Chapter 5: Weapons of Power

“We’re here because we’re not free. There’s no escaping reason, no denying purpose - because as we both know, without purpose, we would not exist. It is purpose that created us, connects us, pulls us, guides us, drives us. It is purpose that defines. Purpose that binds us.”

-- Agent Smith (as portrayed by Hugo Weaving), The Matrix Reloaded (2003), written, screenplay, and directed by Lana Wachowski and Lilly Wachowski, copyright © Warner Bros.

On the heights of Olympus, the three daughters of Cronos and Rhea looked out of their window to see three handsome young gods jumping and running down the side of Olympus without help from others.

Hera slapped Demeter and Hestia to motion at the brothers. “Do you see?”

“Were those our brothers?” Hestia wondered.

She seemed entirely unimpressed by their efforts. Crossing her arms, there was a critical analysis from her.

“So it seems. The one in the middle seems handsome, don’t you think, Hera?” Demeter asked.

Hera’s eyes fell upon another of the three. Her eyes looked him up and down and wonder why he had a blue tinge to his skin.

“I don’t know ‘Meter. I think the scarred one is really cute.”

“Careful,” Hestia mused with a laugh. “You don’t want to impede Mother’s plans for you as queen.”

Hera paused, never thinking of that. She looked at the blue-ish gray deity running down the side of the mountain. He turned his head, looking directly at Hera.

There, right then, between them, time seemed to slow. It was almost as if he could see through her very soul, and she could not stop herself from blushing.

Hera looked back, seeing a sad, damaged man. There was some indefinable quality about him that she very much liked. She wished, for the smallest moment, that she did not need to marry the next King of Olympus.

Crius was the first to arrive in Olympus. That was to be expected. After the Titans’ conflict with their Primordial father, Ouranos, the Titan of Constellations had been crippled by his father. His hands had irrevocably been crushed. The damage was so extensive that it went from his forearms all the way to his fingertips.

For this depraved action, taken by his father, Crius had been one of the more prolific brothers along with Cronos and Hyperion. When they had begun their battle against their father, it might have been accepted that Crius would be the next ruler of Olympus, but the moment that his father had taken his mighty hands from him, Crius was no longer relevant to that particular conversation. Without his impressive strength to back him up, he felt unworthy.

After that day, Cronos had led the family. However, not once had the youngest brother of the Titans been cruel or unfair to Crius. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The Titan King had given Crius honor and encouraged Crius to work with Coeus in helping make up the night sky. Crius was the usual go between Hyperion and Cronos as well as Oceanus and Cronos but for different reasons.

Hyperion was one to go traveling often. The Light Titan went off to other lands and made friends and pacts and traded small things like pottery and trinkets with the local divinities. Because he was always coming and going, Crius would meet with him after Hyperion had his alone time with Theia.

Oceanus had the opposite problem. He was a recluse when compared to the rest of the Titans. However, rather that going out into the other Realms, his issue was that Oceanus never seemed to leave the sea. This problem became so great that he would battle with Pontus.

Pontus was a ‘supposed’ Primordial, which was ludicrous because one of Ouranos’ titles was ‘The Last Primordial’, and yet, after the Titans’ mother weeped for Ouranos, her tears had helped created a sentience in the sea. That was Pontus. Regardless if he was a Primordial or not, he was certainly powerful. He had taken on Oceanus and his nearly three thousand or so children and grandchildren.

With Eurybia, Crius had fathered three children in Astraios, Pallas, and Perses. That was certainly enough for him. Pallus alone made him feel inferior in his standing as his son was. There were metals far less sturdy than his son. How Oceanus kept track of his family, Crius would never understand.

All of those factors, as well as a few private ones, made Crius all the more loyal to Cronos. He had understood the need to supplant their father. Furthermore, having seen the value of loyalty to one’s own with Hyperion always returning to Greece and Oceanus always standing by his offspring, Crius never strayed too far from Cronos.

So when the call came, he answered.

He ran towards Cronos in the throne room of the Titan King’s palace. The blow to his brother had left wounds all along Cronos’ body, centering from his torso. Slowly, the youngest Titan brother rolled over and exposed the depth of the damage. His stomach had been ripped open by a powerful blow of energy.

The residual signs of magic and power lingered enough for Crius to observe. That was not all he witnessed. Crius could see the slightly-weak breathing of Cronos. It was uncomfortable seeing his king of a brother being so vulnerable and yet alive.

