Fate/Defiance (Revised)
Chapter 4 - Moby-Dick; or, The Whale
The world seemed to collapse into a single instant.
Daedalus froze where he stood, his hand still half-raised, his face drained of all color.
Then, "Ah—!" Daedalus flinched, a sharp gasp of pain escaped his lips at a sudden injury piercing his flesh.
An owl swooped past him, with its talons briefly stabbing him. His gaze followed its flight path, watching it dive down from the Acropolis with impossible speed.
Where he had expected to see the broken flesh of his nephew at the bottom of the steep edge, there was instead the shimmering figure of the owl—head turned completely upside down, 180 degrees—cradling Perdix under an uncanny wingspan for its stature, as though the boy weighed no more than a feather.
The goddess did not look at Daedalus at first. Her eyes were on Perdix, her wings impossibly gentle. "Do not fear," she murmured to the trembling apprentice, "Your path will not end here. You will live—but your current fate has been cut short."
Only then did she turn.
The air tightened at her gaze. Even the distant chatter of the crowds around the Acropolis dimmed, like sound itself was afraid.
Athena's gaze fell upon Daedalus—calm, stern, impossibly ancient. "You," she said, her voice echoing with power that did not originate from mortal lungs, "Whom I once favored as the cleverest of mortals. How far you have fallen."
Daedalus opened his mouth, but no words came. His breath scraped weakly in his throat as he gazed upon her manifestation. He felt Icarus' small hand at his side, fingers trembling against him.
"You sought to destroy the boy for surpassing you," Athena continued. "A rival mind unclouded by jealousy, you could not bear to behold. Remember, Daedalus of Athens, innovation burns brightest in those who are unafraid to be surpassed."
Though her words spoke to Daedalus, Icarus could feel her gaze momentarily trail his form, "The greatest always welcome the whetstone of competition most of all."
"But, I suppose it is not entirely your fault. An inner driving force of Vainglory is a difficult compulsion to resist once awakened." She spoke, almost apologetically, "Then again, didn't it simply make you more of yourself?"
"Perdix will survive," the patron of Athens stated, "But you will not remain in Athens."
Before either mortal could respond in confusion, she and Perdix dissolved into a burst of white feathers—a blinding flurry that rose into the sky and scattered on the wind.
The owl vanished, but he could faintly see that a Partridge remained, which after panicked screeches, managed to frightfully flap its way to the highest point of the cliffside.
The bird shook in fear as it landed, not daring to look over the edge. Icarus blinked, stunned. "S-she turned him into a bird."
His chest heaved in fear, and the following gulp of horror was the hardest he ever had to swallow down.
He glanced behind him, only to see the crowd blank faced. No, completely unresponsive, as if frozen in time—then, like a lightbulb being switched—they snapped back into consciousness, unknowing of the Goddess of Wisdom's sudden appearance.
How utterly terrifying.
--------------------------
Daedalus simply stared at the bird-like scar left by the goddess, one identical to the timid bird formed from his nephew.
Athena had intervened.
Of course she did. Who was he to question her? She had saved Perdix from death.
So, why wasn't he thankful?! Why did the rage still boil beneath his skin, at the thought of her intervention. His hand trembled as he looked at the symbol carved into his flesh.
A reminder.
"It's… not my fault," he whispered to no one.
Daedalus stood there stunned for some time. Then, the clanking of boots moving through the crowd reverberated throughout the Acropolis as the local astynomia pushed through the onlookers and surged toward him. [1]
The crowd parted as they made their move to seize Daedalus, who remained inattentive—lost in his own world. They grabbed onto his arms and quickly restrained him to the ground, pulling him away from the cliff's edge.
Daedalus didn't resist—his mind was too drowned in fear and realization.
That blessing he once cherished… the crystallized shard of Athena's wisdom…
…It wasn't his fault.
The knowledge he had gained from the crystallization of her wisdom was something he valued immensely throughout his life, he wouldn't be where he was today without it.
But, it had fundamentally changed something in him.
He couldn't control himself, as much as Athena's blessing was a gift—it was just as much a curse. As it had also awakened the deepest core of his being, something no man should have awakened.
His Origin.
The truth of what he was.
Vainglory.
The need for validation.
The hunger for praise.
The terror of being overshadowed.
The fundamental makeup of his very being, dictated by the root of all existence. A person's Origin was in harmony with their subconscious actions. It was an inherent instinct, separate from conscious decision.
