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Asterion bellowed as he forced himself out of the reformation chrysalis. Caustic fluid sprayed across the ground, acidic hissing and fumes filled the humid air. For mortals, the fluid would eat through their skin, flesh, and bone in moments. For Asterion, it left him completely dry, standing in a massive cave held aloft by carved pillars of obsidian. The volcanic glass glinted in the dim, fluttering light emanating from each of the chrysalises. Thousands of flickering, candle-like light sources shone an off-putting, almost lime-colored light.
Asterion stared around at the walls. He did not know this place, but it was filled with thousands, tens of thousands of reformation chrysalises. He saw feral cyclopes, both Hyperboreans and Southerners in various stages of reformation. Some were nearly fully formed, others still a swirling mass of particulates, and still more in the middle stages, as if someone had taken a statue of the creature and hammered it into pieces. Masses of flesh and bone trailed by fractured lines of smaller particles somewhere between sand, gravel, and gore, slowly swirling into a fully formed monster. The caustic fluid, the same that now flowed off of Asterion, would become their blood and serve as both protection and nutrients during their reformation.
Asterion saw Laestrygonians, Dracaena, Cynocephali, and dozens of other species. He saw Dragons, abyss below, he saw Drakons. Plural. Tens of the nigh unkillable creatures in the early stages of their reformation, as though they had been killed quite recently. Asterion's common sense protested. How? How had that many Drakons died without his knowledge?
A pack of Telkhines rushed through the darkened room off to Asterion’s right, clearly in a panic, as they scuttled for a massive arched doorway far down the hall to Asterion’s left. Their strange, half-dog, half-seal bodies shivered, heads whipping back and forth in a nervous dance as they moved past massive pillars. The obsidian structures were carved with reliefs of the dead and dying. Mortals and monsters formed into giant pillars of gore, frozen bodies stretching helplessly toward the dim green glow coming from the doorway. Asterion felt unease running through him as a trio of Empousa headed for the door from behind him, the she-demons not speaking, faces formed into a mask of terror as they headed for the exit.
Asterion did the only thing he could think of. He followed, joining a tide of monsters, demons, and spirits as they exited the pillared cavern into a massive hallway filled with white mist. More doorways dotted the halls, with the same style of piled, reaching and screaming bodies cast in obsidian, serving as both doorway and pillar. The multitude of both doorways and Monsters were lost in the foggy immensity of the place. The hallway was nearly fifty meters wide, the doorways the same width and about seventy-five meters in height.
Ten-meter-high braziers of caustic green flame lined the walls, burning- Were those Nymphs? Corpses of nature spirits were stuffed into braziers and left to burn. How was that even possible? They did not have bodies, so how? As he watched in morbid fascination, he realized that while the spirits’ bodies were burning, they were not being consumed. He turned away from the impossibility, terror creeping into his bones.
The tide of Monsters swept down the hallway to Asterion’s right, and he followed. Horror grew inside him as he saw a Drakon nervously- nervously- emerge from one of the rooms. Its glowing spotlight eyes darted back and forth for a moment before it joined the tide, moving like a whipped dog.
The floor of the hallway was made of some material Asterion had never seen. At first glance it looked like black marble, but then he noticed the flowing curves and imperfections of what he had assumed was stone begin to move. The natural swirling designs of the marble in slightly lighter shades of grey moving like smoke. Then he saw a face emerge from the smoke and snapped his head back up. Whatever this place was, he needed to flee at once. Swallowing hard, Asterion looked up to the ceiling and saw it was so high it faded into the slightly luminescent, white mist. The light cast by the swirling mass mixed with the flickering flames of the corpse-filled braziers to create a well-lit atmosphere that did nothing to ease the pounding of Asterion’s heart.
Up ahead, yawning out of the misty gloom Asterion noticed another doorway, this one at least twice the height and width of the cavern entrances. His mouth went dry as he realized the doorway was not only carved with piles of monsters and mortal bodies. The grotesque works had added Dragons, Giants, Cyclopes, and other massive creatures to their macabre display to make up for the huge increase in size.
