Aegian Galaxy, 2.5 million light-years from Earth
The river that connects most planets of this galaxy was created by Poseidon long ago. His divine power allowed the water to remain liquid in outer space, but also served as the faster-than-light propulsion system for any spaceship navigating it.
Poseidon may be dead now, but the last ember of power provided by his brother Hades still sustains the river. It did nothing to improve its efficiency, though: when compared to the travel speeds used in the Olympian Galaxy, it is painfully slow.
This is particularly frustrating for Noriko Null, who is pacing back and forth in the room reserved for her and Gilgamesh on board the ship that left New Atlantis… one of the few rooms suitable for airbreathers.
<This is bad. By the time we reach Halia, Medusa and Skorpios will be long gone.> she complains.
<Couldn’t you ask Torn to create a portal?> Gilgamesh asks.
<He can only reach places he’s already been to, or which have a soul he’s already familiar with. I should’ve asked Kestral to deploy entanglement field boosters, it would’ve allowed the Portal Generator to give me complete access to his galaxy.> she complains.
Gilgamesh watches his girlfriend being frustrated by the lack of action, and tries to fill the void.
<You know this “Skorpios?”>
<I met her several times. The last time was shortly before we freed you from Heaven; that’s when she reached Atlantis. I wasn’t even aware she was still in this Galaxy.>
<You still haven’t told me why you are so worried about her meeting Medusa.>
<Because Skorpios is a fanatic. She has an overwhelming hatred for all gods and wants them all dead. Ulysses and Roxiana were both able to manipulate her for their own means, but now that she’s gone rogue, I fear there’s nothing holding back.>
<I’ve never heard you being so worried about a mortal who wasn’t your doppelganger. Is this Skorpios that dangerous?>
<She has the Manifold: a Drylon device giving her almost complete control over space. Athena considered the Manifold more dangerous than my Nexus, and after seeing Skorpios in battle… both against the Vanguard and against common enemies… she might have been right. Especially considering Skorpios was taught Soul Control by Ulysses, meaning most soul and mental attacks won’t work on her, and that’s on top of several cybernetic implants I’ve never been able to properly identify. The best-case scenario would be her and Medusa taking each other out, but with my luck they’re probably already best friends.>
<That is… concerning indeed. But I get the feeling that’s not really what upsets you, right?> Gilgamesh asks, placing a hand on her shoulder. She pushes it away.
<Medusa made me look like a fool! I’ve taken down Primordial Gods, being outmatched by a two-bit monster is inexcusable! I won’t be outsmarted by someone with more snakes on her head than brain cells inside it!> she snaps, angrily walking towards the door.
<Where are you going?> Gilgamesh asks.
<To the engine room, to see if I can upgrade it to go faster.> she answers, activating the survival field emitted by her belt.
<But the whole ship is filled with water!>
<I know how to swim.> she replies, opening the door; water rushes inside, rapidly flooding.
Gilgamesh is left behind, with his demigod nature making breathing redundant.
<Was it something I said?> he wonders.
In another cabin
Someone else who is not troubled by being underwater is Vesta, and not because she doesn’t need to breathe. It’s also because her body is still made of stone, even if she’s able to move.
<Does it hurt?> the merman Kestral asks her.
<I don’t feel any different.> Vesta answers, placing her hand over her chest and waiting a few seconds before adding:
<I can feel my heart beating. It’s almost like it’s constantly cracking and fixing itself.>
<Probably because it is. Even as stone, your body is still too powerful to be immobilized.>
<Are you sure there’s nothing you can do about it?>
<It seems Medusa’s new transmutation powers are far more formidable than my own. Gods are difficult to transmute anyway, since you can all shapeshift.> Kestral points out.
<Actually, I… never learned how to do it.> Vesta admits, nervously playing with a lock of her hair. Or at least attempting to, since her hair is now an unmovable mass of stone.
<Seriously? I thought all gods could do it!>
<Not all of us. It comes natural to some, but it’s a skill we can learn. I’ve only ever been able to alter some small things… the color and length of my hair and nails, the color of my eyes and skin… that’s about it. I’ve never transformed my whole body into anything.>
<Forgive me if this is too personal, but… you mean that the body you had when we first met… that’s the body you were born with?>
<Well, no. I was born as fire. Literally, my whole body was fire. I only developed a body of flesh and blood to interact with mortals; they couldn’t even get close to my original form and survive.>
<So you can shapeshift!>
<In theory. I’ve had this body for half my life: I haven’t changed much for 500,000 years!>
<You just have to recreate it then.>
<It’s not that easy! That was just my first human body… my first one was based on the Lar, before humans evolved. The first time I transitioned from fire to matter, it was a gradual thing; it took me at least a couple of centuries. And I haven’t tried again for… I don’t know, 900,000 years or so?>
<You’ve had the power to turn into anything for that long, and you’ve never once thought to use it a second time!?> Kestral exclaims.
<Why would I need to be anything else?> Vesta asks, indignantly placing her hands over her hips.
Her clothes, not designed to fit a moving statue, reveal her forms slightly more than usual: even a merman has to acknowledge her supernatural beauty.
<I see your point…> Kestral admits.
