He was a Living Weapon. Crafted through Spite and Bitterness and Animosity. Formed from Vindictiveness and Antagonism and Resent.
The eternal cycle of Progenitor against Progeny has brought the King of the Titans and his generation low to be dismembered by his weapon of rule, perpetrated by the victor of the well-known Titanomachia.
However… What was written by the vanquished?
Those who were given mercy were those who fell in line to the King of God’s Authority. To oversee the functions of the World by writ of their designation. The Ocean. The Sky. The Sun. The Winds. The Land. The Forests. Only those who yielded may live in Shackles.
The others refused.
Those who refused were met with the Harpe. The pieces of the dissenters, Corpus and Mind and Soul, were scattered upon the darkest Abyss. So that not even a thought shall rise up against the Home of the Gods. And nothing else was said of the defeated…
And yet… deep within their prisons, the embers of vengeance flickered.
Attracted together only by shared disdain and wrath, a Will was formed by those slithering pieces.
A Plan was forged in the pits of torment and suffering.
A final act of defiance against the Gods before their ire disappears forevermore.
A Weapon was morphed into being with the materials coming from their Mother Earth, their Bones, their very being…
And yet… they lacked one essential piece that only The Queen of the Shining Palace can provide.
A Beating Heart worthy to cage within their Hatred.
For without a Heart, how can one feel Hatred for the Gods?
For without a Heart, how can the Flames of Vengeance burn eternal?
For without a Heart, how can the bitter blood of Cronus pump through their veins?
For without a Heart, what better way could there possibly be for their Weapon?
That is how they reasoned between each other.
This Terminal was enough. Their Magnum Opus. Their Heartless Glory.
It was on that day that he was named Patroclus, the Glory of the Father.
It was on that day the memories left him as he drifted upon the River Lethe.
It was on that day that that Weapon found himself on a field as empty as his chest, by a babbling river.
His first thought upon first sight at the scene was Beautiful.
The World was Beautiful.
Then in the midst of the breeze, he heard the clashing of shouting. Curious as a newly born chick broken free from their eggshell, his legs moved before a single thought crossed his mind.
It was a battle between hardened men. Strewed around were the potpourri of the fallen, their faces contorted in a blend of fierce anguish in their lives cut short and grim acceptance of their fates. It was a scene he should have seen before, but in a dream.
Blood coated the grassy plains like morning dew. Blades pierced the sullied earth as unmarked graves. Fresh cadavers clung to life like it was the thread keeping them from falling into Tartarus. The Titan felt nothing at the cruel sight.
It was… familiar, this scene.
A vagrant coated in a spotted beast’s skin charged at him, intent on becoming the sole survivor of the massacre. Their words devolved into jumbled baying for blood. Their bloodshot eyes were filled with madness that only came from witnessing such carnage.
A madness the Titan without a heart cannot understand.
A grotesque squelch made from a sword made of bones. The insanity of a broken man was silenced. A new insanity emerged in the Titan’s mind as his body swung mercilessly at the remaining soldiers who will never fight again. Each gash made by his armaments of bones rang a word in his thoughts.
Destroy. Kill. Maim. Decimate. Murder. Slaughter. Butcher. Annihilate. Eradicate. Terminate.
Retribution. Vengeance. Retaliation. Reprisal. Revenge.
Deicide.
Orders. Commands. Instructions. Directives. Mandates. Decrees.
They must be followed.
The Gods must die. Their children must perish. The World shall bleed.
Their divine ichor shall flow as the River Styx.
Go. Now.
A bottomless hatred from the depths of Tartarus and yet…
He felt nothing.
He was just killing everything.
Swords dripping with red. Axes smashing limbs. Hammers crushing bones. Lances skewering corpses. Daggers pincushioned in flesh. Weapons of Bone used as Implements for Slaughter. The Art of Massacre weaved into his very core.
A bandit covered in the feral furs of a wolf was skinned by him.
