Epilogue: The Bright Future

“The arc of the universe bends to my will ... It is only a matter of time.”

Kronika, Mortal Kombat 11 (2019). Written by Dominic Cianciolo and Shawn Kittelsen. Developed by NetherRealm Studios. Published by Warner Bros. Interactive Entertainment. Copyright © 2019 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

He had to sneak into the Underworld. With Zeus occupied with his celebrations over his Olympians, this was the perfect opportunity to get away.

When he arrived, the forethought titan found the silent boatman of a son of Nyx.

“Do you know where I might find your mother?”

A silhouette composed of majesty against the vast expanse of darkness walked forward. The Primordial of Night was more glorious than when Prometheus saw her last. She was in a dress of starlight and a necklace of what appeared to be teardrops of glass darkness...

Prometheus inclined his head respectfully. “Greetings, Nyx, thank you for receiving me.”

“Few dare venture to the depths of darkness to petition my aid,” Nyx replied. “Though I would have expected one such as you to present a more formal inquiry, Prometheus.”

The son of Iapetus approached the Primordial. He made sure that she could see the seriousness in his eyes.

“I am seeking a way to the Progenitor’s Realm,” he said slowly. “You may not know me well, but this is not some idle interest but one of necessity.”

Nyx had an unreadable expression. Part of it was concern since Prometheus was not one to be irresponsible to throw his life away or risk the balance between realms over nothing.

“Do you know what you are asking for, fire titan?” Nyx asked, being sure. “The Progenitor is not a being as you can know. They are a force that cannot be bargained with and barely understood. Me and my Primordials siblings were careful to approach them near the dawn of creation, and even then, we were forever changed.” Her voice grew softer. The warning was clear. “Ouranos sought Chaos once, and it was not long before his downfall.”

“What are you saying?” Prometheus asked. He stared at the Primordial, stunned. For the first time in a long time, he felt like a student rather than a teacher or advisor. If his wish to meet Chaos was given, Prometheus had a suspicion that his day of being educated was only just beginning.

“For most, to seek Chaos is to court destruction. You may suffer horribly”

Prometheus looked at his hand as he recalled the brother who did not have a thought in his head half the time, the brother who died during the Great War, and his last brother who had been punished to hold up the sky.

“Suffer, huh?” he said, almost laughing. “I should be fine. Suffering is a dear friend of mine.”

Nyx regarded him silently for a moment. One such as Prometheus was entirely unique in all of the Grecian Realm. The potent culminating mixture of wisdom, intellect, foresight, empathy, and honest selflessness.

For her part, Nyx was a being as inscrutable as the night sky because that was her creation. She served Hades and the cohesive order between all of existence. In the end, she had to trust that Prometheus was as well.

She stepped forward and spoke in a tone of melancholy.

“Chaos is not merely anything, whether pain or power. They are the source of all divinity and life as well as the unmaking of all things. From Chaos we came, and surely to Chaos we shall all return. They are both a being and a realm of formless possibility where the concept of existence is made, dissolves, is remade, and undone in a constant eternity.”

She looked at him with genuine empathy. “Very few beings have crossed its threshold since the beginning because, perhaps, it is not meant to be crossed.”

“What good is foresight, if not to prevent ruin?” Prometheus said. “The only being who might be able to help me is the Fates or Chaos, but I know your daughters have an agenda, but the Progenitor does not interfere. I do not approach Chaos lightly or to seize power, but rather understanding.”

Nyx sighed softly in resignation. There was an argument to be made that by seeking Chaos’ counsel, Prometheus was asking the Progenitor to interfere. However, one such as him would not be determined, regardless if she lamented his stubbornness.

She waved her arm and a doorway of stone from before the dawn of time was summoned, or rather, the two of them were teleported to the doorway. It had a swirling miasma of blackness that would have consumed him.

“To enter, you must spill your ichor,” Nyx informed.

Prometheus looked at her doubtfully. “What?”

“It takes a small piece of your life. Do not worry, Counselor. You will still be immortal. This is the price to pay to enter the realm of our Creator.”

She motioned for him to step forward. He did not come to the Underworld out of boredom. He had come for answers. He lifted his right hand, and the blackness launched forward in the shape of a blade and sliced his hand to free the golden life essence of the titan son of Iapetus.

He gave it freely and the wound sealed.

When the substance of blackness had his ichor, it pooled out like water and consumed him until it encompassed his whole body. He was consumed by the truest of darkness. He did not feel as if he were traveling, falling, or being teleported. It was as if he were being hugged by something pure and then suddenly, he was where he needed to be.

For Zeus, everything had gone off without a hitch. What was more is Gaia had told the truth. Hera’s wedding dress from Rhea was everything she said it was. While Hera wore it, Zeus could see every inch of his wife. He would need to reward Gaia in the time to come, but that would have to wait.

That would have to wait.

As he entered Hera’s private chambers, he looked her over. Every curve was for him to see. She was placing her crown on a nightstand as she stood there.

He stared at her, hungry. Her waist, form of her ass, the way she looked in the light. He stared at her like a predator about to consume his prey.

“Did you need something?” Hera asked, annoyed.

“I was more concerned that you were happy with the outcome,” Zeus remarked simply. “Hephaestus was raised up. I gave you what you wanted.”

“At the expense of my reputation,” Hera replied coolly. “Did Hermes come up with that nice jab at my inability to keep you loyal or was that you?”

Zeus said nothing at first. He did not want to start a fight. It was not worth it, in his mind.

“I don’t control Hermes, Hera.”

“Or your own libido for that matter.”

“Funny,” Zeus said, standing behind Hera. “I controlled it for over a decade. I was not with another goddess while you were torturing Leto.”

Hera shivered when his hand was on her waists. She could feel his pulsing manhood against her ass. There was no resistance when she felt him lift her dress.

“Will it stay that way?” Hera asked. Though it was a simple question, the look in her eyes seemed to be pleading.

Their marriage was an arrangement of convenience, but that did not stop the fact that feelings existed after so much time. They shared crowns, a child, positions as Olympians, and a bed. She was telling him that in the moment.

She felt him enter her. She moaned and he moaned.

“Yes!” he swore.

The swirling void of Chaos’ domain stretched endlessly before Prometheus. He could not believe his eyes. Before him was a kaleidoscope of shifting forms and rippling, ever-changing colors in a black canvas.

Shapes materialized and dissipated with no rhyme or reason, He saw light burst out of nothing only to return to that nothing as quick as he say it. Everything everywhere was constantly birthing and consuming itself.

The air, if this place even had air, seemed to sparkle with power. The empty nothingness he found himself walking in was heavy and oppressive, yet strangely inviting.

When he had regained the full use of his senses, Prometheus stood at the edge of a great, roiling chasm. There were ionic pillars at the edge of the platform he was standing on. He was amazed. There was a symbol of a blooming flower of arrows. He could not be sure. Still, he looked on and walked towards the white-gray being that stood in solitude.