23 Apotheosis part - 1

Words 3,055

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You don't know what to expect when you return to consciousness, you half-expected to not return at all.

Mind-numbing pain that wracks your body was high on that list, followed closely by the phantom faces of your past looking down at you disapprovingly. What you don't expect is the complete absence of, well, anything. No flayed muscles or broken bones, or open bleeding wounds to speak of.

Had it all been a dream, you wonder? It couldn't have been when the memories were so vivid, so clear that the only explanation is that you had lived through it. And yet, your body bore none of the wounds from your trials, no crushing sensation of your lungs compressing themselves flat, or of the pit in your stomach turning your small intestine into mush...just, nothing at all, as though the day itself had never occurred.

Am I dead?

You might have been tempted to accept such a conclusion if not for the cool crisp wind that sweeps over you gently. You crack your eyes hesitantly, wondering if you would see a sulfurous sky, or the black reaches of space to greet you.

What you didn't expect is to be greeted by an idyllic blue sky dotted with perfectly formed white clouds. The ground is soft beneath you, and when you lift your hand you find it smattered with black soil and verdant grass.

Death has no right being so serene. you think.

If I'm not dead, then where am I?

"Crushing my asters, for one."

A man suddenly appears above you, and his towering frame casts a shadow over your vision. His wizened face is turned into a deep frown as though you had done some great injustice. You can't help but feel guilty under this judging gaze.

A caustic remark bubbles out of you before you can stop it. "Point me in the right direction, and I'll take leave of your garden patch, old man."

Nonetheless, you comply, dusting yourself off, and with deliberate care, slowly rearrange the broken petals and stems with the upturned soil. The flowers hadn't done anything wrong after all.

The man's brow furrows in consternation. "Old man?" he asks rhetorically. One hand runs down the length of his dark beard and memories of old philosophers carved from marble rise to the forefront of your thoughts. But all of that pales in comparison to the most startling feature. His eyes burn with the intensity of the sun's golden rays.

"I," you halt searching your memories. "I know you."

He looks at you with something akin to pity. "Woe be the day the son does not recognize his own father."

The man says the words so casually with the same ease as describing the weather, so much so, you barely register what he had said at all. Then they thunder like the gales of a hurricane in your ears.

It could have been a momentous occasion, a young boy lost and finally connecting with an equally long-lost and forgotten father. The two would embrace one another and the love that could only exist between father and son bridges the gap of years and lost opportunities taken so cruelly by an unspeakable evil. It would have been so tooth-rotting sweet and perfect for the storybooks.

Unfortunately, you're not a young innocent boy and your life isn't a storybook, except maybe for the Germans, Cadmus Othrys would be a perfect fit right beside Hansel and Gretel.

You turn to the man who claims to be your father and you can't find fault in his words. It's as if you're looking at yourself in the mirror only thirty years older. Somehow that doesn't really make you any happier.

"The orphanage was great by the way, thanks for asking."

He levels you with a placid solemn gaze. "I would hope so, only the best for my children."

"You know kids are generally supposed to know their parent's names."

"Children generally do not kill wantonly or run around in costumed tights, or has that changed since last I was on Gaea?"

"Yeah, so have bedsheets and childhood abandonment."

Your words bounce off him like Teflon. "Then humanity has improved by leaps and bounds over the past millennia."

In your attempts to get a rise out of him, all you've done is gone and made yourself angry. And the man, your so-called father, only smiles like he's humoring you. After a long moment of tense silence, he speaks in a slow and measured tone.

"I feel as though you expect some sort of apology from me."

"Just a bit." you spit venomously.

"Would that truly help you?" he asks curiously. "Will simple words be enough to soothe that anger you carry so close and wear like armor around your heart?"

"You don't know me, so cut the sanctimonious bullshit."

"On the contrary, Cadmus, I know you more than any other person, I have given you more than any other."

"The missing birthday cakes and Christmas trees beg to differ. You owe me eighteen years' worth, with interest."

"What would that have gotten you besides addiction to sugar and a fledgling belief in Alemenic drivel? No, my child, I have given you the greatest gift of all, I've given you your power."

Maybe if you'd been a stable state of mind you would have recognized that a lack of birthday cakes in exchange for the ability to manipulate Time and by extension, reality itself was by all means a very fair trade and one that you would have taken in a heartbeat.

Unfortunately, you'd just been gored by the fucking Chimera, set on fire by a deamon and captured by the Justice League so you'd be excused from not exactly reacting well to your father's response.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Your back stiffens as all traces of humor vanish from his eyes and you're left staring into a deathly serious visage..

"Calm yourself, you are upsetting the carnations. They're sensitive flowers as I'm sure you are aware."

