Chapter 26: The Feast of the Gods (Part 1)
The echo of the golden invitation lingered in the grotto, a pure, discordant note in my symphony of depravity. The orgy, which had been a storm of instinct and flesh, now lay in ruins, its participants a heap of trembling, silent bodies. The feast was over. Boredom, my oldest enemy, had been banished, not by pleasure, but by the promise of a new and grander hunting ground.
'Olympus.'
The name was a whisper of forgotten legends in the corners of my residual human mind. 'The mountain of the gods. A nest of arrogance and power.'
I did not wait. Curiosity, that predatory instinct that often overrode my indifference, drove me. I ignored the broken pack I had left in my wake. They were used toys, irrelevant. I turned and sank into the nearest shadow, a patch of darkness clinging to the base of the waterfall.
The journey was not through the familiar web of blackness of the mortal world. The golden messenger had not left a trail; he had left a wound in my domain. Through the darkness, I saw a single strand of golden light, a shining thread stretching upward, piercing the planes of existence. It was the path.
I followed it.
Flowing through that stream of light was an unpleasant experience. My essence of pure darkness protested. It was not the sacred, annihilating light of the Biblical God, a conceptual poison designed to erase me. This light was different. It was warm, vibrant, full of life, of art, of emotion. It was the light of passion and nature.
But for a being that was the absence of light, it remained an aggression.
It was like being submerged in an ocean of white noise. A constant hum, a ceaseless vibration in every particle of my being that irritated me, distracted me. It was sunlight, laughter, music, and life, all at once. It was an assault of positivity that I found deeply offensive.
'Incessant noise. This realm is loud.'
I ascended, following the golden thread, my shadow form a smudge of silence in a torrent of melody. I felt myself passing through the barriers between worlds, a sensation of pressure and release, and then, I emerged.
The shock was sensory.
I stepped out of the shadow cast by a white marble pillar so pure it seemed to glow with its own light. And the light... the light was everywhere. There was not a single sun in the sky; the sky itself was the light, an infinite vault of soft, warm gold that cast no harsh shadows, only a soft, almost non-existent gloom.
The white noise in my head intensified. I felt exposed, naked, even though my form was that of a colossal wolf of solid night.
I observed my new surroundings. I was in a courtyard of impossible proportions. The floor was a mosaic of solidified clouds that shimmered softly beneath my paws. White marble pillars rose to gravity-defying heights, supporting roofs that did not exist. The architecture was perfect, a symphony of divine geometry and absolute aesthetics that offended my preference for primordial chaos.
The air did not smell of earth or mortal life. It smelled of ambrosia, an intoxicatingly sweet scent like honey and wine. It smelled of nectar, and the crackling ozone of pure divine power humming everywhere.
'Arrogance. Unchecked power. Like children playing with fire.'
Figures moved in the distance, silhouettes of light and beauty ignoring my presence. I saw a satyr with a flute chasing a group of giggling nymphs. I saw a minor god, with bronze skin and a laurel wreath, drinking directly from a fountain spouting wine.
This was not a realm of order and law like Heaven. It was not a nest of ambition and treachery like Hell. It was a playground. A playground for bored, immortal beings.
A figure separated from the distant light and approached. It was the messenger. His wings of golden light were folded, and on his feet he wore winged sandals that hovered an inch above the cloud floor.
"Welcome to Olympus, Wandering Shadow," his melodic voice resonated in my mind. "The All-Father awaits you. And the Lady of Passion is... impatient."
I did not answer. I simply followed him, a smudge of silence and darkness moving through a landscape of light and celebration. Every step was an affirmation of my intrusion. I was a walking blasphemy in their perfect paradise.
And I loved it.
The messenger guided me through courtyards and gardens of impossible beauty, until we reached the doors of the throne room. They were two leaves of pure gold, thirty meters high, engraved with scenes of cosmic battles and divine conquests. They opened on their own upon our arrival, revealing the chamber beyond.
And the power.
If the air of Olympus hummed with power, this room roared with it. The combined energy of a dozen god-level beings, each a sun of will and dominion, hit me like a heat wave.
The messenger stepped aside, bowing his head, and let me enter alone. I moved forward into the center of the hall, my colossal form absorbing the light, an island of night in an ocean of gold.
Twelve thrones stood in a semicircle, each occupied by a figure of terrifying power and beauty. I saw a crippled smith burning with the heat of a forge, a goddess of the hunt with cold silver eyes watching me with calculating hatred, a sun god whose brilliance was a direct irritation to my senses.
And on the central throne, the largest of them all, was he.