Asterion passed through the doorway and gaped at the massive space before him. A grand hall the size of a city, held aloft by more, even larger pillars of bodies, massive lanterns filled with what he presumed to be more nymphs hung from the ceilings, black chains descending through the glowing mist above. Six other staircases, as wide as the hallways they emptied from, ringed the octagonal platform in the center of the hall. Two of the octagonal sides were longer than the others, the one to Asterion’s left and the one directly across from that, stretching the octagon one way. The rough stone walls were only decorated with eight openings spouting dark water into the open air; four for each of the longer walls, about four times as long as the others. Waterfalls of strange, almost oil-like water, dark and with notes of color, cascaded downward. Asterion looked over the side of the staircase to see the water disappear into the open air, or perhaps not air at all. A deep void yawned below him, only interrupted by the edge of the floor where the stairs leveled out. Looking toward the staircase to his left, beyond two of the waterfalls in the center of the longer wall, he saw that the foundations disappeared into the abyss, continuing until they were swallowed up by darkness.
Asterion had suspicions about where he was now, and they filled him with dread more profound than any he had ever felt. Monsters streamed down the steps from all staircases. He saw every form of monster he knew of, and dozens he did not. The realization shocked him. A being as ancient as him was seeing new monsters for the first time. A massive creature lumbered past him, a roughly humanoid golem made of stones held together by tree roots and soil clinging to the creature.
He could feel the golem’s presence, an Earthborn, but a variety he had never seen before. Perhaps it was Gaea’s creation, a new soldier to fight in her disastrous war against the demigods. Asterion supposed it was one of the last things Mother Earth ever made. But the strength of the golem’s presence, its scent, shocked Asterion. The thing was nearly as strong as him, a feat no Earthborn had ever approached. Looking around, Asterion continued down the long staircase toward the center platform and saw hundreds more of the stone golems. He watched a pack of Dragons take to the air and fly through the room, making for the exit, the only side of the room without a staircase, the largest of the grotesque pillars supporting the huge doorway, a narrow bridge the only way in or out of the chamber.
As he reached the floor of the chamber, Asterion's attention was finally torn away from the immensity of the chamber and brought to the details. Tables were filled with weapons, armor, and clothes: swords, axes, helmets, bows, arrows, shields, and boots. Black iron racks held still more instruments of death, halberds, spears, and more. The more humanoid monsters were grabbing gear and heading across the city-sized armory toward the narrow bridge on the other end of the hall. Looking behind him Asterion saw that the one empty staircase was no longer empty, a single figure had reached the tiles.
Asterion didn’t recognize him at first, a massive, human figure about seven or eight meters tall with armor made of swirling iron radiating a bone-chilling coldness radiating fear. In his right hand, he held a massive spear, which Asterion recognized as forged of Stygian Iron. He felt a moment of confusion cut through his terror. Who was this that could wield Stygian Iron and walked with Monsters? Then, the being’s glowing blue eyes came into view. Deep pools of swirling blue filled Asterion’s mind with visions of war, stars, and death. He knelt, as did many of the Monsters around him, those with enough intelligence to understand. Asterion felt the urge to bolt, to throw himself off of the platform and into the abyss below this place, but knew this being would never let him flee.
“Asterion,” the being said with a hint of recognition in his voice as if he had just remembered who Asterion was. Rise, son of Pasiphaë,” Asterion rose slowly, keeping his eyes down, and pounded a fist on his chest in salute.
“Ah, yes, I forget your tongue is unsuited to speech… You know who I am?”
Asterion nodded. The Titan before him was Pallas, son of Krios, Lord of the South, and Titan of the Stars and Constellations. Mothered by Eurybia, daughter of Pontos and Gaea, Titaness of the Shore. He was Pallas, Titan of Warcraft. Pallas, consort to Styx herself. Father of Zelus, Cratos, Nike, and Bia. A powerful Titan with ties to violent Domains, a being to be feared.
