War of the Fallen Gods

    We ask that our gods be immortal, yet our faith is not. Throughout the course of our short history countless religions have fallen, and their gods have had to leave our mortal plane. They gather upon a dimension near our own, where they live out eternity. Each in their own realm and as they were in the prime of their rule. It is a place of great majesty, beauty, and peace. At least it was, until the day the dark army appeared.
     They first appeared on the fringe where the minor, little known gods lived. Just a small group that went unnoticed. After all, new deities were common, and the old kept to themselves. Then the unheard of happened: they began to grow. Although it was slow at first the others noticed. As the years passed they noticed the rate of their growth increased.
      When they attacked the nearest gods, word spread quickly throughout the realms, almost as fast as news of their victory and of the gods’ obliteration. The army continued to grow and they continued to march. They appeared to be completely covered in armor. It was the color of the inside of a raven’s wing and seemed made entirely of flat planes and sharp angles. Though their armor appeared quite heavy, they moved as if it weighed nothing. They marched without resting, and never seemed to eat. All they did was march, fight, and kill.
      Most gods chose to fight them, and fell. Others ran to the realms of the more powerful gods and sought refuge, and so it continued. After some time they began marching into the realms of the more powerful gods, and continued their conquest, and the obliteration of their enemies.
      Two figures stood upon a snow covered mountain crest. Black armored soldiers swarmed around them like ocean waves trying to concur the peak. One of the figures who stood against the rising tide was a giant warrior with mussels that would have looked more at home on a bull. In his hand he held a war hammer that seem small compared to his grasp. The other kept changing shape, one moment he was a giant,  the next a beast of the forest, then something seen only in nightmares, and so on.
      The closest soldiers were trying to grab or strike the two warriors, while the others seemed to throw small balls of energy at them. The one with the hammer focused his attention on the ones physically fighting him. Easily striking them down with his free hand, but they always stood back up. Meanwhile he slowly waved his hammer back and forth. The balls of energy seemed drawn to it, they would turn in their path and be absorbed into its head only then to shoot back out at those who had first thrown them. They did not rise again. None past the hammer to hit the warrior.
     The other fighter had no protection. Even though his constantly changing size made it difficult for the soldiers to aim severally hit their target. Large wounds would appear only to heal over when his form changed, but it was obvious he was losing strength. Soon the changes grew slower. This did not help those who chose to fight him though. No matter what form he took it was always powerful enough to knock or throw them back into their ranks.
      He again took the shape of a large bear and with one sweep of his arm sent two flying. Despite his animal head he had no problem saying, “It appears all the others have fallen dear brother.”
“Then we shall avenge them!” The other shouted as he punched a soldier hard enough to knock him into the two standing behind him.
      “You don’t truly believe we can beat them all?” The now giant wolf asked.
       “Maybe not,” his brother replied as he struck down another. “But we will take enough to make sorry.”
      The wolf became a frost giant, “You know what amazes me more than anything about this?”
     “That despite the fact that we fight for our lives you still won’t stop talking.” His brother growled as he knocked another attacker back.
      “No.” He shot back with his elbow and hit his brother at the base of the skull. “That after all these years, you’d still trust me to guard your back.” As he spoke he changed into his true form of an ordinary looking man with a broad smile.
The warrior fell to his hands and knees, over a dozen of the balls of energy pelted his body. He screamed and collapsed nearly unrecognizable due to the injuries.
The army stopped their advancing and their firing. The other fighter laughed then screamed, “I did it! I am the last! Finally I shall rule!”
      “No.” Said the flat voice of one of the soldiers as he walked up an isle the others had made for him.
      “But we had a deal.” The warrior protested. “I gave them to you. You said I would rule here in your name.”
      “I never said for how long.” The leader of the black army replied. He and all the soldier that made up the front line of the army raised their right hands.
      The warrior dropped to his knees and cried, “No!” then he joined his brother.
      The army did not stop to look at their latest conquest. They just marched on towards their next target, New Olympus.
      Hermes flew down the tunnel that led to Hephaestus’s forge. His winged sandals and helm allowed his trim form to move faster than most men could see. He had been this way many times before and so knew that even though his feet never touched the floor he wasn’t safe. He dodged past statues and what appeared to be piles of smaller objects, always being careful not to set off any of their triggers. The air continued to get hotter the deeper he traveled into the mountain’s heart. By the time he entered the forge itself it was too hot for comfort, even for a god, or at least for most.
