On the day of battle, Ginrius geared up with fresh memories of last night"s encounter. The destructive power of Cronkris was made more apparent as they fleeted back to base: one swipe leveled everything for miles and miles, reaching even the far-flung Underworld toll booth. He would march to war knowing the full cost of miscalculation.But when it all began, it seemed like there was no alternative for going all out. Zeus" thunderbolts knocked on their gates with the force of a thousand battering rams, and everyone knew it was time for blood. The Underworld army rode out in a tide of mist and darkness, impressive in its own right.
In between the thunder strikes, Apollo toured the sky with his chariot, fingering the harp with aggressive, pseudo-heavy metal notes. Below him waited the bulk of Olympus" counterforce, largely comprised of its allied G.o.ds, Cyclops, and Hecatoncheires, who may have planned their day off work differently. With Ginrius wielding the Cronkris, it became pointless to summon monsters to their side, instead employing minor deities to fill the gaps in their defenses.
But while outnumbered ten to one, the Olympian ranks were anything but flimsy. The Hecantoncheires alone equalled one hundred monsters a piece, and their numbers weren"t exactly a humble cult following. Their detachment was a valid, standalone militia, older even than the G.o.ds and every bit as powerful—if not more—as the t.i.tans that preceded them. Give this a drizzle of Olympian powerhouses like Athena, Heracles, Hermes, et al, and you"ve got yourself one heck of a raiding onslaught.
In response to this, Team Underworld strung along the biggest meanies of mythological history. Ziz, the primordial griffin, overtook the sky with an entire regiment of Erinyes. Their fury alone could split the heavens and rock the far earth. Meanwhile, Python and Othrus divided their overwhelming monster horde, flanking the Olympians from both sides. The rebel G.o.ds also brought their own cohorts, from Artemis" beasts, to giants loyal only to Poseidon. Satyrs and centaurs were just as prevalent, although Pan himself was a no show.
But well-aside the display of power, the event still managed to subvert itself to a form of pageantry. And no, it wasn"t about the elaborate armament or combat regalia, rather the grandstanding of battle mounts. This was the category of G.o.dly bling found only during wars. Most of the time, deities just appear out of nowhere, or use the mythological equivalent of a Toyota Prius. Though trivial in a sense, this worked wonders for the intimidation part, which the G.o.ds were very meticulous of. It was that or the concept of practicality simply escaped the magic-profound and eternal.
The rebel warlords came in their exclusive rides, leaving newb Ginrius no choice but to produce his own. His was no nightmare fuel like his father"s, nor Poseidon"s finned, deep sea abomination. It was a mechanical stallion embellished with baffling complements, like a pair of wheels to subst.i.tute for legs, and handle bars that made for a more haptic steering experience. Typically fueled by his essence, the combustion process set parts of it ablaze and others breathing fumes. He even took the meanest pair of ram horns to mount up front, while encasing torches to fire a uniform beam of light—you know, for those times when Nyx didn"t play nice. It wasn"t exactly Galatea level yet, but not a terrible prototype either, given the time and resource constraint its production suffered.
Underneath all these beauty and chaos, the lot thirsted for that almost gratuitous weekend violence. It was only a matter of time before everyone"s dreams came true—before things broke so a point could be proven.
One way or another, something was at stake here. Making it all the more frustrating when this one central figure missed his own lineup.
"Where"s Zeus?" said Ginrius, who swept left to right, front and back. Lightning continued to hammer them down, the storm whipping more than pelting, yet there was no sign of its master anywhere.
Poseiden grunted as he looked up the sky, daring its fury to come for him. "Does the b.a.s.t.a.r.d think this storm enough? I could whip up my own and it would be ten times more devastating!"
Hades on the other hand, found no offense in the sn.o.b treatment, and instead saw it as an opportunity. "This could work to our advantage," he told his fellow commanders. "If he"s not here, then he"s alone in Olympus with Hera… We have a better chance of pinning him down without the barricade of an army."
"Great…" Ginrius spoke with a touch of sarcasm. He had no desire to taunt anyone in that field (not even the puniest critter from their own ranks), but if this was to be his first and last war, there was glory in sticking one to the original edge lord. "Now all we need to do is figure out how to make it past this one."
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The Olympian ensemble just let out their fierce battle cry, a practiced declaration of both sufficiency and imminent victory. Ares even coveted the arrangement a little, not that he could teach the monsters to do the same.
Meanwhile, Poseidon and Hades shared a look and laughed at their faithless little G.o.dsmith. "Between two G.o.ds who govern the earth, and at least a dozen qualified shapeshifters, I believe we could figure something out," the latter said. He then waved at his son, Thanatos, for a brief timeout. "Summon Demeter, Hecate, Artemis—we have a slight change in strategy."
When the armies collided at last, a fake Hades, Poseidon, and Ginrius stayed behind as stand-ins, presiding from high ground like true generals. But even more importantly, to screen the view as the genuine articles dug the earth for some last minute detour.