Time of Zeus
Copyright© 2024 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 10: God of the Open Sea
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 10: God of the Open Sea - In the aftermath of the Great Titan War, the sons of Cronos—Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades—draw straws to determine their realms. Zeus claims Greece and Olympus, Poseidon takes the sea, and Hades becomes the ruler of the Underworld. Follow their personal journeys as they acclimate to their new responsibilities and face the challenges that come with their newfound power.
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy War Alternate History Far Past Paranormal Magic non-anthro Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Grand Parent Cream Pie Exhibitionism Lactation Pregnancy Big Breasts Body Modification Nudism Politics Revenge Royalty Transformation Violence
“The death of Olympus means the death of us all!”
— Poseidon (as voiced by Gideon Emery), God of War III (2010). Developed by Santa Monica Studio; published by Sony Computer Entertainment. Written by Marianne Krawczyk. Originally released March 16, 2010. © 2010 Santa Monica Studio / Sony Computer Entertainment. All rights reserved.
The still quietude of crepuscle painted over the palace even as Oceanus and Tethys lay in their bed of their sumptuous chambers. The finest blankets covered their expansive bodies. Unspoken words separated the king and queen.
Tethys was ever a beauty in their most private of chambers. The soft glow of moonlight filtering in through the windows displayed her soft, elegant loveliness that had been hindered by a look of apprehension.
“What if he succeeds, dear husband?” she inquired.
A hint of concern laced every word because she was a pragmatic matron. However, more than that, she was veritably inquisitive for the newcomer of their Realm.
“He won’t,” came the easy assertion from the Sea King.
Those two small words were not enough for the queen’s likings. She had followed her husband since the dawn of time. Even as children, she had loved her brother as the future spouse that he had been meant to be.
However, since the beginning of this conflict with Pontus, there was an obsession that had poisoned her consort. Scarcely did she see the one she had fallen for. In his place, there was a being fixated on the specifics of who ruled the entirety of the ocean.
As such, she could not understand why Oceanus would gamble the domain he was keen to keep for himself.
“But what if he does?” Tethys persisted, her tone soft yet insistent.
She did all she could to not sound like she was shrill or upset. After all, in this endeavor, it would do no good to lose control over her voice and be seen as hysterical.
Before the battles with Pontus, Oceanus would never have seen her in such a manner. After so many days lost in the battles, Tethys knew that her companion might view any reaction other than pure deference to his lead as a form of betrayal.
“The children heard your oath,” she went on. “They all heard you. If you break your word, you will be seen with less honor than Cronos.”
“I am not my brother,” Oceanus retorted, his voice firm and resolute.
He did not slam his fist against anything, but the intense anger he felt about their fallen brother exuded from his face to his expressive locution.
“Then, why did you put yourself in a position to either break your honor like him or supplicate yourself to one of his children?” Tethys pressed.
Despite her best efforts at restraint, disappointment flooded both tone and pronunciation.
This could not be helped because of how she felt about Oceanus. Even after all this time, she saw the amazing steadfast Titan she had fallen in love so very long ago.
“He will not succeed,” Oceanus repeated with unwavering determination.
In his eyes, there was a recollection of the many long years that the family had slaved away against the Primordial of the Sea. A spirited young nephew was no match for the ferocity that was Pontus. Why would his wife worry over such an insignificant being?
“Pontus is too great for any of us to fight.”
“Yes, but he fought in the Great War,” Tethys countered.
Every thought on the Titaness’ mind was focused on that concerning fact. Change begot change, and a son of Cronos in the Realm of the Sea would undoubtedly bring metamorphosis to their fixed lifestyle.
“We have been here, not part of the other going-ons of Chaos’ creation. He might have abilities that we do not know about,” Tethys added.
Her worry was palpable while her husband was entirely too distracted to notice or care. His focus was on this upstart and the conundrum that had confounded him the last ten years.
“He has a sword and his trident. He is Cronos’ middle son. He was trapped in a stomach most of his life. I don’t expect great things from him,” Oceanus said confidently. “When he goes to fight Pontus, he might nearly die, but Pontus will be weakened.”
The Titan shivered with anticipation at this prospect. A lifetime’s work would be finished, and he could return to how life used to be. The proper order of existence was falling into place.
“When he is like that, we can finally destroy Pontus,” he declared.