     Hephaestus stood over a pool of the molten blood of the earth heating a misshapen lump of metal. Throughout the immense cavern men and women of various metals were busy helping their creator. One looked at Hermes and cocked its head to one side. The messenger of the gods just nodded. The metal man turned to Hephaestus and said something that seemed lost to the sounds of work. But the blacksmith must have heard for he handed him the tongs and walked over to his visitor.
     “I’ve finished everything except my hammer,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag from his belt. He had the bulk of one who had done manual labor for a life time, or in his case several.
      “Good. They’ll be here shortly,” was all Hermes could think to say. Hephaestus may have been the only one of them to be physically imperfect and thus thought of as lesser than the rest of the gods of Olympus, but not in his forge. The scars upon his face seemed signs of weakness anywhere else, but there they seemed part of his strength. When you stood before him there he seemed to have more power than any force of man, nature, or god.
     Hephaestus walked over to a workbench, his limp very apparent. He felt no need to try and hide it in his home. He picked up a large, strange-looking quiver and handed it to Hermes. “Here are the rest of the special bolts for father. Remind him to strike in the heart of a large group.” He turned back to the bench and picked up a sheathed sword. “This is for Aries.”
     Hermes took it and asked, “Are you sure it will work?”
    “I don’t care what their armor’s made from. This will cut it.” It was said as a statement of fact.     

     “You’d best go. They’ll need those before the enemy gets here.”
Hermes just stood there shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his innocent looking face making him appear childlike. Hephaestus looked at him and asked, “Was there something else? Was there a problem with the bows I made Apollo and Artemis?”
     “No, they’re fine. Artemis did everything, including bite hers, testing it out. It’s just, well, I just realized this could be the last time I ever see you.” Hermes had always been known as a trickster, and he had started many a joke about Hephaestus. But the thought that Hephaestus might die, that this time tomorrow he might not be here in his forge where he had almost always been day or night. . . Hermes just didn’t know how to act or what to say. They had never been close, but they had always been family.
     “Don’t be foolish. We’ll both be fine,” the blacksmith said as he turned and walked back over to the lava.
      “They’ve killed others, and you’re facing who knows how many on your own.” He followed after his brother but could not get as close to the pit. “You could be killed.”
      “If we are to defeat them we need to cut off their retreat, Poseidon can’t do that alone.” He turned to face Hermes and smiled, “Besides no one has ever forced me to leave my forge. New Olympus is your home, this is mine and they will not have it.”
Hermes sighed, smiled and laughed. “What was I thinking? They don’t stand a chance.”
    “That’s right. Now get going.” Hephaestus turned back to the pool and Hermes turned to leave.    

     Then he heard his brother say, “Tell Aries to guard Aphrodite with his life.”
He didn’t even turn around. “I will, and he will.” And with that he took off down the long twisting hallway.
      Hephaestus took the tongs back from his assistant and carried the lump of metal over to his anvil. He held it in place and began striking it with a large hammer. The metal turned and twisted in strange ways. He knew this was because of the things he had added to it. The blood of his brother Aries, even thought it was just a few drops, fought against being tamed in any way. And the part of one of his father’s thunderbolts kept trying to leap into the tongs. Only his own blood that had been mixed in, and its mastery over the metal, held them within the small prison. Soon it began to take the shape of the head of a hammer, not of the slim war type the Norsemen used, but the large squared head of the sort he was using to shape it.
      One of his metal servants approached him. “The army is within site. As predicted, a small group has left the main body and is coming in this direction. It should not take them long to reach the entrance.” This was said in the emotionless tone in which they all spoke.
     “Good,” his master replied without looking up or pausing in his work. “You and the others leave through the hidden tunnel.”
     “Leave?” though it understood the word, its definition was confusing when used this way.
      Hephaestus stopped his work and looked at the metal man’s face. “Yes, you and the others are to leave. Climb to the top of the hill about five hundred paces south and wait for me to come and retrieve you.” He knew that they had no feelings, and would suffer no pain if struck down. He knew he could easily build replacements for all of them. If they were still on earth he would not have sent them off, but let them be destroyed. But here where there were no humans to worship him, to ask him for advice or inspiration, he had come to need his servants for more than just their physical help with his work. Maybe the other gods were right and the time he had spent living nearly among humans after having been thrown from the mountain had affected him. He had always denied it after his returned but maybe they were right. For whatever reason, he was not willing to sacrifice his loyal servants, and wanted them safe.
