The Dark Master walked through the debris of the throne room of the king of the Atlanteans. He glanced at the faded crimson walls and the embossed tableau of griffins—lion-like creatures with the heads of birds—interspersed with lilies. Diffused sunlight penetrated the entryway of four large doors, creating a dappled effect on the dirt-encrusted floor. He followed the trail of the speckled light to the one object in the room not damaged from the floods and earthquake that had razed the mighty house. Embedded in the wall was a throne, made from alabaster stone, once white, now a dirty yellow-brown, stained and marred over the millennia.
Kronos sat down. The seat, carved to accommodate a person’s haunches, was a comfortable fit. To his right and left were stone benches that ran along the length of the wall, once a rich and vibrant saffron, now faded and concealed by rubble and detritus. The tsunami and earthquake that had shattered the coastline a thousand years ago had caused the former mighty thalassocracy—once a supreme naval force of the region—to flounder and dissolve. Prior to the land’s destruction, the Atlantean kings had ruled and wielded authority from this very location, safe in the knowledge of their dominion. Until Zeus and his siblings had interfered.
His face darkened.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now was not the occasion to lose control. He was so close to accomplishing his mission and ultimate victory. Kronos stood, rubble and dust particles swirling at his feet, and strutted towards a series of broad steps that led into a pit. Here, he would sacrifice the Atlanteans, one by one, the High Priestess powerless to stop him. The thought of the beautiful mouthpiece of the Mother Goddess titillated him. His breathing came fast, his blood roaring through his veins; his plans for her warmed and aroused him. He would make her bend to his will and cower before him. Kronos moaned and he panted; his rapture reverberated in the room. His knees trembled at the anticipation of coupling with the High Priestess. And when she had borne his spawn, he would send her discarded remains to the Mother Goddess.
Exhilarated by that thought, he materialised onto the central court. Fragments of rocks and painted shards glimmered under the sun. Here, on this great expanse, the irrevocable act of vengeance would take place. The Mother Goddess on her knees to him, the bodies of Zeus and the Olympians strewn in bloody carnage, weeping and broken. That wasn’t all he had intended for her. He would return her children from whence they had come and rejoice at her screams, and then she would feel the suffering he had endured.
‘Oh, the glory of it!’ he said in a booming voice, arms spread out, and he spun in a circle, his scarred face tilted skywards. Birds tittered and fluttered, bursting into flight. His amber eyes glittered, tracking the frightened birds as they scattered in disarray across the blue sky.
‘What will you do if Evandros does not accept your offer?’ asked Eris, descending to the ground.
Kronos whirled, angered at her intrusion and her ludicrous question. ‘He will! No insignificant mortal can resist the power of sovereignty and the gift of immortality.’ His lip curled at the sight of her pet, the monstrous Ekhidna—a dragon with the head and upper body of a woman and the tail of a serpent.
‘Yes, most mortals would, but Evandros is not like any other human,’ she said. ‘He is … unique.’
‘I am confident he will accept my proposition. However, if he chooses not to, he will meet the same fate as his companions and his father.’ Kronos drew his cowl further over his head, casting his face into darkness. ‘Is it done?’
Eris nodded. ‘All is in place. The males are enjoying their sojourn with the Amazons, and the queen is aware of the consequences if the men recover before you accomplish your plans.’
‘Good. Leave and take your … creature with you.’ He sniffed and turned his back on them.
The Dark Master, so engrossed with devising his next task, did not hear the Titaness mutter or see the look of hatred on her face. He needed to waken and coerce the one who protected the location of the final sacred object—the Minotaur. Repulsed, he shuddered, loath to enter the lair and communicate with such an abomination. He had informed the Goddess of Discord that such repugnant beings could not exist in his new world order and that their extinction was nigh. He almost chortled out loud at her pleas for him to reconsider.
The goddess had become a problem, her demands having grown greater, and now he regretted releasing her from Tartaros. At one time, he had contemplated rewarding her with the esteemed role of sacred motherhood, but her affection for the beasts and her meddling ways were repellent. Once he destroyed the Atlanteans, he would cast her out along with the dissolution of the gods and Gaia.
He crossed the length of the court, ignoring the decimation of the upper floors of the palace impacted by the volcanic eruption and the violent implosion felt from the island of Thira and ravaged a century and a half later by the marauding Sea Peoples. The Dark Master veered towards the fringes of the palace, the target an intact building. He stomped inside and ventured into the murky bowels beneath the palace, his cloak blending with the surrounds.
His nose crinkled at the musky and unpleasant scent, and another odour—death. The decay of thousands of victims steeped within the cavernous walls. He moved ahead with sure steps, heading deeper into obscurity, swallowed by the labyrinthine confines.