Memories of… a War Long Passed flickered as his hands continued to swing weapons borne from his bones.
“Hyperion is dead, Sister.”
“I know. I am already planning my surrender.”
“Are you so quick to bend your knee to those insolent children?”
“If it means my family lives, then yes.”
“So many of us are already dead!”
“Then we should strive to not throw away the rest of us into those Pits!”
“And live under their scrutiny? Never.”
“Then I bid you farewell, Brother.”
Memories… not his… Who was that?
“You dare raise your hand against your father? Know the limits of your arrogance, my son.”
“The Cycle that continued with Uranus shall turn forever onwards, but… I intend to end it with me.”
“Such pride to declare a bold-faced lie. I have seen your future and nothing will change by this war’s end.”
“I will be on your throne. That is enough.”
“And you will do all you can to avoid the Fate’s threads as I have. It is pointless, you have learned as I did.”
“I will try, just as I have tried this day.”
“Then finish it. Let this Eternal Cycle turn and turn.”
Killings of Fathers and Mothers, Aunts and Uncles, Cousins and Siblings… The faces blurred as his bones of murder continued to take lives in the now.
“Menoetius! Remember us! Remember who fought with you!”
A cyclops was blinded with a thrust of his spear. A man’s head popped like a bubble made of sea foam.
“Prometheus has betrayed us! They have all betrayed us!”
A Hecatonchiries had their hands severed from their wrists, one by one. Their eyes gouged out, one by one. Their remains burned under the cosmic rays.
“Rhea! Help us! Save us! Rhea!”
Dwindling one by one, the Titans fell to the rebellion. Dwindling one by one, soldiers fell to the blood-soaked demon. A bandit wearing a prideful mane was the last to fall by their hands.
“Hey, kid.”
“Patroclus.”
A fire from primal power. A fire made from chopped wood.
“You killed my men really well. I would have mistaken you as a Dragon Tooth.”
“You will be our hand.”
A man sat on a log, resigned to the uncertain future.
A giant whose face cannot be seen.
“The name’s Menoetius. What’s yours? You’re not an Ant Person, but you came out of the ground like one of them.”
“I am Menoetius. That is all you need to know.”
The Weapon did not react.
“A silent type, huh? I can understand. You’ve been through a lot. Take a seat if you want.”
“Listen to my orders and only my orders.”
The Weapon sat on the log across from the fire.
“Tell me, son. What brings you out here? Killing my men?”
“And my sole order to you is…”
“To bring down Olympus.”
Menoetius nodded, as if mulling over the answer.
“Why not… follow me instead?”
“And visit vengeance upon those accursed Gods.”
He nodded.
That was all he could remember to do.
Some time later… Days, months, years even were filled with nothing but the routine of reaping bodies and stacking coins and performing chores. Time eluded him as he followed the man. Blindly following what he was told to do. Without thinking what he is supposed to do.
He… thinks his place is with the man. Maybe. Perhaps. Just as it is.
Some day or some year later, the man he was supposedly calls his father leaned over…
Bones… Those were bones. Why is he playing with bones?
“Curious?” The man asked after noticing his blank stare.
The Weapon nodded.
“It’s called Knucklebones. Our previous employer invented it. Anyone can play it. Look.”
The man tossed the largest bone in the air and scooped up the lesser sized bones into his hands. In terms of children, it is just playing with bones. So why would an adult see the need to play a game?
“You’re not impressed.”
The Weapon saw no reasons for bones to be used for anything other than slaughter.
“Life is not always about killing.”
Then why is the man leading a life full of killing?
The man shrugs. “That is just how the Fates weave our destinies. It is best to make the most of them.”
The Weapon picked up a small piece of bone. It was ashen white and chipped with wear.
“Why not give it a try? Maybe after our next job, I can teach you other ways to play.”
There are other ways?
“Of course. Like there are many ways to take a life, there are many ways to play a game.”
A strange game…
A rustle nearby. A snarl of venomous words were shouted their way.
