Chapter 2

The chamber was empty. The silence that filled the room after Ares and Aphrodite had left was almost tangible. The white marble walls, adorned with golden frescoes depicting the great triumphs of the gods, now seemed cold and indifferent. The light emanating from the dying fire in the hearth slowly dimmed, casting its final, fading shadows over the armor that once belonged to Hephaestus – now abandoned and bloodied, scattered across the floor like relics of former glory. In the center of the room, still bound to a heavy stone chair, sat the god of fire. His face was pale, almost expressionless, but his eyes burned with hatred.

(They left me... like a dog. No... worse. A dog, at least, is loyal. They... They trampled on my loyalty, my love.) His thoughts swirled in his head, each new one bringing with it a fresh wave of anger. (Have I been nothing but a tool my whole life? A tool in the hands of the woman I loved above all? In the hands of the father I revered above all?!)

In the chamber that was once a sanctuary, now every object seemed to betray him. Hephaestus's gaze moved to the massive bed – the bed he had shared with Aphrodite. (How many times did she lie here with me, whispering sweet lies? How long did she feed me illusions, while only hatred burned in her heart?)

(Trust... what a pathetic illusion. Never again. Never again will I allow anyone to hurt me. Never again...) The anger grew within him like a wildfire, consuming everything that remained of his former self. Every memory that once brought him joy was now like salt being poured into open wounds.

"They will all pay..." – the whisper filled his mind, as if it was the only thought that mattered. (Not just Aphrodite... But everyone who laughed behind my back. Zeus... the one who abandoned me... Ares, the one who took what was mine... All of Olympus.)

Then came the emptiness, cold and boundless. The anger that raged like a storm just moments ago now stilled, like a sea after a tempest. Everything around him suddenly became unimportant. Only one thought remained – escape. Hephaestus's stony face was a mask, beneath which there was nothing left but darkness. Only his burning eyes betrayed the fire that still smoldered within him.

(They will break me... if I stay here. I must... I must get free. There is no other way.) He looked at the bonds that held his hands and feet. A mere mortal would never break free from them, but Hephaestus was no mortal. He was the god of blacksmiths, the lord of fire and metal. And now, he was a wild beast that would do anything to break free.

With determination growing with each heartbeat, he lowered his head, bringing his wrists closer to his mouth. His teeth sank into the leather straps that bound him. The grating sound of metal against metal echoed through the chamber as he bit and tore at them, like a wild animal trapped in a snare. The veins in his neck bulged, his face contorted with a mix of rage and resolve. With every bite, with every moment, the bonds gave way – more and more.

(I will destroy you... all of you. Nothing will stop me...) The thought repeated in his mind like a mantra, until finally, the leather gave way, and the restraints broke under the pressure of his teeth. His hands were free. With a wild gleam in his eyes, filled with newfound strength, he began to free the rest of his body. His stone-like face no longer betrayed any emotion. It was the mask of vengeance, ready for anything.

Hephaestus, barely stifling a groan of pain, stood up from the chair. For a moment, he remained still, trying to catch his breath, feeling the blood slowly circulating in his freed limbs. His eyes scanned the chamber – the place that had once been his home, now turned into a trap. There was nothing left for him here. He had to escape.

Quietly, almost silently, he moved toward the door. His movements were slow and cautious – he knew he had to avoid any encounters. Though he knew every nook and cranny of his palace, he now felt like a stranger among his own walls.

As he neared the exit, he heard voices coming from the corridor. He hid behind one of the columns, listening.

"I can't believe something like this happened to our master," said one of the passing blacksmiths, his face full of sorrow.

"Aphrodite... she was always above him, but to humiliate him like that?" – added another, shaking his head. "No one deserved this."

"And us? What could we have done?" – asked a third, barely holding back tears. "They are gods, and we are just their servants. We had no choice."

Hephaestus felt the anger rise within him again, like a wave of molten lava. (No choice? Inaction is your choice! You betrayed me, just like they did! You are nothing but cowards, unworthy of my wrath... but you will feel it nonetheless.) His thoughts became as sharp as the swords he once forged for the gods. The pity he saw on their faces only fueled his contempt.

As the blacksmiths moved on, Hephaestus slipped out of the shadows and quickly slipped through the narrow corridors until he reached the back exit. He knew these passages better than anyone. After all, he had designed them himself, so that he would never be a prisoner in his own home.

When he finally left the palace, he felt the cool air on his face. It was like a breath of freedom. But his mind would not rest. He knew where he had to go. His thoughts turned to the sun god, Helios, who often flew through different dimensions in his fiery chariot.

(Helios... the one who is always looking for new experiences. He loves to leave the heavenly realms and immerse himself in the mortal world. How many times had I seen him in a Gotham City bar, drinking and bragging about his journey through all corners of the world? This would be my escape route.)

Helios's fiery chariot was majestic and powerful. Its wheels, made of pure gold, were decorated with flames that never went out, and the horses pulling the chariot were creatures in themselves—born of pure fire, with eyes that glowed like miniature suns. But what interested Hephaestus the most was the hiding place Helios kept in his chariot. It was always full of the strangest finds from his travels—but it was also big enough to hide a person in.

(All I have to do is get inside, and Helios will transport me far away from here. To Gotham. Where they won't find me. And then... I'll prepare. Revenge will be sweet.) Hephaestus headed for the place where Helios usually stopped the chariot to rest. The hatred that burned within him was now the only thing that powered his steps.

When he reached his destination, Helios was nowhere to be seen. But the chariot was exactly where it should be—tethered to one of the ancient trees. Hephaestus, feeling the blood pulsing in his veins, approached the chariot cautiously. He found a hiding place and opened it without a moment's hesitation. There was just enough space there for him to use.

(They won't find me. I'll disappear. But I'll come back... I'll come back to burn everything they love.) With that thought, Hephaestus slipped into the vault, closing the lid behind him. In the darkness, locked in the tight metal vault, he could only feel his own heart beating like a hammer. He was safe now - at least for now.

There was a journey ahead of him, and then... then the time for revenge.