by Gene Stiles
Cronus lowered his farseers and nodded at his Second. “I do not know how they got into the city, but I assumed they would make the attempt.” He waved his hand casually, returning his attention to the veldt. “It is unlikely they can breach the pyramid’s defenses,” he said, unconcerned. Cronus pointed at the long line of troops crossing the plain, a vicious sneer upon his lips. “Even if they can, it will be far too late. Zeus and his army will be completely over the Grid within the hour. We will defeat them all in one fell swoop. It will be finished before the control room can be breached.”
Iapetus stared coldly across the vast meadow. His black eyes glittered like polished onyx and his thick, tan lips were terse and drawn in a hard, straight line across his boulder-like head. Outwardly, his massively muscled body was rigid and calm, but his mind was in turmoil, troubled not only by the countless deaths to come but by the fact that Rhea, Hyperion, Oceanus and Tethys would be among the casualties. No matter their differences, they were of the Twelve. But Iapetus was unyieldingly loyal to Cronus and the Atlantis he created through his own will and sacrifice. A warrior born, he would do what he must to serve and protect his brother.
“We are but a mile from the edge of the Grid,” Iapetus said, standing at the railing of the scaffolding raised high behind the front lines which afforded them a panoramic view of the fields beyond. “Is that sufficient to keep us from being caught in its power?”
“Yes,” Cronus assured him, again studying the oncoming army through his farseers. “The most our soldiers should feel is a strong buzz. Nothing that will harm them. Once it is deactivated, they will be free to finish the assault and end any survivors. I will lead them, myself.”
“No!” he cursed loudly, noting a sudden change in the enemy formation. Grabbing his comlink, Cronus bellowed at his cannon crews, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
Zeus was disquieted by the Lord Father’s tactics. With every yard they advanced, he was expecting Cronus to unleash his long cannons. He purposely took careful note of their positions when he confronted his ‘father’ and set his fastest moving railguns in place to take them out when the attack began. The lines he set in their path were intentionally thin behind the shield wall so they could swiftly shift out of the way of incoming artillery. Backing them were Nephilim archers capable of reaching the Atlantean gunners with their humongous bows. Yet Cronus had not fired a single shot even though they were well within range and had been for some time. What was he waiting for?
“Why have they not begun their assault?” Poseidon asked gravely over their private com, echoing his concern. “They should have engaged us by now.”
The gargantuan walked a short distance ahead of his unit, about two hundred feet to Zeus’ left, his trident held firmly in his monstrous hands. Between and behind them, Hades and their sisters marched stiffly, their eyes locked on the Atlantean multitudes, the adrenaline of anticipation coursing through their veins.
Zeus glanced over at Poseidon and nodded in agreement. In doing so, he saw how far their ranks spread across the horizon. The original plan was to arch around the Atlantean forces and attack as one, but now he wondered if Cronus foresaw such a maneuver and was prepared to take out his flanks. From their last few skirmishes, Zeus knew the Atlanteans were under orders to keep artillery and energy weapons away from him and Poseidon. Cronus could not afford to fuel their power, but two men could not be everywhere. The Lord Father should be bombarding the rest of the Olympian lines. The fact that he was not told Zeus he had a deadly surprise in the waiting.
“Rapid wedge!” he commanded, coming to a sudden decision. Zeus, Poseidon and the battalion with them surged forward, rushing ahead of the rest of the army. At the same moment, the outer flanks retreated swiftly, folding inward to form an aerohead behind Zeus.
The advantage to the well-practiced stratagem was it strengthened the shield wall around the army. It also brought them closer to the umbrella of protection provided by Poseidon and Zeus. Unfortunately, it also packed them tightly together, making them an easier, deadlier target for the Atlantean gunners. The slower cannon transports were left in the field along with their volunteer crews. Worse and the reason it was not adopted from the beginning, with a fifteen-thousand man army, it stretched out their battle groups for miles behind the front lines. It would take longer to reinforce the tip of the spear. Zeus and Poseidon would have to take the brunt of the assault.