“Come, and walk with me, Son of Pasiphaë,” Pallas commanded, “We go to battle,”
Asterion followed to the left and behind the Titan as they passed through thousands of kneeling monsters, others streaming toward the exit to the horrible hall. A flurry of questions ran through his head.
As if reading his thoughts, Pallas said, “I assume you have questions. You have not reformed since The Herald killed you a few years ago, yes?” The Titan looked back to fix Asterion with his oppressive gaze. His very look seemed to push Asterion away. Forcing himself onward, Asterion nodded politely, and Pallas stroked his black beard, trimmed to fit his face. His skin looked like the night sky, dark with points of starlight-like freckles, faint lines, maybe tattoos, maybe simply his chosen form making images out of the clusters of stars. “Where to begin…” Pallas considered as they walked. “I suppose the where. We walk in the Heart of the Abyss, the core of The Pit.” He announced, and Asterion felt his heart begin to hammer faster.
“The why, however, is more pressing,” He paused, and for a moment, Asterion swore he saw fear cross the Titan’s face. First cowering Drakons and now unnerved Titans, Asterion didn’t like his chances in this life. Pallas continued, “The Children have come. They look to scatter the Abyss itself. And they are winning,” he said so plainly that Asterion stopped in his tracks, stunned into silence. Terror, true and undiluted terror, made his knees weak. If the Children were this close…The idea made Asterion start to hyperventilate. Not even the Gods could have gotten this far, not by lack of ability but by natural laws. The Children had no such restrictions.
Pallas turned and regarded Asterion. “Will you run, Pasiphaë’s son? Or will you fight to keep your cycle intact?” Asterion swallowed hard but took a trembling step forward, then another, then strode to a weapon rack and picked up a double-bladed great axe. He then returned to Pallas, who gave him an unnerving smile. “Good, son of Pasiphaë. I am glad you needed little convincing. I have no patience left.”
Asterion wondered what would have happened if he had refused Pallas’s indirect question, if he had refused to confront the Children. Oh, abyss below. Though he supposed that oath didn’t exactly make sense in the Heart of the Abyss. Pallas turned, and they continued forward. As they walked, Pallas held out his hand, and a helmet formed from the air. Stygian Iron, with two massive horns, perfectly suited to fit Asterion’s head, prosthetics for the horns he still hadn’t regained. “Take this, son of Pasiphaë. You will need it. And my consort’s metal will not harm you.”
Asterion took the helm gingerly and put it on his head, the metal recreations of his horns fitting perfectly over where their severed stumps lay atop his head. He knelt before Pallas and pounded his chest in appreciation. “Mmm-y Llo-rd,” He slurred out in as Ancient of a tongue as he could manage, a mark of respect. He did not often speak, but for this, he would.
Pallas gave a short laugh, “Do not thank me, Asterion, you will have need of it soon enough,” Pallas replied and turned, Asterion following. As they reached the small bridge, Asterion’s breath caught as he saw more Titans assembled, all outfitted for war.
Astraeus, the Titan of the Dusk, and Astrology, Pallas’s brother, wielded a massive greatsword. His skin formed like the rising dawn, pink near his feet and darker near his head, faint stars still shining on his face. He did not wear Stygian Iron like his brother but Adamantine armor over a white tunic. The metal shone, glowing white with subtle reflections of green.
Standing next to Astraeus was a leaner Titan, slightly shorter than the others and with the same dark skin as Pallas. His skin was closer to dark human skin, deep ebony, rather than the dark of a night sky. He held a bow, a quiver slung over his shoulder, and was armored in leather so dark it seemed to suck in the light, pulling in Astraeus’s light. Lelantos, the Titan of Air, Hunting, Unseen Movement, and Stalking Prey, Asterion recalled. He had learned much. With nearly three thousand years of life behind him, when one spent time in Tartarus, one needed to learn of one's betters.
