EoM Bk 1: The Gift of Fire
Copyright© 2026 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 4: Olympus Looks Down
“I see now that the circumstances of one’s birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are.”
— Mewtwo (as portrayed by Jay Goede, credited as Philip Bartlett), Pokémon: The First Movie — Mewtwo Strikes Back (1998). Directed by Kunihiko Yuyama; written by Takeshi Shudō; original concept and characters by Satoshi Tajiri, Jun’ichi Masuda, and Ken Sugimori. English-language adaptation written, directed, and translated by Michael Haigney; produced for the English release by Norman J. Grossfeld and 4Kids Productions. © 1998 Nintendo / Creatures Inc. / GAME FREAK inc.; © 1999–2000 4Kids Entertainment. All rights reserved.
The man returned at dusk. The sound and scent of wet blood was painted upon his hands.
The bear had been large when it had been alive, but a stone, some muscle, and valiant tenacity had split the beast’s cranium. Its hide was being dragged behind the strong mortal man.
The village gathered as he arrived. The seasons were slowly changing, so there would be weeks of a chill without a warm reprieve. Salted bear meat offered them a wonderful meal in hard times.
They awarded this valorous man with praise.
After which, they led him to her.
Pandora waited in the great hut.
For her part, she could not see his form just yet, but she heavily suspected what was about to occur. Terror was a thing that lived quietly in her chest; this sensation mingled and mixed with dread before forming a terrible feeling within her soul. The potent mixture settled like an old ache in her heart.
The man smiled as he entered the domicile. He was flushed with triumph in his face and overcome with arousal between his legs.
The door was slammed, and she could see him. The guards left the room as he started to strip. A look flashed before his eyes, speaking of a confidence that many boasted.
He believed that he would be the most amazing phallic member she might ever see, and through this ‘tool’ of his, he would make all her woes and wrongs right.
The disgusting nature of what he thought he was made Pandora nauseous. She closed her eyes momentarily before forcing herself to look at him.
If she were to endure another atrocious experience with a man, she would face her horrors head on. He would certainly not please her, but he would not be the man to break her spirit. In this arena, her resolve to retain herself was more powerful than any small man.
Caught in her own thoughts, she did not hear the rumble of thunder, but she did witness the flash of lightning that split reality open right in front of her.
The light fell down upon the room like judgment, and for the first time since seeing her ‘Father’, Pandora recognized the mark of the divine.
Electricity had made a gash in the air before her, and a being in a glowing aura appeared. The powerful coruscation did not halt the foolish man who thought that nature himself had come to interfere with his orgasm.
He found the bravery that assisted him against an animal, but from the glow of his consecrated divine nature, this man burned before Pandora’s very eyes.
The scream he loosed rang in her ears and planted itself within her memory as she watched the form of the man wither away into his blood evaporate, his skin burned and his bone turned into ash. Across the earthen floor, there was a pile of the residue to illustrate what was left of this individual.
Pandora let go of all of the tenseness that she felt that she practically collapsed in her chair. Her hands and legs were shaking, and to get control of herself, she covered her face with her hands.
Whatever light had destroyed the man had not come to harm her.
As she looked on, she realized that the presence stood before her. He was examining the room in front of him before turning to face the young-looking woman.
He was a tall being with flowing white hair, a well-kept silver beard, strong physique, and garbed in white and gold.
She could see the terrible power that he wielded, and the instinct within her bones told her that this was the formidable being that Hephaestus was afraid of. Unsure whether to run or stay where she was, Pandora was silenced when the god spoke.
“Be still,” he said. “I am called Zeus, King of Mount Olympus. Are you Pandora?”
She nodded slowly as she was unsure as to what he could want. Her throat was dry; her eyes were watering; her legs were locking up. Control over the entirety of her form had left her.
“I am,” she choked out. “What ... what do you want of me?”
Zeus did not look at her at first. His attention was for the room she was trapped in. No one came inside because they were more afraid than they were curious. In this single regard, they had the sense her potential lover lacked.
Finally, when he was done with his inspection, he regarded her for a long moment.
Pandora was aware when someone desired her, but the look before her was new. She could not quantify the quality before settling on the idea that this was a calculation.
“I would enjoy some answers, Pandora,” he said, “if you will give them.”
“What sort of questions?” she asked.
“Ones that would allow you to be taken away from this ... hovel,” he said with a judgemental edge.
“I will answer,” she said without thinking twice on the matter.
Zeus nodded once. He was not the sort of person to wait once he received the answer he was looking for.
The hut and village vanished from Pandora’s sight. The atrocious mortal existence world folded away like smoke in wind, and she let out a sigh of relief.
In that flash, Pandora was gone to her own happiness.
What she was lucky enough to see when she regained her senses grabbed her, stealing heer breath to say the very least.
Hephaestus worked long after the day was done. That was his way, after all.
