The Thirteenth Trial: Adamantia, The Unconquerable Woman
Adamantia—the goddess whose name means "the woman who cannot be conquered." She's one of Gaia's own children, born from the earth goddess herself, and the deity of Etna, that is, Mount Etna, as well as the goddess of blacksmithing. In terms of age, she comes right after the Protogenoi, as Gaia's firstborn daughter. Since Gaia birthed her without a father, Adamantia could be called a Protogenoi herself.
Ever since she forged the adamant scythe that sliced off Uranus's manhood in the First Age, she's been the only one on earth who knows how to work adamant, the steel made from Gaia's bones. She has bad blood with my father, Zeus. In this world, it wasn't the Cyclopes who made Astrape—it was Adamantia, crafting the lightning bolt as a gift for Gaia. But Zeus coveted it. While she was away visiting her sister Thalassa (the feminine form of Pontus), he stole Astrape and used it to win the Titanomachy.
Furious, she's secluded herself in Mount Etna for thousands of years since. Even after Typhon showed up, she hasn't let her siblings visit, just silently hammering away at the forge, working metal nonstop for millennia... That's the knowledge about Adamantia that the Heracles in my head (working title) fed me.
"...Hah hah hah, this is fucked."
I couldn't help but curse. If that info was right, she was a real pain-in-the-ass blacksmith with a nasty temper. She'd kicked out the Cyclopes after one try, Hephaestus couldn't even dream of smelting adamant and got chased off, and after the rumors spread, no apprentices at all—just her solo with Typhon's fire.
And Gaia's trial for me? "Enter Adamantia's forge and work until she acknowledges you. I'll put in a word beforehand, so she won't boot you right away. Whether it takes years, get her approval. That'll settle Ladon's life debt, and I'll reward you handsomely. I swear on Gaia's name and the River Styx."
...Well, okay. At least she was offering a reward, better than the other trials. Ignoring the fact that a mere mortal Heracles—who wasn't even a god yet—had zero shot against a woman who'd rejected Cyclopes and barred Hephaestus from the forge, it felt more like a commission than a trial. Made it easier to swallow.
But... there was that tiny issue: she was so ugly even Zeus wouldn't touch her.
"A goddess that powerful, and Zeus... didn't go for her? How butt-ugly is she? Can't even picture it."
As a Korean soul, I clicked my tongue imagining some blond pretty boy with a man-bun. In Greek myths overflowing with hotties and super-hotties, getting stuck doing menial labor for years, decades, indefinitely with some mystery hag goddess? Yeah, that was a trial. A goddamn nightmare one.
"Wait, hold up—no, I'm Heracles now, right?"
But as I stewed on it, a bolt of realization hit. Word was, this year marked exactly six thousand years since she'd holed up in Etna—and since Uranus lost the throne, per Gaia's explanation. In all that time, the only "apprentices" in her forge were the Cyclopes (briefly) and Hephaestus after he crash-landed on Sicily. No other men.
And here I was, Heracles. Body packed with muscle, oozing masculinity, perfectly tanned bronze skin, the hero of heroes called Greece's top hunk. A Greek god who'd never smelled real man-stink? She'd lose her mind for this stud, no doubt... or so I thought.
"Heracles!!!!! How many times do I have to tell you brute strength isn't everything!!!!! You'll put out the fire like that!!! If the fire dies, we'll lose all this precious ore!!!!!"
"Aigoo, sorry!!!! Adamantia-nim!!!!!"
"Sorry my ass—relax your damn muscles!!!! Do it again and trial or no trial from Gaia, I'll toss you to Thalassa!!!!"
"Yes, yes, right away!!!"
It had been months since Gaia sent me to the island of Sicily. Today, like always, I was getting reamed by Goddess Adamantia.
My body was still Heracles', but neither my Korean past life self nor the original had ever done forge work, so it was all the same—we just powered through the abuse with sheer grit. In the sweltering smithy where sweat poured off us in salty rivers after minutes, all you heard was Adamantia's scolding, the rhythmic clang-clang of hammers on metal, and Typhon's occasional grumbles as he dead-eyed the furnace, spewing fire and curses.
"Fuck, sis!!!!! How long do I gotta keep this bullshit up!!! I need to smash Zeus and take Olympus already! How many years has this crap been going on?!"
"Shut it, you little shit. You're the one who ditched Echidna and eyed Hera, so Zeus turned the tables and stomped you flat. And you got mouth?"
"That was... just exercising my rights as the victor! Zeus brought his buddies like a coward!!!"
"Ugh, sure, you dumb fuck. Yeah, he brought that human hero Cadmus and Hermes. Got your ass handed to you by three-on-one, real impressive, asshole. Spit fire right or you're dead."
"...Yes, ma'am."
Typhon grumbled at Adamantia tapping his mouth with her hammer to make him blow properly, but he caved quick when she laid into him harshly. Rare sight—proof they were real siblings.
And then, "What're you staring at?"
"Oh, uh, I've never seen you without the eyepatch, Adamantia-nim. How do you smith with that on?"
"Goddamn it, that again??? I told you already. Nothing more to explain."
Ever since I got here—no, since she opened the forge—she'd always hidden half her face with a big black mask-like eyepatch. How could she navigate the smithy blind? Yet she'd done it for millennia. When I asked, her answer was gold.
"What else? I'm Gaia's daughter, dipshit."
I scratched my head at first, but she smirked and explained. Long story, short version: She's the eldest of Gaia's self-birthed Ourea (mountains), and the firstborn of the Neooi (islands) in the sea. This island of Sicily and Mount Etna are her. So whether sleeping, eyes covered, whatever—as long as it's inside her domain, she sees and hears everything crystal clear.
Protogenoi perks, huh? I was impressed, and she seemed oddly pleased—her face lit up. Lunch and snacks that day were the best ever; she was definitely in a good mood.
"Oi, daydreaming? I just said don't let the fire die—look, see????"
"Wha—oh shit, almost fucked it. Thanks!"
"Thanks? Get back to work!!!"
Thinking about that saved me from another screw-up. She always threatened to kick me out, but kept bailing me out—so my trial had... sunrise in sight... Nah, who am I kidding. None.
I was already helping with the bellows, but months of staring at fire, learning to "read" its states like some weirdo. Fire's fire, right? Nope. Plus, chopping and feeding wood was on me, maintaining the blaze too. Let it die even a second? Starvation. Thought she was bluffing, tried it—starved two days straight.
Tried overpowering her like with Apollo or river gods? Got yeeted. Typhon's snake heads laughing: "Ya retard, how you gonna beat sis? She beats me lololol dumbass god lmao."
Ancient history now. What bugged my head was something else.
"...Her lower face doesn't match the 'hag' description."
"Whassat?"
Typhon overheard my mutter mid-blast and parroted dumbly.
Yeah. Big problem. Adamantia's lower face wasn't hag material at all.
Upper face could be meh while lower wrecked it, sure. But pretty lower face with weird upper? Rare, per the Heracles in my head—who'd vouch on Zeus's blood after sampling countless beauties.
"I'll see her real face before I bust outta here!!!!"
"What the hell you babbling!!! Watch the fire!!!!"
"Yes, yes, sorry, Goddess-nim!!!!"
Finally, I had a goal.