Finally, there was Zelus, the God of Dedication, Jealousy, Envy, and Zeal. Asterion had to stop himself from frowning- or as near as he could to frowning with his bull's face. Zelus, though one of Pallas’s sons, had fought alongside the Gods in the First Titanomachy, along with his siblings, Cratos, Nike, and Bia. That being said Asterion wasn't sure what side- if any- the God had chosen during the Second Titanomachy. But that begged the question, why was he here, now? The God stood the tallest of the group and shone with harsh light, pale, ethereal skin radiating harsh white light. Nearly nine meters tall, with a longsword in his right hand, a medieval design, not even Greek, and in the other, he held a long whip giving off the same harsh light as his skin. His armor was Enchanted Gold, the gleaming plate also in a medieval style, and a pair of white wings stuck out of his back, snowy white and tucked back. He looked toward the massive exit of the hall with- aptly- zealous determination. Asterion recalled that the Christians had taken some of his symbolism into their mythos and wondered if his change had occurred because of that influence, much like the creation of Roman aspects. Perhaps he was more closely tied to the Abrahamic Pantheon than the Greco-Roman one now.
There were others, not Titans but powerful Monsters, some of whom Asterion hadn’t seen in centuries. Kampê stood, now armed with a spear. Asterion recalled that her scimitars had been taken as a spoil and likely wouldn’t return for a few more deaths. If we survive that long . A part of Asterion realized and his hammering heart beat even faster. There was the Nemean Lion pacing the floor. The Lydian Drakon had coiled around one of the grotesque pillars. The Carthaginian Serpent had slithered around the opposite pillar. A group of Greater Cyclopes- Hyperboreans, Asterion thought- twenty, thirty meters tall and armed with clubs, looked nervously at the exit where thousands of Monsters were streaming in an endless tide of death. There were Greater Manticores, and dozens of Lesser Gigantes, the children of Gaea and Tartarus, these created as banes for the Minor Gods.
Together, the host could have shaken the world and leveled cities in minutes. With the army streaming across the bridge, they could conquer the world of Mortals in days if not for the Gods. That being said, everyone looked apprehensive, nervous even, and Asterion understood why.
Pallas walked out in front of the host and raised his spear, signaling the group to follow. Asterion joined the group and saw some of his own kin take up behind him. The Lesser Minotaurs gave him nods of respect but followed apprehensively. Asterion understood his descendants' fear. Unlike them, however, Asterion was old enough and powerful enough to understand the consequences of what was happening. Asterion had not contemplated mortality for a long time, but now it itched at him. How long had it been since he had spent time with his descendants? They were some of the few beings whom he could actually speak with, using the rudimentary language Asterion had been forced to cobble together over the millennium that had taken on a life of its own. Now death, a final death, was actually a possibility, and he found himself regretting his actions. Odd.
Pounding across the bridge Asterion put those sorts of thoughts out of his mind, he rolled his shoulders and pumped his arms, shaking out his hooves as he moved. A quick shake of his head, and he snorted. He likely would not survive this battle, but in the Heart of the Abyss, he would return quickly and fight again. The cycle of rebirth that typically took a lifetime compressed to days at most, perhaps even hours, but he would fight; there was too much on the line for any sort of weakness, any cowardice.
As he neared the doorway and got his first look outside, Asterion’s heart nearly stopped. The ground was made of shards like broken glass, colored in a mixture of red-brown trending towards a warm black, a gloom hung in the atmosphere, and the sulphuric air made it hard to breathe. All of this he had expected; he was in Tartarus and the deepest part of the Pit at that. What he didn’t expect was the focal point of the scene before him. The Monsters all converged toward a rise nearly a mile away. A small hill populated by a few figures Asterion could sense from here. Not the wide presence of Titans or Gods, nor the biting sensation of other Monsters, not even the oppressive, suffocating feeling of being invaded and probed by some all consuming weight that others of Asterion's kind had described of the Protogenoi. No this presence, this power was so familiar, yet so foreign it stunned Asterion to a stop. The figures radiated youth, power, and adaptive strength. They felt like Demigods, yet with something more. The figures felt even larger than the Titans ahead of him, even more powerful, like a wave of force washing over him that made Pallas’s gaze seem tame.