The forges of his volcanic workspace served everyone on Olympus, no matter the time of day. He was always busy. This god wanted a sword, that one wanted armor, and so on and so forth.
They did not need what he made. There were no conflicts that were worthy of his masterpieces. These were tools of war that could kill a god, but the problem was that the Great War was over; furthermore, there was no point to civil strife. Zeus was the most powerful deity, and what was left was scraps of others that they fought for metaphorically rather than literally.
At whatever hour, Hephaestus breathed more softly as he found his steady, patient rhythm of his hammer against the anvil.
Work demanded structure, and this was how life was meant to be. It was useful as a simple assembly to give life an outline.
That was the simplicity that left him with a life, but he came to the idea of: Was he living?
Ares’ laughter echoed in his memory.
Manhood, he had said.
A god’s worth was not measured by strength or swagger. There were other ways to persist; endurance was just as deserving and physical might.
He provided a service to the other gods of Mount Olympus. Ares was a brute, yet he was the popular son of Hera.
Any scar (as few as they were on Ares) on the war god were seen as handsome while markings on the forge god were proof of survival, and therefore a weak set of stains to be mocked.
Hephaestus’ fist flexed on the handle of the hammer, breaking the rhythm of his stride. Any alteration bothered the cadence of his beat.
Every god on Olympus wore his work, yet somehow he was less worthy than his contemporaries. Perhaps, his profession was unnecessary, but Ares was far more of an indulgent nonessential part of life.
If every blade Hephaestus sang in battle or every shield could turn death away, sure Ares used the tools, but he would be far less effective without one such as Hephaestus to arm him.
And when the feast of a post-battle might be done, they forgot Hephaestus. That did not make sense. He made their little play-battles possible.
As he shifted his weight, the old ache in his shortened leg flared briefly to remind him that his mother Hera had cast him away as a baby. And had he not earned her respect? He had become useful and worthy of recognition.
That was not true. As he envisioned Ares in a red cloak with the lovely Aphrodite on his arm. Her affections also led to Ares’ grandeur.
He was unworthy of her.
That was when something in Hephaestus went still. The jealousy burned away when an idea crossed his mind.
Perhaps, Ares was far more popular than him, but their mother was not only the Queen of Olympus but the goddess of marriage, and it was to Hephaestus that the ruler owed a favor.
The others would learn to think twice when it came to disparaging him.
Some unions were born of love but others were like the perfect alloy in that they needed to be forged.
All that mattered was that he was positioned to be better than his prick of a brother.
Nyx walked by herself in a deeper, more secluded part of the Underworld that very few could appreciate.
As such, she made sure that she was alone.
In this chamber, the sleeping children existed. They were in pods that allowed them to grow but exist in a land of dreams, away from the living, waking reality.
In one of the pods was a strong feminine form. Her hair was black, her skin was gray, and she would be as imposing as ever.
The other child was more male. He had stark white hair and a lean frame.
Nemesis and Moros slept next to one another. She named them to be Retribution and Doom respectively. In time, existence might need them.
However, the creation of their solitary parent was not ready for her and Hades’ children just yet.
Regardless of the action of others, she knew existence would need her offspring. As matters stood, their position in hierarchy was unsure to her, but she did not need to know that just yet. They existed; one day they would wake, and once again, for her, that was enough.
Ares stood in his armory chamber to look over his accessories.
He wondered how Athena’s arsenal would have compared to his.
Aphrodite entered without making much noise. She was barefoot as was her way.
She wore no armor, no jewels or crown to display her rank as an Olympian. A simple drape of rose-hued silk wrapped around her body to show off her amazing body.
Ares did not turn to look at her sensual body. He found that when he did, he lost his sense of focus on the parts of life that mattered to him.
“How does Athena get to lecture me when she was the one to try and oust Father? Why does he love her so much? She tried for what was him, but still after all these centuries, I am punished,” he said, thinking out loud.
His voice was low, rough. He did not fix his hair to look more attractive. Rather, he allowed himself to be more distracted by his anger rather than anything else.
“I would have given Olympus a clean war to depose my father out of necessity, not vanity. I would not have done secret councils and negotiations. I would have cut to the heart of the matter!”
“I am pretty certain that this is why your father made you swear an oath not to turn your hand against him afterward, not because of Athena,” Aphrodite observed with a laugh.
She draped herself on a lounging piece of furniture. A living piece of art could not be as sultry, sexy, or as beautiful as she was. Every inch of her body was an attestation of her attractive allure.
Nevertheless, she always gave Ares the time of day. He rather enjoyed her straightforward affection. The games of the other goddesses came with the expectation that Ares was to marry them. So many saw him as Zeus’ heir when Ares knew the truth. Regardless of what she had done by trying to imprison and remove their father from power, it was Athena who Zeus saw as his successor, not Ares.
In this way, the god of war related to his uncle. Hades had been the elder son of Cronos, yet he had been discarded as unimportant by both Cronos and Rhea. However, that did not stop Hera and others from speaking about his power, respectability, and his enterprising determination.
