Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  Zeus could see the muzzles of cannons and railguns bristling through the angled spikes. His Raven drones showed an army nearly equal to his beyond the battlement primed and ready for combat. This could easily turn into a bloodbath for both sides if he did not do something quickly. Valkyrie and her Izon sent a message they were still an hour away from the rear of the Atlantean troops and he needed to buy them some time. Perhaps his dangerous gambit could save lives on both sides. He had to try.

  Kissing Hera on the cheek, Zeus mounted his sled and turned to his commanders. “Hold the men in check until I return. Bring our cannons to the fore. Do not attack until I give the order.”

  “And should you fall?” Captain Norland asked, his dark brown eyes narrowed and grim. He did not like this plan at all.

  “Well then,” Zeus replied with an impish grin, “I expect you to come and get me.” He grabbed the hilt of Excalibur and pulled the majestic blade a few inches from the sheath. His tone sobered, his golden eyes glittered and he added more seriously, “Trust that this will keep me safe. Even if they fire upon me, wait until you hear my command. I will not have you lost in the crossfire. After that, do what you must.”

  Zeus took the sled slowly toward the Atlantean encampment, a white flag held high on a wooden shaft. He stopped a quarter mile from the barrier gates, acutely aware of the snouts of the guns aimed in his direction. He dismounted and stood next to the sled for a moment before planting the flag in the dirt and waiting for the enemy response.

  For long minutes there was nothing, only a rising rumble of voices behind the wall of spikes. Zeus was careful to stand still, his arms crossed over his muscled chest and his hand well away from the hilt of his sword. The legend of its power already spread throughout the continent and though most dismissed it as myth, he did not wish to appear threatening as yet. That would come soon.

  He tensed slightly, seeing movement around the blockade. A squad of thirty archers fanned out of the partially opened gate, bows drawn with shiny, razor-edged aeros aimed at his heart. Three men walked toward him, their eyes looking over Zeus’ shoulder at the vast army arrayed against them. He waited until they were well within earshot before speaking.

  “I am Zeus, Lord of Olympus,” he said coolly. “I come to offer terms.”

  “We know who you are,” the man in the center said harshly. He was almost as tall as Zeus and built like a mammoth. Thick tendrils of ebony hair coiled around his neckless head like a nest of angry vipers. Beads of sweat coated his midnight-black skin, glistening like diamonds in the bright, yellow sunshine. His eyes were as dark as bottomless pits beneath his deeply furrowed brow, but a vicious, arrogant sneer played across his wide, ample lips. “Are you offering terms of surrender? That is all we will hear.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Zeus replied calmly. He spread his massive arms out, his right hand pointing down at the sled. He saw the men reach for their swords and waited until they relaxed somewhat. “I am going to turn on the amplifiers of my sled so all can hear.”

  He presses the stud and his voice boomed through the tension-thick air. “You ask if I offer terms of surrender,” Zeus said firmly, knowing his words would ripple through the Atlantean forces. “I do. I promise you if you lay down your arms and disperse, no harm will come to you.”

  The big man bellowed in laughter, the sound reverberating through his massed troops. His warriors shouted and jeered, echoing his disdainful contempt. However, his two companions said nothing. They shifted uneasily on their feet, their hands gripped a little tighter on the hilts of their blades.

  “How kind of you, Lord Zeus,” the leader grinned savagely. “You seem to forget you stand here alone against the might of Atlantis. Your army is a mile away. We could cut you to pieces before they could cross half that distance.”

  “Try,” Zeus responded flatly, his tone as frozen as a mountain glacier. His golden eyes sparkled like cold chips of ice flickering with silver lightning. Shivers traveled up the spines of the men before him, blunting even the big man’s haughty self-confidence.

  “We do not come here to destroy Atlantis,” Zeus said, not addressing the trio, but the troops gathered beyond the wall. “We come here to capture the criminal Cronus. He must pay for the atrocities he has committed against us and all of humanity. Once he is gone from the throne, you may have your city back. Should you continue to stand in the way of justice, we will exact a terrible price. These are our terms and our promise. You choose.”

