Chapter 33: Trial of the Gods Part 3
The massive god was currently in the clouds, eyeing Hephaestus. He was young, impossibly so for the strength he carried. A generation of gods, so different from his own.
Still…the boy needed to be reprimanded.
Zababa turned to Zeus, giving a nod of respect.
"Slayer of Kronos, you've allowed me this moment despite your…trial. I appreciate your flexibility."
Zeus inwardly was sweating. No one had seen the Mesopotamian gods for, literally, years. His first instinct was simply to reject Zababa, as was his right. But, considering his son just whipped out Zababa's swords, he wouldn't risk going against him. Mainly because he wasn't sure how divine law would back him.
He was the one throwing the lightning, thank you.
Zababa turned, his gaze going to the large sword spearing the head of a Leviathan.
"Ig-Alima," he muttered.
The sword floated, heeding the will of the god before it.
"Sul-Suganna." Both swords were now within his grip. He swung Ig-Alima, smiling at its strength. The torrent of kinetic force ruptured the ice far beneath it, the water splurging free.
At his side were his swords, though they looked nothing like their counterparts. Both were simply large blades, formed from his divinity.
At first, he had been enraged. The idea that some punk child would dare emulate his prestige in some shoddy copy was enough for him to intrude, not to mention the use of his children's names. They didn't rightly care, both finding it flattering. Even now, Zababa felt the way his divinity was pulling him homeward, his sons trying to bring him home.
No. The slight would not stand.
At least at first. Yet, as he held these weapons, he found that they were not feeble recreations. Feeling these blades…they were immaculate. But they were not simply made of divine metals. They were like this god, mortal elements intertwined into this divine construct.
"His power…it formed them," he thought, "a recreation through his weaving. I must admit…his skill surpasses even Enki."
A tall order. For while Enki had rested on his laurels, they were lofty laurels to begin with. Perhaps the image of this blade may spark his lord's competitive streak.
After all, these blades were composed of the very story of his legends, as if his ancient feats were brought to life and crystalized into a form that suited them. Reforged to better fit the feats that empowered their strength.
Ig-Alima was a personal favourite. Its design was unlike anything he had conjured up, and it held the mantle of "stone crusher" well. He could feel its story within it. It was a sword that would cleave even mountains asunder. Yet…it was also hollow.
Not in construction. It was as solid, more so than any weapon made by his smiths. No…the story within it felt like it was missing something.
"Degraded," muttered Zababa. He tilted Ig-Alima in his grip. "No…distilled is a better word. Parts lost to create it proper."
A strange issue, considering the God's skills. Surely he could recreate them perfectly?
"Though he is young," thought Zababa, "still growing in strength." Hephaestus squirmed in place, his toes bouncing a bit as if itching to get back into the fight.
"Impatiant as well," smirked the god internally. "Imperfections are to be expected by the young."
Zababa was not speaking Greek, nor English, Japanese, or any of the languages that EMIYA had mastered in life. Yet, Hephaestus understood every word. He eyed the Olympians, noting the twinkle in Aphrodite's quick smile.
Zababa continued to admire both blades in silence. Poseidon had to rein himself back, eyeing the swords that had just been used.
"...Just how many swords does that brat have?" thought Poseidon incredulously. "These blades…"
It was not that they were stronger, but rather that they were of a greater existence than the previous weapons Hephaestus had deployed. Such was the nature of a divine construct. Poseidon understood the difference to be the same as that between a Nymph and a proper God.
Both were astral entities, but only one was actually divine.
Zababa dropped Ig-Alima, the sword smashing into the ice below. Poseidon was tempted to simply destroy the weapon, but halted. These blades were named after Zababa's children. He couldn't risk alienating or angering a foreign God.
He could get away with a lot of things, but Hera would quite literally rip him inside out for even thinking about it.
"..."
He turned to said sister. Her eyes were already on him, searing into him as they narrowed.
"...Can't read minds, my ass," thought Poseidon.
Zababa ran his fingers across the blade of Sul-Sugana. The sword at his hip was plain compared to this weapon, though undoubtedly more powerful. His weapon was filled, unlike this hollow variant.