“Oh look. Our next job already. And the Myrmidons haven’t come to replace the ones you killed yet. Ready?”
The two of them- No, just the Weapon is enough.
The man laughed.
“A mercenary group of two. A rare sight, it is!”
---
It was a scuffle between young boys. Bruises on slacked arms and shallow cuts from falling upon sharp pebbles were commonplace. It was a contest of strength to the common eye, but for these youths, it was a trial to establish the pecking order.
There was only a single boy left standing. They had green, short hair. Spiked up so much that you could make meat skewers with it. Their sneer indicated them as the victor over the masses. Said masses grouched and groaned at the boy’s preening and gloating.
“Aw, come on! Ain’t there anybody here who can take me down!? This is the best the aspiring soldiers of the Myrmidons can offer?!” The boy taunted. None spoke up with the lessons of experience having taught them that it was a fool’s errand. Still, the scathing words stung like a bullet ant’s bite.
“I shall take you on.” A voice challenged the boy.
“Huh?” A dull sound escaped the boy’s mouth. His eyes turned and laid on a child his size and age. His challenger was a humble thing with humbler looking clothes. “Where’d you come from? I don’t remember your face from around here. You got a name?”
“I am…” Though incensed by the question, the challenger’s words fell as if they had forgotten midspeech. “I… am here to contest our strengths, not our names.” His face was stoned with resolve.
The boy shrugged. “Your call. Don’t blame me when you’re flat on your back!” The boy was already half the distance away from their spot. As if he was striding on the air, their manic grin wrote their intentions: “You will lose and I will laugh afterwards.”
It was a punch that was blocked that told the boy that the challenger was different. He did not crumble like the others. That alone told him to be wary… were he not so arrogant to draw it up to the Blind Fates.
Elbow blocked. Palm catch. Left swerve. Shoulder jab. Bruised forearms. Every attack was met with equal retaliation. The boy swung with more reckless abandon until…
He himself was on his back. The glare of the Sun was in his eyes as he groaned the pain away. A shadow cast over him. A hand reached down to him.
“My name is Patroclus, Son of Menoetius. I believe your name is ample compensation for my victory.”
The boy narrowed his eyes… and snorted. This was his first defeat and yet… he wouldn’t mind getting beat like that again.
“Achilles. Son of Peleus. Your dad’s name sounds familiar. Didn’t he sail on the Argo with my pops? Why didn’t you start with that? Haha!”
Patroclus smiled.
He felt happy.
---
They were just playing games.
“Hah! 20! Beat that, Pat!” Achilles declared.
An uneven mess of animal bones and die. It was an invention of the King of Evia, but Patroclus felt an affinity to the King’s Game. It was a game of gathering as many aged bones before the biggest bone thrown in the air reached the ground. A simple game with simple rules for children to follow.
That is assuming that the children playing are similarly simple.
With deft hands, it was no effort for the Son of Thetis to surpass all of his challengers. Though children of the Myrmidons, their dexterity and hand-eye coordination was no match for the Fastest Boy in Greece. To triumph over the blessed Child would be quite the undertaking.
“Very well.” An acceptance to the challenge, Patroclus tossed the astragali into the air. Achilles wondered what tricks his closest confidant would pull this time. Perhaps they will toss the bone so high as to touch the sky; maybe they will crush all the bones to dust so they will hold more “pieces”; or it is possible that they will pull out a bag full of bones from their back.
Achilles has grown wary of his friend’s trickery, but the absurdity will always amuse him…
And then a handful of bones began to poke through his friend’s hands. Small, white as ash, indistinguishable to the bones on the ground. Patroclus catches the bone with his free hand rather than letting it kiss the ground.
“21 bones.”
“Wha-? Bah-?”
“Man is a type of animal, will you deny this? My dear Achilles?”
“Ahah… Cheeky as always, eh?”
“Chiron is always espousing the necessity of guile. It is fine to act within the rules, but there comes a time where cunning is the only option.”
