I landed lightly as I walked through the garden making my way through the trees and plants as I tried to think of where Adam could be. Strangely I couldn't sense his energy anywhere in the garden at all.
I let my wings retract slowly into my back, shadows curling inward like smoke, and walked forward, taking in the stillness. The sky above me wasn't a sky at all, but a canopy of light—soft and golden, flickering with patterns that moved like water. I'd barely taken ten steps when the air split.
"HALT."
The voice echoed from every direction, like trumpets and swords clashing all at once. I stopped, not out of fear—but irritation. A ripple moved through the trees. And then they emerged.
Angels.
Dozens of them, wings of pearl and flame descending in formation around me, weapons already drawn. Their spears shimmered with light so pure it made my skin itch. White robes fluttered like banners, and their halos pulsed with gold. Every one of them was radiating heat, holy pressure pressing down like I was being judged just for breathing.
"Freeze," the lead one barked, his voice crackling like divine fire. "You are trespassing on holy land."
I exhaled slowly.
"Of course I am," I muttered before speaking louder. "Alright, why don't you guys calm down—"
Holy blades hissed to life.
I sighed.
With a flick of my hand, my bident erupted from the shadows, materializing in my grip with a deep hum. Its twin prongs gleamed obsidian black, crackling with faint gold veins pulsing like a heartbeat. I held it casually at my side.
"You really should know when you're out of your league."
The lead angel narrowed his eyes. "Demon scum. You'll return to Hell where you belong."
My eyebrow twitched.
"Demon?" I asked, voice low. "Really?"
"Thorn Shield Formation!" the lead angel snapped.
Their robes shimmered, shifting into radiant gold-plated armor. Helmets formed over their faces, visors glowing with pure light, shields and swords singing with sanctified energy. The ground beneath them ignited with holy runes. as they lifted great shields and stuck out their spears.
I blinked and sighed.
With a flick of my wrist, the shadows around me snapped to attention, responding to my will like trained hounds.
Dark tendrils lashed out from the trees and ground, cocooning each armored angel in sticky webs of abyssal shade. Their blades clattered to the earth as they were lifted off the ground, suspended in place like flies in tar.
I stepped forward as they struggled.
"I'm not here to fight," I said. "But I don't have patience for gatekeeping zealots with glowing swords."
I was about to move past them when I heard a voice.
Soft. Familiar. Resonant.
"Hello, Hades."
I turned and there she was. Yahweh.
She stood barefoot on the grass. A simple white dress flowed around her, embroidered with soft geometric patterns that shifted as she moved. Thick white hair—braided over one shoulder—nearly reached her waist. And her eyes…
Her golden eyes locked onto mine—not angry, not surprised.
Just curious.
"You're far from home," she said.
I gave her a half-smile. "So are you, technically."
Her brow lifted. "True. So why are you here, Hades?" she asked, voice softer now. "Not just trespassing for fun are you?"
"I need something," I said, skipping the pleasantries. "From Adam."
Her gaze sharpened, and I clarified. "Not Adam himself. Just… some of his DNA. Blood or bone. Prometheus has been struggling. The new humans decay too fast. He needs some of Adam's DNA to be able to create a more stable body."
She studied me for a moment, golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly. And then, without a word,
She was silent for a moment, then reached into her braid.
From it, she pulled a vial.
Blood-red. Thick. Vibrant.
She tossed it through the air.
I caught it easily.
I blinked. "Seriously, it was that easy?"
Yahweh shrugged. "Why not? I'm not in the business of hoarding humanity. Besides, you let me keep Adam and Eve. Least I can do."
I studied her. "That's unusually generous for a deity."
"Don't get used to it," she smirked.
I pocketed the vial safely into my robe. "Speaking of Adam… is he still here?"
Her face darkened.
"No," she said, tone flat. "He and Eve were cast out. Temptation found them, thanks to one of my sons."
"Let me guess… Samuel."
Her eyes twitched. "I won't ask how you know his name, but yes. He's been getting very rebellious lately."