Yet, even hollow…he could feel it.
Sul-Sugana, the horizon that purified the seas. It radiated such potent concepts that Zababa couldn't help but wonder, just how deep this sword would cut.
"..."
Finally, he spoke.
"... It was you who forged this weapon?" asked Zababa.
Hephaestus nodded.
"It was, Lord Zababa."
"...You recognize me," stated the God, "Interesting. Most young ones don't even know our names. Though, I should expect this from you, considering how you named your weapons. My children find it…endearing."
The air grew cold as Zababa narrowed his eyes. "I do not find it nearly so."
Hephaestus internally sweated, though he kept his calm outwardly. It was not that he had forgotten per se, but rather that he hadn't considered the idea. He had used the Kusanagi once before without an issue, so he had assumed there was a range to the whole "name" situation.
Oops.
"You do realize the issue at hand, don't you?" grumbled Zababa. "The price I can extract."
"I do, my lord," lied Hephaestus. He had no idea. "But I had never intended these weapons to be an affront to you or your family."
"...I can see that," whispered Zababa, holding the blade upwards. "They are at least immaculate."
He took the other sword that lay within a sheath at his other side. The other sword was plain, though exotic by western standards. The ancestor of the Kopesh, simply called a sickle sword. Its edge was red hot, but aside from that it was rather ordinary in design.
"This sword was born from the horizon, from life," muttered Zababa, "I named it after my son, the life-giver, in honor of him."
He stared at the other blade, the Sul-Sugana forged by Hephaestus.
"But my son is a warrior as much as he was a protector. This blade….it speaks to all aspects of him."
"It does?" thought Hephaestus.
"What do you mean it does? You made the damn thing!" thought Styx.
Head bowed, Hephaestus made sure any possible micro-expression was absent. Zababa seemed to consider something, eyeing him.
"Child of fire…you've done well. But I will judge you for your transgressions nonetheless."
His gaze hardened as his eyes swirled. The constellations within them peered deep into Hephaestus' being. It was difficult to peer into the history of others. It was a skill that came with age, but even for the great Zababa it was always fractured. Images, pictures, in the current of life that connected all. The god faltered as he viewed the fragments of Hephaestus' history, coming to a realization.
This child…barely knew anything. He was not a few hundred years old, learning from his mistakes. The sheer strength he had, and the potency of the flames that lied within him, he had thought this to be a battle between two developed gods.
He turned to Poseidon. While older, this was still a god developing to their full maturity. Granted, he was closer than any of his other siblings, but still.
"These gods…are strong," thought Zababa.
Not the equals of his great pantheon, but that would change with time. They were not the only ones, with other pantheons equal in their might. The world was changing, as it should.
But the strangest one was the one before him. He was similar to Gilgamesh, his pantheon's greatest hero. Yet, his composition was different. A full mortal spirit intertwined with a full divine core. Strange didn't even begin to cover it. Zababa faltered as the last of the history filtered through.
This child…was barely thirty.
It was sacrilegious, his aura burning around him. It was the duty of the old to guide the young, a duty that had been passed around like a hot stone!
Thirty may have been the human equivalent of maturity, but it was not so for the gods! Yet, try as he might, Zababa could not find a name within this child.
"His core then," thought Zababa.
The sight of it almost made even the war god gag. His fist clenched, his aura turning caustic. Olympus shuddered and if not for divine law shackling Zababa, he may have very well gone straight to war here.
"This," grunted Zababa.
He took a sharp breath, turning to Zeus. He would have done more, but his divinity was already waning. His gaze softened, slowly turning back to Hephaestus.
"...Why?" asked Zababa.
"Why what?"
"...why forge these blades?"
"Truthfully, my lord," said Hephaestus robotically, "I was inspired by the legends of your people."
Artemis' face fell while Athena stiffened.
"He's…he's not seriously lying, is he!?" thought a frenzied Artemis, "Is he insane!"
"Oh," blinked Zababa, "is that right?"
A stone face that would make Buddha proud was firm before Zababa.
"Of course."
