Shattered

Atlas

Atlas Shrugged.

Which given the situation, was a pretty impressive feat. Forced to once again hold up the long dead corpse of his grandfather, whom just so happened to be the divine incarnation of the sky.

What was even worse was he was holding him up by his severed nether regions. If Atlas ever saw Kronos again, he would have to question his uncle on why he chose to wound his father there of all places. His grandfather was huge, which was to be expected of the sky, but his father and his brothers managed to hold their father down while Kronos used the first weapon to commit the first murder. Atlas knew for a fact that Kronos could have slit his father's throat, but no, he had to go for his distinguished gentleman with two bags.

Atlas laughed at that.

He had learned that particular saying from some of his mortal minions during his brief parole during the second Titan war. Mortals were far more interesting now than they were two-thousand years ago. Before they cowered in huts, afraid of the world around them; now they were erecting structures that touched the sky, developed ways to communicate instantly with one another from anywhere on Gaea, and alter the very world around them to whatever suited them.

Atlas was very interested to see what mortals would be capable of by the next cycle.

"I don't see what so funny, Fat-las," called a voice, snapping Atlas back to the present.

Atlas looked down near his feet, to look the Roman demigod in the eye. Ever since the end of the second Titan war, Romans had been stationed to guard him and what remained of the throne, to ensure that no one would be able to free him. The demigod was small, even by demigod standards, but she carried herself with pride, and always looked eager to attack him. Her features were obscured by the armor she wore, but even if she wasn't covered head to toe in armor, He wouldn't bother to notice any of her features. She was after all, only a fool who fancied herself clever.

"I was merely thinking about whose bed your mother would be in tonight, daughter of Venus," he shot back, dryly. "Perhaps another unknowing mortal who just so happens to make some kind of sweet she fancies. That was the reason you were conceived, was it not?"

The demigod raised her spear with a guttural roar and began to charge at him.

This was easier than the time he tricked Herakles to take his burden. Sure he had been then tricked by Herakles almost immediately, but unlike most titans he learned from his mistakes. If she got close enough, he could drop his father, roll, and she would be forced to carry the weight of the world. He knew there were three other demigods stationed nearby, but they would pose no threat to the titan's general.

He was struggling to keep his face neutral. If he so much as grinned she would be made aware of his intentions.

Five yards.

Four yards.

Three yards. Atlas must have really hit a sore spot to enrage her this much.

Two yards.

"Yes!" He cried, unable to hide is excitement anymore. "Come little demigod, let us grapple until the end," he taunted.

An arrow suddenly lodged itself in the ground in front of the angry child, snapping her out of her rage.

"That's enough," ordered another demigod. This one was a bit on the heavy side, and always smelled of that horrible artificial cherry beverage the Romans enjoyed so much. "One more step, and he would have been escaped while you were stuck holding up the night sky."

The son of Bacchus waddled over to his fallen arrow and yanked it from the ground. He turned to face the daughter of Venus.

"Report back to the barracks, you're done here. When your assignment ends here, expect a transfer and a demotion," slurred the brat of Bacchus. "At least," he quickly added.