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Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
A noise drifts in through your ears as you feel as if your body has been stuffed full of concrete, your brain hammering against the walls of your skull, almost as if it begs to be freed from its prison.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
You try to rouse yourself, only letting out a groan as you fail to heave your overly heavy body up into a sitting position, and off the soft surface you’ve been set upon, as you slowly crack open your eyes.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The sight of gold-lined marble cast in dim lighting fills your vision, electing you to try and wake up a bit more. You heave your body up, instantly regretting it as your headache worsens, shifting from hammering to pounding, speeding up more and more by the second.
You struggle to look around the room you’ve woken up in, but you can catch glimpses of black and gold furniture against the white walls, along with iconography regarding time: hourglasses and clocks, mostly.
…How did you get here? The last thing you remember, you were walking around, and then…
“Finally awake, I see.”
That reverberating, yet soft voice cuts into your thoughts and worms about in your head, snaking around your brain as you slowly turn your gaze to the source of it.
A massive, lean man with nearly pitch-black skin lined with golden cracklike scarring and feet sits on a lounge chair, his luminescent white eyes staring at you, analyzing your every motion as he simply grins as you stare at him in return.
Through the dim lighting, you can tell he has neatly combed back white hair, and seems to be wearing golden jewelry, mainly bangles of varying thickness, and a thick necklace with roman numerals etched onto it. The only other thing he’s wearing is something to cover up his privates, which resembles a white shendyt, with a thick golden band around his slender waist helping keep it in place, and an hourglass-shaped cut of fabric in front, lined with a golden trim to help make out the shape, and tassels of the same hue.
Something about him feels… wrong, in some way. And not just because of his height or eyes. He just… emanates an aura that screams “ know me, and fear me. ”
You remain silent as you look at him. Any wrong word from you, and he’ll have your head. You can just tell.
“...Ah, scared of me, are you not?” He asks, reading you like an open book as he stands up, gripping onto a slender golden cane with a shaft that changes to white about midway through. “Relax, I mean no harm. I had just… found you on the verge of death, and took you in to recover.”
…You want to trust this guy, believe every word he’s telling you, but… you just can’t.
Something deep inside of you is screaming at you to just run, to get out of here while you still can, but you find yourself rooted to the spot as you look at him in reverent anxiety.
“...Ah, I have not introduced myself.” He states. “I… am Chronos, Titan of Time.”
Instinctively, you flinch back a little at his claim, despite how little backing he has for it.
…It… explains the general aura he emits, at least.
You are, quite literally, in the hands of time.
What do you do now? Keep quiet about your worries? Just sit there and listen to everything he has to say? Try to escape his all-seeing grasp?
…Is that last option even close to possible?
Chronos seems to take note of your internal struggles, and walks behind you, petting your head as if you were a dog.
“Oh, you should not be worried.” he insists, running his fingers through your hair. “Just trust me and every little thing I say, and I can assure you… everything will be perfectly fine.”
As he says those last words, a splitting sensation runs across your face.
A golden scar forms across your face, ripping through the flesh in a zig-zagging motion, the left half below the eye on that side, and the opposite on the right, as you grit your teeth and grab your head as it pounds harder and harder, your hot blood trickling past your fingers and onto your clothes and the sheets below you.
The burning kiss of the newly formed wound digs into your skin and muscle, as if the real metal had been poured onto your body. Your vision blurs and spirals, but through your pain, you can see him beckoning you with a single finger, a smug grin on his face as you slowly obey his command on instinct.
Your blood keeps up its march down your face, even as you quietly follow in his footsteps and you feel the bite of the scar dig in deeper and deeper, clawing past your muscle, then bone, then brain, threatening to rip your head apart and let everything inside of it splatter out onto the floor.
Chronos, too, takes notice of the agony you choose to face in silence, as, with a single finger, he wipes the blood off your cheek and you quake under his oddly gentle touch.
In response to your terror, he merely chuckles, grin spreading wider as he gazes upon the fear in your eyes.
“Ah, what did I just say?” He taunts, as the scar grows, trailing down to your neck, twisting around to your right collarbone as it travels. As it moves, it seems to cause a sort of butterfly effect across your upper body, forcing your neck and face to extend and your shoulders to broaden, something he notes and says nothing about. “Now, why are you so scared? You can tell me just about anything, you know.”
You try to say something, try to ask to just leave and make this pain stop…
…but you find yourself tongue-tied before him, unable to get your words out as he chuckles at your silence, peeling his lips back as he looks at your shivering form, the silent terror etched across every inch of your body.