His voice tinged with a hint of anticipation, which made sense; after all, the Sea Primordial had been his undying fixation for some time.
Tethys fell silent. Her husband did not listen to her at the moment, and with that realization sinking in, her heart sank heavily. The potent mixture of surprise and disappointment overwhelmed the being he had once been.
Where was the Titan who loved adventure and the sea? He had helped father thousands of beings with her, and in that time, he believed that nothing mattered more than family and the beauty of the ocean.
However, desperation had led him to duplicity, and she was too weary, exhausted by the endless cycle of battles with Pontus that seemed to offer no resolution, to so much as argue with her husband. Words would not reach the core of the Titan she knew and loved.
As she nestled closer to Oceanus, readying herself for sleep, she could not help but wonder if there would ever be an end to their eternal battles against the Ocean Primordial. After all, there was so much happening in the world, and she wanted to see more than just the Palace and the ocean.
She had always wanted to do this with the husband she loved, but ever so slowly, moment by moment, she was coming to realize that the Oceanus she adored might exist no longer.
Together, slumber came to them.
In the land of dreams, Oceanus felt triumphant that Poseidon would be doing the Titan’s work for him.
Meanwhile, Tethys dreamt of an existence where her husband was back to his playful loving and fun like when they were children, when discovery was enough, and it was not only about the obsession of ruling the sea.
Only in their dreams were these realities possible. Tethys was correct in one of her thoughts. Modifications were coming to the Realm, and the reconstruction of all that they knew would be complete in its effects.
In the dark of night, Prometheus returned to Olympus.
While he was concerned about Poseidon, Prometheus had to have faith that the second son of Cronos was ready for the task of taming the ocean despite Posiedon’s immaturity. Instead of seeking out Zeus to inform him of Poseidon’s journey, Prometheus made his way to his own palace.
His home was one of the many structures that had once stood empty during the reign of Cronos. After all, the Mad King had not trusted anyone in his city except himself. Prometheus and his twin brother, Epimetheus, had made the unused structure their own
As he entered the palace, his eyes fell upon his twin.
Epimetheus was hunched over a workbench, meticulously shaping a model of the first human female; they were calling her ‘Woman’.
The figure was composed of mud and dirt. Its form was rough and unrefined, but the structure of the being was outlined, and for the purposes of the two, that was enough.
Epimetheus had crafted his own tools to sculpt the figurine while Prometheus was far more concerned with the core of this being.
Prometheus could not help but chuckle at the sight of what his brother had made.
“Eight arms, Epimetheus? That seems a bit excessive even for you.”
Though he teased his brother, Prometheus looked over the tiny creation with a clinical eye. Creation of any kind was an artform; for that solitary reason, this assembled being was deserving of scrutiny.
“I want them to be better than our last attempt,” Epimetheus started.
Prometheus recalled their first failure at trying to make humanity during Cronos’ Golden Age. That attempt left the titan feeling a little more humble about the skills he possessed.
“They will be smaller than the counterparts of the Realm,” Epimetheus defended while still in concentration. “And there are many dangers in the world that they will need to defend against. I have heard that there is a mother of monsters called Echidna down on the land of Greece.”
News of their being a coupling between two beings had reached Prometheus’ ear, but comparison was a swingling cheat that might pilfer the joy of this new species. Humanity should exist on its own terms, not in reaction to others.
“That may be true, Brother,” Prometheus conceded amicably, “but let’s not overcomplicate things.”
Prometheus stepped closer to examine the model.
“Perhaps we should opt for a sturdier substance ... clay, perhaps?”
Epimetheus considered the suggestion for a moment. While most considered Epimetheus the lesser of the two brothers, his hindsight was a gift similar to that of Mnemosyne and Clothos in that it analyzed the past.
However, the great contrast in their gifts was the distinction of how they were used. Mnemosyne used memory, for that was what she was or perhaps, she simply had a greater connection than others. Who knew for certain? But she could see memories through the veil of one’s point of view.
Clothos, as Prometheus and Epimetheus understood the Fate Sister, saw the objective past. It was like looking through a window to see a landscape. There was no fluff or pomp. She saw the past, not how one recalled it.
Epimetheus was like a mix of the two and more. He recalled the past in his memory, but where his gift took shape was that it allowed him to have the wisdom to learn from the success and failures of the past. Why did one succeed and another fail? He learned from these experiences, and when coupled with his brother, he had the ability to plot a course that allowed for a better success ... or at the very least, he could ensure that if one failed, they failed in a new way altogether.
