Gods

A short story about Zeus going head to head with his worst enemy.

Zeus arrived in a white van.  As the rain smashed down onto the windscreen and pooled on the roof, he sat with his hands on the steering wheel, his white hair bedraggled and falling over his eyes, the once white beard, now grimy and unkempt.  His grip tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles were pale, and his mouth remained firm and in a narrow line, as he stared at the building ahead of him.

 

He opened the door and stepped out into the slashing rain, the grey howling winds tearing at his dark robes, revealing several bloodstains.  Grimacing, his hand went down to an invisible wound near his stomach.  An injury.  But he would not let that stop him.  He pulled a hood over his head and continued.

 

Trudging over the muddy field to the dark looming building ahead, Zeus slung a small bag over his shoulder, the glint of fiery thunderbolts clashing with the dying light.  The clouds were black and thick overhead suffocating any positive energy out of Zeus.  But still, he trudged on.  He stood at the steps to the central doorway and gazed up to the unlit building.  Each window dark, not revealing anything about what lay beyond.  There was silence all around except for the unholy noise of the rains energy colliding with everything.

 

Suddenly Zeus shouted.

 

“CRONOS!”

 

The echo of his deep voice ricochets around like silent bullets that burst into noise upon contact.

 

Zeus stared straight at the door, his grim face partially covered by his long wet hair.  He pulled back his hood and kicked the door open with one fierce boot.

 

He entered, noting the blood trail on the floor that went all the way upstairs.  He started to follow it, his heavy boots thudding ominously on the wooden floorboards, his wound making him slower and more leaden-footed.  

 

The blood trail came to an end at a closed door.

 

Zeus took his bag off and plucked a sword-sized thunderbolt from him " the only one left.  The rest buried in the hearts of the Titans.

 

“CRONOS! We end this now.”

 

He comes to rest at the closed door and listens for a moment.  His breathing is heavy, his white beard and hair blow out of his nostrils and mouth, the torrential rain suddenly seemed more distant as if it had become background, to make way for the foreground finale.

 

He opened the door, and there, lying on the ground, was the body of Poseidon.  Utterly still and stained in blood.  Standing over him, was Cronos, wielding an enormous trident, himself covered in injuries.  Blood trickled from his head and nose, his eyes bulging in manic anger as he turned to meet Zeus.  He struggles to stay on his feet but refuses to show weakness.

 

“Son”, he said sarcastically his lips gnarling the word out.

“Father,” said Zeus, spitting the reply back.

 

Cronos immediately leapt at Zeus and the trident clashes with the lightning bolt in the middle of the room, sparks flying, teeth gnashing as each of them put all their muscle and strength into it.  Zeus suddenly throws the thunderbolt with all his might towards the trident and smashed it into pieces.  Cronos hesitates for a moment and looks down at the parts, but this hesitation is his downfall.  Zeus summons all the strength he has left and jumps straight at Cronos, shoulder first.  The full brunt of the impact is right on Cronos’ jaw, and he crumples to the ground, his weary bloody body dazed.

 

Howling in anger, Zeus angrily picks up his lightning bolt and goes to drive in the killer blow.  But his deadly strike is blocked by the shining new prongs of a trident.  Zeus looks astonished, and as he follows the long shaft of the trident, he recognised the hand holding it - Poseidon.

 

“Don’t do it, Zeus,” said Poseidon, weakly.  “We are not him, remember.  We are not killers.”

 

Zeus stared down at the blood-spattered Poseidon on the ground, his anger slowly coming under his control.  He kneels and touches his forehead to Poseidon’s.

 

“You’re right brother.  Tartarus shall keep him.  Death is too good for him”.

 

Using his thunderbolt, he creates a robust and powerful coil of unbreakable light and ties it around the hands of the unconsciousness Cronos.  Then he and Poseidon slowly make their way outside with the prisoner.

 

The rain was still pouring down with hells fury, but Poseidon outstretches his hand with his trident, and the storm immediately stops.  The clouds disappear to reveal a clear starry night.

 

“Perhaps they will name some stars from this battle”, laughed Poseidon.

 

Zeus smiles, and as he starts the car and drives away, he gives one last look into the rear-view mirror of the disappearing house.  His final image is one word, etched onto wood, at the entrance to gardens.

 

‘Olympus’.

Author's Note

Part of the #bepositivewritenow project. First sentences given by instagrammers.