Zababa rubbed his lush beard. He could see in this child's history, the fragments of it that could be garnered, that he had lived in the ocean. The scent of a witch, though long eroded, still lingered on him somewhat.
"Ah," smiled Zababa, "The current of life. Yes…that would explain it all."
"You are astute, my lord," said Hephaestus.
"...you're insane," muttered Styx. "You are absolutely crazy."
"So, inspired by our tales, you created your own renditions. No one to explain to you the consequences of your actions…I see. The actions of an ignorant child."
Hephaestus felt a vein throb on his head, the stoic facade breaking. If there was the one thing he found that genuinely irked him, it was the idea that he was a child, somehow.
He was not a damn child! He was a full grown man! He had a kid for chaos sake!?
"I am not a child," grunted Hephaestus.
Zeus almost hurled a lightning bolt to shut him up, Hestia grimaced, and Zababa laughed.
"You've only proven my point, child! I cannot punish one as young and ignorant as you! You've only meant to espouse our glory and draw wonders from our tales…and what wonders you've created, albeit…hollow."
Hephaestus grimaced slightly. He had not yet experimented with augmenting the divine constructs. Creating his own divine weapons took more of a priority.
"These stories you've used…you weave with masterful skill, godling. Beyond even what I thought was possible. I especially like this one," smiled Zababa, eying Ig-Alima.
Zababa turned to him, ruminating on something.
"You will re-create my Ig-Alima for me, as recompense for the use of their names and my legend."
"...shit," thought Hephaestus.
"Shut up and take the deal!" yelled Styx, ""it could be a lot worse!"
"Of course," he agreed readily, hiding his inner thoughts.
His first instinct was to say no. But…truthfully, Zababa wasn't wrong. He had used their names and, in concept, his power to some degree. Or at least some analogue to it.
That and Styx wouldn't be happy.
Zababa continued to study the weapon. He turned his gaze to Sul-Sugana.
"Hmm…it may have been forged by you, this strange blade, but its essence is drawn from me…no…"
Suddenly, the god, towering above Hephaestus, was standing on the ice. His massive form knelt down, inspecting the blade further as he stabbed Sul-Suganna into the ice.
It cleaved through Poseidon's divinity with ease, the sea God clenching at the sight. That was impossible, wasn't it? Ig-Alima had to crush its way through the ice, but Sul-Sugana merely moved through it.
"Its essence is derived from my existence, but not my power. Tell me, godling, what is your name?"
"Hephaestus," he said simply.
His steady tone only emboldened Zababa further.
"You seem surprised I am here," said the war god. "But surely one who can view the history of the world through the current of life, such as you would have expected me?"
Zababa waved his hand, revealing a strange current. It wasn't really there to Hephaestus' eyes, but Hephaestus could see that he was showing them something.
So… he bluffed. Unchanging, unyielding, he lied straight to Zababa's face.
"I only see the past, because that is all I wish to know. The future is mine to forge, no matter what even the fates may say."
Styx began choking in his mind. So, he cut Styx off, along with the others, for the moment.
"I can see that," smirked Zababa. The same current showed him the history of the god before him, albeit in a fragmented sense. Hephaestus stilled, sensing a change in Zababa. The god's eyes drilled into him, ancient beyond measure.
The god turned to the other Olympians, the key one…being Hera?
The god seemed more resolute as he stood.
"I shall fulfill the obligation that should have been done for you," muttered Zababa. "Tell me, godling, what do you know of names?"
"That names can be invoked, and can call upon other gods, make them aware."
Zeus slapped his face. Zababa nodded.
"There is no lie to you," his deep voice rumbled. "Names hold more power than just mere connection. They hold the very essence of a thing, and thus grants them power. Tell me, why did you name your blades…after mine?"
Zababa hummed in approval when Hephaestus immediately answered.
"I had forged the weapon from the stories of your civilization, naming them to honor the inspiration," he said bowing, wondering why he needed to explain this again. "Never did I expect them to be able to call on your attention, Lord Zababa."
It swelled the pride of the War God before him, but there was something more. The God hummed, swirling the water to make Hephaestus turn. So great was his might that the still growling Poseidon could only allow his interference.