“And Knucklebones is one of those times?”
“Mm… only when against you. Always using that head of yours to brute force everything. I save only the most unthinkable tactics for you.”
Achilles laughed. Against such brazen cheating, a boy his age would have decried the unfairness of it all. But between a boy who was a green blur and a boy who was his equal in ploys, it was hard to consider any sort of standards for them to abide by.
“Best two out of three? Before Chiron starts calling us back?”
Patroclus laughed.
His heart felt full.
---
It was a starry night like any other.
“Hey, Pat.”
“Hm?”
Two boys laid upon the grass, staring upon the Firmament where the Gods reside.
“You think… the Gods will forgive us?”
A rare question from the brash speedster.
“What do you mean?”
“My ma, you see. I was… supposed to be better than my pops.”
“Peleus?”
“Yeah… If… Zeus didn’t tell ma to marry pops, I wonder… if being a God would make things better?”
“It was either Zeus or Poseidon.”
“Heh… Yeah… I could have been the one to overthrow Zeus.”
“That’s a cruel joke.”
“You’re still smiling.”
“A joke is supposed to make you smile.”
“Haha…”
“... Why the need for forgiveness, Achilles? Even the Gods should not need to forgive one’s existence.”
The Gods are too petty for forgiveness.
“Chiron’s lesson today was about ma’s side of the family.”
“Your mother was not a Titan.”
She was our sister and always will be. By Lord Cronus’ will, she will always be a Titan.
“Titan blood runs in us all, Pat. Chiron would know as well as anyone. He is one.”
A memory came to him. When he first met the Mentor of Heroes. The shocked recognition of Kin. Chiron never looked at him like that afterwards. Always a pupil, never a Titan.
“Father… Uncle… What have you done?”
Horror. That was what he saw in those eyes that can shoot anything, anywhere.
The Titan of Mentors only saw who he was, not what he is. It was hard to recognize anything else when the Titans were involved.
“Oi, teach. What’s got you so pale as death?” Jason grumbled among the youths.
“Oh. Pay it no mind, Jason. We shall continue the lessons.” His fear morphed to placid so quickly back then…
But… that cannot be right? How could Jason still be a student? Plus… He can definitely see Teacher Chiron up there right now. Aiming his bow upon the Scorpion in the night sky.
“I know he is. It’s just… I am not sure who my mother is.”
That does not matter. We know who you are.
“Sorry, Pat. Didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“No. No no, it’s okay.”
“Hey, Titan or not. Even if the Gods are against you, count me by your side. Who needs their forgiveness anyway?”
Achilles laughed in the Gods’ faces with reckless abandon.
Where the heart was supposed to be, young emotions stirred in the Comet Runner’s better half.
“I feel the same way.”
---
“He’s over there.”
The sight of his dear Achilles in a dress was certainly a treat to the eyes.
“Are you certain?” Odysseus looked upon the sea of women in luxury cloth and silks. “Thetis would resort to dressing her son like a princess?”
“Despite their actions, irrational or otherwise, a parent’s Intentions mean well.”
A sentiment Patroclus cannot hope to confirm for himself.
“Anyways. I can recognize those carrot fronds anywhere, any color.”
“Hm…” Odysseus followed Patroclus’ finger towards an unassuming girl. Or rather… a girl trying too hard to be unassuming with her averted gaze and her friend nearby trying to distract his attention away.
Then he sighs with lament.
“I wanted to use the cart.”
“Lord Odysseus.” Stern Patroclus coughed, wanting his Achilles by his side again now. Plus… the cart reminded him of Poseidon. What is the reason for Lord Odysseus’ fascination with horses?
“Right.”
A snap of the tactician’s fingers and a suspiciously-built cart rolled into view.
Patroclus’ eyes similarly rolled.
“Ladies of Skyros! I bring you gifts and favors in my name as King of Ithaca!”
