Smite: A Story of Sons and Daughters

Duel at Dawn

Sunday yawned and rolled out of bed at the sound of the alarm she'd set, rubbing her eyes as she stood and glanced at the clock. It was true that gods and their descendants didn't require sleep, but the night was the time of Artemis, so she and her father had nothing better to do at night other than to write a song or two and rest. She'd grown accustomed to it, drifting off until her father's singing burst the night's silence and sunlight poured through the windows, its glow warm and inviting as the sensation of the rays tickled her skin.
In the Smite realm, anyways. Outside of this place where all gods battled seasonally, the Sun was always shining somewhere, and where she and Apollo typically resided, the Sun never stopped flooding their house with light, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Here, however, night meant there was no Sun to be found anywhere, and day meant Apollo had total reign over the skies.
But now, the sun had barely peeked above the horizon, and she found it strange to wake before her father had, the absence of his loud voice making her feel somewhat uneasy. Her skin felt cold and she could barely see. She'd never really been exposed to the dark, so her vision in even relatively dim lightning was miserable.
It was no matter though, the arena was a completely simulated area, so there would be plenty of sunlight to fuel her powers. It kept the battle as fair as possible, because none of the gods could control the landscape or atmosphere, because it technically wasn't real. The arena ensured that every god, or in this case descendant, was fighting at their full potential.
Sunday wasted no time grabbing the large duffle she'd packed full of war attire and heading down the hallway. While gods were almost adorned in the outfits they used in combat, descendants preferred to wear clothes you'd see a day to day mortal in. For the fight, however, Apollo and Artemis had worked together to make Sunday an outfit that both suited her for battle, and made her look like she truly belonged to her father.
Sunday stopped just in front of her father's room, seeing that the door was half open. She pushed it open carefully and giggled when she saw him hunched over his composure desk, papers with various lyrics scattered around the desk and at his feet. He was fast asleep; she he knew waking him up was a bad idea. The dull glow from his hair was representational of the Sun itself, and would burn brighter until he finally woke up and the sun took it's rightful place in the sky. Her hair did the same, well, the bit on the side that stuck up just like her father's, but it didn't have any effect on the sunrise, like his did. Waking him any sooner would mean the sunrise would be premature, and there'd be a lot of pissed of gods at his doorstep on that note. Especially Artemis.
Sunday let out a content sigh and left her father's room, sliding down the railing on the spiral staircase that led to the ground floor. She couldn't see anything at this point, so she held her hands together and concentrated as she felt a small mass begin to form between them. She and her father called them 'Personal Suns,' stars only big enough to hold in the palm of your hand. Her's, anyways. Her father's weren't very 'personal...' She stumbled over her steps a few times, as it still wasn't the bursting sunlight she was used to, but made it safely to the front door and stepped out into the night.
It was then she paused, realizing she had no way of getting to the area fast enough to make it on time. She would usually take a Phoenix around the realm, but in the dead of night, it meant the Phoenix would be nothing but ash, waiting to be born again when her father woke. A thought crossed her mind, but she tried to push it away several times before deciding it was the only way.
She made her way over to the storage garage, that was about the size of a flight hangar, and stared at the large steel doors, each engraved with the seal of her father. She hesitated a moment before holding her hand to the door, watching as the doors flashed brightly before sliding apart ever so slowly, revealing the most magnificent thing she'd ever seen in her life. Her heart beat picked up and her mind began to race and its radiance escaped into the atmosphere and washed over her skin.
There it was. Burning in all of it's glory, waiting to be ridden into battle. More specifically, victory.
Apollo's chariot.
---
Caspian sat at the foot of his father's throne, sharpening his- well, his father's trident, with a shell he'd found lying nearby. It was the weapon he'd carry into battle, the weapon he'd promised his father he'd use to bring honor back to the arena, as well as his family name. With each strike of the shell against the blade, his mind was filled with battle tactics and strategies. He wondered who he'd be teamed up with, along with the identities of the two other descendants that'd be joining them in the arena.
It was easy to say that his mind was focused on nothing but the war that was soon the be fought, just a glance at him could reveal that much. He didn't blame his father for losing, but rather the lack of honor and respect the opposing team had displayed. He wouldn't allow it, now that he was taking his place in the area. He was determined to tear apart anyone that fought lacking the virtues that every descendant and god should never be without.
