Hephaestus -3-
"Hmph, hah! You think I'd be scared just because you say that?"
Hephaestus wasn't the type of god to settle things with fists, no matter how furious or unhinged he got. Basically an introvert, he blew off steam by crafting things rather than swinging violence at others. If anything, he figured it was more constructive to set traps that left his enemies in a bind—and then savor the show.
That's how he'd gotten revenge on Ares, the rotten little brother banging his (supposedly) beloved wife Aphrodite.
"One last question: you're really going through with this duel?"
"Y-Yeah! Th-This time, I'll teach you some manners!"
"……"
Heracles asked with murderous intent. Even as an Olympian lord, Hephaestus could tell from the voice alone that something was off. Anyone could see at a glance that this brother-in-law meant to smash his skull with a hammer.
Their raw strength might be comparable, but their combat skills? Worlds apart. Heracles had a track record of pulverizing monsters, humans, and even the walls of Troy hand-built by Poseidon and Apollo himself. Zeus had handpicked him as the champion for the war against the Gigantomachia giants—beings savage enough to threaten Olympus itself. What more needed saying?
"Very well. Let's begin."
……
"You'll pay dearly for insulting my wives."
"Wh-When did I ever do that? I just opposed your marriage!"
Insulting Gaia? Ridiculous. How could messing with a newbie god possibly count as disrespecting the goddess Gaia?
Hephaestus jumped in protest, but everyone present—every last one—saw it as him insulting Gaia. He lacked that basic common sense, though. His marriage to Aphrodite had been at Zeus's command, and he'd never really lived as a husband afterward, leaving him clueless about ceremonies or customs.
Hera had to regret raising him so poorly.
"Brother, how can you not see that opposing my marriage besmirched the names and honor of Lady Gaia, Lady Adamantia, and Lady Echidna?"
"You're you! ……Lady Gaia is Lady Gaia, isn't she? The wedding isn't even over—why drag her into it?"
That was Hephaestus's entire understanding of marriage. Husband is husband, wife is wife. Aphrodite had borne Eros with Ares—and countless kids with Ares alone, never any with Hephaestus. He'd teased her a few times at first, then ignored it entirely, burying himself in his work.
That was the cold reality of Hephaestus's married life.
Hera couldn't even look up anymore.
"……"
"Having such a stellar view on marriage is one thing, but Hera—are you really not going to stop this?"
"……He's committed too grave a sin to intervene. He defiled a marriage, so even as my legitimate son, I can't overlook it."
"What a shame. If I'd taken a liking to Adamantia, I could've just confessed within those three years—but who knows what this fool was thinking."
"……"
"Chin up. How is this your fault? Even younger siblings discipline their elders sometimes."
Gaia consoled Hera, but how could she lift her head? Worse, Gaia's subtle phrasing—"younger sibling disciplining the elder"—made it a foregone conclusion that Hephaestus was about to get thoroughly hammered by Heracles.
Hera, goddess of marriage and family, couldn't side with her fool of a son who'd so absurdly ruined a proper wedding. If anything, he deserved far worse than a beating from Heracles.
But Adamantia stepped in to add:
"Don't worry, Hera. He's my apprentice, so I won't hold a grudge over this."
"……Thank you, Lady Adamantia."
"But your son will have to own his words. The duel and all."
"Of course. I'm not so shameless as to deny that much."
With the wedding in ruins, the dynamic shifted back to normal between Hera—who'd been honored as witness and officiant—and the brides. They were all thousands of years her senior, Protogenoi primordial goddesses to boot. Deference came naturally from Hera's lips.
Watching that only darkened Hephaestus's face further. Even his own mother couldn't extend a saving hand.
As his expression plummeted, Echidna approached.
"Hey, Hephaestus."
"E-Echidna……"
"……Echidna, huh? Doesn't matter—the duel rules are ours to set. Got a problem?"
"……"
"We got insulted, so as an uninvited guest—even an Olympian lord—you've got no say."
"……Understood."
Echidna's eerie emerald serpent eyes—the same ones that had rattled Heracles—bore down, and even the mighty Hephaestus couldn't muster a refusal. He meekly acquiesced.
The rules turned out simpler than expected: first to land a hit wins. Strong blow, graze, or even a light tap—first contact takes it.
Plus, Gaia would step in to halt the duel upon victory.
Oh? Looks doable.
It did seem that way. Lame and ugly or not, if Hephaestus could tag Heracles first, he'd win. Victory meant delaying the marriage until after the Gigantomachia—and while not a full cancellation, that suited Hephaestus just fine. No wedding spectacle to witness, at least.
Even better, his mother Hera would officiate. Biased judging? Possible.
But that was his gravest miscalculation.
"Contestants, to your positions."
……
Three gods took their places in the wide clearing near the forge. Hera stationed herself at the center, sending Hephaestus and Heracles to opposite ends.
Convinced Hera would back him, Hephaestus taunted:
"You know Mother hates your guts, right? How about calling off the wedding before you get ugly?"
"……"
Heracles didn't reply. This god before him wasn't just a brother-in-law—he was the wedding-crashing enemy, an intruder.
The Heracles in his head was already primed for battle alongside the real one. The second Hera signaled, they'd smash Hephaestus's skull without mercy. Immortal god or not, he wouldn't die.
Begin!
"Huh?"
CRACK—
The instant Hera gave the signal, Heracles's massive frame blurred before Hephaestus's eyes—a phenomenal speed burst. This two-meter-plus muscle mountain was charging at insane velocity, even to another lord god's sight. Fleet-footed indeed.
And the lame Hephaestus? No chance to react.
No biased calls, no nothing—his skull let out a sound no divine body should make. Skin tearing, bone cracking in gruesome symphony, Hephaestus crumpled.
As an immortal god, he wouldn't die or suffer irrecoverable wounds. But the agony of a shattered cranium and fractured skull? He felt every excruciating bit.
"Gwaaaaaah?!"
"……Winner: Heracles."
Her son lay there skull-cracked and bleeding, yet Hera flatly declared the victor, gazing pityingly at her firstborn. She couldn't muster maternal anguish, couldn't ache for him.
No one knew better than her long-lived eldest what a mother protected—and his crime was that horrific, that immense.
"M-Mother… h-help… blood, the blooooood…"
"Don't call me Mother today. Go find Apollo or Asclepius on your own."
"Huh?"
His skull split open—what kind of response was this? Victim-turned-perpetrator of a broken marriage (unlike his parents' mess with Zeus), Hephaestus gaped dumbly at his mother's words, blood pouring freely. A wretched, pitiful sight.
But no one there pitied his pain or his state.