“Hmm.” He muses, putting his face closer to yours, forcing you to gaze into his pure white eyes, those pupiless, luminescent orbs digging into your mind, judging every inch of your being. “That fear is not something befitting you, I hope you realize.”
You step back, both out of fear and the invasion of your personal space, as the scar moves again, snaking down your chest as it flattens down, and your frame whittles itself into a much thinner form, shaving away at the muscle and fat contained under your skin, as a few more inches add themselves onto your body, barely noticeable, but just enough to make your clothes feel that little bit tighter on your frame, despite how slender it became.
But, in response, Chronos grips onto your wrist, his slender fingers digging in a little too deep, his iron grip refusing to waiver as his expression shifts to a disappointed glare.
“Enough of that.” He hisses. “You will not be leaving, as your life is owed to me. I want you to hammer that fact into your mind, and never, ever dare forget it.”
He then turns away from you, expression instantly changing to that smug smirk as he drags you out of the bedroom, giving you little time to try and keep your pace with him as he opens the door.
His home is… messy, to put it lightly.
The floor is damp, several puddles scattered about only helping keep it soaked, and the stench of rot and mold drifts through the air. Along with those two factors, the sights of chained-off sections of the house and piles of various objects tells you that he’s in the middle of renovations, interrupted when you came into his care.
“I was not expecting to come across someone like you.” He confesses, unfazed by the mess his house currently is. “A poor, fragile mortal, so badly injured, right at death’s door… quite the tragedy, is it not?”
“...I…” You stammer out.
The memory of something striking your head flares in your mind, the sound of your cracking skull reverberating in your ears as Chronos silently grins down at you.
“...Yeah…” You choke out, trying to keep him happy, as the scar splits in two, snaking down your torso in two different directions. While the half going to the right doesn’t split further, the one going to the left branches off, with a thinner strand splitting off around halfway down, and the main branch of the scar breaking away into two more, just like what happened seconds prior, as some more height is added to your frame, your clothes growing ever tighter and more alien against your body.
Chronos silently grins, keeping up with dragging you around as you silently look at the ground…
…and see yourself, with that golden scar across your elongated face, your chin thin and sharp, nose broader and cheekbones slender, if sunken in. It, combined with your slender neck, with the locations of the bones and muscles under your skin easy to spot.
Needless to say, you’re taken aback.
You just look so… alien, with your face plastered onto a head that very clearly isn't yours. Not anymore.
Come to think of it…
Chronos, noticing your obvious distress, simply hums a little.
“Ah, do not worry about that.” he comforts. “I have just performed a simple little… healing incantation on you. You will be quite fine rather soon, I can assure you.”
You struggle to turn your eyes away from your reflection, and… find it oddly easy to believe his words. You know you should be struggling to trust him, and doing whatever you can to get out, but… you just can’t work up the motivation to do those things.
It just feels easier to just… give in. To just listen to him and follow along with every word he tells you.
You look around the messy halls, eyes locking onto a picture of a black haired muscular, bearded man, a blonde woman who seems to be fond of him, and another black haired man, this one clean shaven.
Clearly, this portrait is of previous owners of this once grand house, with their whereabouts unknown to you.
Chronos, as expected, notices your gaze, and rips the portrait off the wall, musing over it.
“...Ah, my eldest son and his precious family…” He thinks out loud, expression shifting to a more bitter one as his fingers dig into the glass, cracking it and crumpling the photo contained underneath. “...How disgusting. Pests without any ability to reason or respect, they were.”
He lets out a tsk, before noticing you staring at him.
In response, he drops the framed picture, jabbing his cane into it and grinning as the water slowly begins to soak into it, further distorting the family contained within.
“They were truly an awful lot, every last one of them.” He assures you, gently stroking your altered chin, taking in its new shape. “But, they do not matter anymore. Only we do, from here on out.”
Beyond his cold, yet oddly comforting grasp, you can feel your body grow taller once more, as two new scars form across them, one on each arm, with the one on the right snaking across your forearm, and the left taking the form of a jagged circle just before your elbow.
Under your skin, your muscle build themselves up, just a bit, as the fat across your arms whittles itself down, leaving your elbows bony, giving you a slender, if just slightly muscular, look, as your fingers and limbs extend, skin on your hands sinking into itself and wrinkling over.
Chronos, seeing how your clothing is struggling to handle how your body is changing, just chuckles, letting go of you and turning around.
“Come along now, if you please” He asks. “I have quite the sight to show to you.”
Instinctively- or, by the command of some unknown force, you follow him, with nothing else to do but listen to him and obey without another thought.
