Blasemphy

Yahweh has said nothing to any of us since the business of creation was finished. But he fashioned us to be his hands and his tools. For us to remain idle would therefore be a sin.

- Gabriel Hornblower to Samael at the dawn of Cosmos.

————

The next day.

Apollo stood at the edge of a mountain precipice, his figure bathed in the gentle light of Eos. His gaze was fixed upon the strait that separated the continents of Europe and Asia, clutching a gleaming white horn in one hand and a parchment depicting the blueprint of a divine structure in the other. Behind him, an assembly had gathered—a diverse gathering of goddesses, maidens, and titanesses. Yet, despite their presence, silence enveloped them, their eyes fixed upon the back of the god who was poised to create history.

Finally, the god raised the white horn to his lips and blew with great force. However, to most ears, there was no sound—at least, none meant for them to hear. Yet, for those for whom it was intended, it reverberated with undeniable power, striking their hearts and stirring a profound response.

Emerging from the depths of the abyss, three colossal beings rising through the seas that flanked the strait. Giants they were, with heads that seemed to touch the sky, sweeping the clouds with their imposing presence. Their immense forms cast shadows that stretched deep into the peninsula, where the strait found its place.

Their forms were grotesque and staggering, possessing a hundred arms branching out in all directions like the gnarled branches of a twisted tree. These arms writhed and flailed in a chaotic dance, their movements as unpredictable as a raging storm. Their flesh was rugged and weathered, resembling ancient stone chiselled by the forces of nature.

And they possessed faces that defied easy description; their features were a blend of divine and grotesque. From their monstrous mouths, jagged fangs protruded, and their movements were both agile and ponderous, defying the laws of nature. With each step, the seas trembled and surged beneath their massive feet, leaving behind deep fissures on the sea floor as a testament to their colossal weight.

They were the Hundred-Handed Ones, the Hekatonkheires—the giant and mighty children of Sky and Earth. Together, they kneeled in the seas, their numerous faces bowed towards Apollo.

This sight was truly awe-inspiring, leaving all the maidens, save one, filled with wonder. The last maiden, however, burned with a pride akin to that of the titanesses and goddesses surrounding her.

Apollo's voice resounded loud and clear, echoing throughout the peninsula. "Arise, my builders," he declared.

And so Briares, Cottus, and Gyges did. "Your wish is our command, Apollo, son of Mighty Zeus," they rumbled in unison.

Apollo nodded in contentment before teleporting to the edge of the strait on the European side. The assembly behind him followed, landing together before the flowing waters.

This place held an unmistakable essence of importance, evident to all who encountered it. Situated at the crossroads of Europe and Asia, it occupies a critical strategic position. Linking two of the seven seas, it became an ideal hub for both occupation and trade. Furthermore, the natural barrier created by the strait offered a formidable defence against any potential invasion. It was these very advantages that would amplify the value of this place once something akin to civilization emerged here.

And with Apollo himself handpicking this very spot for a divine monument, its significance would surpass its intended historical importance.

Over the course of the intened course, a bustling settlement would arise here, birthing a city that would serve as a crossroads of civilizations and stand as the capital for many empires that would rule the ancient world.

That city was Byzantium, later known as Constantinople, and finally called Istanbul.

But that is no longer the case. With Apollo's intervention, the course of history was bound to be altered significantly. Henceforth, this sacred land shall bear the name Delphi, and its true destiny shall unfold.

"Son," Leto approached Apollo, her words carrying a potent reminder: "this place stands at the heart of the lands governed by many pantheons. In the past, they disregarded it, but with mortals on the ascent, their avaricious gazes will inevitably shift towards this ground."

"Indeed," Phoebe concurred, scooping up a handful of soil from the earth beneath them and examining it with her far-seeing eyes. "This land shall witness chaos commensurate with the order it fosters, just as it will bear witness to death as vividly as the new life that springs forth from it."

A prophecy was uttered, and Apollo welcomed it with open arms. "Let them come," he faced the water, his golden locks swaying in the winds of dawn. "War is the best substance for growth and change."

Those words felt a little odd on his tongue.

The apathy and detachment in those words were unfamiliar to him, but they didn't entirely feel off. That's what really messed with his head.

It was clear that he was changing, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

Is this what Destiny meant by 'Divinity'?

Apollo's gaze hardened as it fixed on the flowing and swaying waters ahead. Artemis reached out, reassuringly squeezing his shoulder. "You are not alone, brother," she whispered.

Apollo turned to face the assembly gathered to witness and support him in this pivotal moment. "Let us begin," he declared, his heart's burden dissipating into a flickering ember of serenity and determination.

With all eyes upon him, Phoebus crouched down, pressing his hand firmly against the earth below as he contemplated the extent of his divine power and the potential to manipulate the very fabric of reality. If he were to imbue the earth with his essence, exerting his will upon its matter, could he manipulate and transform it?