  “How dare you!” the Atlantean commander roared. His monstrous muscles bunched and his eyes blazed at Zeus as he took a step forward. “You invade our lands! You burn our cities! You sink our ships! You kill thousands of our friends and families and you speak of justice?”

  “At least we warned you in advance,” Zeus replied bitterly, standing his ground. His anger rose like a gale force wind and swept across the plains. “The Lord Father has chased us around the world. He wrought destruction on us wherever we went. Cronus set our homes on fire. He murdered and tortured our kinfolk without mercy. He unleashed nuclear holocausts upon the innocent and the helpless. Men, women and children alike. The Creator cries for our dead and demands vengeance and we are the instruments of His wrath.”

  His words touched far more hearts than he knew, but not enough to turn the tide of fury cresting in the Atlantean warriors. Zeus could feel the storm clouds of rage gathering above them. The muscles on the men facing him rippled, tensed and their bodies turned almost imperceptibly. He sighed inwardly, knowing what was about to happen. He shifted his weight slightly and prepared himself.

  The commander cleared leather with amazing speed for one his size. Instinctively, his comrades did the same, their steel blades flashing through the bright, sunlit air. Zeus stepped back and away, spinning on his heel as he ripped his sword from its sheath. Sparks crackled along Excalibur’s length as he parried the commander’s blow. The impact would have stunned his arm if the incredible weapon had not absorbed the energy. The golden runes began to ebb and flow like rivers along the majestic blade, pulsing and getting brighter with each strike by his enemies.

  Zeus danced and weaved around and through his assailants, knowing he could take them anytime he wished. Their attacks were clumsy and crude, relying on brute strength instead of skill. He allowed them to think they had a chance so Excalibur could draw power from their blows. Zeus intentionally kept the battle going as long so he could to give his men time to draw closer. He did not have to look behind him. Without a doubt, they surged forward the moment the attack began.

  The Olympian army half-ran forward, shield-men covering the first three rows. Behind them were two hundred of his best archers flanked by four Nephilim-powered railguns. The ten wheeled and powered platforms they had carried the heavy cannons at a slow, ponderous pace his soldiers could easily match. Their seemingly slow progress was deceptive though and they covered ground much faster than the Olympians expected. While Zeus kept their attention fixed on him, they managed to get almost within firing range of the big guns before the enemy could react.

  The earth beneath his feet trembled, telling Zeus his legions were closing the gap. It was time to end this game. Unlike his opponents, Zeus was not tiring. The molten fire shimmering along his blade swept through him in waves, increasing his strength and stamina instead of weakening him. An almost wicked exhilaration brightened his eyes and lit the lava flowing through his veins. He could not help but smile, but it was a demonic sneer that would have frozen the men before him had they noticed.

  The raging commander bellowed like a wild beast as he raised his sword high above his head. He brought it down with all the weight of his entire, massively muscled body intending to cleave Zeus in two. Instead, the hardened steel shattered when it met Excalibur in a flash of sparkling electricity. His shock was short-lived. Zeus spun like a whirlwind, slicing the man all the way across his rock-like torso. The body fell to the trampled grasses, neatly cut in half. The commander saw his legs twitching on the g
round a few feet away, his dying mind oddly amazed by the sight before his lights went out forever. Zeus slipped between the two other men with the speed of a striking viper, severing their heads from their shoulders in a single spinning arc. It was then he heard the cheers of the watching crowd go quiet and change to something else.

  A huge, black cloud filled the sky with the singing of bowstrings. Zeus did not flee. His simply dropped to one knee and knelt on the bloody ground. The point of Excalibur stabbed deep into the earth as he held it like a cross before him. A slight twist of the hilt brought the weapon to life creating a shimmering field around him. The hail of aeros bounced off harmlessly, their wooden shafts shattering and igniting like candlesticks. Small fires popped up around him where they hit, charring the damp meadow but doing nothing more.