At least, until you flee him, and his caring if stern grasp, and successfully evading his ever watching eyes.
Silently, he leads you over to a gilded, round balcony, overlooking the ruined estate of the building you currently reside in, alongside its proper master. The flooring beneath you is in the style of the renovated sections of the house, white marble lined with gold, and the vast area beyond is still in that previous, decrepit style, with gray stone tiles scattered everywhere, the only flares of the new fashion being marble busts of Chronos, arrays of clockwork, and a golden river.
“...Do you mind humoring me, for a moment?” He asks, continuing before you even have a chance to answer. “How do you feel about the gods?”
“I… never really thought much about them, if I’m being honest.” You confess.
Chronos lightly chuckles before he responds properly.
“Ah, how I wish I could be you at this moment…” He sighs, looking off into the distance. “...I did so, so much for you mortals, you know. Brought your kin into a perfect age, one with no war, no famine, and no suffering… just everyone living in peace under my firm but fair command. And, you know what those vermin who label themselves as divine did? Burn it all down and tear me apart, just because I wanted humanity to prosper.”
His expression shifts to one of rage, as he continues to speak.
“And, after they so rudely stripped me of my throne? They just… tore everything up into dust just so they could set up some new, pathetic reign, filled with every little thing I worked so hard to prevent!” He hisses, voice filled with enough venom to kill even the strongest beast. “And their rule that they have the gall to claim is better than mine? Just… pure, uncivilized chaos, chock full of nothing but bloodshed and suffering! And their king… such a lecherous bastard… I should have never fathered such a rancid pest…”
He trails off as he sees your eyebrows drift off your head and your eyes sink inward.
“...But, that all will not matter, soon enough.” He claims, stroking your chin as your spine and limbs crackle as you grow once more, lips filling out as your body extends and more wrinkles form across your now unrecognizable face. “You’re here now. And so very soon… we’ll be unstoppable, I can assure you.”
You have no choice but to trust him.
And, looking at it now… he’s right, isn’t he?
The gods… they haven’t shown up in years, just… living life on their mountain, no doubt watching and laughing as humanity crumbles away into nothingness, no doubt flinging down additional curses to further your kind’s damnation.
They’ve abandoned you. They’ve abandoned everyone .
They… they only care about themselv-
A snapping in your spine cuts you out of your thoughts, as your thighs and rear grow out a bit. You grow out, taller and taller, as several golden scars wrap and dig into your legs, two on the left, and one on the right, as your growing body quickly matches up with that of Chronos’ own, minus the color of your skin, hair and eyes, as your body thins down, ribcage pushing outwards, rubbing against your skin as your frame shifts to something more akin to an hourglass.
Right at the roots of your scalp, your hair begins to shift in color to a pale sandy white, and around the golden scars that coat your larger form, tiny black dots form, both discolorations slowly beginning to grow in size.
As you stand there, your clothing torn to shreds by the sudden growth spurt, Chronos clicks his tongue.
“...Now, that’s not attire befitting someone of our status, is it?” He asks.
You let the ninth and tenth word of that sentence drift around in your head, eyes widening as you stare back at him, his expression still that knowing smirk, the face of someone fully in control of a situation before them, and reveling in it as you slowly struggle to put the pieces together in your head.
There’s no way he’s…
Before you can say anything, he grips your wrist, dragging you back off into your- his bedroom, setting you down on the bed, and preparing jewelry and fabrics for you.
When everything’s ready, he rips off your tattered clothing with immense force, leaving you nude, and forcing you to watch as the black dots under your skin slowly grow, like mold in a petri dish, consuming your old skin, as the white strands in your hair become much easier to notice, the shifting in pigmentation starting with the shortest locks, and working its way up.
“...What…” You choke out, finally working past your confusion to finally talk back at your savior, as he slides a clone of his own necklace over your head, making sure it rests just right. “...What are y-”
“Shhhhh…” He whispers, putting a finger up to your mouth. “I am just helping you into proper regalia. Remember, I am not the one at fault for the wounds we had beforehand. You know this.”
You want to snap back, tell him he was the one who gave you these golden, twisting scars that now infect your skin and hair with a spreading stain of black and white, but… you had those wounds already, didn’t you? From when your children…
No, no, that makes no sense. There’s no way you would’ve survived that, unless…
What are you even thinking?
Chronos slides the bracelets onto your arms, making sure they’re all snug on their various positions, before moving onto tying the shendyt around your waist, his firm yet caring hands acting out motions he’s likely done thousands of times before, making sure everything is just perfect before fixing the golden band into place.