     “Our place is in the forge. We only leave to carry things to the others. Are they upon the hill? Are we to take them some of your work?” He stood there with his head tilted to one side, trying desperately to understand these new orders.
     “No, there is no one there, and you are to take nothing,” Hephaestus snapped.
     “Then why are we to go?”
     “Because I said,” he growled. “Do you need any other reason?”
     “No. We will go to the hill five hundred paces to the south and wait,” the metal man answered, and went to collect the others.
      Hephaestus looked down at the metal. It had cooled and would need reheating. The argument had cost time he and the others might not have. He quickly took it up with the tongs and carried it back over to the pool. He turned it slowly heating it evenly as the last of his servants left.
     Just over thirty soldiers approached the main entrance to the mountain marching in perfect formation. They knew the one who appeared injured was inside. His death would convince the others there was no use in fighting; they should surrender and die quickly. It would be the only logical choice. Just before entering the cave the leaders foot stepped on a stone that sank slightly into the ground. A huge stone slab that had appeared to be part of the mountainside above the cave slide down and blocked their way.
     They stood there a moment, and then the leader said, “How very crude.” He and the six men of the front line raised their right hands so their palms faced the stone. Seven round pulses of energy shot forth and reduced it to rubble. The soldiers entered.
     There was a slight tremble through the forge as Hephaestus carried the metal back over to the anvil. “Come right in. I’ll gladly show you the way out.”
     Due to the narrowness of the corridor and the various items lining its sides, the soldiers marched in lines of three. As they passed a statue of a Minotaur holding an ax, the blade suddenly swung out and struck the chest of the soldier to the leaders left, throwing him back. He collided with the one behind him, causing him to fall back, and so on until nearly the entire column lay on the ground. The leader and the two others closest to the statue raised their hands again and reduced it to a pool of molten slag.
      The fallen soldiers stood up and returned to formation. The leader looked at the chest of the one next to him. The soldier looked down and ran his fingers along the shallow gash that was there. A dark fluid the same color as the armor was seeping from it and coated his fingertips. He looked back at the leader. “It cut me?”
      “We will have to show greater caution. They are stronger than we thought.” With that they both turned to face down the corridor again and continued to march.
      Hephaestus turned the metal onto its side and started striking it again. It was nearly finished, but he knew he was running out of time. He didn’t think the traps would stop them, but figured they should give them a few surprises. Very few gods bothered to trap their home and most of those that did built them against mortals. Hephaestus liked his privacy. His traps were designed to stop any unexpected guest, man or god. God killers were something he just hadn’t planned for.
     The soldiers encountered other traps as they continued. More of them were injured. Even the leader bore a cut across his right forearm. They had taken to blasting anything they saw in the corridor ahead of them, but unfortunately it turned back and forth repeatedly, and sometimes a soldier would have to be sent ahead to look around the corner.
      The soldier to the leaders right stepped on a section of floor that looked no different from any other. It dropped away and as his foot entered the hole what appeared to be a golden shackle clamped around his ankle. He tried to merely step out of it but the shackle didn’t break. He grabbed his thigh with both hands and pulled. A spike in the ceiling broke through the paper thin stone that had been hiding it and shot down with such speed not even the inhuman eyes of the soldiers saw.    To them it was as if the thick metal shaft had just appeared. The only signs of what truly happened were the cracks in the floor where it was imbedded, the now visible hole in the ceiling, and the fact it had skewered their fellow soldier from shoulder to thigh. Then two blades came out of the shaft and arched downward on hidden hinges. The two halves of the soldier’s body slid to the ground.
     The leader looked down at the body. “He’s gone,” was all he said.
     The one who had been to his left said, “That trap could hold a god.”
     “Yes,” the leader replied, and began marching again. “We will have to gain the craftsman’s knowledge before we destroy him.”
      Hephaestus used the tongs to dunk the metal into the bucket of water. Steam hissed and vainly tried to burn his skin. When he removed the metal he took it in his hands, he could feel the power beating like a heart within it. He slowly turned it and inspected every side and angel. Once satisfied that there were no flaws, he went over to his bench and found the handle he had made. Holding the head in one hand was a slight strain even for his strength. He quickly grabbed the short handle with the other. As soon as he touch the leather that wrapped its base, his entire arm was filled with a soft, loving warmth. The leather was stitched with strands of Aphrodite's hair. He had only ever used a hammer to create things; the hairs were there to remind him why he now had to fight. He fitted the handle through the hole in the center of the head. He then took a small metal wedge and pounded it through the top to hold them firm. He then went over to the pool of lava and holding the hammer over it concentrated on the liquid stone. A slim tower of lava rose up and kissed where the wedge touched the top of the hammer, he slowly turned it until it had melded the two the entire way round.
