The Fall of a Hero

The Begining of the End

A nineteen year old boy sat alone on the shore, watching as the sun set over the horizon. His once shiny and vibrant jet black locks of hair hung loose and dropped over his dull sea green orbs that showed the depths of his soul. Tear streaks shone on his hollow cheeks and his empty eyes that were so joyous and filled with light now seemed lifeless and constantly filled to the brim with tears. The hero had a ghostly smile tugging at his thin lips while he gazed longingly at the horizon; as if staring at it could pull him into a world that was better than his own. A breathy sigh escaped his lips as he thought back towards better times; a time two years ago, before his life fell into Tartarus.

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Dried blood clung to the remaining six heroes of the seven of the prophecy like liquid leeches as they stood exhausted over the bodies of their Giant enemies. Standing together a breath of relief glazed over the battlefield silently signalling the Second Giant War to a close. Tears spilled from the broken eyes of boys and girls that were slouched over the dead bodies of their siblings. They were children of foolish gods that didn't realize the danger of a demigod life, were helpless to stop their birth, to prevent the tragedy that their lives inevitably led.

The numbers of both Romans and Greeks were cut down. Neither one were the enemy anymore, both were too busy mourning the loss of their siblings and friends. The war zone was littered with helpless children that had just became veterans of a godly war, one plagued by deaths of the innocent who fought battles that weren't theirs.

The remaining heroes of the Prophecy of Seven looked no better. Now that the war was over they collapsed onto one another from exhaustion and finally the heroes broke down. No longer did they have to put up a mask of courage and determination, no longer did they have to fake how strong they were. In the end, the heroes fell and salty streams that they had held back burst free as they joined their brothers and sisters in tears of anger, relief, pain and sorrow.

The gods looked no better. They stood without injury and yet they still felt deep pain. Looking on at their weeping children the gods held on a stony mask of indifference; they had to be strong when their children couldn't. It had taken millennia for the all powerful Pantheon of the gods that could kill anything with just a glare of hate to realize that their children weren't warriors; their innocent demigod heroes were not all powerful. It was that moment that the gods decided to change, but regardless of their original intent, no one said that their change was good.

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Zeus, ever the proud God, sat comfortably on this massive throne of gold, staring down at the six heroes beneath him. His large fingers drummed on the fat arms of his golden throne and his electric blue eyes flitted about the room in a bored way. He, like everyone else, was waiting for his brother Hades, God of the Underworld to finally come up to join his brethren in giving gifts to the heroes. In a startling and creepy way, the shadows in the room darkened a cracking sound could be heard from the middle of the room, causing the demigods that stood there to run and scatter. The cracking sound became louder and the gods narrowed their eyes in suspicion, their weapons at the ready. From the crevice in the floor came Hades, powerful and unforgiving. Shooting a glare at his so called family, he created a throne for himself and placed it in at the end of the line of male gods.

Zeus coughed and announced, "Well then, now that Hades is here I suppose that we shall begin the award ceremony"

The other gods breathed a sigh of relief and began to chatter about what to award their saviours with.