There were times that Crius thought that being King of Olympus meant that one needed to be invincible. That Cronos was not did not make Crius think any less of him. Instead, it made him empathize all the more.

A boom was heard behind the injured Titan, and he knew that Hyperion had arrived.

“Where were you?” Crius angrily asked. “Where in Tartarus were you, Hyperion?”

He made a motion to Cronos, and from the reddish gold ichor, it was clear what had happened was undeniably devastating.

“Ruling my domain!” Hyperion shouted back defensively even as he ran to Cronos’ side.

A glow emanated from Cronos’ eyes causing the other brothers to step back. Slowly, ever so slowly, with painful deliberation, the wounds weakened, coming undone. Cronos stood before his brothers in his burgundy skirt and bare, hairy chest as his belly started to close all on its own.

Hyperion and Crius stared in awe at the power of their brother. He was proving once again why he was king and why he was called Cronos the Titan of Time.

He held up a hand, so that his brothers did not speak. He allowed his power to rectify the injustice that was his wounds before he decided to talk.

“It is good that you are both here,” Cronos said. He motioned his head towards them. “Hyperion, Crius. You are the most loyal.”

“What happened?”

“It would seem the Fates’ prophecy about my children is finally coming to pass.”

Both looked aghast.

“Do not worry,” went on the King of Olympus. “After we wipe out these vermin sons of mine, I will find a way to reward you for this loyalty. You arrived first when you king called in his hour of need.”

The Titan of Constellations blinked in confusion. He was not sure what Cronos was insinuating, but it felt very much like the day when they had gone to battle with the Primordial King.

“What shall we do now, Brother?” Crius asked.

“We will wait on our other brothers, Crius,” Cronos sniffed. He stood at his full height and began to shrink down to about eight feet tall. “Then, we shall plan for the conflict that is to come!”

The three landed in Tartarus. The deep confines of the Underworld did not often witness living gods meant for Olympus in its Realm. This day was different from most others that had come before and certainly unlike those that would come after.

The domain stretched before Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades as an abyss of darkness and cries that seemed to stretch on forever. The air was heavy with an eerie stillness made by its deathly separation from the higher lands of Greece. One might have heard distant murmurs of shadowy figures aimlessly through the abyss if not for the arrival of the great grandsons of the Chaos.

In the deeper reaches, Ouranos walked in the land of the dead without any thought about where he was going or even of his grandsons had come to this place. He was a spectral being of a bygone era, wandering with vacant eyes. He could not even acknowledge his surroundings’ existence, much less the existence of the incoming sons of Cronos.

As the three young gods stepped forward, the ground beneath their feet seemed to shift. Was it a subtle acknowledgment of their presence? They certainly were superior to the spectral deities who walked the lands.

Zeus surveyed the haunting landscape for a moment. He was trying to think of what Gaia had told him of the Underworld. Her education was thorough, but the simple truth was that he was not the brightest pupil at times.

Poseidon and his glinting sea-green eyes looked from one brother to another with determination. He clenched the rock that he believed to be made of magic from their mother close to his chest. He had been right all along, and this day, even in the dank and dreary world of the Underworld, was his reward.

Hades, for his part, used his dark countenance to mask an air of solemnity and even regret. Poseidon had been right all those years, but he had blown his brother off. Poseidon was his only friend in all of existence, and it would have cost Hades little to believe in him. Despite these feelings, the eldest brother found a measure of comfort in this bleak realm where he would not need to fight or have any conflict in existence.

Though, he paused and looked down at his hand. He saw his scars were leaking golden ichor. Had all of his time in the belly of Cronos made it so he was incompatible with the outside world?

He did not have long to think as Zeus began to speak.

“Brothers,” Zeus began, his voice resonating with authority. He outstretched both arms excitedly. “Welcome to Tartarus.”

“Not to ruin your moment, but why are we here?” Poseidon asked. “I thought we would kill our father and be free of his rule.”

“Yeah...” Zeus said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am guessing you both had a lot of time to think about that in Father’s belly?”

“We did,” Hades replied with a nod.

He stepped forward, so the three of them created a nearly equal triangle. If he had been more observant, he would have noticed that he had brought himself slightly closer to Zeus than he had to his brother Poseidon.

“Poseidon might be immature, but he is correct in his query. Why are we here, Zeus?”

