For millennia, the Demigods-immortal, unstoppable beings with powers beyond mortal comprehension-have walked the Earth in secret, blending with humanity. But now, with the rise of the malevolent forces of Chaos, their ancient unity must be reforged...
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A Gate to Olympus
“Theseus,” Iolaus said, arms crossed, a skeptical grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve had some wild ideas, but this? Making a gateway to Olympus? That’s insanity.”
“Crazier?” Iolaus scoffed, shaking his head. “You think you can build a gate that even the gods couldn’t fully close? That thing wasn’t just a doorway—it was hyperspace on top of hyperspace, folding endlessly. It’s beyond space-time itself.”
Ganymede chimed in, his expression dead serious. “It took the power of every Olympian to make that gate—and even more to shut it down when the gods left. Do you have any idea what you’re suggesting?”
Theseus only shrugged. “So what? If I could make it to the underworld back in the day, Olympus can’t be that much harder.”
Iolaus shot him a disbelieving look, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Right. Plenty of heroes made it to the underworld—Heracles, Perseus, even Orpheus.” He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing. “But Olympus? That’s a whole different story. That place is sealed off. Only gods are allowed through. Olympians only.”
He paused for a moment, then grinned mischievously. “But you? You went down there to kidnap Persephone—with that idiot Pirithous as your sidekick!”
Ganymede burst out laughing, holding his stomach. “Seriously, Theseus. What were you thinking? ‘Hey, let’s steal Hades’ wife.’” He mimicked Theseus in a mock-serious tone, “What could possibly go wrong?”
Theseus rubbed the back of his neck, grinning despite himself. “Look, it wasn’t exactly my brightest moment, I’ll admit.”
Iolaus chuckled, shaking his head. “You two were lucky Heracles came to bail your sorry ass out. If it weren’t for him, you’d still be stuck in the underworld—literally.”
Ganymede nearly doubled over in hysterics. “Gods above, Theseus. You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Theseus shot back, amused but defiant. “Pirithous had his reasons—he thought love was worth the risk.”
“And you went along with it.” Iolaus gave him an exaggerated stare. “Yeah. Great plan.”
Theseus folded his arms, wearing a sly grin. “Well, I’ve learned a few things since then. And if I could make it out of Hades’ realm, I can sure as hell figure out a way to Olympus.”
Iolaus threw his hands up, still chuckling. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”
“Theseus doesn’t do impossible,” Ganymede said, a grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Exactly.” Theseus clapped Iolaus on the shoulder. “So, are you in? Or are you going to keep whining?”
Iolaus rolled his eyes, but a grin crept back onto his face. “Fine, I’m in. Someone’s gotta keep you from getting yourself killed.”
Ganymede straightened, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Then it’s settled. Let’s break into Olympus.”
They exchanged glances, the humor fading into quiet resolve. They knew the stakes—but they also knew that no challenge, not even the divine, could hold them back for long.
Tearing Through Reality
“Theseus,” Iolaus said, eyes wide with disbelief, “are you seriously saying you’re going to rip the fabric of reality? You want to make your own version of the Infinite Hyperspace Gate?”
Ganymede stared, stunned. “You do realize that what you’re suggesting isn’t just reckless—it’s insanity. Even in fiction, nobody would dream of trying it. Tearing reality apart like that? It’s unthinkable.”
Theseus smirked, folding his arms. “You think too small.” He stepped forward, fire burning in his eyes. “Reality is just a web of threads. If you know where to cut, you can unravel it. All I need is to pull the right strands—space, time, dimensions—and weave them into something new.”
Iolaus shook his head in disbelief. “You’re talking about remaking the gate—tearing hyperspace open and stitching it back together?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Theseus said, his voice calm but filled with unshakable confidence. “If the gods could build it, so can I. The trick isn’t brute force—it’s precision. The cracks are already there. All I have to do... is pry them open.”
Ganymede let out a stunned breath. “You’re not just insane. You’re out of your mind.”
“Theseus,” Iolaus muttered, rubbing his temples, “this is the most impossible thing I’ve ever heard.”
Theseus shot them both a sharp look. “Impossible?” He chuckled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “That word has never meant anything to us. Were the legends we lived through supposed to be possible? No. But we made them real. This gate is no different.”
The two heroes, Iolaus and Ganymede, stood in stunned silence, processing the madness of Theseus's plan. For a moment, neither spoke—until Iolaus let out a long, exasperated sigh.
“Fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s do this. What’s the plan?”
Ganymede shook his head with a faint, disbelieving grin. “This might just be the dumbest thing we’ve ever agreed to.”
Theseus smirked, his confidence unwavering. “Good. Dumb ideas are usually the ones that work.”