Zababa's divinity fettered out, the sheer potency of it almost driving him to his knees. But Hephaestus persevered.
"Hmm, strong."
Zababa's eyes shone, the stars within them peering into Hephaestus and beyond.
"Dutiful."
His tone softened.
"...and resilient."
He held a hand out, the massive sword Sul-Sugana hovering in front of him.
"Ig-Alima holds little connection with you, but this one…this holds an inner fire my own sword does not."
The sword now gone, Hephaestus began conjuring more of the spears of Cocytus to fill in the open spaces.
"Oh," muttered Zababa, leaning to inspect the frigid weapon. "Intriguing. A spear that looks like it is ice…but truthfully freezes energy. I would demand your full wares, if I had the time. Especially for weapons as beautiful as this one."
"Flatterer," chuckled Cocytus.
The great war god grabbed Sul-Suganna once more. He seemed to be settling on something. "This blade is forged from your power, its concepts empowered by your divinity. As your power grows, so will this blade's concepts…this…is worthy of its name."
Zababa took a breath, and breathed over the sword. It shuddered, literally, the jagged edges turning a searing azure blue as if it was freshly forged.
"Become the Dawn that purifies the seas," whispered Zababa. "You have my permission to exist!"
Something shifted, the blade registering within unlimited bladeworks as a separate entity. Of the divine constructs that Hephaestus had, the degradation remained a natural part of their design. Pieces of their power had been lost in EMIYA's analysis and storing of the Divine Construct.
But now…now that hollowed concept had been filled, invigorated even. The degraded parts had been completely filled.
Sul-Sugana…was no longer hollow. Zababa stabbed the sword into the ice. It should have remained as it did before, only to slip through the ice with nary a problem. Both blinked at the sword that kept falling through the water without resistance.
Zababa cleared his throat.
"This…is a fine blade, Dannu."
Hephaestus blinked, the word not really registering.
"Dannu?"
"...you are nameless, so I have granted you a name."
"But I told you that my name is Hephaestus?" he muttered.
"A name you have crafted for yourself, is not the same as a name that others recognize. Names hold power, Dannu. Both strength and protection. It is merely a formality, think nothing of it."
Hephaestus didn't feel any different, but he wouldn't fight it anyway. Not like he planned to go over there.
"Note to self," thought Hephaestus, "for any other divine constructs, make sure to reforge and rename them."
It wasn't like Emiya had that many to begin with, but still.
Zababa snapped his finger, Sul-Sugana erupting from the ocean. Its edge had cooled, and seemed even sharper than before, more defined. The sword before him shrank, bit by bit as it floated back to Hephaestus. Not an ounce of Zababa's divinity was present, yet none could deny the essence of war that lay within it.
It was as if the concepts had crystallised even further. Hephaestus viewed it more as a refinement, as if someone had just sharpened the blades and lacquered the spine of the sword.
"My very breath," he thought. Yet another material he hadn't even considered before. Zababa smirked at the sight of Hephaestus, the look in his eyes reminding him of Enki.
Hephaestus gripped the blade, the edges pulsating with power, responding to him instantly. He blinked, wondering what that was about. He willed the design away…only for it to remain. Hephaestus' brain stopped working for a minute as he realized what had just happened.
Zababa turned to Zeus.
"My curiosity has been sated. My people will not enjoy my absence for much longer. King of the new Gods, I give you my thanks. As for you, young Hephaestus."
His eyes glowed as more of his body dispersed, disappearing to wherever it was that he came from.
"Show me the story of your Sul-Sugana. I expect many great tales. Also…I will be back for my true Ig-Alima."
Zababa said this while looking at Poseidon. There was no telling what could happen with Hephaestus' mortal elements. He may reform, or he may actually just die.
People die when they are killed after all.
Poseidon grit his teeth, the warning loud and clear.
Hephaestus eyed the weapon that now sits comfortably in his palm. Made of jagged volcanic rock, the hilt of the weapon rested warmly in his hand. The stone edges that acted as blades glowed orange with power.