  The cannons within the barricade roared out their fury, centering on the solitary man before them. Wherever they struck, the shield blazed like a noonday sun competing with the one hanging in the clear azure sky. Zeus was pushed back, the blade of Excalibur cutting a wide furrow in the ground as it fought to protect him. Some of the iron balls glanced off the sides of the fiery dome while others flattened and fell like drops of rain from a leafy limb. The rest passed him by, bouncing across the field until they stopped far short of this advancing army. Zeus waited until the initial onslaught was over, knowing his battalions were well beyond the range of the Atlantean guns. On his orders, they would remain there until he was finished.

  Zeus stood slowly to his full height and stared out at the spiked barricade. Those gathered behind it were hushed and as silent as their smoking cannons. More than a few stood in shocked awe, feeling warm liquid running down their quivering legs. For long moments, they did not know what to do. It seemed as if a god stood before them. His flaming red hair fanned out around his lionesque head, the tips crackling with bluish fire. His powerfully muscled body glowed and shimmered as if standing in heatwaves. Even from this distance, they could see his golden eyes cutting into their souls. He held the hilt of his pulsing sword before him, its tip still embedded in the rutted ground. Nothing they had thrown at him seemed to have fazed him at all.

  “Last warning,” Zeus shouted, the field amplifying his thunderous voice as much as the battered sled that lay a few yards away. “Lay down your arms!”

  He was met by another barrage of cannon fire. Zeus gripped the hilt of Excalibur and drew the blade from the earth. Careful to keep the power in check, he raised it above his head like a spear. Silver-blue lightning bolts flared from the tip, smashing into the nearest cannon muzzles and warping their snouts. Anyone unfortunate enough to have their hands on the metal were electrocuted instantly. The shells still in the barrels exploded backward sending shards of tortured metal into the screaming, writhing men around them. The wooden wall splintered in gaping holes where the weapons once stood adding to the melee. Fires raged along the barricade, the wet wood steaming and blazing. Plumes of white and gray smoke billowed into the air obstructing the defenders’ view of the grasslands.

  “Now!” Captain Norland shouted, raising his sword into the air. The legions behind him rushed forward with well-practiced precision keeping their lines straight and solid. They quickly closed the distance and brought their own artillery to the fore.

  Commander Hernaculus fought to contain the panic rippling through his ranks. Shouting orders, cursing and berating the frightened, he managed to marshal his troops before the Olympians could open fire. He did not waste time on another pointless and potentially risky attack on Zeus. His remaining cannons aimed their barrels high, sending waves of iron through the dark, curling fog. The thick haze might be masking the enemy from him, but it also meant he was hidden as well. There was no doubt in his mind they were rushing toward him under the cover of smoke.

  Hernaculus’ razor-sharp mind noted how Zeus’ power grew with the energies thrown at him, but he also saw he fought like an ordinary man against mere swords. Bellowing commands, he sent a squad of fifty men out of the gates toward the Olympian leader intending to overwhelm him with the sheer weight of numbers. If he could capture Zeus before reinforcements arrived it could turn the tide in his favor.

  Even with a rising wind gusting from the north, the choking mist was not so thick Zeus did not see the troops rushing toward him. For a brief second, he admired the Atlantean commander. The man was obviously smart. Under normal circumstances, the tactic would have worked. Not even Zeus could prevail against so many. However, Excalibur was no ordinary blade.

  Zeus turned and ran, not out of any sense of danger, but to put distance between himself and the wall. He knew his men would not fire until they were sure he was out of harm’s way. The Atlanteans shouted out in angry elation, believing their prey fled in fear. In their rush, they did not notice how close they were getting to the advancing army until it was far too late. Their quarry stopped suddenly and turned to face them. Howling with glee, they raced forward to surround him, swords held high.

  Zeus stood stock still, his head lowered so they could not see the hot, red sparks flickering in his narrowed, golden eyes. He let them encircle him and close in. He widened his stance and looked up at his enemies. The look on his chiseled face was not one of fright or fury. It was more resigned pity. Zeus took no pleasure in what he was about to do. The sense of that stunned his opponents and caused them a moment’s hesitation. Zeus raised Excalibur to the sky and said quietly, “I am sorry.”