Zeus.
He was not just a king; he was a storm contained in human form. Electricity crackled in the air around him, his white beard was like a storm cloud, and in his blue eyes, I saw the raw, capricious power that could shake the world.
My journey had ended. The audience had begun.
The silence in the throne room was a golden weight.
I moved forward, my colossal wolf form moving with a stealth that belied my size. My shadow paws made no sound on the solidified cloud floor. I was a smudge of night in the heart of eternal day, and I felt a dozen divine gazes, heavy as stars, pinned on me. Each was an assessment, a probing of my power and purpose.
I ignored the minor gods on their thrones. My attention was fixed on the one in the center. Zeus. The All-Father. He was a storm contained in the form of an elderly king. Static electricity crackled in the air around him, and I could see lightning swirling in the depths of his blue eyes. He was not a god of order like the one in Heaven. He was a god of pure power, capricious and absolute. An alpha.
I stopped in the center of the hall, at a respectful but not servile distance. I did not bow my head. I offered no gesture of submission. I simply stood there, a silent declaration of my own sovereignty.
It was Zeus who spoke. His voice was not thunder, as I expected, but a deep, resonant baritone, full of an authority that had ruled for eons. "The shadow beast. You have caused quite a stir in the mortal realm. The spirits of the earth whisper your name. Heroes fall before you. And now, you have accepted my invitation. Introduce yourself."
I did not answer aloud. My beast form was not made for the language of men or gods. Instead, I let my voice resonate in the mind of every being in the room, a silent, cold thunder.
"I am Canis Lykaon."
A murmur ran through the thrones. I saw gods leaning toward one another, whispering behind their hands. The name was known. The legend, it seemed, had preceded me.
It was one of the goddesses who spoke next. She sat to Zeus's right, her beauty severe and analytical. She wore polished bronze armor over a white tunic, and an owl with eyes shining like gold coins was perched on her shoulder. Her aura was not of elemental power, but of pure intellect, sharp and dangerous.
Athena.
"The lost Longinus Sacred Gear?" her voice in my mind was not a question, but a statement, a piece of a puzzle that had just clicked into place. "The Dog of War, the Shadow of the Void. You were thought lost since the Great War."
"I was never lost. I was simply... waiting," I replied, my voice an echo of indifference.
Another god, one with a golden lyre in his hands and a glow so intense it was annoying to my senses, leaned forward.
Apollo. "A Sacred Gear of such power cannot exist without a host. Where is the mortal lucky or foolish enough to carry your burden?"
The question caused the other gods to murmur again, their gazes searching for an invisible figure beside me. The assumption was so fundamental to their understanding of the world that they could not conceive of an alternative.
And in their ignorance, I found my amusement.
A silent laugh, cold and filled with ancient contempt, spread through their minds. "Host?" I repeated, the word dripping with mockery. "Hosts are cages. Leashes. Mortal weaknesses that break too easily. You think I am a weapon. A tool to be wielded."
I drew myself up to my full height, my colossal form seeming to absorb even more light from the room. "I do not need a wielder. Never again."
My declaration was a blasphemy against the established order. I saw confusion on the faces of Apollo and others. But on the central throne, something changed.
A roar shook the hall. It was not thunder from the sky, but a laugh. A boisterous, deep, genuine laugh that erupted from Zeus's chest. He leaned back in his throne, slamming the armrest with his massive fist, his blue eyes shining with wild joy.
"Hahaha! By Tartarus, I like this one!" he roared. "A weapon that refuses to be wielded! A power that declares itself its own master! That is true strength! True arrogance!"
He leaned forward, his gaze now filled with predatory respect. "You have broken your chains. You have defied your creator. You have a place here, beast of the night. You have a place at my feasts."
Beside him, Athena nodded slowly, her analytical gray eyes now shining with new interest. "An intelligent and self-sufficient power. A strategic anomaly. Intriguing."
The tension in the room broke. The judgment was over. I had been accepted, not as a servant or a monster, but as a power to be reckoned with.
"Let the celebration begin!" thundered Zeus. "Bring the nectar! Let the music play! And let our new guest taste the hospitality of Olympus!"
The atmosphere of the throne room changed instantly. Formality dissolved into a chaos of divine pleasure. Nymphs appeared with gold pitchers, pouring wine that glowed with its own light. Satyrs began to play wild, pulsing melodies. The gods left their thrones, mingling, laughing, their voices a din of power and carefree joy.
The audience was over. The real feast was about to begin. And I, in the center of it all, was the new and darkest attraction.
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