The question, from its tone to Hades’ gruff voice, caught Zeus aback. He had thought they would simply be grateful and lend their power to him and his cause in the path ahead. All too quickly, he was learning that no matter what plan he had come up with, qualities change when thoughts become reality.

“Gaia, our grandmother,” Zeus answered nervously, “told me of potential allies that might be here.”

“Who?” Hades wondered, skeptical.

“The Cyclopes and the Hecatoncheires,” Zeus said confidently. He started looking left to right. “They are mighty beings that can forge nearly anything, but I think they could make us the weapons we need,”

Hades raised his brow in concern. While he did not know much about Olympus to the Underworld because of his imprisonment, that did not stop him from being curious. Further still, he did not like how Zeus seemed to know exactly what he was talking about one moment and then was unsure in the next.

“Is not Tartarus dangerous?” Hades asked.

Zeus nodded. He stepped away from the other two to look around.

“It can be, but we will not be here long.”

“And who is that?” Poseidon asked, motioning to the tall Primordial trudging through the Underworld.

Zeus’ gaze settled on the spectral being. He compared him to one of the statues on Olympus and used the knowledge that Gaia had told Zeus about Cronos and his ascension into power.

“Ouranos,” he said offhandedly. He went back to his search soon enough.

Hades looked up to see his grandfather. His gaze did not linger on the larger-than-life being. Instead, he looked for his half-brother. Cronos had eaten Aether. Where had his brother been? Surely, he had died, and therefore, his essence should have been part of the Underworld.

And yet, he was not present. Had he been taken somewhere else? Was it possible that he was gone for good?

Poseidon stared at Hades curiously. Hades’ reaction to the answer made Poseidon aware of the fact that Hades was keeping secrets from him.

Hades ignored Poseidon in place of looking for his elder brother.

When nothing came of this exchange, Zeus made a waving motion for his brothers to follow and then told them to help him in his search.

Together, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades journeyed through the depths of Tartarus. They could not know how long they were in the lower Realm of the Dead. They could say that they could feel the cold depth touching their skin, and the freezing loneliness was starting to worm its way into them until it found a home in their bones. The sensations might have gotten worse and worse.

Feelings such as those might have continued for each if not for the fact that they came across gargantuan beings who were chained to the walls of the Underworld: The Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires.

What two of them did not know was that these were their uncles. They did not understand the love that Gaia had held for these creatures that had been deemed ‘unsightly’ and ‘ugly’. For such petty justification, they had been discarded by the Primordial King.

“Cyclopes? Hecatoncheires?” Zeus called out.

Though he had done his best to not sound unsure, the syllables came out that way...

One of the one-eyed Cyclopes moved against the wall where they were bound and fought the very chain that bound them.

“Little being?” he asked. He looked around, trying to identify Zeus. When he found him, he went on. “What do you want?”

“I am called Zeus, son of Cronos and Rhea!”

While the Lightning Prince had hoped by revealing his parentage would ingratiate him to these behemoths, he found that one he spoke to barely stirred. The others seemed to just sleep and ignore him, which was not a sensation he was used to.

“What does that have to do with us, little Zeus?” The Cyclops went on. “We have nothing to do with our siblings or their children since our father trapped us.”

“I know, great being! We have come to free you,” Hades said.

Though Hades tried to sound sure of himself, he was shaky at best. His wounds from a lifetime within Cronos were taking a toll on him, and he had not been given lessons in history and combat like his youngest brother.

“You barely seem to be able to help yourself,” a Hecatoncheires responded.

Though he seemed to wake up, he did not open his eyes or budge even an inch. The other four did not move at all.

“Tell us how we might help you, so we can all be free of this place, then,” Hades growled in response.

“What would you have of us?” the Cyclops asked. “Our father trapped us, and your father used our tools to slay our father but left us here to wallow and suffer.”

“We seek your help in deposing our father from power, but we give you our word that we have no intention of trapping you in Tartarus once again.”

“What does your word mean to us?” the Cyclops asked.

“It is our bond!” Poseidon added. “Zeus swore to free us from our father’s captivity for us, and he freed us. We mean the same for you!”

In truth, Poseidon did not know if Zeus made such a vow, but he knew that Zeus had followed through on a perilous journey to free them. Additionally, Zeus could always contradict him since he was right there. Why would he not free the enormous creatures before them?

“All we need from you is to provide us with weapons and swear not to help our parents in the coming conflict.”