Poseidon scowled. Every time he tried to invoke divine law from within him, it would simply slip through his fingers. Even to his own senses, nothing had been different about the blade. Yet, the presence that had been once annoying was now distinctly uncomfortable.
Just looking at it made his skin crawl. Shadows obscured Poseidon's eyes, the sea slowly churning once more. It could cleave through his waters, sure. But his body?
Never.
"So…you would invoke another god's assistance like this? I never expected you to go so low, nephew."
Hephaestus blinked. His mouth twisted into the first real expression he's had since this whole fight.
"Heh."
Mirth.
"Really," Hephaestus seemed to say, his mirthful eyes dismissing Poseidon entirely, "that's what you're reaching for now?"
Poseidon gritted his teeth. His divinity surged, but not just from within. From countless directions, Poseidon's power came crashing into him, growing larger and sturdier.
Ascending to its absolute apex.
To the true form of a god. Poseidon's body glowed as he roared at Hephaestus.
"Fine, nephew, I'll show you just how outclassed you really are, you arrogant brat!"
Hephaestus charged forward, a glint to his calm expression.
"DON'T!" yelled Ares, unable to contain the concern that exploded from within himself
The true form of a god brought all they were to bear, their full essence. If a mortal were to look upon it, the sheer divinity would render them to ash. Rare was the reason it would be invoked, for truthfully, it was a double edged sword. A god could fight unimpeded by restraints, their domains fully encompassed. Yet, inversely they were at their most vulnerable.
To put it bluntly, it was overkill against a younger God like Hephaestus. To any reasonable God, it was like watching an adult drop kick a toddler.
Hestia was livid as her eyes ignited into flames. Around her body, fire softly circled around her as her own hair now shone a similar shade to Hephaestus' own.
Practically all of the Olympians were shocked at the sight of Poseidon unveiling his true form. In fact, most of them even appeared outraged, aghast, or as the majority of them currently were, a combination of both. Though curiously enough, it was Demeter that was the most vocal.
"You piece of dung!" she roared, slamming her fist onto her throne. "You'd go that far against a child!"
Lightning struck her, keeping her to the chair. Branches grew from her body, her hair decaying to a shade of silver. For a moment, she entertained exerting her own true form.
But alas, doing so would have little effect. A show without any result.
Hephaestus' vein throbbed, the child comment once again getting to him.
To be fair, it was an extreme difference. In his true form, Poseidon's sheer presence would drown Hephaestus. For all that Hephaestus was strong, he was still a developing God, his own divinity would not be a match, even if he wasn't disadvantaged to begin with.
So Hephaestus removed it from the equation entirely.
"GRK!"
All the gods present missed Hephaestus' brief sigh of relief as he closed in.
Poseidon was reeling, the blow to his core making everything shake. He had felt this before, a repercussion from a slight against another. Poseidon's form rippled a number of times, waving from the attempt.
"What the?" muttered Ares.
"So, that's what he was doing."
Ares turned to his half-sister. There was no speck of politeness to him; he wanted answers, now.
Athena said nothing, focused intently on the battle ahead. She had assumed Hephaestus would be swept up into the divinity of Poseidon, just as she had been in her own fight.
For years she researched some means of evening the scales. She gave up, pursuing more viable methods.
Before her very eyes…it was possible. It was doable. She just needed the right tools. So she watched. Watched as Poseidon recovered from his stupor too late. Watched as Hephaestus struck, weapon in hand. The searing glow of Sul-Sugana struck a neon arc. With a single swing, he struck at his uncle's chest.
It was merely a graze, Poseidon using the ocean to pull himself back, despite his reduced state. A graze that cut through his chest, leaving streaks of gold in the air. The droplets slowly flew past Poseidon's gaze. The pain was secondary to the realization that his lauded defences had been breached. They danced for a moment, a game of cat and mouse.
Eventually, Athena turned to her half brother during the chaos.
"Hephaestus has met a few of Uncle's…victims," muttered Athena. "He has requested of them their burdens. I wondered what he was doing. It seems he was preparing for a moment like this."