But, if a human awakens their Origin, things take a turn for the worse. It becomes nearly impossible to stray from their Origin—if it's even possible in the first place.
An insidious internal compulsion becomes an overbearing absolute order.
For Daedalus, this was a gradual loss of free will. It hollowed him from the inside and filled him with jagged pride until, over time, nothing else could fit.
The need to prove himself was ingrained in every action he took, taking the priority in his life over everything.
And today… it had nearly killed a boy he once loved.
He was a pitiful man, who lost himself in his pursuit of glory—only for it to end up in vain.
Truly a tragic irony.
Daedalus couldn't even trust himself anymore.
He was too dangerous now, the compulsions were no longer possible to resist—it might have been Perdix now, but maybe it could be Icarus next…
…Or maybe it was all just an excuse.
Perhaps he was always destined to take this road regardless of an awakened Origin.
After all, wasn't his barest truth still such a fickle thing?
Then a familiar yelp dragged him back to reality, "Oi Oi, what the fuck did I do?!" Icarus yelled in indignation as they aggressively restrained his struggling, while simultaneously wrestling his small body to the dirt.
Daedalus's heart seized. No. Not him. Not Icarus too, he was innocent! He even tried to stop him!
He forced himself up, teeth grinding, muscles burning as his arms pressed him off the ground. His eyes caught the familiar scar on his arm as he rose.
His destiny may have already been sealed, but that didn't mean the same for his son! So what if he was defined by Vainglory, he still was a father who loved his son.
How could he not fight for him?!
Resolved brimmed in his eyes as a plan was formulated in his mind, he had already failed everyone in his life—he'd be damned if he failed his son too.
"Icarus!" He bellowed, drawing his son's attention. Icarus glanced at him with a wary expression that sent pangs into Daedalus' heart.
But, he couldn't blame him after everything he did.
"You must run," he commanded, urgency cracking his voice. "Get home—activate the bounded field. Then escape Athens. Do you hear me? Escape!"
Icarus stared at him for a long heartbeat.
The boy's expression was complicated—fear, confusion, betrayal—but finally he nodded in affirmation. Relief swelled inside Daedalus, just enough to drown the pain.
He whispered beneath his breath, and a green glow bled from his skin, permeating his body. His muscles surged with unnatural strength. With a roar he threw off the guards, grabbed a pouch at his belt, and slammed it into the stone at his feet.
A deafening blast shattered the air—colored sparks burst like miniature suns, while fogs of smoke further obscured any vision.
Startled by the noise, the men surrounding him ducked for cover—unaware that it was harmless.
Using the distraction, he rushed towards the men holding Icarus down and with his enhanced strength he forced them off his son, freeing him. The guards fell to the ground harshly, while Daedalus turned to yell, "Go!"
But Icarus was already gone, slipping into the screaming crowd like a shadow. He had used the opportunity to quickly flee the scene.
A strange mix of pride, sorrow, and exasperation broke across Daedalus's weary face.
"That's my boy," he murmured.
But there was no time. If he wanted Icarus to escape, he would have to not only draw them all to himself, but delay them as well. The guards would only stay down for a few moments, and there were definitely more on the way, so Daedalus decided—seize the initiative!
With a quick leap, he straddled one of the men below him, quickly using his empowered strength to take him out of the fight.
He quickly attacked the remaining men in a similar manner, struggling from the effort. Regardless of the physical disparity, they were well trained and attacked in tandem.
But still, he prevailed.
Sweat dripped from his skin as he took labored breaths. He tired quickly, his body lacking conditioning—but it didn't matter, he was no warrior… but an inventor!
He reached into his side, where he held an enchanted pouch
that was larger on the inside and capable of containing a decent amount of items.
From there he pulled out some of his few objects, a small axe and a miniature stone golem. He spoke a few brief words to the golem before grabbing it in his hand and throwing it in the direction of his home, knowing that it could reach the rest of the way on its own.
Meanwhile, the small axe was situated in his grasp. It was a gaudy thing, encrusted with gems and adorned in gold. The very definition of fashion over function—it had no business near a tree, nevermind a battle.
But, Daedalus wielded it as a weapon regardless. He held it in a strange stance, upside down, with his grip being on the axe's dull blade instead of its pommel, which he held outwards like a wand.
More guards surged forward and surrounded him with pointed spears. But he held a confident demeanor, his weapon wasn't any ordinary axe after all.
It was his personal creation, imbued and enchanted with the power of his awakened Origin. Forged from his blood, carved with his hair, soaked in the concept of his very being.