      The soldiers stopped before reaching a corner. The leader turned to the one that had taken the place at his right side. “Go and check.”
      He nodded and walked up to the corner. He turned and walked out of view. The rest heard a thud and a grunt. He then walked back around the corner and up to the leader with a large blade sticking out of his chest. “The trap has been disarmed.” He reached up with his right hand, grabbed the blade and pulled it out. He then took his place back in formation.
     The soldier to the left looked at the leader. “We have suffered many severe injures and two losses without having yet reached our target.”
     “I am aware,” The leader growled.
     “We obviously underestimated the abilities and dangers of this target.”
     The leader spun and faced him, “We underestimated the dangers of this gauntlet.” He was not use to emotions. He had possessed none on earth, but they seemed to grow with each year he was on this plane. “We are almost at the heart. Despite his unforeseen abilities he is still merely one, we are many. We will capture him, learn his secrets, and join the commander.”
     The soldier nodded once, “I understand.” They continued to march.
     Hephaestus swung the hammer a couple of times, testing its weight and balance. When he stopped, he gripped the handle tightly in his right hand, his left a fist at his side. They were near; he needed to be ready. They had faced others with his power and had survived. This could be no normal rage. He closed his eyes and searched his mind for an image. The fact the others might die if he failed meant nothing. He had no use for most of them. This army thought like so many of them, that his scars and limp made him weak, that thought brought anger.
      They thought they could just walk into his forge, his home, and kill him! He was Hephaestus, once worshiped by every blacksmith and craftsmen in one of the greatest civilizations of its age. The pool of lava in front of him began to churn. Then a face came into focus in his mind, Aphrodite, the only one of the other he cared about. She was his wife by Zeus’s decree, not by her choice. He had always understood this and had always known of her affair with his brother Aries. But despite all that he had always loved her. They were going to kill her. They held no respect for her grace, her beauty. If he didn’t stop them they would go after her, and they would kill her. Pillars of lava started leaping from the pool. They seemed to form misshapen hands before falling back into the pool and rising again. He felt the blood pounding in his veins. He felt the earth’s blood match his own.
He was lost in these thoughts until he felt the soldiers enter his forge. He turned to face them. The leader said, “Greetings, craftsman. We have some questions for you.”
      Hermes flew towards the hills at the base of New Olympus. The mountain stood just as grand and beautiful as the first, its top most peak constantly obscured by clouds. Unlike the original a chain of mountain ran from either side. They and their foothills formed two large crescents that, when viewed from the mountain, looked almost like two arms embracing the basin. Hephaestus’ forge lay near the far end of the western arm so Hermes was able to fly a straight line across flat basin. Before he had traveled half the distance he could see the other gods gathering on the hills. He looked back and saw the main body of the dark army marching through the space at the arms ends. He also saw the small group that had broken off and were heading towards the mountain from which he had just come. He turned to look ahead and flew faster.
     He landed next to Zeus who was speaking to Poseidon the rest of the gods were scattered across the neighboring hills. Even Hera had left to give the brothers privacy. “Just like old times,”     Zeus shook Poseidon’s hand and laid his other hand on his shoulder. “Take care brother.”
    “Don’t worry about me, worry about that crippled son of yours doing his part.” The ocean god answered flatly. Just looking at them you could tell they were brothers. Same broad shoulders and muscular yet not bulky build. Same white hair and beard though Poseidon wore both quite longer. And same grey eyes that looked as if they had seen the birth of entire worlds and their deaths.
      “Hephaestus is ready for them.” Hermes chimed in. “They only sent a handful after him. They must not know what their up against.”
      Zeus turned to him and smiled, “Of course they don’t. If they did they never would have come.”
Poseidon sighed and shook his head, “Well I’d best get into place.” He took a couple of steps, and turned back with a smile on his face. “See you at the feast afterwards brother.” He turned again and struck his trident against the ground. A small stream bubbled up and began flowing down the backside of the hill. He stepped into it, and even though it wasn’t deep enough to cover his feet, he was carried out of sight.
     Hermes shook his head, “I’m the one who normally makes the jokes, yet everyone else is smiling.”
     Zeus just continued to smile and pointed at the quiver slung around Hermes shoulders. “Is that for me?”