"What sort of…" Ares trailed off. No one had ever thought to do such a thing, especially for mortals. After all, why bother? Becoming a proxy as the victim directly reduced the strength of divine law greatly, as you weren't the original victim to begin with.
Athena giggled.
Ares slowly turned to her, fear and dread slowly forming as he tried to wrap his head around the sound he had just heard.
"So," smiled Athena, "using Uncle's laws against him…clever."
Ares wasn't the only one listening.
"He's taken advantage of the terrain as well. Here in Olympus, surrounded by father's power and authority, Uncle cannot exert his full power."
Another swipe took a chunk of Poseidon's shoulder, the wound closing with a sizzling pop.
"He's also taken advantage of how divine law has been subverted, using Uncle's own laws against him. Atlantis cares little for circumstance, like divine law does. He's used both to render Uncle unable to collect himself."
Athena rested her chin on her palm, her cold eyes narrowing with interest. For a moment, her dark hair shimmered with color, though she would never admit it.
"...crafty bastard," smirked Ares.
She pursed her lips. She couldn't help but wonder how much of this was planned. She didn't know which was more worrisome. The idea that he meticulously orchestrated this entire thing…or that he was flying off the top of his head.
Worse yet, could it be both?
Poseidon retreated, disengaging from close combat. The wounds he had shut closed with only some reduction. For while Hephaestus' divinity was present, it was much weaker than his own.
But to Hephaestus' keen eyes, he could see the wounds closing slower and slower with every strike.
Poseidon huffed, throwing his trident in an attempt to create distance. The moment he missed or it was parried, the weapon would be back in his hand.
Every throw only slowed his nephew down, it did not, couldnot, stop him. He tried to call the sea beneath the ice, but his power remained cold and unmoving. Every time he'd get a crack to free his might, the frozen spears would seal it again.
It was as if it was all autonomous, a weaving done entirely from the mind without any physical direction.
"Hera must be rolling in her seat at such mastery," thought Poseidon.
He was being cornered.
It was not the first time, nor would it be the last. Poseidon always performed best under pressure. He had fought against the ancient deities of the ocean on a frequent enough basis to understand that there were enemies that could always break his guard.
That was life, but he always won.
Yet, this was a fire god, literally centuries his junior. He was being injured by a child! The insult wouldn't stand, he wouldn't allow it! Yet, every time he tried to invoke his full self, it simply melted, seeping from him, injuring him further like a poison.
His wound was still bleeding, the blood staining his hands. Finally, he had enough, skidding to a stop on the ice.
"What did you do?" growled Poseidon.
Hephaestus simply struck again, and Poseidon dodged once more.
"WHAT DID YOU DO!?"
Another silent strike. Poseidon's strange grace worked for him for now, with bursts of water forming on his legs to help him move. It was a constant struggle to maintain, as it kept freezing on the surface, but he made do.
Every strike Hephaestus had flowed a little better, becoming smoother with every movement. Sul-Suganna had changed; something had cemented the tracing into a genuine article, the jagged edges may have been the same but there was a heat to it.
The more divinity Hephaestus pooled into his weapon, the more rabid it became. It was like they were one, the weapon's fire feeding on his own, growing more and more ravenous with every strike.
It was a flame that would devour even the ocean if need be.
There were changes that he was still adapting to, but it was the best weapon to pressure Poseidon.
"Answer me! What did you do?!"
"Does he ever shut up?" grumbled Phlegethon.
"Doubtful," whispered Cocytus. "He loves the sound of his own voice."
Ignoring the sisters in his mind, Hephaestus dodged a sudden thrust from Poseidon's trident.
"Your actions have consequences," muttered Hephaestus.
"What? I did nothing to you!" growled Poseidon, ducking under Sul-Sugana's blade, "divine law would not invoke…"
His eyes widened. They narrowed in fury as he put the pieces together. He ducks under another blow, but surging with tidal force to reposition behind Hephaestus. The fire god didn't turn, only flipping Sul-sugana in his grip, laying the sword flat across his back. The trident of Poseidon clanged against the rocky exterior of Sul-Sugana, sparks flying. The weapon did not bend, Poseidon struggling to break it.