An axe that held the essence of Vainglory itself—inflated pride in oneself; especially something that is vain, empty, or valueless.
It was a weapon whose greatest ability was utterly pointless for an axe, it had no sharp edge, no exceptional durability, not even a properly sized pommel for leverage.
But that was fine, for it was not meant to cut down trees—
"Βιασύνη του Ερμή!" Haste of Hermes.
—It was meant to cast spells.
An ability grand… yet useless on a woodcutter's tool.
But Daedalus was no woodcutter.
His legs glowed an orange hue, and the world lurched. He blurred backward as a spear stabbed the space he previously occupied.
Applified by a spell designed to piggyback off of the name, power, speed, and Authority belonging to the Messenger God, Hermes, Daedalus became a blur in battle.
Spells like Haste of Hermes usually took large amounts of preparation, cast with long and detailed chants. But with the aid of his axe, he bypassed this step directly.
Holding the axe blade adjacent to his forearm, he flicked it towards the men, creating a razor thin blade of air, which promptly tore through the front line of astynomia, drawing screams of horror as flesh parted and limbs fell.
Daedalus was ruthless towards them, they were only slaves that stood in his way—in both his eyes and those of the law—they held no value that wasn't monetary. But, for every Astynomia killed or incapacitated, another took their place.
It seemed the local nobles really paid no expense.
He gritted his teeth in rage. After everything he did for them! No, he would not fall here! These slaves were not even worthy of death by his hand—by his works!
Those watching them could only feel a sense of horrific fascination as Daedalus cut down man after man. He fought like a mad man, sending spells and rending flesh without care, even murdering members of the audience caught in the aftermath of attacks.
But he tired, and with more bodies arriving than he could kill, he slowly found himself backed into a corner. They encircled him in a tight formation, tipped spears surrounding him.
But he was not without his trump cards!
He flicked the blood of his defeated enemies from his axe as he chanted, "Αἷμα εχθρῶν, θυσία πολέμου. Ὄργη τοῦ Ἄρη, Έννοια της Σύγκρουσης—ἐμπότισε τὸ σῶμά μου!" Blood of my Enemies, the Sacrifices of War. Wrath of Ares, Concept of Conflict—Infuse my Body!
It was a spell that called upon the power of the God of War, although it was not without repercussions—if the caster failed to draw enough blood as an offering, then they would succumb to madness!
But, he wasn't particularly worried about that.
Daedalus flicked his wrist, flipping his axe into a standard grip, with his blade maliciously drawn. Due to his body—and by extension weapon, being empowered by the concept of conflict, the crudity of his axe's fundamental functionality vanished!
An aura of malice suffused the axe, sharpening its edge and enchanting it with powerful might.
But his unorthodox intention for the axe still remained, creating a positive feedback loop that further empowered his spell—bolstering his strength even further!
With his newfound instincts directed him towards the path of bloodshed. A single swing of his axe mutilated half a dozen men effortlessly!
Cries filled the Acropolis. The remaining citizens fled in screaming terror, leaving only a circle of carnage around the frenzied inventor.
Yet even this divine brutality could not last.
He slowed, stumbled.
No matter how hard he fought, thrashed, and howled, his body couldn't fight forever against the endless tide of men. Even his last stand could only hold out for so long, and soon enough he collapsed beneath a wave of bodies as a dozen spears pressed him into the dirt.
Because the Astynomia were slaves to the local nobles that were used as law enforcement, they were not allowed to kill someone as prominent as Daedalus. They were forced to arrest him alive, to be put on trial regardless of their feelings, injuries, or deaths.
As they held his struggling body to the ground, they took his axe from him, along with everything else on his person.
Then he was slowly dragged off, frothing and screaming along the way, "How dare you arrest me?! Don't you know who I am?! I am Daedalus! The greatest inventor alive!"
=======================
Author's Note
I think this revision is much better. Made his crashout much less reliant on his Origin awakening, while also making him less of a crazy caricature.
Also, an early appearance for Athena! Hmm… gonna have to make sure this doesn't conflict with the other chapters.
Hope you liked it!
Special Thanks to the original editors on discord for Beta Reading: Old man of the mountain, and Gerhman573
Join my discord, https://discord.gg/AMyqBN2
Glossary
[1] Astynomia
The Ancient Greek form of police, a compound noun consisting of asty (the officialese word for city) and nomos (law). In Athens publicly owned slaves were used by magistrates as a police force.