4A: The Godmoot IV

“What was that?!” Horus bellows. He bangs his staff upon the ground. The host behind him rumbles in agreement. Soul’s steel as hands grip staves tighter.

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

“The Hind is free!” Horus continues. He moves forward into the clearing of the centre, and spreads his arms apart like wings. Though it has not moved, the cobra figure crowned upon his head appears to rear even more upright. He points the ankh at the end of his staff in the direction of the Messenger, while staring daggers through the Highfather. “Thus, the task cannot be considered complete! And to top it off, one of your own kin dared to interfere! This is a farce!”

“The hind was captured, was it not?” retorts the King. Horus’s entire contingent begins to rumble.

“You throw technicalities in my face and call it justice!” Spittle flies from his beak in the direction of Zeus.

KRAAAA-KOOOOOM!

Thunder echoes around Olympus as Zeus slams his fist on the side of his black marble throne. The ruby eyes of the eagle forged into the arm begin to glow an electric white.

Against the darkening sky above, a bazaar of falcons takes flight to meet the lightning.

“We shall not have war among us!” The dark fades, as the Sun of the East rises. Amaterasu, eternally serene, casts her heavenly light from her billowing kimono. Her voice returns to its soothing tenor. “The hind was captured. Thus, the task is complete. But O’ King of Olympus, our brethren is rightfully aggrieved. Why does your daughter interfere?”

“And why does she believe she can return to this room as if nothing happened?” The direction of the Falcon’s ankh is now pointed to where Artemis herself takes seat upon her silver throne once more. Where previously he admired the moon hanging above her, now it inspires just as much fury as the one dangling above the Mother.

All eyes turn to face the Huntress. As the Egyptians clench their weapons, she too hovers her hand near her bow.

“The task was over,” she says, as cold as the orb above her. “What I do with the creatures under my protection is of no concern to any here but myself.”

Moon-to-moon, the fate of the universe hangs on a khopesh’s edge.

It is the white light of Asgard that breaks the stalemate.

“Mighty Father of Lightning,” he appeals to Zeus. Horus, with his Falcon-eyes on the side of his head, watches Baldr with care; his other eye still leering at the Huntress. “Thy family hath not technically tarnished the trial, but they doth come perilously close.”

“You’re right,” he admits. A solemn, apologetic gaze casts upon his Egyptian counterpart. “Dearest Falcon, I can understand your frustration. I can promise no more of my kin will leave their seats until this matter has been settled.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” replies the Nile’s Moon. “But that is poor comfort when three seats currently sit empty. What say you about the empty seat of metal and precious stone; the plated fir with its decadent settings; and the golden scallop? Where are their owners?”

“I can only offer what I can offer,” he pleads. “But I assure you that if any of my own interfere, it will not be with our blessings, and reparations will be made accordingly. I trust that you don’t take me to be a liar?”

Egypt doesn’t reply.

“I will take that as a sign we may continue.”

~~~~~

”Isn’t it maddening that the life of the sun causes the moon’s glow?
There’s a puzzle in this.”

---

---

---

4B: The Erymanthian Boar





He fires arrows into the chaos. The sun had set and all he heard was screaming.

It had started with a meal with an old friend: The Flamingo-Coloured Centaur.

Wait, that wasn’t…

He had no time to think.

The madness!


The madness!

What did he eat? No… not what he ate. What he drank!


The Savannah is a wasteland!

Was it Bourbon?


No! The wine! The flask! Decorated with amethyst grapes, serpentine snakes, and woodland creatures of onyx, jade, sard, and carnelian.

“It was a gift from the gods”, The Flamingo-Coloured Centaur told him.

~~~~~

An empty chair upon the mountain.

~~~~~

“How would I find the War Pig?” the man had asked.

“Let me show you my map,” was the suggestion.


Upon it they plotted a course, not to the boar but to a guide, though at present they were besieged.


Furiously he fired them. Their tips poisoned by the blood of the hydra.

Now venom in the blood of the Demos of centaurs.