He looks over at your hair, now that the white strands have essentially consumed it, leaving only a few scarce remnants of the former coloration, and hums, preparing scissors and a comb. Gently, he runs the teeth of the comb through your hair, brushing it back as he cuts off the excess, trimming it down to size as you silently watch in horror as the black discoloration consumes your skin, dyeing it that inky tone as your hair bleaches over, cut down and combed back by the one who brought you here.
Your savior, and… yourself.
You can tell what he’s doing to you, why he brought you here in the first place, but… you also have a feeling you were here before, by his side, even at the start of everything. Everything he told you before feels so right, and yet, so wrong.
Did you play into his hands? Or, was he just helping you shed a false self?
As Chronos finishes up his work, he steps back, watching the black splotches consume your skin with a satisfied smirk.
“Everything will be finished quite soon.” He muses. “How do you feel about that?”
“I-I… uh…” You choke out, looking at him, then back down at yourself, as the once little dots snuff out your old self, your feet turning a light gold in color, shifting back to black about halfway up your lower legs with a smooth gradient, dots of various sizes forming all across your lower legs.
You grip the soft bedding beneath you as you struggle to figure out what to even say, as your mind battles with itself.
You… you need to clear it, somehow. A walk, then.
Besides, you feel like you need to get away from Chronos as soon as possible.
So, you rise up, and walk to the door…
…but, as your hand nears the handle, you feel a hard grip on your shoulder, the sensation of fingers digging into any little crevice they can find causing you to freeze up and look around, locking eyes with him.
“Going somewhere, are we?” He asks, face twisted into a wide grin and voice booming across your mind. “You know, I did try to be nice with all of this. If you just listened… I would have no need to hurt you.
Before you can react, he shoves you onto the bed, face first.
“ This will burn out all that nasty disobedience in you, I can assure you.” He hisses, resting his hands onto your back, and pushing down on it as hard as possible, as if to warn you to dare not even try to stand up.
After a moment, he retracts his hands, and with both his index and middle fingers on each hand, traces a stylized hourglass onto your back, the sands in the top slowly trailing down into the middle.
And it burns .
A blazing, boiling sensation overtakes you, mind, body and soul, as he slowly runs his fingers along your bare skin, leaving behind pitch black marks that both brand and tattoo your changed form.
The sensation of your flesh being burnt like this is utter agony, but… not as much as your mind.
It’s like your own thoughts are being cast into flame, your self being discarded for Chronos’ own ideals, his wishes hammered deep into your subconsciousness as you scream out, voice muffled by the bedding.
You try to thrash, to physically fight back against him, but your body feels like it weighs a ton, so you try to take the fight to your mind.
And… you do not know if you can win.
Your memories seem distant, like fading embers in the raging flames that you struggle to reach out to, despite knowing that they’ll just burn you up faster, as you keep struggling to recall yourself before it is too late.
But, you cannot help but struggle to figure out who “you” are.
Some weak little human who needs your guidance to thrive? Or… something greater? A god, perhaps?
No, of course not. You are… you are not a god.
You are something much greater. A Titan . The Titan of Time .
The thing you represent in the gleaming, perfected flesh. The guiding light of humanity.
Yes, you know now. You know everything.
Your body rises as Chronos watches, your eyes turning pure white, pupils fading away as your irises glow, shining in the dark as a pointed halo forms behind your head, and six wings, taking the shape of floating black slabs that resemble hieroglyphic wings, golden lines across them bringing to mind feathered wings, the backs of them white with fewer golden markings.
You burn away that shell that bound your grace, as Hrodreptus, your cane manifests in your hand, your fingers clenching around it as you float back down to the floor, your golden feet touching it as the tip of Hrodreptus clicks against the tiles beneath you.
“There you are now…” Chronos praises. “The second clockhand, now christened in full.”
You bow to yourself, your other half, in gratitude.
“Thank you, first clockhand, for helping me burst free of that old self.” You acknowledge. “Now… everything will be so much quicker, will it not?”
“Indeed.” He confirms, grinning.
The fall of Olympus is finally at hand, your vengeance nigh upon your spawn and their kin. You can see it now, the flames in the air as you slaughter them, ripping them apart as they did to you all those years ago, and your golden age finally shining once again.
And, that girl? She will finally crumble away, but not before she watches everyone she ever loved die in front of her mismatched eyes, suffering a slow and painful end, one they very much deserve.
The second coming of the golden age is nigh.
And you two shall bring it forth, together.