Asterion took a trembling step forward, then another. If they failed in this, if they failed to protect the Heart of the Abyss, they would all die. True death, obliteration, consumed in the depths of Chaos. Asterion had no doubt about the stakes, so he ran. He would throw himself at the Children until he died, then he would reform, then he would fight again, and again, and again, until The Children won or the endless tide finally overcame them. He let out a bellow and lowered his shoulder, beginning to charge, crossing the shard-covered earth as fast as he could, the ground leaving cuts on his legs, scratching his hooves.
Suddenly, he saw Zelus rise up in the air, his arms outstretched as if he were being held by a cross, body begining to twist and bend in ways that, while possible for an Immortal, would have snapped the bones and torn the flesh of any Mortal afflicted by the contortions. His arms rotated in their sockets, his armor crumpling as if under a giant hand. Metal tore and bones snapped, cutting their way out of his flesh. A figure flew through the air toward him. A human who grabbed the God- ex-God perhaps- by the throat, electricity arcing across his body and streaming outward, vaporizing monsters or leaving charred corpses to smoke for a moment before disintegrating. Zelus let out an anguished scream, a ragged and horrible sound drawn out from deep in his chest.
A beam of searing sunlight suddenly shot from the top of the hill. A perfect ray so bright it left spots on Asterion’s vision. The beam hit Zelus in the face and passed through it, sending sparks flying and causing smoke to blossom from the attack. Zelus's cries were cut short and the god’s corpse dropped a moment later, Zelus’s head landing a few meters to Asterion’s left as he continued his charge, the weight of the massive corpse shaking the earth. The god’s remains had a smoking hole that had consumed all of his features from his eyebrows to his chin, smoke curling up from the charred wound, golden blood leaking through his ruined armor. The hollow head seemed to stare at Asterion as the God’s sword fell in front of him, crushing a dozen monsters. Asterion hesitated for an instant. Was Zelus dead? Truly dead? Had his Shells already been exhausted? Was he keeping more in reserve, or had Asterion just witnessed a Scattering?
Asterion pushed onward, ignoring the panic that continued to grow in his head. He mounted the rise and charged forward, his mind comprehending twelve figures fighting the army. Only twelve? But that was enough. Pallas battled a massive dragon, golden ichor leaking from a half-dozen gaping wounds, his armor torn to shreds. The dragon lunged, body curling around Pallas as he tried to use his spear to fend it off, but the Chinese Dragon, a flying serpent, had already pinned the Titan's arms to his sides, golden blood leaking onto the beast's black scales with faint red tips. Blood-red flames flickered in its mouth as it reared up, coiling tight, cutting, breaking, and plunged downward from above, flaming mouth closing on Pallas's head. Faint screams sounded from it's clenched maw as flames licked at the edges of its teeth, any blood boiled away in an instant.
Astraeus was writhing on the ground, clutching his head as a woman shouted at him, ichor leaking from his eyes, mouth, nose, and ears, body twitching and spasming. Another stood next to her, waving her hands and muttering as the vile earth of Tartarus rose to consume Monsters in their dozens, hundreds even, forming into sharp constructs, walls of spikes that crushed the oncoming her enemies in their hundreds, mountains formed of quickly rotting flesh as the dead Monsters dissipated, returning to those vile chambers Asterion had left mere minutes ago to reform once again, leaving only occasional weapons, bones, or yellow-green blood behind.
Lelantos lay dead as well, a spear being pulled out his chest, crackling with lightning before a bolt sprung out and splintered out through another horde of monsters, vaporizing some, charring others, leaving only corpses. The potent energy leaving spots in Asterion's vision, the crack of thunder a constant music to accompany this symphony of destruction.
A wave of water crashed into a group of monsters and seemed to claw its way inside them, tendrils of water forcing themselves down the creatures' throats, nostrils, and even through their eyes, forcing orifices open and shattering them with water pressure. Thunder once more, so close it almost deafened Asterion. As he stumbled, he looked back and saw one of the Drakons flying backward, thrown by something. Asterion realized that it hadn’t been thunder but the blast of artillery. Looking up as he resumed his charge, he saw a massive metal humanoid with batteries of cannons on its shoulders, the shell of a massive bullet falling to the earth as the metal creature turned, fire flickering in the small spaces between its exoskeleton.