This was one of those moments. In the matter of creation, the two of them worked together in equal fashions. This was where imagination met with wisdom. The results were incomparable.
“Clay would be more resilient, but would it lend itself well to molding?” Epimetheus wondered.
Prometheus considered the question before nodding. He touched the tiny person, only somewhat sure of his own positive answer.
The brothers fell into a thoughtful silence as they pondered the possibilities for their project. During the time of Cronos, no one had stopped them from making lifeforms. The two had a feeling humanity would be their last creation.
They wanted this achievement to be a perfect masterpiece.
Epimetheus spoke up again. A keen eagerness wove itself with eccentric inquisitiveness.
“What if we were to give them the ability to use magic?”
Prometheus paused to think. He was doing more of that lately, and because of this contemplation, his expression appeared thoughtful.
“Magic is a gift bestowed upon us by Chaos as a reflecting power of the divine,” he explained. “To grant humanity such abilities ... it could have unforeseen consequences for both them and us.”
“How so?”
“It might even weaken you and I, permanently.”
“But wouldn’t it be a wondrous gift to bestow upon them?” Epimetheus countered, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.
Prometheus mulled over the idea, weighing the potential risks against the potential benefits.
“Perhaps,” he conceded at last.
Regardless of what he had said, his mind was already racing with the potential outcomes of such a blessing.
Poseidon and Cetus continued their exploration of the vast expanse of the ocean when morning came. Poseidon was perched atop the mighty sea monster’s head, so he could gaze out across the endless waves.
Do you believe we will find him? Cetus queried, his deep voice resonating through the air like the rumble of distant thunder.
Well it was not a voice from the mouth and tongue, but more mental as speech from Cetus’ mouth sounded much more like guttural roars.
“We have to, my friend,” Poseidon replied, his tone firm and resolute. Though Cetus possessed the intelligence to converse with Poseidon, it was a secret shared between the two of them alone. Poseidon knew that revealing this would only hasten their inevitable parting that Zeus had said he wanted for them.
Why? Cetus inquired, his curiosity piqued.
“Zeus intends for us to part ways, but you belong to the ocean. Even if he commands that you no longer answer my call, we can still remain friends as I rule over the seas,” Poseidon explained, his bond with Cetus running deep.
Is that why you seek to rule the ocean? Cetus asked, touched by the depth of Poseidon’s loyalty.
“You were my first true friend,” Poseidon said with such love and devotion that the words threw Cetus off.
However, as was his way, the blusterous god went on.
“By all the restless tides, of course I’d try to guard that bond. When something precious washes up in your life, you don’t just let the next storm snatch it away,” Poseidon affirmed, a warm smile gracing his lips as he reminisced. “So I will protect you, Cetus. Loudly if I must!”
The exuberance of the god might have been dramatic, but they both were able to find a joyful humor in the exaltation. Their laughter echoed across the expanse of the sea. However, their mirth was short-lived as the waters around them began to churn and roil with increasing intensity.
Senses and instincts, hardened by a decade-long war, told Poseidon that the swirling waters were not occurring naturally.
“Ready yourself, Cetus,” Poseidon commanded, drawing his Cyclopes-forged sword.
The Trident was safely secured on his back.
“We must be close to Pontus.”
Prometheus and Epimetheus continued their meticulous work on the model of Pandora.
In the dead of night, Prometheus had decreed this to be the tiny figure’s name.
Their palace on Olympus buzzed with the energy of creation. They could not stop their excitement from growing in abundance. After all, when they assembled or concocted or constructed, nothing else mattered. The vast space within their palace resembled what mortals would one day call a workshop, adorned with sketches and blueprints of their various creations–from the majestic birds soaring through the skies to the gentle cattle grazing in the fields below.
Amidst the flurry of activity, Prometheus stopped. A subtle shift in the air somehow brushed across his face. There was a ripple of disturbance that pulled at the edges of his consciousness. His keen senses picked up on a distant conflict unfolding in the mortal realm.
He could not be sure of who exactly, but it felt like Hades was in conflict with someone, and he was losing. Surely, this meant that Prometheus needed to act, but then, as he looked at his brother, he paused himself.