“Warbirds!” Zeus commanded as he ran across the meadow. His face was grim and stark. The heat of Excalibur rippled through him, energizing the muscles of his hard-pumping legs. He knew it would take long moments for the airships to reach them. Zeus kept them at the rear, hoping he would not have to use their awesome firepower on the Atlantean soldiers. Until then, it was up to Triton and Excalibur to fend off the artillery.
Man-made thunder rumbled in the still, humid air as the guns opened up. Balls of iron arched high into the sullen sky. The Olympian crews who stayed with their cannon emplacements when the wedge collapsed on itself returned fire. They knew they would only have the chance for a volley or two before the Atlanteans zeroed in on them. They vowed to make every shot count.
Poseidon knelt on one knee, the tip of Triton aimed at the incoming fusillade. Silver lava swam along the golden shaft and the hum of its power sang through his tendons. An inaudible wall of sound arose above him striking the onslaught like the hand of the Creator. Most of the boulder-like missiles bounced harmlessly away, rolling across the meadow long before reaching their intended targets. Some were tossed backward, slamming into Cronus’ own shieldmen. Others arced over him, smashing down on Olympian soldiers. He could hear their screams as faint agonized murmurs whispering in the thrumming in his ears. Triton allowed him no more than that.
Zeus raised Excalibur high above his head. There would be only enough time for a single wide blast before the warbirds arrived. He could not risk them being caught in the electrical backlash. From then on, he would be limited to ground-based targets. The majestic blade crackled with silver-blue sparks, the runes blazing with rivers of golden fire. Crooked fingers of lightning blossomed from its sharply pointed tip, reaching out for the balls of iron like the talons of a demonic bird of prey. Those filled with powder exploded in showers of hot metal and lit spotted fires across the trampled grassland. Some were magnetized by the charge and swerved to collide with their brethren, knocking them from their planned trajectories. Zeus felt the savage elation of restraint ripple through him, but he clamped the feeling down. He could not free the beast with his forces so close.
Like Poseidon, he froze in place, their siblings well behind him, protected by the energy shields of their weapons. Zeus would hold here until the warbirds took out the gun emplacements. What he could not know was they stopped exactly where Cronus wanted them. Buried beneath their feet was the leading edge of the Grid.
“If you are going to use it, do so now,” Iapetus said sternly, his words chipped and rough. He lowered the huge paw he had cupped over his left ear and turned to Cronus. His obsidian eyes glittered even in the sunless sky. “The Olympians have taken the lower floor of the pyramid.”
“They must hold longer,” Cronus replied savagely. He could see the black specks of warbirds rising behind the enemy lines and knew the risk, but with the change in formation, only half of Zeus’ army stood over the Grid. He wanted them all. “Fire half the cannons low and at the outer ranks, the rest high and directly at Zeus. Let us see if they can stop both trajectories.”
“Doing so will only increase the power of your sons’ weapons,” Iapetus said bluntly. The sight of blue-white lighting flashing into the sky from the tip of that sword chilled him to the core. It made him doubt the wisdom of using the Grid at all. Feeding the blade more energy seemed a perilous idea.
“Yes,” Cronus said, his jade eyes simmering dangerously as he glanced at his brother. Now was not the time to have his orders questioned. “And push them closer to overload. Now, do as I command.”
Iapetus hesita
ted briefly, wondering if Cronus was slipping back into insanity. The warnings of Coeus echoed in his mind and gave him pause. He studied the Lord Father for a moment. Cronus did not appear out of control, his eyes angry, but clear, his stance firm, not trembling in rage. He must trust in his brother. Though a trickle of fear swept through his veins, Iapetus complied.
The thunderous noise was deafening. The air vibrated as the hellish hail of iron filled the sky. Even from this distance, they could see the field around Zeus and Poseidon sparkle and swell, expanding enough to cover all of the children of Cronus. The blade and trident blazed brighter with each booming impact. Not a single stone passed through their energy dome. However, their shield was not large enough to protect the rest of their legions. Bouncing boulders smashed against the Olympian army with devastating effect, crushing warriors and blasting holes in the densely packed lines.
Even as his own cannons returned fire, Zeus knew they could not withstand the vicious assault for long. Excalibur screamed in his brain to be freed, the intensity of its hunger burning his hands. Sweat beaded his broad, furrowed forehead and dripped into his eyes. It took every bit of will he possessed to contain the sensual, barbaric craving to blow his enemies from the face of the earth. Zeus could hear the warbirds swooshing overhead. To use his sword now would destroy every one of them. He gritted his teeth and held firm.
