by Gene Stiles
His brash bravado lay in tatters after his losses. His body shivered not with the salty spray splashing over the prow, but with the knowledge of what the Lord Father would do to him upon his return. Such utter failure earned its own terrible type of reward. A brief thought of never going back to Atlantis at all fluttered through Denarius’ mind, but he knew Cronus would hunt him forever and when he found him, the price would be even higher. The only comfort he could find was in knowing he was not the only one to flounder. The cursed Iapetus had also been beaten back.
Denarius knew his only hope was to level Olympia and, hopefully, kill the enemies of Cronus. ‘Beyond that,’ he thought grimly, ‘far better to die in battle than to have the flesh flayed from my bones.’
Now finally within range and not waiting for his sister ships, Denarius bellowed, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
Shortly after the first barrage when airborne, the Admiral heard the welcomed thunder of another ship blasting into the sky. Denarius smiled savagely. He might just snatch victory from defeat.
The Atlantus rounded the fingertip of land that was the last protection of Olympia as Poseidon’s fleet converged upon the lone Gaidian. Propelled by the near gale-force winds, half of his ships circled around behind the warship and now prepared to attack it from starboard. The rest raced in from the port side, their prows pointed straight into the warship’s guns, providing a narrower target for their adversaries.
The stormy seas made for extremely hazardous sailing, but the crews of Olympia were the best in the world. They used the winds and waves to snake in on their prey, getting much closer than they would have in calm waters. The deep swells severely hampered their opponent’s ability to get a clear bead on the fast-moving ships. The warship’s cannons erupted in blasts that rivaled the thundering skies.
Geysers of salty spray exploded all around Poseidon’s fleet. Their main decks were slick as rains of seawater poured over them. Many sailors lost their footing on the tilting surfaces and slid against the bulwarks. Only the tethers attached to their harnesses kept them from being thrown overboard. Yet, thanks to the swirling, angry seas and the erratically moving vessels, not a single shot from the deadly guns found their mark.
The gap between them and their quarry was closing fast. The captain of the Gaidian was no fool, but he counted too much on his firepower and shields. He did not even try to outmaneuver his opponents and kept to his heading toward Olympia. In his arrogance, he simply figured he would blast them out of the water when they were near enough. But the storm impeded his attempts to swath the flies from his flanks.
‘No matter,’ he thought with a wry, contemptuous grin. ‘They cannot harm me. Their weapons will do nothing to my ship. I will destroy their home.’
Captain Verterius spearheaded the portside attack. He was within range of the Atlantean vessel and ready to make his run. The large, blockish man gripped the wheel with two huge hands and wrenched it hard to port.
His great heart pounded in his hard-muscled chest as the Maladonian swung around. They had to expose their broadside to the enemy in order to bring their plasma cannons to bear, which meant they would be dangerously vulnerable. Only the rolling waves and the speed of his ship might save them.
“Fire!” Verterius ordered, fighting to hold steady in the turbulent waters.
Beams of sun-hot plasma raked the sides of the Gaidian, brilliantly white as they reflected off the shields and boiled the seas around the craft. His gunners could hold their aim no better than the Atlanteans. The thick, milky beams rolled all over the enemy hull but missed the cannon muzzles as the Maladonian streaked by, but a stray missile ripped across her stern, smashing the aft mast into tinder. She was not crippled, but she was slowed.
The warship shook the feeble raid off, not even bothering to change its course. The gnats swarmed around the beast, harrying it with their puny little bites no more than an irritation. Despite the roiling waters, five Olympian vessels were sunk or damaged so badly they were out of commission.
The Gaidian’s captain neared the rounded tip of land guarding the city that the Dreadnaught and Atlantus were hammering into submission. His mahogany eyes gleamed with hunger, anxious to join them in their bloody meal. That is when he felt his vessel shutter and slow.
His mouth fell open as the deck beneath him lurched and buckled. Flames tore through the weapons deck, spouting from the gun ports on both sides. Unknown to him, one of the flea attacks melted the barrel of a starboard side cannon just as it was about to fire. The shell detonated inside the ship, sending shards of red-hot metal into munitions and men, setting off a cascading round of explosions. The very steel plates that provided the ship with its outer shielding contained the blast, turning the inside of the vessel into an inferno. Before the captain could even breathe, the keel and main deck turned into blackened ash and slivers of oak. The mighty, invincible Atlantean warship sank with barely a sigh.
