidden. It concerns your brother…Hades."
The name 'Hades' landed in the chamber like a dropped stone. Zeus's jaw tightened. The wound was there, but now it was a weapon to be grasped.
"He will become a nightmare for this world," Gaea continues, her voice a low rustle. "You felt a shadow of that truth during his... transformation."
Zeus's jaw tightens. "Did you summon me to salt an old wound?"
"No, instead to treat it," she corrects. "Hades is a rot in the foundation. He must be removed. And you are the only one who can do it."
"Why me? You can ask Poseidon. You have your own power."
"My actions are constrained. And he is shielded by Night and Darkness. But you... you are the King. You are perfect for this action."
Zeus state "He has his apocalypse form which even rival primordial. With this I can't even touch him."
Gaea answer to his problem "Currently his apocalypse form is sealed. When he is outside his realm, you can strike where he is vulnerable. Do it quietly. Less people know much better."
Zeus looks at the case, then back at her. The calculation is clear in his eyes. 'Power. Primordial backing. And justification to erase my greatest rival. A perfect alignment.'
"I accept," he says.
He opens the case. With a wave of his hand, the ten Sky Pearls rise. They shoot forward and embed themselves in his chest, sinking beneath his skin.
His eyes slam shut. Azure light, ancient and alien, erupts along his veins, fighting his own crackling blue lightning. His muscles swell, tendons standing out like cables. The marble floor beneath him cracks from the pressure. Uncontrolled bolts of energy arc from his body, scorching the air.
He throws his head back, and hid roar is not just of power, but of a painful, glorious conquest.
"AAAAAAGH!"
The storm subsides. Zeus looks at his hands. Power thrums in him, a deeper, older frequency beneath his own. 'just a step away from reaching high level god king.'
Gaea watches, her chin resting on her hand. As Zeus turns, smug triumph in his golden eyes, she sees it—a flicker, microscopic, of a colder, void-like blue within them. 'The seed of Uranus's consciousness, taking root. Soon, Uranus will take control of him.'
Zeus's voice is thicker, edged with new arrogance. "If our business is concluded, I take my leave."
She nods, a silent dismissal.
As the door closes behind him, a shadow detaches itself from a pillar. "So that is the celestial king of this era," a voice says, smooth and amused.
Gaea's gaze shifts. "Zagreus. Do you bring what I asked for?"
The shadow—a man-shaped form of shifting darkness and implied motion—steps forward. He tosses a small vial. Gaea catches it, examines the dark liquid within, and gives a curt nod. "Our agreement stands. You are free of the Chasm."
She snaps her fingers. A ring, forged of a strange, non-reflective black stone, appears in the air. Zagreus plucks it from nothingness.
"It will shield you from clairvoyance and omniscient like abilities," Gaea explains. "To those who seek you, you will be a ghost forever."
Zagreus slips it on, admiring it. "A generous gift for a simple task. But tell me, Great Mother—why unleash something like me? An evil god who only knows to bring chaos."
"Precisely," Gaea says, leaning back into her throne, a primordial spider in a web of jade. "That's what I need. Bring as much as chaos you can."
Zagreus's form ripples with what might be a laugh. 'She is playing a deeper game. A game that is dangerous.' He licks lips that seem to flicker in and out of existence. 'I do so love to shake things up.'
He melts back into the shadows, leaving Gaea alone in her silent, verdant hall.