3A: The Godmoot III

“...The tasks should change,” Horus the Accuser demands. The circumstances of this trial continue to vex him.

“And so they will,” he is promised.

Even looking upon their Mother of Women irks him. He had to act quickly to claim the Highfather position from amongst his own kin. Amun, having lost a part of him at the passing of the Sun, was in no place to act. His grandmother, already a Skymother by her own right, had no interest in the position. Thus, at the urging of his mother, Isis, he assumed the mantle. But in this moment, as he stood on behalf of all his people, he knew that could all be taken away. The Lord of Silence judged from underneath his Atef crown, the display of ostrich feathers at its side more striking than ever. Even further back amongst the horde, he could still feel the prickled whiskers rise upon the Cat-like Protector’s face. They are assessing whether he can lead them. And lead them he shall.

“With all due respect, your grace...” He offers pleasantries to She whom the Grecian Highfather has ceded authority over this matter to, but they are laced with just enough insolence that his people can observe the truth. “Do we not deserve an opportunity to confront the accused? The mortal could succeed in these trials you provide, yet the death of our Sun would still endure. Can we not lay out our case?”

“Rest easy, Falcon,” the White Light of Asgard warns. “Thou doth forget that we are not on the banks of the Nile.”

He had not. He knew that were this moot called upon his own lands, he would already have been able to decide upon the mortal’s future. It is merely a peculiarity of time that he and his host, among the others, have made the trek here to Olympus for this summit. Unless… was something else at play? The moon hanging above their Women-mother is false. The moon’s true face - the one he is familiar with - hangs further down the hall atop the wolfskin-adorned silver throne of the Huntress. It glimmered with twenty-one rays of light, all of which he could see at any point in time, even though his back faced it at this very moment. It spurred a question within his falcon-head. If Hera’s moon was untrue, what else also is? The Olympians were the most prone among all the pantheons to play fickle games with the mortals. Would they dare play games with their fellows?

“I do not forget,” he states to Baldr firmly. “Why do you even speak? Has your father’s tongue gone the way of his missing eye?”

Beside brave Baldr, a red-headed Æsir male unsheaths a small stone hammer from his belt. The power within the mallet pulses through Horus’s body. Beside their father, a one-handed man (no doubt relating to the mortal’s plight) similarly loosens his larger warhammer.

Horus prepares for battle.

“Enough!” shouts the Rising Sun personified. “None of us are at the whims of another. We each choose when to speak, and when to hold our tongue. You’ll do well to remember that, young Moon, lest you wish to bend the knee to our Abrahamic foe.”

“My apologies, Amaterasu. You are right of course.” Horus bows in contrition. It’s rare to see her raise her voice as such. He turns towards the Asgardian contingent. “The death of our Sun has caused us great grief, and I spoke out of turn.”

“Nonetheless, your concerns are noted,” interjects the thunderous voice from the highest of thrones. ]“There are still tasks to complete. If the mortal completes them, we can then discuss whether they are satisfactory.”

“As you wish.”

~~~~~

If the Sun were to die, we would all be driven mad.
Tell me, would you understand then?

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3B: The Ceryneian Hind




In spite of its death, the sun reaches down from on high and kisses the man upon his eyelids. A gentle, regal touch of flaming fucking destruction tenderly shakes him awake.

A flicker. A second. On the third, his eyes open to the lush green countryside and the comforting breath of spring. From his patch upon the hill, the suggestive twinkle of light upon water frames the vista on either side. Kittens and hares hop along the field, relishing the parted sea of clouds. In thanks, forests of firs wave to Apollo’s chariot. None would blame the man if he chose to get lost in this world forever.


A glint of golden velvet directs his focus. From behind a tree, the hind emerges. Its antlers - rare for a female - crown its head, and it moves with the elegance of nature’s truth. He watches it as it nibbles on a small shrub. His bow lies to his side, and by his estimates the doe would be within range. He dare not do so, however. He knows the stories and the potential ramifications.

‘Faster than an arrow flies’, he was told. A part of him wished to test that, but he knew he needed the creature to be alive. His arrows would not help with that. Following his defeat of the hydra, he had dipped their heads into the bloodied discharges of its severed heads, and now they reeked with its poison. Further, this animal was sacred. Dare he invite the fury of the gods upon his head?


Alive.

He will.

On his feet, he slips the bow over his shoulder, tucking it in tight to the lion coat he has taken for protection. He fastens the club to his waist, and begins to stalk the shimmering deer.

The deer takes off. The tales were true. It doesn’t run, it streaks! Its visage is barely recognisable, blurred by the speed. Faster than an arrow does not do it justice.

And like that, it’s gone.

Fleeting contact.