Halia, 47,000 light-years from New Atlantis
This underwater kingdom used to be the capital of its whole sector, before Noriko helped to unify the Galaxy under the Atlantean Confederacy.
While its inhabitants lived beneath the ocean the surface was not exactly devoid of life.
Communication arrays and spaceports were built on land, spawning communities of workers and traders: even without entering the ocean, it was clear at a glance this was a thriving world with over two billion living beings calling it home.
Now, it’s a dead world. Medusa is able to walk on the surface of the ocean that has been completely transmuted into stone by her power. The silence is almost overwhelming: even the waves have been frozen in place. The wind seems to be the only thing to have retained its original form.
<Did I really do this?> Medusa marvels, as snakes on her head hiss while turning towards Skorpios walking next to her.
<An impressive feat. But I wouldn’t stand here if I were you: the ground isn’t as stable as it looks. I can feel the vibrations coming from beneath us.> Skorpios advises.
<What are you talking about?>
<Stone weighs more than water; you just added several continents worth of mass. The ocean floor is about to collapse.>
<I had no idea this would happen. I just wanted to punish Rhodos and her worshippers.> Medusa says, now realizing the true magnitude of her actions.
<And you did. Her cult won’t harm anyone ever again.> Skorpios reassures her.
<Her Oracles, maybe, but there have to be innocent mortals down there. I should turn everyone back into…>
<Medusa. Does your power turn people and things into actual stone? Not a special kind?>
<That is what I’ve been told.>
<And you know what happens to stone when it’s crushed by several continents worth of mass? If a petrified goddess didn’t survive atmospheric re-entry, there are no surviving mortals down there.>
<No… that’s not possible! That’s not what I…>
<You want me to check?> Skorpios asks, gesturing towards the ocean of stone; a colossal slab starts to rise, the biggest thing Medusa has ever seen up close, and it’s still a long way from reaching the level that used to be inhabited.
The already unstable planet doesn’t like that, and an earthquake starts to create large cracks into the stone surface.
<Stop! I believe you. I should have been more careful; it’s only the gods and their enablers that I despise. Have nothing against mortals. As long as they’re not trying to cut my head off.>
<How old are you, Medusa?> Skorpios asks, throwing the city-sized slab into a newly created portal. She approaches the goddess attempting to put her arm over her shoulders, but she steps back when the hair snakes attempt to bite her.
<Around twelve thousand, I think. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to count it.>
<Pretty young for a goddess. I remember hearing you were not immortal.>
<I can die. That doesn’t mean that I can grow old. What’s your point?>
<Twelve thousand years, and you still haven’t learned that nobody is innocent if they are not fighting for the cause?> Skorpios asks.
<What cause?>
<The only one worth fighting for: ending divine rule once and for all. It has caused nothing but pain and suffering for millions of years. Even for a goddess like yourself.>
<Yes, on that we can agree. But Null has accomplished that for Olympus, hasn’t she?>
<Null made steps in the right direction, yes. I’ve even helped her a couple of times. But she didn’t go far enough, allowing gods to work for her and keeping their private domains: Olympus has simply traded Zeus for a new goddess.>
<But Null is a mortal.>
<So? You are proof that a goddess is still one if she can die. Null is the proof that a goddess can also grow old. That doesn’t make her any less dangerous.>
<I suppose you are right. But I believe Null is no tyrant: she shares our hatred of divine rule, she is just… misguided. She will see reason, if shown proof of what she can achieve.>
<How long have you known Null?> Skorpios wonders, raising an eyebrow.
<We spoke twice. Why?>
<You are unbearably naïve, Medusa. Null believes that being the smartest being in the universe gives her all the answers. You haven’t seen her lose battles as many times as I have.>
<Is that why you brought me here, Skorpios? To insult my intelligence?>
<I brought you here to test your resolve. I have been betrayed by allies before. Even by the man who made me what I am today. If you killed gods only to get rid of the competition, like Athena did, I could’ve stranded you on this planet and thrown it into the nearest star.> Skorpios says.
<And I could have turned you into stone the second you started threatening me.> Medusa replies.
There is a moment of silence between the mortal and the reluctant goddess.
<Does that power of yours work on any god?> Skorpios asks.
<Supposedly. Does that Manifold of yours give you access to any planet?> Medusa asks back.
<Without fail.>
<I want to keep mortal casualties to a minimum. Despite what you think of me, I’m not naïve enough to think there will be none… but if we kill indiscriminately, we will be no better than them.>
<Agreed. But I’m the one choosing the targets: you’ve been gone for a long time, while I have access to most of the old intelligence gathered by Ulysses.>
<That makes sense. On one condition: we are not attacking the Olympian Galaxy.>
<You are beyond hope.> Skorpios slowly shakes her head.
<Null will eventually see the light and help us, I’m sure of it! But that won’t happen if we attack gods that she’s been tricked into defending.>
<Fine, for the moment. But if Null and her soldiers attack us, I will not be pulling my punches.>
<Then… we have a deal?> Medusa asks, hesitantly extending her hand.
<We do. Never thought I would ever trust a goddess.> Skorpios says, shaking her hand and teleporting both away from this dead world.