The battle was almost nigh, and he'd ordered some minions to un-anchor his ship and return back to him when it was ready to sail. He could see a minion running up to him, kicking up sand and stirring the sea water as he came to inform Caspian that his vessel had been prepared.
Caspian waved him off dismissively, not wanting to bother with pointless conversation when he already knew what would be said. He stood and grabbed his own duffle full of war attire, and dragged his trident behind him as he walked. A smirk crossed his face when his vessel came into sight, admiring its redwood mast and detailed engravings. He swam up to the surface and grabbed hold of the ladder, swinging himself easily onto the boat's deck with one hand. He wasted no time making his way to the front of the ship, shouting orders to minions as he grabbed hold of the wheel and formed a surging current to keep the boat moving at full speed.
He was nearly there when a streak of almost blinding light cut across the sky, though it appeared to be somewhat uncoordinated and wobbly. He rolled his eyes and his gills flared in frustration as his sight readjusted to the darkness. A chariot. It lacked the grace to be flown by Apollo himself, so he could only be led to assume that Sunday had taken the reigns into her own hands. He didn't understand why he or his daughter had to be so damn flashy about everything... He sighed and tried to dismiss the thought, encouraging the current below him to surge forward. He'd show her what a true descendant was capable of. He'd show her raw power and the spirit of honor, rather than a flashy colors and a prideful smile.
He'd show them all.
---
Nahuel, Macaque, and Farrow had decided they'd travel together, and though Farrow had offered to take them though a portal, Nahuel and Macaque adored the outdoors and insisted on walking. They weren't too far now, each lost in their own thoughts, clutching onto their backpacks and weapons as they walked. Nahuel twirled his bolas between the fingers of his free hand and whistled a small tune, obviously the least concerned about the fight out of the group.
However, Farrow was easily the most fearless of the three, as his father was the god of transitions, and transitioning meant new horizons. And in this case, new horizons meant fighting for their glory rather that sitting back and watching from behind the glass. It was nothing more than a simple transition, and he knew he could handle it.
When they broke into the arena clearing, Macaque let the way, his twin tails swaying back in forth in a practiced, calm rhythm. He noticed everyone else was already there, chatting amongst themselves, stealing glances and casting low glares at the others around them as they exchanged whispers. He also caught sight of the two descendants whose identities were previously unknown: Eberhard, son of Hercules, and Zlogonje, son of Zhong Kui. He couldn't have been the only one that found the absence of an Ares child peculiar, but he dismissed the thought when Berodach began to speak.
"Oh, good! We're all here!" He began, shaking his long, spider silk black hair to the side. "Let's not waste any time then, shall we?" He touched a single finger to his lip and looked between all of the descendants, before pointing to both Sunday and Caspian. "You two, team captains. Sunday, you take first pick."
Sunday stiffened at the mention of her name and looked to Eberhard, whom she'd been chatting with while waiting for Nahuel to arrive. Caspian, on the other hand, stepped away from the crowd with a cool stride, not letting any of what he felt show. Sunday, after a second of hesitation, let out the same glowing smile she knew her father would be wearing if it was he about to go into battle. She stood at Caspian's side and looked around, calculating who the prime candidates for her team would be. She knew without a doubt she wouldn't be taking Aatami or Berodach, as she despised both deeply for the tarnish they given her family name. Though both had incredible talent, Aatami was the son of Hou Yi, who shot down nine of the suns that her father had worked endlessly to create, only leaving one to float in the sky, lost without its brothers and sisters. Berodach, son of Hades, thought life meaningless, and endlessly mocked Apollo for bring life, light, and joy into the mortal world.
"Nahuel." Sunday choice came as a surprise to no one, and Nahuel was happy to step forward and join her side, a blow gun dart hanging loosely from his lips.
"Then I'll take Aatami." Caspian's choice was also predicted, as he and Aatami were best friends, just like Nahuel and Sunday were.
Choosing teams didn't take long, making it obvious that everyone's thoughts had been circling the fight for quite some time. Sunday's team consisted of Nahuel, Eberhard, Livythan, and Farrow, leaving Caspian's with Aatami, Macaque, Berodach, and Zlogonje. Everyone look content and confident with the teams they were on, as if victory already lie within their grasps.
"Give us ten minutes to suit up. Best of luck to you." Sunday gave a curt but polite nod to Caspian, extending her hand with well wishes.
Caspian, giving a half-hearted glance at her hand, said nothing, and turned away.
This, meant war.