“Now!” Cronus bellowed, his handsome, terrible visage dark and brutally fierce. “Energize the Grid!”
The golden globe atop the Pyramid of Atlantis throbbed and went dark. The few lights aglow in the city flickered out like snuffed flames. The entire energy of a Proto-Sun surged through overheated cables and was sucked into the massive web-work of the Grid. A mile-wide arc of bluish fire erupted across the plain in a gruesome spectacle of light and sound. The lightning of Zeus was rendered insignificant compared to the horrid wall of crackling electricity that lit the countryside for miles around. Superheated rocks shattered beneath the intense wave and blasted into the air. Even the dampest of grasses ignited, blazing in a yellow-orange conflagration of smoky hellfire.
The squadron of warbirds diving down from the curling gray clouds was caught in the wall like flies in a spider’s web. The massive pulse of current fried their electronics and tumbled them from the skies. Their weaponry exploded within their metal hulls and ripped them apart. Twisted, hot wreckage and body parts rained down on the veldt, blasting huge holes in the tortured earth.
Those outside of the cocoon of protection surrounding Zeus and Poseidon had no chance at all. Soldiers were tossed about like dust in the wind, their clothing bursting into flames and enshrouding them in searing agony. Boots melted to the ground, rooting men and women to the stones. Their muscles spasmed and tore, ripped to shreds by the forces coursing through them. Flesh bubbled and split. Bones snapped like tiny twigs and shredded the epidermis surrounding them. Steaming blood boiled in their veins, spurted from the ruptures in their skin and streamed from every orifice of their jerking bodies. Thousands of dead and dying convulsed across that belt of abomination, their corpses blackening and sizzling like venison steaks over a cooking fire.
The Atlantean army dropped their shields and fell to their knees, beyond horrified by the barbaric nightmare before their eyes. The soil beneath their trembling legs hummed a vicious death song that sent a buzzing vibration through their souls. The stench of their own vomit mixed with the fiendishly foul odor of frying flesh that wafted across the veldt, gagging even the strongest among them. Soldier after soldier covered their ears in a vain attempt to block out the piteous shrieks, agonized wailing and howls of unimaginable torment swirling around them. Rivers of tears poured from their reddened eyes and marred their dirty, ruddy cheeks.
Fury arose in their faces, spreading through the ranks like the screams of the helpless Olympians. It was not directed at the remnants of their wretched, woeful enemy. It turned on the unholy man standing on the scaffolding above them, an evil smile smeared across his demonic features. They were warriors but this was not war. This was savage, bestial slaughter. There was no honor nor glory here. No moral superiority. Only a scene of brutal, depraved inhumanity. A growl of outrage rumbled through the Atlantean legions as they cast their eyes upon the wickedly laughing Lord Father. Nearly as one, they reached slowly for the weapons and shields they had cast aside, turning their attention to the monstrosity who ordered such profane carnage.
Before they could seek justice for their Olympian brethren, a roar of impossible thunder rent the turbulent, darkening skies above them. Eyes went wide and mouths dropped open. A translucent ball of burning sapphire arose from the nightmarish meadow, rising on a pillar of angry azure lightning. The sparkling sphere seemed to vanish leaving the man within floating high above the terrible battlefield, a majestic, awesome sword held heavenward in his hand.
Zeus.
In the seconds before the Proto-Sun went dark, Poseidon knelt on the hardened ground, the butt of Triton planted in the thick, loamy soil. With every assault on the sonic shield, the trident throbbed like a pounding heart in his huge, powerful hands. The beautiful, ornately carved images of fish, dolphins and whales seemed to come alive and flowed in silver rivers along the golden shaft toward the center tine. He could almost see them leap into the transparent current of the dome around him. Suddenly, they scattered as if sensing a monstrous predator diving in their midst.