Like the howling storm outside, the women swarmed the array of clothing, jewelry, and perfumes. Lady Cleopatra admired herself in a mirror embossed with gold. Lady Semiramis was particular to a bottle of perfume that reminded her of home. Lady Helen avoided everything that reminded her of a city she condemned and its cruelest fate…
And of course, Achilles was fond of how pointy the weapons hidden underneath the gifts were. His lady friend was glaring at him in exasperation.
A judging glance from Patroclus was enough of an unnecessary confirmation for Odysseus.
A mere second later, a rambunctious commotion emerged from outside, louder than the buffering storms. A warhorn sounded, drowning out everything mentioned.
A whirling wind as harsh as the ones outside passed them by. If one listens closely, they can hear, “Oh, hey Pat! See you at the boats!” Said as if such a comical display was nothing noteworthy.
“We set sail for Troy.” Said Odysseus, obviously satisfied as he walked off to follow. “Prepare yourself, Patroclus.”
Watching the captain leave, Patroclus…
Walks towards the sole maiden who refused the gifts. Seated on a window sill, her gaze looked forlorn with the maelstrom outside reflecting in her eyes. The docked black fleet ebbed and flowed along with the tumultuous waves, as if Poseidon was reminding them to hurry along to their Destiny.
“Sometimes… I wonder…” The Princess of Troy mused. “If only Odysseus had not suggested the Oath. If my brother Castor and sister Pollux had helped me make a better choice. If… I was not so indecisive. If I had just chosen someone, anyone else. Anyone who was not a King. A simple farm boy. Maybe…”
The Mercenary stayed his tongue. The memory of the contest was a blur to him. It never mattered to him anymore than a job.
Helen laid eyes on him. Grief, regret, remorse.
“Maybe you, Patroclus. Someone with a name History will not remember. So that this War never happened.”
He shook his head. He understands, but…
“My Heart belongs to someone else.”
Helen’s lips quivered. Mindlessly, she shook her head. Her eyes welled with dejection.
“So did mine.”
Without another word, the Prize of Troy was whisked away by the howling winds like a piece of silk. Carried away by the drama-seeking hand of Aphrodite to be seated at her ordained place within the high walls of Troy.
Patroclus watched on with pity for the girl. To be a plaything for the Powers that Be, to be entertainment for bored Gods.
To be a vehicle for their intentions…
“He talks about you a lot.”
A woman spoke. He can deduce who it was. Or rather, he remembered who it was.
“I know.”
“I love him too.”
“He is free to love whomever he wants.”
“That includes you, I hope you know.”
“...”
A fire stirs inside.
“He’s waiting for you. On the Isle.”
“I know.”
“When did you realize?”
“I remembered. Maybe earlier. Maybe just now. Maybe too late. I remembered.”
“Then you remember what you need to do?”
A nod.
“The Gods do not forgive easily.”
“... I know.”
“Until we meet again, Patroclus. And again and again.”
“For the rest of Eternity. Until then, Deidamia.”
He stepped into the storm.
---
The beating of waves against the black boat’s sides, the stern orders of a captain to his crew, the distant cajoling of kings and princes brought together by an ancient pact.
“Can’t say I ain’t excited to be on this ship, huh Pat?” Achilles mused as he tightened the rope of the sails.
“That is one of the reasons why Chiron sent me with you. You were practically the first soul on board when Odysseus found you out on Skyros.”
“Bah, teach was being a worrywort. I already got someone to do that for him.” Achilles chortled.
“I’m honored, truly.” Patroclus can only his head in jest. “I would’ve come regardless of the fact.”
“That much need saying?”
“It’s the only way to get through that hot head of yours.”
“Ha! You got me there!”
The Coalition of Tyndareus were thousands of ships strong and hundred thousands of men stronger. It was hard for Patroclus to grasp sight of the crashing waves made by the fleet’s wake.
“This much over a woman.” He mused.
“If I remember right, weren’t you there at that contest?” Achilles asked. “I wanted to go, but I was too young. Least that’s what my mom and pops said.”