     It took Hermes a second to catch up with the subject change before he took it off and said,   “Yeah, they’re the rest of the special bolts.” He held the quiver out to Zeus, “He said to remind you to throw them...”
      “At the heart of a large group. I know,” He took the quiver. “He’s told me nearly a dozen times. Does he think I can’t follow such a simple direction?”
      Hermes stifled a laugh, shrugged his shoulders and said, “I just deliver the messages.”
      Zeus carefully removed the strange cap made of leather and metal. A bright light shown through the open mouth. Zeus looked through the light into the quiver without so much as squinting. “That boy may have his flaws, but he does amazing work.” He laid the quiver next to an identical one laying on the ground and turned back to Hermes. “Is that toy for Aries?”
      “Yes,” he answered holding up the sheathed sword. “Don’t know what he made it with but I’ll be glad to get rid of it. It feels weird, almost alive.”
      “Well you’d best get moving. And check on Apollo and Artemis while you’re at it. Make sure they’re ready and not just squabbling.” He turned and looked out over the basin. It appeared to be being flooded from some dark sea. “They’ll be here soon.”
       “On my way,” Hermes replied and took off.
Zeus continued to look out over the basin. “They’ll be here soon,” he repeated to no one particular. Hera happened to have chosen that moment to join him. Although she possessed the same flawless beauty as the other goddess one look at her face and you knew she was a mother. Her face had the glow all mothers have and her eyes possessed the love and worry of watching ones children grow.
“If I didn’t know better I’d say you sound worried.” She took his hand, leaned against him and joined him in watching the army.
Hermes heard Aires before he saw him. “You should not take part in the battle.” This was said the same way as one would say, the sky is blue. Hermes thought back to Hephaestus saying the sword would work. No, he thought with a smile, you couldn’t tell they were related.
Then he heard the voice of Aphrodite, “Yes I should! I have influenced battles before. I can help.” Her voice always sound sweet. When she and Aires argued it sounded like songbirds yelling at a thunderstorm.
“These aren’t some puny mortals you can enslave with a smile,” Aires growled as Hermes landed next to them. “These are gods. Cold hearted, single minded, immortal killing gods! What in the name of Tartarus makes you think you can control them?”
She smiled at him and said, “I never had a problem with you.”
Before he could respond Hermes spoke, “Hephaestus finished his present for you, Aires.” He held out the sword.
The god of war glared at him, then his gaze fell upon the sword. His expression changed to that of someone admiring a fine work of art. He gently took it from Hermes. He held it as if it were made from the finest crystal. As his fingers gently caressed the sheath and hilt he realized why his brother had taken some of his blood. The sword responded to his touch, the power within it acted almost like a loyal pet who had found a lost master. He drew the blade from it’s sheath. The power flooded into him. No, not a pet, it was part of him. An extension of his body, his will, his hunger. He waved the blade slowly back and forth in front of his eyes. It seemed to almost glow.
Aphrodite quietly slipped in beside him and whispered, “So do I have your permission to take part in the battle?”
Aires eyes never left the sword, “Yeah, whatever you want.” he answered barely acknowledging her existence.
“Thanks,” she chimed and kissed his check. Then she quickly ran down the hill.
“Uh, Aires?” Hermes asked as if testing if his brother could hear him.
“Yeah.” he was still waving the sword and following it with his eyes.
“There was a message with the sword.” This should snap him out of it, he thought, “If Aphrodite get’s hurt, your body better be laying next to her.”
“What!” her growled, his head snapping around to glare at Hermes.
“Hey,” he held up his hands and took a step back, “I’m just the messenger.”
“He would dare challenge me? He would think to tell me how to fight an enemy? He thinks he can threaten me?” His voice rose with each question. The veins in his neck bulged and pulsed. By the time he finished it looked as if every muscle in his body was tight and strained.
“I could be wrong,” Hermes replied in a calm level tone, “but I think it was just his way of asking you to take care of her since he can’t be here.”
Some of the fire left Aires’ eyes, “Of course I’ll protect her. That’s why I’m forbidding her from fighting.”
“Uh, you just gave her your permission.” Hermes pointed out.
“What!” He quickly looked around, saw that she had left, and went running down the hill screaming, “Come back here!”
Hermes smiled and shook his head, “Over two thousand years old and he still get’s distracted by shiny things.” He looked out across the basin. The army was getting close. He took off and flew towards where the twins were suppose to be waiting. Not squabbling, right and maybe the sun chariot was made from ice.
He found them where they we’re suppose to be and to his amazement they were standing there in silence.