Chapter 6: A Division of Destiny

Time is on my sideThe Rolling Stones, Time Is on My Side, from The Rolling Stones 12x5, 1964, written by Jerry Ragovoy and Jimmy Norman, copyright © 1964 ABKCO Music & Records, Inc.

The younger Cronos stood still as the time tunnel rippled closed. The presence of his elder self was dissipating into the void of the time tunnel.

He had spent so long with his older self that he almost thought of him as part of his existence, so when the silence of Tartarus engulfed him, his mind swirled with everything he had just experienced. He knew it was real. He was busy standing on one side of the chain while Hyperion, Crius, and Coeus were all still locked up.

The cosmic truths he had witnessed: the creation of the five Primordials, the rise and fall of empires, the betrayal of gods, and the ruin of Zeus’ Olympus were heavier than he thought. Still, he knew how the future played out. While it was a colossal immensity to hold up, he was made for this. He was the Titan of Time after all.

In the end, it was the sight of Hades’ Underworld that woke him up to reality. He was in his present. Every choice from that moment on was his to make. He was not being guided by his elder self, not was he entirely bound to the Sisters of Fate. He knew their designs now. They were fallible. He could just abuse their designs and have all he wanted.

His ears rang for a moment with the warning the elder Cronos had given him.

“If Hades captures you,” he had said, “your imprisonment will last for eons. It would be best to lie low, or you might be bound within the deepest chasm of the Underworld. You know that waiting, feeling helpless, hoping for your eventual escape when you know there is none. Do not challenge Hades now. Bide your time. Regain your strength.”

At the time, Cronos had agreed to his older counterpart’s advice. At the moment, it did not seem like compliance so much as submission. With the elder gone, there was nothing to stop Cronos from doing as he pleased.

Cronos replayed the scenes of devastation in his mind’s eye.

He had seen everything: the birth of the universe and the collapse of the gods themselves. Maybe some parts could be different, but he knew the shape and scope of the painting for fate.

How long would he have to wait? Too long was his only thought.

His time had come, and the elder’s vision was not to be the only path to their ascension. Why wait? When he knew what he needed to do? There was the other Cronos, the golden one with the white hair. He had led a fight against Olympus and where did he start? In the Underworld.

He could bring about the fall of Olympus right then and there. He need not wait (and waste) centuries for another rebellion to bloom. He needed to get to Oceanus, and the Cyclopes, and of course Gaia. Once she created the Giants, he would have all of his forces. That was what mattered. What did timing matter? What did obedience to some older version of himself matter?

If those visions taught him anything, it was that he was different. He was not the variants or copies or whatever they were. He was Cronos, Titan of Time. He was the one meant to control the destiny of the realm, not his older self, not the Fates, not even Chaos.

He clenched his fists. The power of time thrummed through his veins even under the oppressive force that was the Underworld. His eyes gleamed with a malevolent determination. He knew that victory could be within his grasp. Bold action, not the cautious plans his elder counterpart had devised, was what was needed.

A wicked grin stretched across his face. He knew what needed doing. He merely needed to say it and it would be so.

“Hades will fall,” he declared. “And with his defeat, the first pillar of Olympus shall crumble.”

The elder Cronos watched on from the time tunnel. He shook his head at the hardheadedness of youth. He did not need to look on to know what would occur. He knew well enough.

After all, he had been this Cronos. Just as an elder Cronos had come for him, he too had gotten big for his tunic and believed he could win no matter what. When shown the infinite of everything, that sort of power was intoxicating.

The older Cronos had even warned him. Traveling through time takes power. No matter how immense that power is, like any muscle, when it is overused, it needs rest to heal. The younger Cronos might have hidden in a pocket of peace, but he had not the wisdom or the insight to give it to him.

However, that was exactly why this older Cronos did not warn him further. He actually understood the flow of time. If the older had not done exactly as the other Cronos had done, it would simply have made a divergent timeline. Cronos needed things to get to this point. Victory later was everything.

Rhea would be his queen. Zeus would be dead. The throne would be only his.

As he looked at a peaceful island to rest for a few days, Cronos could only think of his brothers who were waiting for him. They were about to lead themselves into battle against Zeus. Cronos shook his head and laughed. He was grateful that Heracles had defeated Zeus in that foolish wrestling match. Now Zeus’ powers were bound up.

His idiot son had played a dangerous game with heirs and prophecy, but now, it was time for Cronos to take advantage and be king once more.

After all, he was time, and time would always come back around. You can destroy lightning, you can evaporate the sea, even through immortality, one could defeat death.

Time though ... Time was everlasting. It always came back around to haunt everyone.

He was time. He would come back around.

He was, in the end, inevitable.

Cronos marched through the heart of the Underworld purposefully.

His massive ten foot tall frame had his bronze belt and bracers glinting in the dim light. He had used his temporal power to rewind the damage, dirt, and grime from his stay in the land of the dead.

His hairy chest heaved with anticipation for his battle to come. His bald head turned left and right as he looked for his eldest son.

Strangely, as Cronos approached the largest building in the land, he found that Hades awaited him. The Chthonic King was slightly shorter at eight feet, so reach and height would not be to his advantage. Cronos could see the difference in his son from the war. His long black hair was streaked with white, and his skin was ashy blue skin. While his body had always been covered in scars, from his time inside Cronos’ belly, but for a time, Hades had a tan during the war.

In Hades’ hands, there was his black Bident. During the war, Cronos recalled his power being muted. Before the Titan of Time, Hades gave off an aura of dark purple and black energy. On his belt were the hooks of ethereal chains and adamant claws. Cronos knew those weapons well. He had seen them many times in conflict.

However, the time since the war had been to Cronos’ benefit, not his son’s. His power had quintupled while his son’s had all but stayed the same. This was his moment. The first battle of his conquest had begun.

Cronos lunged forward. His son blanched at the speed at which his father had moved. Time flickering around Cronos as he split into multiple desynchronized versions of himself. He did not know how many copies of himself he could make, but Cronos felt his power noticeable drain at the creation of five.

Each one moved with deadly intent. At first they spread out to confuse the son, but they would close in on Hades from every direction.

The King of the Underworld remained eerily calm. While Hades had been the most level headed of his sons, Cronos was almost unnerved by the cool Hades showed. The bident shone as Hades twirled it effortlessly. With a single, sweeping motion, he slashed with his bident and lashed out with his other hand, taking the chains out to strike all of Cronos’ temporal copies at once.