"That's one word for it. Maybe you should give him something to do, busy children don't have time to be rebellious"
She looked toward the tree behind her, expression unreadable.
"They were meant to live here forever. But the curse of knowledge, once planted, blooms fast."
"I'd know." I said.
Her eyes flicked to mine. "Yes… you would, wouldn't you?"
We stood in quiet understanding for a moment.
Then she gestured casually at the bound angels still suspended in the shadows.
"Before you leave—would you mind?"
I rolled my eyes and snapped my fingers.
The shadows retracted, uncoiling from the knights and slithering back into the earth. The angels dropped to the ground like rocks, gasping for breath, coughing, some vomiting holy light.
The lead angel scrambled to his feet, blade back in hand, armor flaring with fury.
"My Lady!" he gasped, running toward her. "You shouldn't be near this demon—stand back, we'll dispose of him—"
She gave him a look.
He froze mid-step.
"This," she said with a sigh, "is Hades. Greek God of the Underworld."
There was a collective pause.
"Oh," the angel said, deflating. "He's a… god?"
"Yes. Not a demon. Not from Hell. And certainly not your punching bag."
The knights quickly dropped to one knee.
"Our apologies, Lord Hades," the lead muttered, shame painting his features.
I gave him a curt nod. "You're forgiven. This time."
I turned back to Yahweh.
"Thanks for the blood. I owe you."
"You do," she said. "Someday I'll collect."
I gave her a two-fingered salute. "Looking forward to it."
Then I vanished into the shadow at her feet.
The last thing I heard before the darkness swallowed me whole was her voice, soft and amused:
"Tell Prometheus that when he uses his clay to make humans, make sure that it is actually Primordial clay."
🙛🙚🙛🙚🙛🙚⯡🙘🙙🙘🙙🙘🙙
I hadn't even dusted the Eden grass from my boots before I heard the shouting.
Prometheus's workshop wasn't just a mess—it was chaos incarnate. A tangle of divine machinery, broken golems, crackling furnaces, and piles upon piles of failed attempts at humanity. I stepped over a still-twitching arm and nearly tripped on what looked like a half-fused ribcage groaning softly to itself.
The scent of ash and molten earth clung thick in the air.
But it wasn't the clutter that held my attention—it was the argument echoing from the heart of the forge.
"You don't have the authority!" Prometheus's voice, rough and ragged, echoed off the cracked stone walls. "This is my space—"
"And Olympus is mine!" Zeus bellowed back, each word punctuated by a crackle of thunder. "You've turned it into a god-damned trash heap!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry the art of creation isn't pristine enough for your royal sensibilities!"
I stepped into the chamber, arms crossed. "Should I come back later, or are we still pretending this isn't a colossal waste of everyone's time?"
Both gods turned to me.
Zeus's face soured at once. "Wonderful. The corpse king has returned."
Prometheus looked relieved and then surprised when I set the small glass vial of Adam's blood gently on the center of the workbench. Its crimson gleam seemed to hum in resonance with the clay scraps scattered across the room.
"You got it?" he whispered, reverently picking it up.
I nodded. "Yahweh didn't even hesitate."
Zeus raised an eyebrow. "She gave it to you?"
I smirked. "Apparently she's not as territorial as some gods I know."
Prometheus turned the vial slowly in the firelight, wonder in his eyes. "This changes everything…"
"Or it would have," I said flatly, "speaking of, Yahweh had told me something interesting, saying how you should make sure your clay is actually Primordial clay."
Prometheus stiffened as he walked to his work bench and grabbed some clay and actually studied it before slamming his fist. "This is normal clay..."
I turned to Zeus. "Do you happen to know something about this?"
Zeus waved a hand, suddenly evasive. "Uh, definitely not."
"Zeus…" I growled.
The King of Olympus shifted his weight. "I might have… switched out your weird glowing clay for something more normal."
Prometheus froze. "You did what?"
"I replaced it with river clay from Helicon! It was—" Zeus hesitated, "—safer. More… natural."
