The Last Ballad of Olympus: The Waltz of the Vulture and Owl

Abandoned Hope

Free at last from the darkness that dared to swallow her. The light was upon her, but the longed peace was not at hand—

Fire, falling debris, and winds that brought forth a storm surge that would pillage the whole land—all were present, making their power known as they ploddingly grasped Hellas by its neck.

Athena grew weary. Yet, despite the dread that bound her, she pushed through her minor barrier and carried on with the desire to stop the god of war. She had to do it no matter how much of Apollo's voice was ringing her not to—she had to satisfy her heart's yearning for the Olympian equilibrium. No greed should reign over the serendipity that the mortals found solace with.

Nonetheless, with Athena's progress, fate was not in great spirits to give her an easy struggle. Stones were tailing on her, trees seemed to like the chase and fell left and right, and the flames that sprouted from the ground were trying to burn every inch of her skin. By this state, the goddess immediately thought of a tactic she could do to avoid being defaced out of existence.

She would never bend to the will of someone who sojourned to their selfishness.

Stones were large and never backed down from those on their way. In its wake were bloodied and creased cadavers to an unrecognizable state. Trees that were tall and dead blocked every pathway—a burden to those who had hoped for an escape. And there goes the crimson and burning lava that carpeted all, either living or dead, in anguish. The whole scenario was seething—the definition of apocalypse brought to life.

It was like a sport between life and death. With every brisk step Athena took, the louder she could hear the cries of the people who pleaded salvation.

Her eyes bitterly closed, controlling her despondency while focusing on reaching Olympus. "I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry." She regretfully repeated.

Divine strength pursued every vein in her body, pushing limits as she dodged every obstacle the chaos gave. But not for long, as she slowed down when a sudden pain panged in her heart, Athena finally tasted the rage of stones—hitting her like mobs that wished her death.

Blood instantly spewed out from her wounds. Ivory skin was now ornated with scarlet and visible cuts, slowing her more in achieving her mission.

"I cannot stop now!" Athena protested, cursing on her knees as she tried to conceal the crippling agony.

Yet more stones were harassing her as the earth strongly quivered. She could feel the heat and her progressing weakness. She was failing. Athena became lethargic as she knew not how or why suddenly she became like this.

The world around her slowed down. Her vision doubled as her heartbeat rose out of its rhythm. Sweat drowsed her whole body, making every feature visible for everyone to see. The goddess then breathed heavily when the sickness crawled up to her brain. Athena was subdued and could not even react to the whole ordeal.

All for glory, she had to endure the gore. Athena struggled on her feet as she pulled herself back. Burns may have blistered her soles, but the goddess prevailed in altering her doom. Being meek had no place at this time of the day, especially when the end of times was only an arm's reach.

She ran—

She walked—

She sometimes paused to gaze at the dying and dreary scene of Hellas. It was just like her nightmare. Everything had come true.

Every rolling boulder was shortly swerved; every crack the earth produced was immediately evaded. Now, the rain had come and danced with the flames, bringing the gift of sulfuric smoke that pestered in the air. Every sweep of the wind was poisonous—every little step was one step away from death. But Athena pursued more. No matter how slow as a snail she had become, she had to stop Ares.

Once she closed into Olympus, \ a thunder—loud and strong—suddenly clapped at the divine abode, causing ravaging flames that even someone from a far distant place could see. Her pulse was beating hard as she sensed something was wrong. She could even hear the winds hinting at some kind of distress from the palace.

"No—" She whispered with a heavy heart.

Witnessing such a spectacle, Athena did not waste any more time and hurried to Olympus.

Near it was she, but body and soul forbade the hurtle.

***

There were no lights.

No flames were kindling on the torches.

The whole palace seemed quiet—too quiet for the feast and expected chaos that she thought was happening.

Slowly and acutely observing the grand foyer, no hints of trouble were displayed as every vase and every sculpture remained in the same position.

However, as she opened the large door that leads to another hall, the smell of blood reeked through, causing her to be lightheaded and vomit against her will.

"Goodness!" Athena wailed as she almost spewed out her guts. "Wha—what is that?" She pondered as her anxiety grew.

As she went on, the goddess was met with the first death, with a dead and bloodied satyr sprawled about on the floor. Athena reacted, tearing up as she carefully caressed the face of the poor victim. After brushing away the strands of hair from his face, wide eyes darted towards her, passing on the horror he had witnessed before dying.

Athena covered her mouth, trying to subdue more of her violent response.

Once done inspecting the corpse, Athena continued trailing the large hallway. And there goes, by the next hallway, more bodies dispersed all over the floor—brutally killed by some perpetrators who had murder on their minds.

"Ares." Athena thought.

Of course, he could be behind the brutal ends of these poor beings. He was the only candidate who could heartlessly murder innocent men and women. Yet other names dawned on her—Eris and Enyo—remembering what Artemis said during the grand feast announcement that these two were plotting something.

No longer heeding her aches, Athena bolted to the great hall where the ballroom was, and lo and behold—

Death had ravaged the whole pantheon.

There were no signs of the gods. Not a soul roaming on the grounds. But as she further checked the area, there were unknown glittering dust, pieces of jewelry, and clothes—stained with fresh blood—lying on the ground.

Her hands were shaking when she touched and felt the unknown particle. Silver orbs became saucer-like from disbelief as her brain battled between suspicion and coherence.

"What is wrong with me?" She wondered, feeling something she could not wittingly answer.

It was like a sensation that her soul or a part of it was leaving her body. Athena weakened—bending down and burying her face in the blood and glittering dust that ornated the ballroom. Her mind turned fuzzy—blurring the lines between reality and a dream. Her vision was slowly betraying her as well. The goddess of wisdom was losing herself from the surge of shock or something else.

Her lovely nose now dripped blood, and so did her eyes, now painted in a faint red that signaled great depression. Athena was in pain—in total surrender to the force that suddenly drained all of her strength.

The bravest and wisest goddess of Olympus was now on the floor amongst the obscure ornaments of sorrow, torment, and demise.