Curiosity fuelled his resolve. Apollo envisioned his desired outcome and, with a surge of raw power, channelled it deep into the heart of the ground.

In an instant, the earth quivered and shattered into a mesmerising array of fragments. The fragmented pieces danced and spun, eventually merging into a unified form—a magnificent golden statue emanating auric hues. It depicted none other than Phoebus himself, radiating pride and splendour, with his bow securely strapped to his back. Resting upon a pristine altar, the statue did not tower over everything, yet it exuded an unparalleled sense of flawlessness and divine essence.

Truly, it was a creation sculpted by the hands of a god—a masterpiece serving as the cornerstone for the monument worthy of housing the sacred wellspring of Delphi, all erected upon the mortal lands of Earth.

Apollo stood tall, his gaze fixed upon the magnificent statue—an exquisite representation of himself adorned in the resplendent garments he had worn during his ascension. Okay, that was a lot easier than I expected. There was no need for tedious knowledge, a solid foundation, or anything like that to achieve something extraordinary like matter manipulation. All that was needed was pure imagination and will, and everything would eventually bend to my whims…..with this newfound understanding, I will personally participate in the construction of the monument and witness its perfection come to fruition.

"Quite narcissistic, wouldn't you say?" Artemis raised her eyebrows, finding amusement in the statue. She observed it keenly, as did the others. As expected, none of the deities showed any surprise in their eyes.

From their divine perspective, his ability to do this might seem entirely normal and expected—Gods are truly miraculous beings, capable of taking what has been created and reshaping it according to their will. It is the essence of 'Godhood,' and it makes me wonder what lies beyond that.

"That's precisely the point, sis," Apollo asserted with a self-satisfied smile. "We are Gods,"

Artemis was left momentarily speechless, her silence only deepening Apollo's grin. He turned away, striding towards the Muses, acutely aware of her defeated glare burning into his back. The Nine Muses had fallen unusually quiet since their arrival, lost in profound contemplation.

"What is it?" The God of Light asked them, crossing his arms as he stood before them. "Do you have any issues with this place? I welcome constructive criticism."

"No, no, Mustages," Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, shook her head. "Your choice is perfect, just like your statue. I can sense its potential for both sorrowful tragedy and burning hope. But the thing is..." She exchanged glances with her sisters before cautiously and curiously conveying their question. "We are curious about your purpose behind all of this."

Apollo immediately felt the stern gaze of his teacher on his back, joined by the watchful eyes of his family. Even the huntresses, with their own curiosity, wondered about the purpose behind his creation of this mythical monument. It was clear to everyone that it wasn't simply meant to house the Sacred Delphi. In response to their inquiries, Apollo answered honestly, extinguishing any unspoken questions lingering in the air. "A failsafe."

"You will understand when the time comes," he added, firmly shutting down any further speculation. Retrieving the white horn from his robes, he turned to Muse of Music and asked, "Would you do the honour, Euterpe?"

Euterpe, filled with excitement and nervousness, nodded and accepted the horn. "Just give me a moment, Mustages. I will go through everything one last time."

"Take your time." Apollo nodded in agreement. And so, as Euterpe opened the parchments containing their plans, her sisters offered assistance here and there. Together, they began revising all of their plans.

Meanwhile, Apollo glanced towards the Huntresses, catching glimpses of their hidden admiration. He playfully winked at them, causing each of them to blush. Fortunately, his sister had shifted her attention to the Hundred-Handed Ones, who had now reduced their sizes to match those of the deities. She, along with their mother and grandmother, was attempting to engage in conversation with them. They knew him well enough to recognise and acknowledge the usual nuances in his previous answer, so they refrained from pressing further, unlike his probing teacher.

"A failsafe," Themis accurately pressed. "against blasphemy?"

"Blasphemy?" Apollo's brows rose, displaying his evident surprise and intrigue. Once again, he found himself marvelling at her sharpness; she was undoubtedly the most perceptive immortal in their pantheon, second only to himself. However, hearing her explicitly label the power and hold that the mortals would gain over Gods as blasphemy still surprised him.

"It is unquestionably blasphemy," affirmed Themis, her unwavering eyes fixed on the Black Sea. Her voice was low and silent, a whisper in the gentle light meant only for his ears. "What is going to be done to all of us, the children of Khaos." She paused for a moment of heavy silence before revealing. "He doesn't trust us."

"He?" Apollo's voice quivered with a mix of shock and trepidation, like waves crashing violently in a raging storm. The winds of caution howled within him as he reached out with his senses, gripping the sounds of the sea that lay before them. He twisted and wove them together, trying to drown out the impending revelation from his teacher, for he sensed deep in his very bones that it would be another horrifying truth. And he knew, without a doubt, that he wouldn't like it one bit. "You mean someone is actually behind what is to come?"