“I was, but…” Only a vague recollection came to him, only impressions. “It was for mercenary work.”
“Ah, just guard work? Could’ve fooled me. You’d make a handsome groom. I heard Helen was quite the looker. Ain’t that right, Odysseus? You were there.” Achilles called the passing-by captain.
“That she was, young Achilles. Before Penelope, I was a naïve man looking for his other half. Barely a legacy in my name, I still went because the daughter of Zeus proved too much a siren to ignore. The contests were mere tests of strength fit for any strong man. Sadly, most of my strengths lie in my mind.”
“Don’t forget to mention that this whole thing was your idea, eh Odysseus!” The laughter came from the husband of the inciting woman, Menelaus.
“It was not my intent to march these young boys to their deaths. I hope you realize that, King of Sparta.” Odysseus sighed his remorse.
“Ah, don’t let it weigh you down so much. War builds character. It’ll do the boys good, assuming they’ll make it out on the other side.”
“A vote of confidence I lack confidence in, brother.” The Eldest Brother, Agamemnon grouched from the bones on the barrel between the brothers. “It is you who called the Oath, don’t you forget.”
“And it was you who resorted to Palademedes.” Odysseus cradled his forehead at the sight of his nemesis’ bony invention.
“And it was you who blew the horn! Can’t we forget the finger pointing and cheer up already!?” Achilles grew tired of the complaining from old men. His hand itches to shed Trojan blood.
Patroclus found his own hand mirroring it, as if hungry for something more than blood.
Maybe he is just hungry in general.
“Land, Lord Agamemnon.” A boy relayed the shouted news from the other ships
The General of Forty Suitors gazed upon the beach populated with half a million Trojans.
And yet no Greek dared willing to become the first casualty.
“Curse that Calchas. Curse your mother, Achilles.” He muttered to himself.
“I ought to skin you for bad mouthing her.” The Comet Runner grumbled. “But she had good counsel to keep me at bay.”
“The Greatest Honors goes to the first man to step foot on the beach!” Shouted the King and relayed across the fleet.
Yet none step forth towards the barbarians throwing rocks and jeers towards them.
“Blast the Fates. Not even our most foolhardy will go.” Palamedes clicked his tongue.
“Well Helen’s not going to come back to your brother by herself.” Menoetius spoke up. “Either the first of us die or we all go home.”
“Stay your tongue, myrmidon.” Achilles commanded. “Unless you want to be the first to be thrown onto shore. I only keep you aboard because my father vouched your competence on the Argo.”
The Weapon stayed silent as the bickering of his betters flew like the uneasy breeze. The presence of divine eyes was on him, he sensed. He ought to blind them.
Zeus and his ilk are there. They will all die here. This I swear.
“Huh? You said something Patroclus?” Achilles called the Weapon.
“I did not say anything?” More a question than an assertion.
“Must be mother whispering into my ear. Just how many wind nymphs will she send?” His commander in Peleus’ name grouched.
She is a traitor like the rest of them. She will die with the rest of them.
“There! Lord Protesilaus has landed!” Shouted a boy, repeating what was said across the fleet.
Far from their boat were a commotion along the shores. Blood has begun to mix with the seawater.
The first Greek has died.
“That’s our cue, eh Patroclus?” Cackled Achilles.
“Yes… May they die by our hands.” The Weapon nodded solemnly. His resolve gathered once again.
“Right you are! First one there is rotten carrion!”
Patroclus can only stare at the back of his beloved Achilles grow smaller and smaller as they glided across the waves and carved a bloody path into the beach. Shining like a shooting star.
As if echoing the sentiment, Cronos drew his harpe and pointed towards Troy’s high walls. “Titans! Today is the day Mount Olympus burns! Charge!”
The Sea of Stars was soon silenced with the yelling of a billion dead souls. Man, Gods, Titans. Their destiny awaits.
For the rest of Eternity.
Originally Posted by Ismail2002
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