~~~~~

He pursues the hind over the land. He could not keep pace, but it left tracks that he could follow. And every now and then…

Fleeting contact.


The chase takes him throughout the Pelopponese, and then beyond. Through rivers and over mountains. Across seas and to new worlds. Spring turned to blistering summer. Summer to entropic autumn. Autumn to bitter winter. Winter to abundant spring. Through it all, he pursued.

On his journey, he meets others like the hind, exquisitely exotic. In the cold north, antlered does were the norm. In the sandy desert, there were no antlers in sight - just lumps upon the creatures’ backs.

Sights beyond belief. He feels unworthy of it all.

He would not dare list them in order of their beauty, but he knew, in his heart of hearts, none were as bewitching as his target. There were times in the hunt that he thought he should give up the chase. But he perseveres. It’s what he does, and it drives him to the brink. Sleepless nights pervade.

But it works.

In the dark of the night, he creeps up on it sleeping.

Trapping it in a net, he captures the hind.


~~~~~

Chase a dream. Catch yourself.

~~~~~

“What do you plan to do with that?” asks the Huntress as she greets him at the start of Apollo’s next race across the sky.

“I… I…” He looks down to the doe. It bleats in misery. “I don’t know. What have I done?”

“The impossible,” she replies. “But for what purpose?”


“I… I just had to,” he says. “I didn’t want to kill it, but I had to… I had to harm it, just a little. So that I could complete…”

“Complete what?” she presses. “And for whom?”

“I…”


“You don’t know.” It’s not an accusation that she delivers. Her voice is… understanding?

“I don’t,” He admits. She extends her hands, beckoning for him to hand over his prize. He obliges. Returning the hind to the Huntress, she unravels it from the net and sets it free. It awkwardly gallops away, and the man is left to watch it go. Stopping at the top of a small, grassy knoll, it looks back at the man.


The Huntress has vanished. The hind does the same.

Searching for answers, he fumbles with the pearl in his hand.

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3C: Dear Slim

And I want to thank you
For giving me the best day of my life
Oh, just to be with you
Is having the best day of my life

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3D: The Third Labour

“What was that?!” Horus bellows. He bangs his staff upon the ground.

“The Ceryneian Hind has been captured,” Hermes says, ignoring the Falcon’s complaints.

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3E: War

“It’s a funny dance that we do, isn’t it? For some - maybe most even, it’s mind games. They want to get into the other person’s head, as if the more shit they talk, the greater the advantage when fists start a’flying. Others seem to simply do it because that’s what they think they need to do. Because the people that they look up to do it. So they copy. But it’s always a poor imitation.

It’s genuinely flattering. I know that I’ve said a lot of… stuff... but I don’t want you to think that I dislike you by any means, Atty. I don’t. I think the Brotherhood of Baddies is a giant joke, and I think that you could be a whole lot more than you currently are, but that doesn’t mean that I hold any sort of enmity for you. The opposite, really. For the most part, I’m actually kind of fond of you. Minus the whole trying to murder someone in airlock, of course, but hey… we all have our off days. Lord knows I have. But I… I just think I see you differently than you see yourself, and that kind of makes me sad.

I saw it though, all those months ago. Or at least I thought I did. Every now and then, like in the build-up to your war against Betsy, I’ve seen it again. It’s not Aphrodite Incarnate that I see, though. That’s just that image that you’ve constructed for yourself rearing its ugly(?) head again and coating over the issues once again. No. It’s something more than that.

Aphrodite Areia.

Still a goddess, I’ll grant, but not of love; not of beauty. Of war.

I guess, in a way, that is ‘beauty’ of a sort, right? Must be why I’m a little taken by that ‘Sister Mine’ of yours. No… not Betsy, the other one. Funny line though, right?

I told you, Atty, these are times of war. Thaddeus Duke, of all fucking people, now gets to draw the goddamn battle lines, and he seems rather… inconsistent… with his allegiances. He’s rather chummy with your Bastard buddies on the Tweeter Machine if you ask me!

