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Prometheus was in the thick of battle when the blow nearly struck him from the sky. An electrical charge simmered in the air, but he knew it could not be Zeus; the fool would not abandon his blasted palace. All around, the forces of Chronos lay dead in the snow at his feet, pierced by a hundred spears.
“It is not often you fail to elude me,” Athena said, the plume of her helmet flowing in the icy breeze. “Abandoning your post is quite the foolish act.”
“For once, I can afford the stroll on your repulsive mountain,” Prometheus said, flexing his fingers as blue flames coiled around them. “Your Underworld relative has already faced me, and has returned to whence she came. After I incinerated her to all but ash.”
Athena’s eyes flashed with barely contained rage beneath her helmet. “Is that so? Then you will find that such a boast will not be met with toleration.”
“I didn’t expect it would. Least of all from you.”
They each stood in silence. Even from several paces away, Prometheus could see the cold glint in Athena’s eyes that meant she was calculating which of them was to strike first.
Suddenly, an eagle’s cry streaked through the air.
The fight was a blur. Athena dodged the talons of Aetos, and Prometheus charged for an attack. Blue fire vaporized the snow in seconds; and beneath that, the dirt of the mountain was scorched black. It was Titan and Eagle against goddess; two against one.
But there was a reason why Prometheus so often evaded encounters with Athena. Whilst he was bound for centuries, the goddess of wisdom only grew stronger. She was a force to be reckoned with.
Prometheus’ flames were deflected back at him, searing his skin. A spear impaled his stomach cleanly through. As he stumbled back, Athena’s shield, Aegis, slammed into his chest and sent him tumbling over the cliff’s edge down the mountainside.
He crashed through the marble roof of a building and into the ground below. Wooden tables and barrels of grain splintered into pieces and erupted into plumes of dust. Rubble rained down on his head. Ichor dripped from his wounds. Slowly, he pulled the spear from his stomach to let his flesh regenerate.
Prometheus’ body screamed in protest as he stumbled towards the nearest door. Half of his bones had broken from the fall, half of which were in the process of healing; but the pain he was suffering now was a far cry from his eternal torment cut short.
In order to command Chronos’ forces, he had to know the layout of Olympus well; yet somehow, he had crashed in an area he had never before set foot in. It shouldn’t have been a problem; the only direction to go was up. Passageway after passageway he ascended, fighting automatons where he could not avoid them.
After a run-in with Talos, which ended in the automaton’s destruction, Prometheus hurried to the exit, for it would do him no good if Melinoë reached the summit’s entrance before he did.
But of all the possibilities he had foreseen, he did not expect to hear music on the other side of the door.
In retrospect, perhaps he should have expected it. It was one of his many premonitions after that night Melinoë had extended an invitation to him on behalf of the god of wine.
As Prometheus stalked into the party, for there was no way to go but forward, a distinctly irritating voice gradually grew louder.
“So I say, can’t we, uh… I’ve definitely told this one already before, haven’t I? Because I just got this weird sort of déjà vu, and… Nevermind then! Who’s up for another—woah, Prometheus?” Dionysus gaped, entirely naked except for a leopard-spotted loincloth. “You changed your mind after all!”
The surrounding satyrs and nymphs in the room barely bat an eye at their newest unwitting guest, which somehow irritated Prometheus further.
“I never changed my mind about anything,” he said. “This merely was an inevitable outcome I sought to avoid.”
“Well, there’s no harm in sticking around, now that you’re already here. What do you say we relax and—”
Prometheus struck out with his fist and called forth his flames, aiming for Dionysus’ head. But nothing happened. Instead, Dionysus caught his fist with one hand.
“You know, Mel tried that a few times with those flaming torches of hers as well,” Dionysus said, almost lazily, with a subtle grin both equal parts dangerous and amused. “Someone ought to confiscate from both of you your fire privileges.”
Prometheus ripped his arm away from Dionysus’ grasp. “How is this possible?”
“Maybe you’re used to a different kind of party, but in this place, we go by my rules. No fire, no Eagle, none of that stuff flies here. You got it, man?”
Prometheus didn’t have time for this. He turned to leave, but was stopped by a heavy purple fog shrouding all exits of the room. The nausea that hit him from just standing at the edge of it was so intense that he knew it would overpower him in a matter of seconds.
“So, there is some sense hidden beneath your drunken stupor,” Prometheus said, slowly turning to face Dionysus. “But you cannot contain me here forever.”
Dionysus swirled his drink in hand. “Heh. Worth a try, anyhow.” Beside him, a Leopard snarled its fangs at the Titan.
“Mere moments ago, I vanquished the daughter of Hades whilst you cowered in the midst of your feast. And it will not be for the last time.”
“Mel will be fiiiine, she’s a goddess! And a witch. She’ll come right back around in no time.”
“I imagine she shall. In the meantime, you’ll continue to wallow in your sorrows, for the only thing you seem to be good for is pointless revelry. I don’t require foresight to know that.”
Dionysus chuckled. “I could use some more original insults if you’re going to entertain me like this.”
A premonition struck Prometheus then. He saw himself grab a nearby satyr by the horns as a hostage to threaten Dionysus into letting him leave, only to be thoroughly intoxicated by the fog that blocked the exits, destroying his organs from the inside out.
To be bested by Athena in combat was one matter. To be humiliated by the god of wine would be a stain upon his dignity.
As Dionysus sauntered to the bar to refill his cup, Prometheus kept a watchful eye.
“Clearly you have the ability to fight, yet you choose to rot away in hiding,” Prometheus said. “There ought to be more punishments for those who refuse to defend their kind as much as there are punishments for so-called traitors like myself.”