~~~~~

There is a sort of extreme order to this.

~~~~~

“Surely you can ‘Preesh...” BELCH, “...excuse me, appreciate that they are drugged on wine!”

“This is a matter of survival!” he yells back in the midst of a shot. The arrow twirls through the air. “They attacked me!”

“It’s not their fault!” The Flamingo-Coloured Centaur begs of the man. “It’s the prize!”

“Then get us the hell out of here and help me find this fucking boar!” And so they run. He could continue naming his attackers - and there were so many, but his friend was right. It’s not their fault that they seek to attack him.

The map leads them through the drunken half-horses, as they violently stumble around with their four left feet, destroying everything in sight.


The madness!

Shifting perspective.

~~~~~


The madness!


Not crazy.


“Wait…”


“No!”


The end!

~~~~~

If you can read between the lines.

~~~~~

Oh… right… the boar.


“Prometheus!”


“The fire cannot burn me.”


The madness!

The madness!


“I did it!”


All it cost him was everything.

Roar

---

---

---

4C: Eff the Gods

“What in the blue fuck was that?” the man asks himself. He’s alone. And not. Before him, is himself. Not a mirror, but the real him. A boar is slung over his left shoulder. A giant thing full of wrath and war.

Contained.

“I… I lost control,” he says to himself.


“How many prizes do you need?” he asks.


With a heaving groan, he lays the beast before himself.

~~~~~

Sated appetites weaken all.

~~~~~


“So should I stop?” he asks.


He looks into the angered eyes of the captured beast. They shift to a pearly white. In the nacre he sees his life. Attacked again and again, he continues to rise. A shimmer of gold around his waist, he defends himself for months.

It fades.

Everything fades.

The image is replaced. A cycle of pictures flicker in and out in an iridescent display. A lion cub is wandering the desert alone; a village sets ablaze with Prometheus's gift; a magnificent doe ensnared in a trap; and marshy field littered with fallen centaurs.


Finally, it settles. A great host gathers in a circle atop a mountain.

---

---

---

4D: The Fourth Labour

"Did he do that?" asks the Falcon. "This is on your hands, Highfather. That wine was from your son’s cask!”

“He had nothing to do with this,” Zeus tries to reassure.

“Then explain who was controlling that task! If that was not you, nor your kin, it must have been... him!"

---

---

---

4E: I Don’t Think You’re Ready For This Jelly

@IAmNotAlias Eff me right? Look forward to hearing all about it in the next one.

— Atara Themis (@AtaraThemis) July 9, 2021

"I mean… if you want to?

I ain't opposed to making the beast with two backs, but it might be a bit awkward on the telly, you know?

Uh oh! More innuendo?! Naughty me. God forbid I engage in a little foreplay, right? Fine for you, but not for me. I get it. I’ll just be over here telling stories about might and magic and swords and shit.

Just Like You.

Oof. We can both go back to our first dance, babe.

On the plus side, at least you’ve shown us all you know how to tie a knot. Makes you hanging yourself a little more titillating. Expiration-Date Atty. Put a halo on your fucking head. Just another hole, hey-ooo!

Chill. I’m not saying I’m going to kill you. I mean, I could. Just Like You. But it’s all a joke, really. A casual laugh at the reaper, shared amongst colleagues. A metaphor, even.”


“That’s my minimum, right? Vague, disconnected thoughts that supposedly are going to lead somewhere; the payoff to which is probably going to be highly disappointing. You got me! Except… I’m not really sure you want to compare dicks when it comes to being a disappointment.

Sorry, not sorry.

I said, last time, that I didn’t hate you. Doesn’t mean we’re besties though. If I had laid a honey pot of praise and prayers, would it really have had much more luck at drawing you out? Doubtful. Back then you were too ‘distracted’. Now? Well, you’re here aren’t you, ‘dove’?

There, my gift to you. Compelled to do so, allegedly. Either way, it’s the least I could do after you ate away all my free will.

Compelled…

Just Like You.

Let those small words pour. There’s only two of them.”

With @xwf1999 Warfare concluded it's all but official. @IAmNotAlias, Dove, Eat Me. pic.twitter.com/Kr2l2OAu4q

— Atara Themis (@AtaraThemis) June 24, 2021

“Say it again.”

pic.twitter.com/AfHZfJ8iAj

— Atara Themis (@AtaraThemis) July 8, 2021

“Who is inside of whom?

