Of Gods and Monsters and Dreams and Dreaming

War had gone a little insane over the last decade. There were so many fucking ups and downs and wishy washy talks of peace it was making her sick and who was she to be held responsible for her behavior? She had one job, one purpose and to be continually denied that was the biggest cock tease of all time and just when War thought she couldn't take it anymore (horse lost, sword not in existence) and had started building her own bomb out of pieces from her personal collection something changed.

Russia, the sleeping bear, had woke and stood on it's hind legs. The delightful little xenophobes in North Korea had pushed forward with their nuclear weapons and America had elected an angry orange for it's president, it was wonderful!

"I put him back together for you."

War eyed the other entity warily, she could feel that this one was at least partially responsible for current events and while she could appreciate that, she would not, could not, believe that this new thing had done what the Creator had not.

Malachai snorted, pawing at the ground as the not-girl stroked his neck. Her hand, white and dainty, looked disarmingly perfect against the red-rust of the horse's coat.

"You were small and useless last time I saw you."

Izzy snickered and smacked Malachai on his hindquarters. The horse, more irritated than startled, made it's way to War and tried to bite his true master but was smacked brutally on the nose.

"Be seeing you, Christian."

"Later, blondie."

Everything looked small from the top of the world. The mountain was no longer theirs, the throne deserted, dissolved, useless even as a symbol now. Then again Olympus had never really belonged to any one head wearing a heavy crown. Olympus had never and would never be the Sky. Drawing lots had won the golden-haired Titan son the sky, but what use was the sky, really? That vast, infinite space where nothing lived and nothing grew. All the symbolism - he'd never given a shit about that.

The current residence was on the top floor of the Shard. London, England, geographically closer to home. Culturally more familiar these days than other parts of the world. Those who truly needed to find him, would find him one way or another. Everyone else were of no real consequence.

From up here everything looked small. Shreds of clouds clung to the windows, creating the illusion of living in the sky. On the desk sat a cup of tea, lukewarm, forgotten. Beside it, on a delicate place, sat a sad half-eaten croissant, equally forgotten. On the screen, message after message kept flooding the inbox, all of which would be deleted unread.

Zeus truly had all but forgotten about his breakfast, the importance of being well-informed, the desire of others to be acknowledged, recognised and praised. Standing by the floor length window, he was doing ... nothing. He just stood there and looked out, gaze distant and unseeing, as if he was looking inward instead of out.

The phone buzzed once, twice, thrice, stopped. It buzzed once, twice, thrice, stopped. Rinse, repeat. Be persistent because then-

"Yes?" He said, absent-minded rather than irritated.

After the Guilt. After the Remorse. After the Mourning.

Nothing was better.

The boy had killed thousands and thousands in his long and useless life but this was different.

This had been Betrayal.

This had been Cowardice.

Even if he could have, the boy wouldn't know how to ever look her in the eye again. The monster that turned out to be a just a girl with scales for skin and snakes for hair and a heart as wounded and broken as his.

He never thought he'd hurt her. He never thought he'd cause her any harm. He never thought he'd cause her death.

Sensing her before he saw her, Phobos remained in his seat with the mortal girl - soft brown hair, too soft skin, unclouded too soft eyes - in his lap. A soft inhale, a soft exhale. This time he'd known the Gorgon was looking for him so this mortal one, flesh and bone and warm warm blood, was an offering to her.