Poseidon felt a bubble of enormous power rising from the earth beneath him, surging up the length of the trident. A deep, baritone scream burst from his lips. The burning agony was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It flowed through every muscle, tendon and bone of his gargantuan body and turned them into stone. His blood felt like molten lava coursing through veins of sparkling diamond. The skin of his hands melted into the alien metal as if he and Triton were becoming one entity. Poseidon could no longer think, lost in a swirling mist of pain and power. He was sucked into the circuitry, adding his own awesome strength to the building energies of the transcendent trident. The dome around the Olympian siblings expanded ten-fold and seemed to solidify, but not before thousands outside its protection convulsed, wailed and died.
Like Triton, Excalibur sensed the surge of current flowing into the Grid. Unlike the trident, it was a child of electricity and welcomed the boundless power like a brother lost. The otherworldly blade pulled at the energies like roots drawing moisture from a rain-soaked earth. It coursed up through the calf-high leather boots Zeus wore and set an inferno loose within his flesh. He was unaware of the hellish howls ripped from his tormented lungs or of how his spine arched impossibly as he was raised from the ground by a spire of sparks. The indescribable pain seared through every fiber of his being and blinded his bulging and blurry eyes. The sweat covering his bronzed skin sizzled and evaporated in the same seconds it appeared. Those nearest Zeus were blown off their feet and flung across the hard, flattened meadow, unharmed, but stunned into unconsciousness.
In his anguish, Zeus lost all sense of self and reality. He was no longer a child of humanity, son of Rhea or scion of Cronus. He was a god of vengeance, fury and retribution. He was not made of flesh and blood, but a creature of metal and lightning. He was Excalibur and he was hungry.
The pillar of power lifted Zeus heavenward, the tip of the sword piercing the dome and cocooning him in a sphere of glowing energy. Two golden orbs blazed beneath his furrowed brow, his wavy mane of fire-red hair swirling around his sculpted face like the corona of a troubled sun. He gazed down on the death and torment surrounding him with an anger as cold as a frozen mountain lake. Yet, the anger was not his. It was that of the Creator speaking through the shimmering silver blade in his upraised hand. A terrible payment was due for such horrendous, vile actions and Excalibur was His debt collector.
Zeus curled like an unborn child in a tiny corner of his own mind. The energy of the Grid was still building and each wave brought unthinkable agony to his sinews. The liquids in his entire body bubbled and boiled, cooking hi
m from the inside. His tortured wailings reverberated through every cell and membrane. Zeus knew he could not survive much longer if he did not release the energies within him.
A booming voice seemed to bellow in his ears, calling out for justice and punishment against his enemies. It roared for revenge and retribution. Yet, the core of his soul told Zeus vengeance was not his to seek. Penalties must be tempered by compassion and recompense commensurate with the crime. He would not allow the bloodlust of his blade to dictate his actions.
Using all of the resolve and willpower at his command, Zeus fought the primal desires of Excalibur to rain hell down upon the Olympians. He locked both hands on the hilt of the screaming sword and battled his own malevolent inclinations. “Olympus!” he howled, blasting the uncaring clouds with the unearthly power of his weapon.
The Atlantean soldiers fell shivering to the ground at the sight of Zeus hovering in the air, all thought of attacking Cronus driven from their stupefied brains. The golden apparition bathed in silver-blue fire appeared as the wrathful arm of the Creator sent to seek their souls for the evil they had done. The hum in the earth beneath their trembling feet was growing and now vibrated painfully through their bones. Most saw their own flesh blacken and burn in restitution for the atrocities they had witnessed across the scorched plain. They had allowed it. They had disbelieved the Lord Father was capable of such wickedness and they stood steadfastly at his side. Now they were culpable for the horrors visited upon the Olympians. They deserved no less. Still, they whispered mumbled prayers to the Creator, begging His forgiveness for their foolish loyalty and their unwitting acquiescence to all Cronus had done.
In that rare moment, the Creator chose to reply. His fiery messenger lifted his holy silver scepter upward and let loose His fury upon the sky. The gray and black clouds rolled in response as a blanket of eye-searing lightning swept across their bellies. Ear-splitting thunder blasted the heavens and shook the ground for miles around. Jagged bolts of white-hot light returned to the earth, splitting trees and blazing the high-reaching towers of Atlantis. The terrified soldiers screeched and whimpered, trampling their fellows in their panic-stricken stampede to escape the tumultuous tempest raging above them.