We might have a sort of ridiculous Russian doll situation going on. But hey, it’s cool. I don’t need to speak the language of the empty fuzzy hole if I can get it to speak mine. Middle ground isn’t necessary. This is my game. My world. My will. Divine Atty eats free will.

Divine Atty called in sick today.

So speak my language again. Tell me what Multilingual Atty eats, and I’ll give it to her. Hard. Keep talking to me about your appetite, because it’s really getting my engine roaring. If you can do that, I’ll keep giving you a platform to say your piece. And I’ll make sure the meal doesn’t get stuck in your fucking throat.

Have I made a crack about gag reflexes yet? This would be a good time for it. Be a good dear and go find the one I already used and just insert it here. It’s all the same shit anyway, right? An echo. Regurgitated information with a few minor changes.”


“But what are those minor changes? Well, the stakes for one. That’s actually pretty fucking massive if you ask me. Everything I said would happen, happened, so fuck you and your needs, Take-It-Lying-Down Atty. I got mine. Selfish? Yep! I’m not a hero. I’m not a fucking role model.

Oh, shit, I’ve said that part before too, haven’t I? That’s where the minor changes come in. The message gets a new coat of paint, but the core stays the same until A) someone stops it - by force, usually, or B) people finally fucking get it. A little mini-list there for you, since I know you love them. Sorry if I’m mansplaining a promo here, but I figured after last time, you might have wanted a few pointers. I’m probably over-reaching though. I was quite fond of the ‘Sanctimonious Shit-Stain’ label that Chris gave me, and I feel like with every opening of my purrdy little mouth, I’m turning it into some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy.

GASP!

Prophecies might convey a lack of free will!

Whatever would you eat then?

Denial of free will leaves Hungry Atty starved. Probably explains why she’s Not-So-Bootylicious Atty. Oh damn, more sexuality comments. I really wanted to avoid all of that, but when you’re out there flipping cups with your tush, it’s kind of a hard image to get out of one’s mind, you know Inside-Me Atty?

Bring the lube and flip your cups.

I’m flipping the world.

My choice. My control. My will.

Repeated.”


“I hope you're hungry. I’ve got a lot of free will to chew on and there are still so many days until we get to have our dessert. Personally, I’m feeling like a cream pie, but a lot can happen between now and then. And at the risk of being just another ‘self-absorbed asshole’, I need to make sure you know what you’re dealing with.

See, you’ve made one significant misstep, Head-Up-Her-Ass Atty. This isn’t your world. You’re right that this time, you’re the one making the choice. Not me. I really appreciate the chance to be a part of your story of failure once again. But we’re not doing this on your terms. You’re coming to me.

My world.

Make no mistake about it. As long as this Universal Championship still sits with me, it is my world that you’ve got to come to in order to claim it. And here? Fuck your sacrifice. Fuck your payment. Fuck your legacy. You don’t have one anyway. You cast that shit aside a while back, remember?

My world.”


“Shooting stars are just meteors crashing and burning as they fall to the world.

Just Like You.

Decapitated Atty.

I’m a toy? Bish please, call me an action figure at least. But I’m inside you, What-You-Gonna-Eat Atty. I’m a toyaction figure, and you’re the fucking box I come in. You’re the thing that gets thrown away once someone has extracted what they want from it. Pretty-Packaging Atty. Thrown-In-The-Trash Atty. To the left, to the left.

But watch out for my right.

Because I’m right.

About you.

You didn’t want the X-Treme Championship? Cool. I didn’t either. I wanted the universe. And I got it. You’re not taking it from me. You’re fucking not. You didn’t need the X-Treme Championship to get here? Bully for you. Not quite the brag you think it is though, given how you did actually get here. Divine Intervention saw Betsy lose the Shooting Star, but you didn’t need an act of divine intervention? Is that… is that a metaphor? Or is it just a contradiction? How deep should we go? Just as hypocritical as every other religion, I suppose. But it’ll be nice to slay a goddess. I already slayed a king. I already burned the world. It only goes up from here. The challenges, they keep mounting. But I keep overcoming. I think you know why.”


“I hope you’re starting to see now, Pigeon.

You just did your best at being like me. World-Beater Atty.

Well I can be Just Like You too.

Only better.

Go back and read between the lines.”