Said flowers wilt and lose color before your eyes as though responding to your own anger. A single deliberate touch from the man does not heal them as you would expect. Instead, the stem and petals begin to disintegrate, the green leeching to a deathly grey before it collapses back into the soil. And like magic, newborn seedling sprouts from the ground and blooms into a mature carnation in a matter of moments.

"You killed it…How did you do that?"

"Death alone gives way to life, child. Those carnations were doomed already, I simply sped up their demise to usher in a replacement. Always forward-"

"never back," you finish. Your father looks pleased with himself.

"Good, you were listening, that already makes you more competent than most of my siblings. And as to who I am, child, we both are well aware that you know exactly who I am."

You could believe there are aliens, hell you've met some of your own. You could even wrap your head around demons and magic existing, but, if your suspicion is correct then everything you know about the world may as well be wrong.

It would make the old gardener dressed in a chiton the once supreme lord of the cosmos, a divine king that once ruled all of creation.

It would make you his son. And what would that mean for you? For Cadmus Othrys once orphan to suddenly be the brother of the Sky and Sea, sibling to the very forces of the universe borne from the fanciful imaginations of men who huddled around in caves when man knew nothing but fire and the dangers of the dark?

"You're just a myth."

"If I am but a myth then what does that make you, Cadmus?"

The Crooked One, The Lord of Time, Husband of Rhea, Son of the Sky and Earth.

That at least explains the ichor, and the power of Time, and why literally every bad thing in the world happens to you. It's divine karma for your dad being the literal boogie-man of Greek mythology.

"Kronos. You're Kronos."

The King of the Titans tuts. "Names have power, child, and that was a mockery of an introduction. In times long past it would have been a mortal insult to address me alone as such. I am Kronos, King of the Titans, Lord of Time, Son of the Earth, and He who slew the Sky."

Each word echoes loudly with unbridled power, and the air almost seems to crackle under its weight. The little display would have no doubt caused a normal person to quake and supplicate at the deity's feet. Maybe it's the shock of discovering that your father is a Titan, or that this might be just a fever dream as your brain's deprived of oxygen, but it's honestly really underwhelming.

At least you finally figured out where you got your sense of dramatics from.

"Now that we've finally filled in half of the family tree, would my mom also be here? And on that note, how are you even here, or how do I even exist? Last time I checked, Zeus, who somehow is my brother I guess, had turned you into a jigsaw puzzle."

The placid mask cracks and Kronos's eye twitches. "You will show respect to your sire, child."

So the king can bleed.

"Lucky that I wasn't your firstborn," you say flippantly. "May I say it's an honor to not be gestating in your stomach right now. Going by the lack of bib, I'm going to assume you've turned over a new leaf, on the whole, eating your kid's thing."

"Had we not already been among the Elysian Fields, I would have smote you for your impertinence."

"Judging by my siblings, I'm going to blame it on the bad parenting."

Maybe it isn't the best idea to piss off the FUCKING KING OF THE TITANS even if this is just a fever dream of your own creation. But could anyone blame you, you have to be the first person in what, like nine millennia, to see an exasperated Kronos.

"Come on, I can't be that bad, in fact, I have to be a shoo-in for a favorite child mug, big honor too with all that competition I've got."

Said father only sighs heavily and nurses his forehead in an open head.

You really should have cut your losses there, but you're on too much of a roll. You could even say you lost track of time.

"So, did you just kind of forget I existed? The Olympian gas station doesn't have a clock down here, or did your hourglass stop working?" Kronos's eyes burn gold and the temperature plummets. You suddenly realize you may have made a terrible mistake.

"No time puns," he hisses hatefully. "I had to hear those for four fucking millennia in the deepest pits of Tartarus. Nothing your mind can conjure will be original and will be equally unamusing."

Cadmus 1, Pops 0. you think with satisfaction. Outwardly you raise your hands in surrender.

"Didn't mean to stir up old memories, Tartarus wasn't exactly paradise, I take it?" You don't imagine it the literal manifestation of hell would be a fun vacation spot for a couple of millenia, but it never hurt to ask…okay, it never hurts you, at least.

The withering look you get in response is far better than being smote into smithereens.

"You have never had the pleasure of being forced to slowly regenerate your immortal essence within the very body of, what do the mortals say nowadays, step-father?"

You shake your head.

"Fate's willing you'll never have such a dubious honor, now if you are done with the inane questions, we have much to speak of before your presence is noted."

Clearly he didn't expect you to challenge him on that. Maybe if Kronos knew anything about you, than he would have known how dumb a thought like that would be.

"Actually, yeah one question, now that I've finally solved the eighteen-year mystery of who my father is, I'd rather not wait until I'm retired to figure out the identity of the woman who gave birth to me."

