Gigantomachia -4- -Zeus's Tale-
The clamor of Adamantia rampaging wildly, mingled with the pitiful screams of the Gigantes shrieking under the sweeping strokes of her massive scythe, had filled the battlefield for quite some time. At last, the report(?) arrived: Adamantia had indeed turned Eurymedon into a eunuch. Overcome by the agony of having it sliced clean off, Eurymedon lapsed into a prolonged coma. When their king ended up in such a grotesque and pitiable state, the Gigantes conveyed their willingness to surrender. Thus, the Gigantomachia—the war that would finally sever Zeus's fateful enmity with Gaia and crown him the true king of the gods—had come to an end.
"......"
Yet Zeus's face showed no relief. If anything, he radiated displeasure.
His grand scheme to annihilate every last Gigante at the war's close lay in ruins, for one thing. For another, rather than Zeus—the true master of the world as king of the gods—Adamantia, Gaia's eldest daughter and the root of all this chaos, had become the hero of the hour. And third, the runner-up in contributions was none other than Heracles, now the god of strength, heroes, and blacksmithing.
Even in victory, the cheers for Zeus rang hollow.
As Zeus brooded with a furrowed brow, Hera approached. She too was drenched in blood from the brutal fighting.
"Why the long face again? We won—aren't you happy?"
"We won the war, yet no one's praising me."
"You're sulking over that? You won—what more do you want?"
"What more? When a king wins a war, the praise should go to him, shouldn't it?"
Zeus felt deeply hurt that even his beloved wife couldn't sympathize with his utterly reasonable gripe. He had brought Heracles into the world and scraped through this grueling war—yet the accolades for him were so meager. Something was profoundly wrong, but Hera stared at him like he'd lost his mind over nothing.
"The war's over, Zeus."
"I know. That's why I'm pissed."
"Looks like I need to switch tactics. What exactly is eating at you?"
Hera sounded weary now.
"......First off, Adamantia's stealing the spotlight."
"She basically won the war for us."
"And Heracles is getting way too much attention."
"He was one of the stars of the battlefield."
"And too damn many Gigantes survived."
"Oh, Zeus!" Hera muttered, at her wits' end.
This battle had been a razor-thin victory. One slip, and they'd have lost for good. Countless Gigantes had fled in terror from Adamantia, yet their numbers still dwarfed Olympus and its heroes by dozens to one. They'd nearly breached the palace itself. Pulling off a win without their comatose lord was a miracle.
But greedy Zeus knew no such thing as enough.
Zeus ignored her.
"I know what you're getting at. I'm no idiot."
"Son of Cronus—if you're not a complete fool—what the hell are you thinking?"
"It's obvious. Let those Gigantes slink home alive, and we'll have a second, third Gigantomachia on our hands. We needed to cull them here, as many as possible."
"Fair point, but we barely scraped by today—and only with Achaea's top hero and a Protogenoi lending a hand. Can't you see the state I'm in?"
Hera's words cut deep. Zeus faltered for a moment, then mustered his patience and replied evenly.
"That's true enough. But so's what I said, isn't it?"
"......You're right too, but... we have to call it here today."
"I know. But where the survivors went matters. Did you see?"
"......West."
"West?!"
The battlefield was utter chaos, making it hard to track the retreat. Thousands strong, their procession was visible enough—but gawking at it amid the onslaught would've been suicide. Only Hera, Olympus's queen and co-ruler, could afford a glance.
Zeus's face darkened further at her words.
"West means straight to their mother, Gaia. To the island of Sicily."
"Likely. They've got nothing left but her mercy now."
"Worst-case scenario. They'll regroup in no time."
"Isn't the fix right here?"
"Urgh."
Zeus groaned deeply at Hera's offhand remark, as if she hadn't a care in the world.
Her point was simple: Woo Adamantia—Sicily incarnate—to Zeus's side. The preeminent Orea and Neooi, she answered to no one, not even Gaia. Her mother cherished and respected her as eldest daughter precisely for that. If Adamantia backed Zeus, she could rein in the Gigantes even on Sicily with Gaia.
Zeus hated the idea, naturally.
"But that means we'd owe her—and Heracles—big time."
"Don't overcomplicate it, Zeus. Just bring Adamantia and Heracles to Olympus."
"You serious? You're the one who hated him most."
"I washed that grudge away ages ago. No big deal."
She meant it. Her heart had melted toward this "adopted son." He cherished his wife truly, took three without relegating any to concubine or broodmare status—instead treating them as equals: friends, siblings, partners in marriage. His view of men and women as true peers was intoxicating, irresistible to Hera. She banished old pains like nursing woes, grateful for the god who honored her station.
Yet Zeus grew only more uneasy.
"I'm worried. That you'd welcome Heracles so readily."
"Didn't you once tell me to give him a shot?"
Hera reined in her patience against the fickle king of gods.
But suspicion clung to Zeus like a shadow.
"He's my son."
"True. He even took my name."
"And he'd become your adopted son. An Olympian god."
"I'd accept that."
"Then he'd outrank all my other kids."
"And it'd ease my heart to have my son on top."
"That's what scares me."
"......"
The king of gods spoke gravely, solemnly—his voice trembling faintly.
Zeus never forgot. The day he ousted Cronus, betrayed Gaia, and hurled her children back into Tartarus—her curse burned in his memory.
"Zeus, like your father before you, so shall you meet the same fate at your own child's hand."
For King Zeus, no doom could be worse. He'd clawed his way to world dominion. As king, he'd wed beautiful Hera; as king, all revered him. He craved no fall from that perch—least of all by his own offspring. The thought alone horrified.
"Afraid Heracles ascending to godhood fulfills Lady Gaia's prophecy?"
"......Who knows?"
Zeus was gruff. Admitting it stuck in his throat.
Hera smiled, soothing him.
"All the more reason to keep him close, son of Cronus. Bind your foes tight to stunt their growth—you've thrived that way so far."
"True. But Heracles... bad vibes. Too tight with Gaia."
"Perfect, then. Prime chance to watch her."
"......"
Zeus mulled it over. Hera had a point. Heracles on Olympus's throne alongside Adamantia meant by Zeus's side—like his other divine spawn, under watchful eyes, curbed from overreaching. A window into Gaia's plots, too.
Still, it chafed. Too many loose ends gnawed at him.
"You'll really adopt him? Make him your son?"
"Of course. Hatred for Heracles? Long gone."
"...See you at the feast, then."
The new king's heart sat like thorns. A mighty Protogenoi and hero-god son at his flank? Terrifying prospect.
But his beloved wife's counsel—he swallowed the dread and assented.
Who was right? The victory banquet would tell.
"Whether Heracles truly merits main-god status."
Before Zeus now loomed the war's thorniest task: divvying the spoils.