Repaying a debt can always be done in other ways; there's no need to risk one's life. Likewise, to lower Zeus's guard, one could simply swear an oath to Styx, the ancient goddess of oaths, vowing never to betray him. But Prometheus deliberately chose the path with the most tragic consequences.
Samael let out a faint sigh. Emotionally, he wished to befriend Prometheus, but reason told him this figure was indeed an unstable element. Zeus's wariness was not misplaced. This prophet held no reverence for the authority of Olympus and might very well become the spark that toppled it. And in time, he truly did.
Now, with his intentions exposed, Prometheus looked at Samael with a gaze of admiration, speaking with layered meaning to the ever-vigilant serpent.
"What future will mankind write?"
"They will inherit the wisdom and power of the gods, seize the earth, expand their domains, and build cities. They will tear open the heavens, soar through the skies, and seek out the stars. They will cross vast seas, trade across oceans, and sail through storms… At last, amid the bloom of civilization, they will speak of the world's end!"
Samael met the prophet's eyes with solemn gravity, offering no concealment. As humanity's advocate, this great pioneer had the right to know.
"And the gods?" Prometheus pressed with greater curiosity.
"They will be stripped of their divine era, their ambitions bound within clay idols, cast into eternal sleep…"
The ancient serpent replied without reservation, ignoring the astonishment on Athena and Medusa's faces.
Prometheus nodded with satisfaction, relief evident in his gaze. From Samael's vision for humanity, he had already sensed the true meaning of this species' existence.
They are weak, therefore they understand reverence. They possess wisdom, therefore they excel in thought. They are instilled with virtue, therefore they restrain themselves, building an interdependent order to carry them further. Most importantly—unlike the nearly eternal gods, they are fertile and ever-renewing, capable of rapidly consuming the ether of the Greek World without notice, hastening the end of the Age of Gods. They are the gods' most fitting gravediggers.
"My duty is only to bring about humanity's arrival, to guide them into a new age, to see them shoulder their own destiny. As for whose hands shaped them—that does not matter."
"What matters is a future without gods."
Prometheus smiled lightly as he looked at the assembly, his eyes calm.
In a sense, Father, your prophecy is about to come true.
The prophet murmured inwardly, overcome with emotion. The creation he had overseen would replace the gods, dethrone them. Could this be counted as vengeance for his father?
Prometheus shook his head gently, a trace of mockery in his expression. So, after all, a banner of rebellion still flies in your heart. That, perhaps, is the ideal you would die for.
Samael understood the great pioneer's thoughts and asked solemnly,
"Have you truly decided?"
"Go forth. This is my mission—and your purpose."
Prometheus's eyes shone with encouragement as he raised his hand, yielding the stage to the greater creator.
Create humans?
Samael drew a deep breath, steadying his heart, then led the three goddesses forward to divide the tasks.
Medusa, as Mother Earth, used her experience in creation to shape human forms. Yet the Gorgon sisters' natural clumsiness meant her attempts were repeatedly unsatisfying.
"Aaaa!"
At that moment, Tina, bored and restless, watched the scene. Whether driven by a sudden urge to create or by memories of craft lessons, she eagerly joined in, instructing Medusa on sculpting faces. Caught up in the fun, Tina also began shaping figures herself, speeding up the work.
Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom, fulfilled her mythic role, bestowing souls and intellect upon mankind.
From awkward beginnings, the two goddesses grew increasingly adept, their cooperation seamless. Before long, thousands of clay figures shed their earthen hue, pure eyes opening wide as they curiously took in the world.
Beside them, Prometheus imparted various skills, patiently teaching these newborns how to survive in this world. Yet, watching these humans—who, after learning, stood idle and listless—an inexplicable dissonance lingered in the ancient serpent's heart.
Sammael pondered for a moment, then slapped his forehead in sudden clarity. The humans meant to dig the gods' graves must never be such docile lambs! He knew what they lacked.
The ancient serpent raised a hand and traced a shape through the fragments on the clay of fate. Facing the bewildered newborns, he lifted the corner of his mouth.
"I bestow upon humanity the primordial sins."
The gods turned in stunned surprise. Sammael remained unmoved, opening his lips in solemn rumination.
"But this is no curse—it is another kind of blessing!"
"You shall use arrogance to scorn authority!"
"You shall learn competition through jealousy!"
"You shall rely on fury to be brave and fearless!"
"You shall seek convenience because of laziness!"
"You shall demand more through greed!"
"You shall endure gluttony and grow strong!"
"You shall embrace love and lust, multiply and thrive!"
On the tablet of fate, each sin flaked off into dark-golden stardust, scattering above the newborn humans and sinking into them. Their eyes, once as pure as blank paper, gained a lively, fiery hue.
"Crack!"
A clear, golden apple appeared in the ancient serpent's palm. Its concentrated vitality instantly drew the gaze of every newborn human. An instinctive urge rippled through their bodies; their throats moved unconsciously, their eyes filled with longing.
"Do you want it?"
The ancient serpent walked among them. The newborns—who had been without desire—hesitated briefly, then nodded one after another. A few, already drooling, could no longer contain themselves and began to push through the formation Prometheus had arranged, edging forward to catch a closer whiff of the sweet scent, to feel that wondrous texture.
"You want it. It's there. When you have the ability, you can go take it yourselves."
Sammael tossed the golden apple back into the magecraft diagram and pointed with a sly grin toward Mount Olympus that pierced heaven and earth.
Olympus…
The human newborns carved that name into their minds and nodded earnestly at their creators.
"You're the worst!" the assembled gods muttered, rolling their eyes and grumbling inwardly.
Yet the infusion of sin worked immediately. Filled with various desires, the human newborns set off to explore the world with eager curiosity. Satisfied, Sammael privately gave that God a nod of approval, his smile amused.
Original sin at birth? Indeed. I come from Mesopotamia; I come from Eden. Humanity has already been cast out by the gods—they were overdue to be tempted by the serpent. Thank you for the reminder. I've made your lamb grow claws and fangs, and it will soon toll the death knell for the gods!