Prometheus stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.
"My clay," he whispered, "was gifted to me by Gaea herself, that clay is what Lord Chaos used himself to create the Primordials. That weird clay is all that remains."
"I thought it was cursed!" Zeus snapped. "It was pulsing, Prometheus! Clay doesn't pulse!"
"It does," I muttered, "when it was created by the Creator. Come on Zeus, have some common sense."
Zeus scoffed, but he looked increasingly uncomfortable. "It was a mistake. A minor one."
"Thousands of humans," Prometheus said quietly, "Not even a month of life. Their souls barely had time to form before they were dragged into your brother's realm."
Zeus had the decency to look ashamed. "I didn't know it would do that."
"Of course you didn't," I said sharply. "Because you didn't ask. You just acted. Again."
He glared at me. "I don't answer to you, Hades."
I stepped forward, shadows curling at my heels like smoke. "You do when your incompetence bleeds into my kingdom."
Zeus's eyes sparked. "Are you threatening me?"
"I'm telling you," I said coldly, "to fix it. Now."
The room crackled with tension.
And then Zeus vanished in a crackle of lightning.
Prometheus exhaled shakily, setting the vial back down with care. "I can't believe it…"
"I can," I said. "He's always been more bark than bite. And too proud to admit when he's wrong."
"He could've just asked."
"Pride," I said again. "That, and a deeply ingrained fear of anything he can't control."
A heavy stillness settled in the chamber, broken only by the soft hiss of fire from the forges around us. Prometheus stood beside me, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with eternal patience.
Then—suddenly—the air vibrated.
A sharp, high-pitched hum filled the room, and in a burst of blinding, white-blue light, Zeus appeared.
His face was twisted in irritation, jaw tight, brows furrowed. His boots scraped across the blackened floor as he stepped forward with purposeful disdain. Without a word, he dropped the object he carried onto Prometheus' workbench with a dull thud—a small, ornately carved wooden box. Gold leaf detailing lined its edges. Ancient runes shimmered across its surface, faintly pulsing with primordial energy.
"There," Zeus snapped. "Your precious mud."
Prometheus approached slowly. His expression shifted—not to relief, not to triumph—but to something far more reverent. His fingers brushed over the grain of the lid like one might touch a dying star. He opened the box.
Inside, nestled like a sacred heart, was the clay.
Not just any clay—primordial clay. Formless, pre-creation matter. It shimmered faintly with inner light, pulsing in slow, steady waves like a sleeping breath. It looked alive. A remnant of the void before the world took shape.
Prometheus stared into it, speechless.
So did I.
For a long time, none of us said anything. The weight of the moment—of what this meant—was suffocating.
Zeus folded his arms. "Well? Are we done here?"
I turned to him, slowly. "No. We're not done."
His eyes narrowed. "I brought what you asked for. You know how much I had to bend to retrieve this. I've done my part."
I stepped forward. "No. You've undone a fraction of the damage you've caused. This clay should've never been locked away to begin with. You crippled humanity before they even had a chance to stand."
Zeus's nostrils flared. "They were imperfect. Flawed. Weak."
"They were ours," I growled. "You don't get to destroy what you helped create just because it didn't meet your expectations. You don't get to call it justice when it's really just fear."
His jaw clenched, lightning crackling faintly around his fingers. But he didn't strike. Didn't argue.
Instead, he did what he always did when the conversation turned from power to consequence—he vanished.
A sudden crack of thunder split the air as he disappeared in a flash of light, the echo of his presence lingering like the taste of copper on the tongue.
Coward.
Prometheus didn't react. He kept his eyes on the box, still open, the clay glowing softly in its cradle.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he closed the lid with reverent care. The room dimmed slightly without its light.
He exhaled, the weight of centuries pressing into his shoulders.
"Well," he said softly, "at least now we know why the humans haven't survived longer than a month."
"Do you think this will fix it?" I asked.
He looked at the box like a man who didn't want to hope. "We'll find out soon enough."