"Lose your caution; nobody here will hear us unless I allow them," Themis reassured, her voice a soothing balm before her usual stern gaze returned as she answered his question. "Apollo, take a good look around you. We're within a boundless and infinite cosmos crafted by an omnipotent being. Nothing happens without a cause. Remember that well."

"Nothing happens without a cause." Apollo echoed the words, feeling the bitter truth embedded within them. "I get it, teacher," he said, a mix of caution and curiosity guiding his next words. "So who is it, teacher? It can't be God, can it?"

"No," Themis revealed, partially closing her eyes. "It's not the Almighty, but one of His original archangels—the one who meticulously wove form, pattern, and order into the nascent creation."

"I understand it all now..." Apollo murmured, his voice tinged with a haunting realisation. He lifted his gaze to the heavens, his eyes piercing through the atmosphere, transcending multiple layers of reality until he reached the very essence that shaped the Order of the Cosmos. It materialised as a resplendent golden tree, its branches and roots interwoven with every part and facet of the cosmos.

This was the Golden Order.

Apollo had often pondered the creator behind it, contemplating who wove the concepts and laws of the cosmos and the ancient laws of the gods—all enshrined within its auric roots.

Countless speculations had swirled in his mind, and the tale of creation had significantly narrowed them down, but now he held a definitive answer.

The architect of the Golden Order was none other than Gabriel Hornblower, a Demiurge Archangel!

"This..." Apollo murmured, his heart burdened with heaviness and trepidation. He snapped his gaze back to his teacher, who too stared skyward, likely fixated on the Golden Order. Her gaze carried a hardened and weathered look, as if she had beheld it countless times. But before he could say anything, a deep voice echoed from behind them. "I am prepared, Mustages."

Apollo shifted his gaze towards Euterpe, who nodded to him. Then he turned back to his teacher, feeling her hand rest gently on his shoulder, providing a comforting squeeze. "We'll continue this conversation later, Apollo," she assured him.

The God of Light nodded in begrudging acknowledgment, and together with the Muses, they walked towards the Hundred-handed Ones, who were still talking to his family about their works.

Euterpe clutched the horn tightly, a mixture of nervousness and determination still evident in her eyes, shared by her sisters. This project held immense significance for all of them, as they had never undertaken something of this magnitude before. The fact that it was their inaugural endeavour with their Musagetes only added to the weight on their shoulders. Failure was simply not an option.

"Have our orders finally come to fruition, son of Zeus?" Gyges, with his myriad eyes, was the first to catch sight of them, his gaze fixated on the group. His brothers swiftly followed suit, their attention drawn towards them in question as well.

"Yes," Apollo affirmed with a nod, his gaze shifting towards Euterpe, his voice imbued with gentle encouragement. "Euterpe, sound the horn, and let our dream reverberate within them."

Euterpe locked eyes with her sisters, their resolute expressions mirroring Apollo's unwavering support. Fueled by buring determination, she raised the horn to her lips and blew, unleashing a torrential cascade of ethereal sound waves. Within those harmonious melodies resided not only their meticulously crafted plans and aspirations for the monument but also their fervent passion and visionary essence.

The melodic resonance pierced the ears of the Hundred-Handed Ones, entwining with their very beings and sending ripples of raw emotion through their souls. They shut their eyes, surrendering themselves to the shared moment and allowing every note to seep into their essence. As they opened their eyes once more, a newfound recognition gleamed in their gaze, fixed upon Apollo and his Muses. With unwavering unity, they declared, "Your dream shall become reality."

Apollo's gaze locked onto the Hundred-Handed Ones, and a wave of curiosity and intrigue swept through the gathering. All eyes beheld a wondrous sight as the colossal beings miraculously entwined their countless hands, assuming a posture of prayer. From their worn-out mouths, a solemn chant reverberated, a sacred plea to their mother.

In unison, Themis and Phoebe shut their eyes and offered their own prayers to their mother. Witnessing this, Apollo joined his hands together and uttered a prayer as well—thus, one by one, the entire assembly beseeched the Mother of All.

Moved by the prayers of her children, Gaea's response overflowed with love. She unleashed a torrent of mythical and unseen materials and metals, sprouting forth from her body. They surged forward, cascading onto the land and pouring into the seas that bordered the strait, obediently submitting to the command and will of the Hundred-Handed Ones. With a mighty gesture, they raised their hands, summoning the formidable hammers that once fashioned Mount Olympus.

Now, the moment had arrived for them to once again grasp those hammers to build the monument that would stand as a testament of the divine within the mortal lands. It would encapsulate the essence of sacred Delphi within its hallowed walls, a symbol of power and reverence.