Years from now, when they tell this story,
pieces of it will be changed to erase
the truth: that it was an army of undead mortals
that saved the Gods in their last stand.
Even though my Legion soldiers fought till their
star-hearts began to flicker,
fought for unworthy Gods
with their blue hands and torches.
The tale will also forget that in the ruins
of Zeus’ once-fine palace, he battled
with an ever-dwindling quiver of thunderbolts.
That Ares was beaten so much,
he could barely move. That Athena’s
famous shield and spear lay broken
on the floor as she was left with her fists
alone against three angry giants.
Indeed, the story told will say the Gods
always had the upper hand.
That the giants were simply fortunate
they were able to get this far.
But what they would never erase
is the story of a Goddess who knew
how to raise the dead into an army,
marching upon thousands of giants
with the God of Death and the Trickster
by her side, with the torches and flames
that would finally bring the giants
to their knees and cause them to flee.
Aftermath
It was strange to stand again upon rubble that was once a palace. I had known the wreckage of palaces well. I was once a child who ran through a crumbling home, learning about a world beyond its walls that was covered in golden blood. I now knew what made the floors of this place gold and it invoked a bitterness in me. The sweet-burned smell of ichor was so pungent, I could not wait to return to the Underworld. But first I helped Ares recover his mother, Hera, from the edge of Olympus, distracting her captors with my torches as she freed herself from their chains. Thanatos went to find Hephaestus, locating him in the bowels of his mountain forge, locked away in a box they had forced him to craft. Hermes aided Apollo and Artemis in their return to the mountain, but not before they had sliced through the ankles of enough giants still climbing the mountainside and sent them tumbling. And Zeus helped Athena recover what was left of the altars for rebuilding. My army was back with me, thousands covering the mountaintop, nearly spilling over its edges. In the end, we stood upon the smoking ruins as all the Olympians assembled. They were beautiful, as all the legends said. Arrogant and powerful and yet… yet they had needed help from me. It was Zeus who spoke first. ‘Hekate, daughter of Asteria and Perses. Your efforts have served us well. For this, we will give you anything you ask.’