Side note: Yes, I said Tweeter. If it should be Twitter, we’d be twitting instead of tweeting.

Although maybe we are the twits?

But if Thad decides to align us - and yes, I’m aware of the possibility of having to fight alongside that asshole, we’ll cross that bridge if it’s necessary - if he does, or if Corey, Betsy, or any of the others put the two of us on the same side of the scrum… well I want the Atty that I’ve dreamed of unsheathing her blade. Just like at freaking SeaWorld I want to fight that Atty, rather than... whatever this is. And by ‘this’ I mean the woman bragging in Action Wrestling about ‘Money, fame, championships,’ and the like being thrown at their feet like Zeus throwing himself at anything with a puss’.

Yeah, that’s right, I see.

And look, I know that this is my issue, Atty. I know it’s me who has created this idea of what you can be, and in doing so I sound as fucking patronising as Centurion did when he and Jimmy-Jam the Raven Man were saying the same sort of thing about Dolly Waters. I just don’t feel like beauty should be prioritised the way you seem to do. Maybe I’m projecting there, although in my defence, I’ve actually been called pretty by Thad once before. If only Chris Chaos had given me the whole shotgun to the head idea back then, I could’ve saved myself a long night of chundering into the shitter. I digress.

Look… even though I’ve made fun of it, I actually respect that you own your sexuality. Despite what you said to Betsy, it doesn’t mean I think your personality is only teaspoon deep. I know that there’s so much more to you than that. There’s a whole fucking well of you bored into the ground. But all that talk of money and championships has boarded that well up to the point that sometimes I wonder if even you know how deep it goes. I sure as shit don’t. But I’m eager to find out. So that’s what all this is, Atty. If I have to poke and prod a little; if I have to say things that I don’t necessarily mean in order to get a rise out of you; so be it. I’ll say it all. I’ll do whatever it is that I have to do in order to get the job done. I always do. I’ll thrust myself deep into your world, and then… down your throat. With my hand, pervs! Although we’ll still probably be seeing just how good that gag reflex of yours is. Giggity.

Call these ‘mind games’ if you’d like. I prefer to call it determination. Because when I put my drive next to yours, there’s only one way that this is ending. Especially if it’s this reticent version of Atty that I’ve been getting. Out-Of-Gas Atty, perhaps? I hope not. But that’s what your reputation has been, hasn’t it? Even dolled up in gold as you are, that risk is ever-present. This isn’t the first time you’ve been on a hot little run, and it wouldn’t be the first time that it petered out. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Something fleeting.

To the best of my knowledge, this is the first time that you’ve gotten to this position, with the Universal Championship on the line. Is that right? The biggest match of your career. Oh man, what a time to have blown your load, amirite?

I hope that’s not the case. I need this to be a war, Atty. I can’t skirt by on handouts like yourself and Chris Chaos. I need to fight. That’s why I’m trying to bring that other side of you to the surface. Shit, it’s why I stan a little over Osira - she’s already a little in touch with her fire. Atara, I want you to make like she would and punch me in the fucking face like you fucking mean it. Because I need to earn my treasure. And I’m not talking about the gold. Mind you… you haven’t exactly earned that, yourself…

One win and you just get to cash it in? Well that’s rather anticlimactic. Can you imagine a fucking world where Geri Vayden, of all people, had earned a shot at the Universal Championship just from holding that Shooting Star championship? Dumbest. Perk. Ever! But fuck it, these are the cards we’ve been dealt, so let’s play them. Hesiod told of the length of a nymph’s life, and it’s true that they may outlast a phoenix. But they cannot outlast my resolve.

My will is not tangible. It’s… an idea. One that I cling to with all of my being. All I am, was, and ever will be. An idea that you now cling to too. I’ve seen it in your latest statements! It’s a beautiful thing! ANd as long as there is a world for that idea to spread within, then I will keep fucking going. You hear me?! I don’t care if I have to say it every day for the rest of eternity, I will not stop fighting!

Every time I say it, it becomes more and more true. Can’t you feel it filling the void within you? That beauty you covet so much… it’s only skin deep. Sorry for the cliché, but you know this! Sooner or later, we’re going to get to what’s on your inside. You’re gonna give me the Atty-with-the-Full-Tank, and when you do? Oh boy, I’m gonna get up in them guts, girlfriend. And it won’t be something fleeting, if you know what i mean.

You might even get a chance to eat little ol’ me.”