Poseidon stood on the deck of the Lady Dragon, his emerald eyes not believing what they saw. His mouth gaped in wonder as the warship bulged and burst apart. He was just about to fire the harpoons into the stern and make his raid when the fire erupted from the gun ports. He did not know what caused it, but he thanked the Creator he and his men were not on board seconds later.
His coms were flooded with shouts, cheers and baffled exclamations. Poseidon gave his command a few moments to rejoice then bellowed over the din. “We are not done! Two more enemies assail our home! Let us see they join their sister! To Olympia!” he ordered, swinging his ship around the bubbling cauldron of ocean that had once been a warship.
Denarius howled out in barbaric, savage glee as his cannons sent salvos of death into the helpless city. Though the surging sea made it impossible to target specific areas, it did not matter. Spired towers and bulky warehouses alike crumbled into dust or erupted into balls of flame all over Olympia. Wooden structures blazed beneath the ceaseless barrage, the powerful winds spreading the fires down wide boulevards and narrow alleyways. When the guns on his port side were exhausted, Denarius swung the Dreadnaught around so the starboard side gunners could have their fun. Once his explosive ordinance was exhausted, he brought his ship closer to shore and let loose his plasma cannons. The wharves and waterfronts were awash in fire and black, billowing smoke that blanketed the city and dropped a choking curtain of embers and ash between him and the tortured landscape beyond.
So engulfed in his sadistic joy was he that Denarius failed to notice the harbor was devoid of ships. His dark eyes sparkled and danced as he licked his thick, salty lips. He ignored the heavy spray of ocean washing over the bulwarks as he neglected to see there was no return fire from the cityscape. All his twisted, despicable mind could think of was the crushed bodies lying broken and bleeding beneath piles of rubble. He felt the swelling in his groin at thoughts of huddled survivors kneeling at his feet awaiting whatever sublime depravities his loathsome mind could conjure. He never looked back over his shoulder at the angry ocean nor into the black, lightning-filled skies above his bald dark-skinned head. The arrogant oversight was about to cost him everything.
The Olympian fleet raced across the stormy seas, appalled and enraged by thick columns of swirling smoke and burning ash the filled the sky. Every person on every ship seethed with red-eyed fury, overwhelmed with a demonic, animalistic desire to exact terrible vengeance upon their barbaric assailants.
The remaining ten vessels converged upon the Atlantus like a swarm of locus hungry for food. Every plasma cannon opened up at once, bathing the warship in a brilliant halo of white-hot rampage. The blinding luminescence bubbled the violent, verdant ocean around the Atlantean vessel and created a dome of false daylight over the decks. The attack was so ferocious and fast the captain of the Atlantus barely had time to react. Still, he took four of the fleet with him as his mighty ship keeled over, its main deck tilting toward the Dreadnaught, and exploded in a blaze as bright as a noonday sun.
“Captain!” Stephenous shouted as the concussi
on from the blast washed over the Dreadnaught. The impact of the energy wave slammed him into the display console with bone-jarring force. The breath whooshed from his split and bloodied lips. His spray-sodden head smashed one of the monitors, embedding shards of shattered glass into his shocked, blue eyes. Stephenous screamed and threw his hands to his face as slimy, viscous fluids poured through his fingers. His pretty-boy features were shredded into crimson strips as he crumbled to his knees, wailing in horrible agony.
Denarius was thrown sideways, his hands still locked around the spokes of the wheel. The battle webbing is all that kept him from tumbling across the swell-soaked deck. A deep gash opened up on his cheek, a river of blood cascading down to his hard-clenched jaw.
The Dreadnaught swung far to starboard as the captain fell, the keel scraping a coral reef near the shore. Howling like a maddened Dire Wolf, Denarius whipped the wheel hard to port and rammed the control levers to their stops. The warship clawed into the sea, roaring like some nightmarish creature as the engines ramped to full power. The beast responded by tearing into the rolling waves and racing into the dark, deeper ocean waters.