Out of the three sons of Cronos, Hades was spoken of in the greatest mystery but also lauded in the highest regard by the masses. The lesser Titans spoke of his great pain tolerance on the battlefield and pragmatic ruthlessness. The other gods said he ran his Underworld with a fist so stern that even one of the Primordials listened to him.
That was no small feat. Gaia was the Primordial of the Earth itself, and as far as Ares understood the political landscape, Gaia was not subservient to his father. Rather, she deferred to him after he publicly humiliated her. That was not the same as whatever arrangement Hades had with this Nyx person.
“So because of my personality and Athena’s actions, I am punished? My thoughts are my own, but she actually went out and tried to have him removed! How does that make sense?”
“Even the best affairs start with a thought, Ares,” Aphrodite said casually. “If his perfect little Athena could turn on him, there’s no reason you might not in the future.”
“Ugh!” Ares whined. “I’m not a fool; I understand the strategy of it, ‘Dítē.”
“Then you realize that you’re complaining because your sister got the chance to fight Zeus before you, right?”
There was a silent pause between them. She observed him, and he stopped paying attention to what he was doing.
The simplest truth was that he loathed his sister out of jealousy. She was technically older, she was the golden child born from a romantic relationship while Ares was the proper firstborn son between a distant king and queen.
“Yeah ... Probably.”
“She is wisdom while you are the blade, dearest,” Aphrodite replied sweetly. “Of course, she struck first because she put thought into it.”
“Given your poor analogy,” Ares remarked. “As a blade, was I to be set aside by my mother because I could have broken under the stress?”
“Maybe,” Aphrodite confessed. “But we both know that your father would not step aside for you, and maybe your mother fears you and what you could become.”
“Those two fear nothing,” Ares said before letting out a bark of laughter. “Trust me.”
“Love and fear are closer to one another than you might think,” Aphrodite remarked offhandedly. “Your father loves power and security, so naturally, he fears being replaced.”
That truth struck Ares in the face like no other because candor had the power to be a blow for those unprepared to hear the veracious sentiment.
“You were denied your chance. I do understand,” she said appreciatively. “It was not because you were unworthy, but because Olympus was not ready for a king who understands the truth that conflict breeds change.”
For this, Ares faced her, and in that moment, she was the most desirable creature in all of existence. He went to her and smashed his lips on her without technique.
Her lips met into his, and she opened her mouth, and with a skillful flick from her many dalliances. None of her past relationships meant nothing to him.
When she wrapped her hands onto his arms, and the slip of a dress fell to the ground and her naked body was fully his to view. The curve of her breasts, the pink of her nipple and areola, and the thin waist made him want her all the more.
Her body was sex itself to him, and he would have her.
She pushed him back into a chair and before he knew what she was doing, his skirt was on the ground and her lips were wrapped around his cock.
He gasped at her conversant skills. No matter how many times her tongue wrapped around the shaft of his member, he could not help but feel he was in his own utopia. In this haven, he gasped and groaned.
She made promises of making him feel good, feel like a king, and he believed her.
She used her hands as he undressed himself and groaned.
In Aphrodite’s hands, he did not last long. He released his ejaculation into her mouth against all of his willpower.
As he tried to catch his breath, she smiled at him.
“Oh! I am not done,” she promised.
She mounted him as one might mount a horse. Her quivering lips wrapped around his softening member and brought it back to life through sheer willpower.
His sensitive sex made him helpless to her.
Ares was no more in control than any other male in a situation such as this. He ran his hands up her body and cupped her breasts. This was a paltry use of the sexual skills that he did have, but when the goddess of love used her prowess on anyone, they were a slave to her.
As she bounced and her large, full breasts gave Ares a view, he knew he was not long to last. She had him, and he was hers. He let out a cry of pleasure and his next load of sperm launched into her body.
The two of them had a small layer of sweat on their bodies.
She smiled and looked at him before asking a question.
“Feel better?”
He nodded.
“That’s a good dear,” she said.
She dismounted him without a care in the world and left his room without returning any clothing to her body.
The private throne room of Zeus was usually quiet because that was how he preferred matters. Of course, every now and then, the space would be loud because of feasting, laughter, or celebration, but this was not a day for this.
What others might have considered a quick fix was bothersome to him. Finally, he would have his answers. This was what mattered
Zeus regarded the girl before him. He did not truly analyze her while within her strange home that seemed like a prison.
She was thin, but her face well framed the physique. Her dress was in tatters, but there was a quality of Olympus about it. Perhaps, one of the gods had dressed her in their finery before sending her off to be one of the mortals.
There was a youthful attractiveness about her that might have rivaled his daughter, Hébè. However, as he observed her, he was recognizing that gods were made by the combination of the parental gods that had made them plus Chaos’ own little interference. How else could Hephaestus look like a broken thing despite coming from Hera’s body?
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.