Epimetheus remained oblivious to its significance because he was wholly absorbed in their endeavor. Prometheus saw that there was nothing to be done by leaving. If Hades was locked in battle, as he suspected, Hades was not one to ask for, or even accept, help. As such, he returned to his craft as well.
As they meticulously sculpted Pandora, the prototype of womankind, Prometheus and Epimetheus deliberated over the gifts they would bestow upon humanity.
Epimetheus looked to Prometheus with a suggestion on his mind.
“Do you think we should ask Mnemosyne for a blessing to grant humans the gift of memory? This will make sure they can learn from their past mistakes.”
Prometheus considered the question while sipping from a small glass of milk produced by the cattle they had created. His brother’s suggestions were not to be taken lightly because of how sparsely he dispensed with proposals. As such, Prometheus replied with certainty.
“If we do seek out other beings for this, we should ask Metis to give our humanity the gift of wisdom,” he suggested, his voice tinged with a quiet confidence. “With that gift, humanity will possess the foresight and intellect to navigate the complexities of this dangerous realm.”
Epimetheus furrowed his brow. While he wanted to make humanity as great as possible, his own memory recalled the deposing of Cronos and Ouranos. His expression reflected a trace of uncertainty.
“Brother, if we grant them so many gifts, could they not one day challenge us?”
His question was lathered in concern.
Prometheus paused, considering his brother’s words thoughtfully.
This could lead the forward-thinking down a multitude of random deliberations. Instead he focused on Cronos at first, but he also thought of Zeus and how Zeus was a better leader than Cronos during the Titan War.
There was certainly no reason for the gods to be overthrown at the moment. They were only starting their rulership, but the rays of a hopeful future were shining upon the mountain.
“I do not believe so,” he replied with calm resolve.
Despite the voiced rejection, Prometheus could not help but have an iota of pride at that prospect. A Realm full of people who lived and died, bringing with them their own version of change throughout the centuries sounded positively wonderful. Stagnation would be impossible, but they could grow as a species, and who knows ... Maybe one day, they could outstrip the immortals, which then made the forward-thinking twin speak once more.
“But should not children aspire to surpass their parents?”
The question lingered between them. There was no easy answer. The only facet of life that was easy was the work, so they shelved their concerns and returned their focus to their creation. Their hands moved deftly as they breathed some life into the clay form of Pandora. In that moment, amidst the flickering glow of their table, they laid the foundation for humanity.
There were other gifts to retrieve for them such as the aforementioned wisdom, memory, and the capacity for growth, but that was a problem for later for them. For them, right then and there, all that mattered was the work, creating, molding, changing.
That was where their bliss resided.
Poseidon and Cetus found themselves ensnared by the relentless onslaught of water in all its forms. Rain lashed down from the heavens, mingling with icy sleet and swirling snowflakes while towering waves rose and crashed upon them with unforgiving force.
The very elements themselves had risen up in a furious symphony of wrath.
For a time, Poseidon swung his blade at the tempest that was brought down upon him.
Realizing the futility of his sword against such overwhelming power, Poseidon sheathed the weapon at his side.
Doing nothing was not in his nature, so he clenched his jaw in focus. If the blade would do nothing, he knew his fist would do even less, so he drew forth his Trident with a resounding cry of defiance.
“Enough!” he bellowed, his voice echoing above the cacophony of the storm.
With a swift motion, Poseidon raised the Trident high. A pulsating power resonated until it vibrated into the very water, demanding total submission of the seas. In an instant, the tumultuous waters lost all of its violent vigor.
Everything around Cetus and Poseidon stood still. The will of the three-pronged tool held a grasp over this part of reality that surprised even Poseidon. The Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires had honed their craft well when they had fashioned such a treasure.
In the futility of the outside power over his dominion, Pontus materialized before them. For the smallest of moments, the supposed-Primordial was poised to strike.
Rather than be concerned, the second son of Cronos stood atop a miniscule pillar of solidified water.
Poseidon stabbed out the Trident, pointing it at the Primordial. The weapon’s power coursed through him, suffusing him with a sense of commanding authority as he met the gaze of the Water Primordial. If not for this injection of raw might racing through him, he might have felt the control of the situation.
Pontus froze in his motion. He quickly found himself unable to move under the weight of Poseidon’s magical dominance.
“Have you come to kill me, servant of Oceanus?” he questioned, his voice tinged with wariness.
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