The captain let her run until he was well away from the Olympian vessels then spun around. He screamed in maniacal fury, needing something to hurt and kicked useless, whimpering First Mate. His dark brown eyes slitted and glowing, Denarius hurled toward the Atlantean ships, bellowing out orders to his gunners and crew. A mask of brutal, savage insanity covered his twisted features. At the apex of his victory, Denarius knew he was staring into the frozen black eyes of death. He just simply did not care.
Zeus fought his way through the crumbling rubble of stone buildings and the thick, suffocating smoke of burning homes. The reddish curls of his beard were singed and tangled with ash and chips of glass. His sculpted, handsome face now looked more like some ghoulish, bloody apparition, golden eyes glowing with untamed, raw, primordial fury. A window shattering next to him sprayed Zeus with tiny splinters that peppered his flesh like a swarm of angry hornets. Crimson rivulets dripped down his sharply planed cheeks, missing his eyes only because he had thrown up an arm in that last split second.
The moment the barrage of missiles stopped raining down upon Olympia, Iapetus and the Atlantean legions poured into the city streets. Zeus and his warriors ripped into them from arched doorways, high windows and darkened alleyways. Outnumbered ten to one, they slipped through the fire-fogged air like wispy ghosts, attacking the fringes of the invading army before disappearing into the faux night.
Haleah and the Aam-Izon wreaked havoc on the advancing troops. Energy weapons might be useless against those shields, but the aeros were not. At close range, the borithium or diamond-tipped shafts tore right through the curved steel, leaving the holders staring at the feathers protruding from their dying chests. The mammoth bows Lelantos created for the Nephilim wrought unholy terror on the hearts of the Atlanteans. In the hands of the leviathans, the aeros could pierce an entire squad if they were foolish enough to march in a column, shields or not. Even the sledded plasma cannons and mounted CL guns could be destroyed by a shaft through their innards. The gigantic Nephilim aeros, hardened steel, three inches thick and diamond-tipped, were strong enough to do just that.
An enraged Iapetus withdrew his forces and destroyed every building in their path before moving forward. Nothing and no one could withstand the molten rock, shattered stone or the hellish conflagration of fire the Lord Commander unleashed upon the city. Between the explosive assault by the warships and the barbarous armies of Atlantis, Olympia was quickly being reduced to a pile of smoking ruins.
“The Main House still stands,” Hera said, standing next to Zeus and her siblings behind a tumbled pile of granite that had once been the tallest building in Olympia. “Creator be praised. The corridors are heavily damaged, but we can get to the bunker beneath if we move quickly.”
Her flaxen-streaked, red hair lay tangled and limp over her slumped and weary shoulders. Her thin, rose-petal lips were split and bleeding and a long, ragged wound cut a jagged line down her arm from bicep to wrist. A dirty strip of cloth stemmed the crimson flow for now. There was no time to Heal and Hera was too tired to draw forth the energy required.
“We should go,” Demeter told him gently, seeing the dark determination in Zeus’ flashing emerald eyes. She placed a restraining hand on her brother’s burly forearm, feeling the shivers of anger vibrating through his body. Her shining blue eyes were misted with blood and tears as Demeter stared out that the devastation surrounding her. “You have done all you can. Most of our people are gone, the rest scattered. The city is dead. We should go.”
Loki knelt with a contingent of Nephilim near Zeus, all of them battered and bleeding. His mahogany eyes were narrowed to mere slits as he watched his home burn. His massive fists dug pits in the crushed stone at his knees. Through all he had been through in his long and difficult life, nothing seared his soul more than this uncalled-for, appalling destruction. But he would not let the hurricane of hatred inside his heart to drive him into a foolish waste of life.
“I agree,” Loki said, meeting the lightning in Zeus’ jade eyes with calm, cold logic. “My men and I will follow you wherever you wish to go, even if that is into the jaws of death.” Catching their nods of agreement, Loki continued. “Yet, it would be wiser to escape and rebuild our forces; save what lives we can. We have done it before and we will do it again stronger than ever.”