  A canopy of silver-blue fire erupted from the magnificent glowing blade. The crackling energies reached out to the steel swords surrounding Zeus and lit them with a hellish haze. The men caught in the nightmarish lightning storm could not even scream. Their teeth shattered, their muscles spasmed and cramped. The electricity coursing through them boiled the blood in their veins and blackened their flesh as they convulsed and fried where they did their dance of death. The horrific stench made Zeus retch, the acidic bile burning his clenched throat and spilling over his grimly pursed lips. He wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, straightened his spine and walked stiffly through the still-smoking, twitching corpses, hating himself for his actions.

  A small squad of soldiers ran toward him, Hera leading them. Zeus still held his shimmering sword in his right hand, using its diminishing power to keep his trembling legs from faltering. The expenditure of energy left him bone-weary and aching in every muscle. His heart hurt, washed over with guilt at not only what he had done, but also because his plea had gone unheeded by the Atlanteans. Zeus knew they would not listen, yet he hoped his display of power would crack their resolve and save countless lives. The thunderous sound of cannon fire told him he had failed.

  “Are you all right?” Hera said, slipping her brother’s arm over her shoulder. She saw the dark shadows under his sad eyes and how his body slumped. She lent him her strength unasked and helped him to the Olympian lines while the others encircled them.

  “Just tired,” Zeus replied, leaning on her more than he intended. “I will be useless for an hour or more.” Grim determination tightened his jawline and hardened his voice as Captain Norland joined them. Zeus looked at the commander and said almost bitterly, “It is up to you now. Take the barrier.”

  It was far easier said than done. The Atlantean commanders rallied their troops and extinguished the fires quickly. Though charred and crumbled in places, the wall was still sturdy and strong. Zeus had destroyed half their artillery, but the rest took a devastating toll before they were silenced. Once accomplished, Norland ordered his men forward. Archers wreaked havoc on both sides, the sky filled with waves of aeros like thick, black thunderclouds. The shields his men carried stopped most of the deadly rain, but bodies littered the field where the shafts managed to pierce the metal canopy. Norland concentrated his remaining railguns on the wooden gates, finally battering them off their hinges. The Olympian poured through the gap, smashing into the legions waiting behind the wall. Swords soaked in red clashed in a ringing of steel on steel. Amid the noise and carnage, it was im
possible at first for the Atlanteans to notice they were being attacked from the rear flank.

  Valkyrie and her warriors hid high in the branches of the Maraldis Forest. They stretched out in a long line using the dense foliage to camouflage their positions and waited until Zeus breached the wall. In close quarter combat, the enemy archers were nearly useless, retreating to areas where they could attack any soldiers who cleared the main battle. Unfortunately, it also made them easy targets for Valkyrie.

  “Now,” she whispered into her coms. She lifted her bow aimed at a man standing off to one side of the group.

  Choosing their victims carefully, the Izon and Aam-Izon began picking off the Atlanteans one by one. They did not send waves of aeros into their adversaries but staggered their shots so as to hide their location and intent. After a few shots, they moved to another branch and fired again.

  Zorlimus stood on a small hillock near the tree line scanning the melee for any stragglers who broke away from the swirling, seething masses below him. His grin was vicious and predatory as he licked his lips in anticipation. The other ten men nearby were like him. They were the best archers in the Atlantean ranks and as cruel and savage as he was. They did not shoot to kill immediately, preferring to watch their victims thrash and squirm as they struggled to escape. The sound of their agonized wails warmed his blood and brought a stiffness to his loins.

  “There,” he said to the man at his side, pointing to a lone Olympian fighter. “It is your turn.”

  His fellow archer drew back his bow, aiming for the fighter’s thigh. Zorlimus grinned wickedly, waiting for the scream to follow. He was shocked when the aero fell far short of its intended target and turned to curse at his companion. Instead, his mouth fell open at the sight of the feathery shaft protruding from the man’s chest just before he crumpled to the ground. His eyes went wide when he found himself alone, the others on the hill lying in pools of their own blood. His horrified amazement lasted only a moment. The barbed steel tip jutting from his forehead ended any further pleasure or pain.