A woman with a sword fought alongside another with a spear, the force of their blows throwing groups of monsters back with sheer force alone. With a quick cut, the one with the sword sheared through the legs of one of the massive earthborn Asterion had seen in the Heart. The one with the spear then punched the fallen creature with a crack that rivaled even the artillery, the legless golem flying back into the monsters behind, the sheer size crushing hundreds as the massive boulder rolled through them. Wind rushed through the area, and Asterion felt it cut at his body, yellow-green blood thrown into the air by the slicing wind formed into invisible cutting shards. A man waved his hand at a group of monsters to Asterion’s right, and they froze. Then, their bodies contorted as their bones pulled out of their flesh, torn apart from the inside. The bloody skeletons immediately turned and launched themselves at the monsters behind.
Asterion noticed the blood from the newly made skeletons rising, all around him the lifeblood spilled in the slaughter was floating, pulling toward the center of the group in a swirl of yellow-green and gold, but no red. In the center of the group, seated on a rock sat a woman in meditation, her eyes white and milky, her posture relaxed. Behind her, pacing, stood a man with a hand up to the sky. If one could say, Tartarus had a sky, the blood of Asterion’s allies pooling into a massive orb. Then the orb split, thousands of spikes forming from the mass of blood and shooting outward.
Asterion didn’t even comprehend the spike's existence before it took him in the heart. He keeled over, falling onto the unforgiving ground of Tartarus, his flesh shredded by the fall, hopefully speeding his demise. He looked across the hilltop at The Children. He looked at the one who had used their blood against them and watched as water appeared out of nowhere and shot out at his gesture, waves swamping monsters, worming their way into their bodies to drown them, ice constructs telekinetically moved in a flurry of chaotic motion, cold weapons cutting down what the waves did not. And just for good measure rainclouds formed, a hurricane swirling around the hilltop, the entire Monstrous army lost in the downpour of raindrops morphed into millions of needles, alive with electricity, the ground shaking, splitting apart as water welled up from the cursed rock that was Tartarus's flesh.
Asterion knew this one. He looked older, but his face was the same. Years ago, when he had screamed at Asterion in the rain after his prey had been stolen, the same sea-green eyes had seemed to glow as the child had charged him in the rain. The child had walked away broken, but he had killed Asterion without an ounce of training. That had stung, it had hurt, and the derision other Monsters had given him for his loss had hurt his pride. Then, the Second Titanomachy began, and they all began to understand. Thousands, tens of thousands, died at his hands alone. The child of the prophecy, The Herald. His kind had grudgingly respected him then. At least he had been able to harm The Omen. During the Battle of Manhattan, Asterion, in his pride, thought he could have revenge. The boy- no, he had been a man then, in spirit at least. The boy’s laughter and the slaughter still haunted Asterion as he had fallen again. Then, he had tried a final time, crossing Ancient Boundaries to seek revenge. There, he had lost his second horn against the man and had been reforming since.
Asterion, The Minotaur, the first of his kind, son of Pasiphaë, Champion of the Titans, and scourge of the Labyrinth, watched as Perseus Jackson tore apart thousands, marching ever closer to the Abyssal Heart- ever closer to the death of another Protogenoi and the beginning of all Final Deaths.
Perseus Jackson. The Destroyer, The Avenger, Son of Poseidon, Hero of Olympus, Master of all that Flows, Prince of Atlantis, Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Lord of Horses, former Praetor of the Twelfth Legion, Inheritor of Destruction, Inheritor of Strength, Severer of Fate, Titansbane, Giantsbane…
Godkiller.
Asterion’s vision faded to black as he watched the most powerful Demigods in history fight forward toward the Heart of the Abyss.
They had already killed dozens of Immortals, and scattered some of the most powerful beings who ever lived.
What was one more Protogenos to the Children of Myth?