“Iapetus is still out there,” Zeus said, his voice rumbling and filled with bloodlust. Never had he succumbed to bitter malevolence, but as he choked on the dark, swirling haze of smoke blanketing Olympia - his city - all he could think of was pulverizing the face of his father into a puddle of blood and bone. “That foul animal must pay for this.”
“And he will,” Lelantos chimed in. The injured Aam surrounding him were grim and haggard, but anxious to kill more of the vicious beasts that hounded them. He saw the venom in their eyes and in the rippling of overwrought muscles on their blood and soot-covered bodies. He felt much the same, wanting to hack the black-haired demon, Iapetus, into crimson chunks of quivering flesh. “Yet, we cannot serve justice upon him if we are dead.”
Lelantos squatted next to Zeus and reached out a hand to touch his broad, bulging shoulder. He could feel the low, menacing growl emanating from within his friend’s sinewy chest and feared Zeus was beyond listening. But he was not.
Turning his golden gaze upon the exhausted, furious warriors around him, Zeus fought his way up from the thick, black morass of his mind. The sisters he spent decades searching for sat upon the shattered stones, looking expectantly into his face. He was responsible for every life lost and those that now awaited his orders. He drew in a deep breath of the hot, stinging air through his flared nostrils, but still, it made him cough and spit. No matter his own lust for vengeance, after fighting so heroically, these valiant people did not deserve a meaningless death.
“Alright,” Zeus conceded heatedly, not angry at his people, but at the enemy, he could not beat. He stood slowly, keeping the broken wall between him and the invading army. “The Main House is only a few blocks away. Let us get there quickly and safely.” He picked up his pulse rifle and held it in both hands. “Loki, Lelantos, stay with me to guard the rear. Haleah, take three of your Aam and cover our left flank. Hera, you take the right. Move out.”
Iapetus stood on the roof of a still-standing, two-story building about a mile away from the smoldering city center. His long, ebony hair was tied tightly at the nape of his almost non-existent neck by strips of leather that created a crisscross web-like sheath that kept it out of his way. His darkly bronzed skin oozed with a thousand cuts which he completely ignored. Red pustules bubbled the center of his massive chest from the glancing blast of a pulse rifle. His face was set in stone, as cold as a frozen mountain lake.
Even through the burning fog enshrouding the landscape, Iapetus saw the brilliant explosions of his ruptured warships and watched them sink into the da
rk, turbulent, stormy ocean depths. He was stunned that his invincible, Proto-Sun powered craft had been beaten by a ragtag fleet of sailing vessels.
Roughly six hundred men were all he had left of the two thousand he arrived with. As much as duty had been replaced with ferocious fury, Iapetus gave his enemies a deep, grudging respect. Over-matched on land and sea, Zeus and his warriors had yet managed to decimate the Atlantean armada and slaughter its legions.
“Lord Commander,” said a panting scout from behind him. The young man choked and coughed out a dark glob of soot and smoke.
Iapetus looked at him with eyes of chipped onyx, saying nothing.
“The Olympians are headed north through the center of the city,” he reported crisply, catching his breath. “They are weaving through the side streets and alleys, but their path will take them past that big building in the middle.”
Iapetus only nodded and called his commanders to him. “Surround the building and force them to take a stand there. Do not attack except to drive them inside,” he ordered.
He had no way of knowing that was Zeus’s plan also.
With most of his people now within the bunker, Zeus waited near the double-wide, carved-oaken doors of the Main House. The top of the building was a heap of crushed and melted stone. Blackened timbers lay in smoldering piles on the polished teak flooring. Every window was shattered, littering the ornate rugs and wooden furniture. No lights flickered inside, leaving the interior in dark, drifting shadows as many structures around it continued to burn.
Against their vehement objections, his sisters, along with Haleah and her children were far below ground. Only a dozen warriors remained with Zeus guarding the windows and doors - Loki, Anak, Eriktis and Lelantos among them. He felt small in the company of so many giants and, despite the direness of the situation, Zeus was honored they fought beside him. There was no way they could withstand the hellish assault about to be unleashed upon them and they knew it. That was not their intent.
