Ascension of the Fallen

The Primordial of the Pit

The Primordial of the Pit

Ascension of the Fallen: Chapter 27

Perseus, the fallen god, stood before the Protegenos of the Pit, Tartarus himself. And yet, he wasn't afraid, really.

He was the god of darkness, time, and mountains, who had faced down threat after threat, time and time again. The Primordial of the Pit was just another obstacle to him.

"Thalassa," he called out. The water primordial turned her head, tilting it in question.

He smirked, "Would you finish off Typhon, and check on the demigod camps? I would like to test myself against ol' Tarty-boy here."

You didn't insult a primordial and not expect to get smited. That is, if you were a simple god or mortal. For Perseus, it was just another Tuesday.

He'd fought Ouranos before.

And lost, he reminded himself. But it was different now. He was stronger now, with the power boost that Chronos had given him. He was confident in his ability to defeat the Primordial of the Pit.

"I tolerated you in my domain, Perseus," Tartarus rumbled, "I allowed you to survive in my domain, the Pit, when you were exiled from Olympus. But it seems that you have grown even more insolent than before."

"Come on Tar-Tar, we were buddies before!" he grinned, unperturbed, even as a dark malevolence began building up around the Protogenos of the Pit.

Thalassa giggled, seemingly amused at this turn of events.

"Very well then, Perseus."

She turned, and, in a flash of water, rocketed towards the shoreline, towards the lying Typhon that seemed to be just getting up.

"You will die, for that, godling," Tartarus rumbled. His large hand clutched his sword again; it was a massive broadsword, pitch black, glowing with malevolence and power. The waves that rolled off from him would flatten any other god. There was an intrinsic, true spite, and bitterness, and hatred in it.

"I've heard those words before... many, many times."

Zoferós appeared in his hand, glowing and humming, almost as if it had felt the touch of its owner. The gold lines that stretched down the sword drank in his power, relishing it.

The god of darkness did not mind. His blade would need to be powered to defeat that monstrosity, that behemoth of a sword.

"From my rivals, that is. Each time, they perished. The story of my rivals has always been one of strangeness..."

He walked forward, dragging Zoferós behind him. The tip of his symbol of power flamed, releasing small, miniature arcs of gold as it dragged along the ground, menacingly.

His eyes glowed golden with power, wisps of darkness trailing from the edges of his retinas.

Tartarus seemed to stand taller. He closed his eyes, and, when he opened them, there were six eyes on his face instead of two. His form was changing, rippling before his very eyes.

Good. The Protogenos of the Pit was taking this seriously.

Perseus smirked, bringing out his off hand, and raising an index finger. He crooked his index finger towards him, tauntingly. For all intents and purposes, the ego and pride of primordials and protogenoi could always be counted upon.

Tartarus did not rise to his taunt. Or rather, he did, but not verbally.

He burst across the sea with immense speed, the mere force causing the sea to split apart.