"That is a mystery to both you and me. The woman shouted something about the dark side and her fury. A few hours later you were conceived." He replies blandly.

You gape at him openmouthed before sputtering out a response. "That's it, really? My mom was like a Sith or something?" you ask incredulously.

"I do not know what a Sith is, but it could be. And close your mouth before you ask another dumb question. No, you are not dead, and yes, you would not come here even if you were dead. The only reason you are here is that your coil has thinned so far that Death circles you like carrion. And no, The Elysian Fields are meant for heroic mortals. I dare say you fail in both those categories."

"Harsh," you mutter.

"You do not begin to understand the word harsh, boy. That awaits you on the other side of this dream. Now we must be quick, I can feel Hades's attention being alerted. You will face many tribulations in the coming days, child, the Fates have never been kind to us, I know you will not be an exception. But remember who you are, Cadmus Othrys, you are the Son of Time, and your fate is your own."

The world around you begins to flicker and in the far distance, winged creatures swirl amidst the blue sky, coming ever closer.

You reach out desperately trying to keep a hold of him, but your arm simply passes through him like a ghost.

"What do you want from me?" you gasp out even as your body loses form and color drains from the world.

"What all fathers want from their sons, to reach your true potential. Farewell, son, we will meet again, if you survive."

The world splits beneath your fleet and you slip through the fissure, plunging into the unending chasm. His laughter echoes ominously in your ears even as you sink into oblivion.

Beeeep. Beeep. Beeep.

The overpowering smell of sterile equipment fills your nose. Your fists bunch weakly around impossibly soft fabric.

You blearily crack open your eyes, taking in the all-white room littered with all manner of machines. It hurts to even do that, and your body screams at you to return to sleep.

Beeep. Beeep. Beeep.

I'm in a hospital, you realize.

Good news, I'm alive.

Bad news, your body feels like you've just been run over liberally by the largest eighteen-wheeler convoy in world history.

You try to raise your arms to ease the aching soreness in your muscles only to find them held fast in place.

You finally notice the pair of bonds fastened to the bed's carriage.

Even worse news, I've been captured.

"You're finally awake." That's when you notice the figure standing at the front of your bed.

She, for the figure, is undoubtedly a woman, studies you with an implacable gaze through electric blue eyes, her lips are set into a firm and thin line of disapproval.

Dark hair falls like ringlets to her shoulders and a golden tiara sits firmly on the crown of her head. Her complexion is vaguely Mediterranean, a way that you yourself have been described before, and her features are sharp, undeniably attractive, and yet equally cold, like a statue come to life.

If there was any question in your mind as to the identity of this mysterious stranger was, they're swiftly banished by the sight of the golden lasso that hangs around her hip.

Wonder Woman, standing at your bedside donned in full battle armor and wearing an expression cold enough to make hell itself freeze over.

It's every villain's nightmare and every man's fantasy all bunched up into one messy package.

Your instinctual response, the response that usually gets you into very bad situations like engendering the personal hatred of the now-deceased king of Gotham's underworld, really, and you mean really, wants to say an undoubtedly sarcastic remark.

The logical part of you says that's a terrible fucking idea.

But unfortunately, you've just discovered your father is Kronos, yes, the Kronos...that or you need to be put on multiple psychiatric medications with a heavy dosage of ketamine stat.

And so, in the face of the very unhappy Amazon who could crush your head like a watermelon between her muscled thighs - not that would not be a bad end by any means- you decide to throw logic to the wind.

"You know, with deductive skills like that I almost mistook you for Batman."

Her lips don't even so much as twitch.

"Wow, really? Tough crowd. So, if you're not hear for my comedic personality, to what do I owe the offer of this unexpected visit, Wonder Woman? And can you take these chains off me? They're chafing."

"The bonds will remain so long as you are considered a threat."

"A threat, me?" you feign innocence. "what could have I possibly done? Last time I checked, I was the one who stuck my neck out to help your little team of sidekicks." You pointedly look down at the straps holding your arms. "and this is the thanks I get?"

"Your aid was invaluable, but it does not wash away your wrongdoings."

Familiar anger rises up within you. "And like I said, what wrongdoings?"

The Amazon ignores your question taking purposeful steps closer to you. It's only then you get a full understanding of how imposing she really is. Beautiful she may have been, but Wonder Woman reminds you of a panther as she almost prowls and you're left guessing as to which step is her last before the inevitable lunge.

Instead, she simply examines you with cool eyes.

"An interesting name, Cadmus, for the ill-fated king of Thebes. My people believe names have power, that they define your very person. I do believe that holds equally true for yourself. Yes, your actions are almost...Cadmean. Had you not intervened in the battle, you would not have been weakened enough to be taken, prisoner. Your victory sealed your defeat, just like the old king of Thebes."