“Wait, so does that mean you’d get, like, a double-punishment?” Dionysus asked, leaning forward with his elbows against the bar counter. “You know, since you sided with Dad all those years ago instead of sticking with the other Titans, or what?”
“The Titans were doomed to fall. Siding with them would’ve resulted in a punishment far worse than the one I endured.”
Dionysus shrugged. “Well, at least you’re optimistic.”
“Unlike yourself, perhaps.”
There was a pause.
“Not quite sure what you’re trying to get at, but I think you could do for a drink right about now, yeah?” Dionysus said.
Prometheus slammed his fist on the counter. “Let me explain clearly: You don’t fight because you believe you don’t stand a chance at all. The other gods may have retreated to Zeus’ Palace, save for Athena; but the difference between you and them is that you don a facade to hide how miserable you truly feel.”
For a moment, Dionysus’ eyebrow twitched, and his smile faltered. “Listen man, I don’t know what to tell you, except that I’m supposed to be the life of the party, and all your yapping away is really starting to get on my nerves.”
“Yes, the truth can be difficult to absorb; but you wouldn’t have to hear it if only you’d let me pass.”
“Yeah, but it’d be way funnier if Mel got to the top and went, ‘Huh, where’d Prometheus go? Isn’t he usually supposed to be on Time?’ Hahaha, get it? Because your boss is the Titan of Time?”
Prometheus seethed. He turned his attention toward the purple fog still shrouding the exits, calculating whether he could make a break for it.
Dionysus laughed behind the counter, seeming to notice Prometheus mentally planning his escape. “Ohhh, no no no, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“I think I would,” Prometheus said, right before dashing through the fog.
Melinoë steeled herself for the fight ahead. She recounted all the mistakes she had made in her prior duel against the Titan of Foresight and aimed to correct them. She knew Prometheus’ attacks by now. Last night was merely a slip-up.
With Descura held firmly in her grasp, and Raki hovering over her shoulder, she opened the final door leading to the summit…
…and entered an empty chamber.
Melinoë froze on high alert. “This must be some sort of trap…”
Raki squawked in agreement. The stillness of the room, apart from the falling of embers caused by the crackling fire surrounding the main platform, was all too eerie.
Not two steps later, Melinoë heard the call of an Eagle. She spotted Aetos perched on the balcony above, where Prometheus sometimes leapt to before he swept fire across the platform.
“You there,” Melinoë addressed the Eagle. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any sign of your master, have you?”
Aetos cawed, before fully engaging in conversation with Raki. As the two birds squawked back and forth, Melinoë watched with interest.
“You two understand each other?”
Raki ignored the question in favor of squawking something that must’ve been awfully insulting to Aetos, for it provoked the Eagle to swoop down and attack, leading to a violent thrashing between the birds that had feathers flying in all directions.
“Raki, this way!” Melinoë cried, running towards the exit.
The raven pecked Aetos’ head one last time before following Melinoë out the door, which shut firmly behind them once they made it to the other side. Aetos did not give pursuit.
“Well, that was certainly strange,” Melinoë muttered. “Surely Prometheus isn’t waiting for us alongside Typhon…?”
Prometheus woke up with a massive headache. He was lying on a recliner plush with cushions tucked far away in the corner of the party, where no satyr nor nymph was close enough to bother him.
Of course, the only person in the room who dared to approach him was the host himself.
“Morning there, hot stuff, you must’ve had a real nice nap, yeah?” Dionysus greeted with a lopsided grin.
Prometheus stood up with an unpleasant scowl. “You are going to tell me the exact truth of what transpired after I entered that poisonous fog.”
Dionysus grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not much, but it’s rather embarrassing on your part. You sure you want to know?”
“Do not stall me further, or I will find other ways to burn this room to the ground.”
“Right, well… you basically passed out instantly. A very impressive feat! Though I guess with your liver still a bit… you know, I can see why it’d make you something of a lightweight.”
“And how, exactly, did I end up here?”
Dionysus gestured to one of the satyrs soaking in the pool. “Oh, Huck over there was kind enough to drag you over so you didn’t have to wake up on the stone-hard floor. Anyways, you’re free to go now.”
Prometheus glanced at the exit. Sure enough, the fog was absent.
As he stalked towards the door, he glared back at Dionysus. “After I have dealt with the daughter of Hades, I shall deal with you next.”
Dionysus laughed and raised his cup. “Yeah, good luck on trying to find us again after this whole fiasco!”
The next night, Prometheus and Aetos were waiting in the chamber when Melinoë approached them with Revaal in hand, accompanied by her dog familiar.
“You’re back,” Melinoë said suspiciously. “Was there something your master desperately needed you for that required you to miss our scheduled fight last night? I almost felt sorry for passing through without saying hello.”
“...If only that were the case,” Prometheus muttered. “Allow me to make up for what I missed with twice the strength as before.”
And the next night, Melinoë’s suspicion had transformed into confusion.
“Lord Dionysus had… quite the interesting tale to tell just now. Said you visited his party, and that you were… how did he put it, hangry? Along with a bunch of other details he probably exaggerated. Is that why you weren’t standing guard here a couple of nights ago?”
“You’d listen to what a drunken god of wine would have to say? I shudder to think of what other lies you so easily believe.”
And the night after that:
“I know the question you are about to ask, and I will warn you now that I will not answer it,” Prometheus spat. “Not in a million years.”
Melinoë sighed. “I… didn’t think so. Shall we, then?”
“We shall. I’ll be sure to make this fight quick.”