Greek Story Telling place

-where story tellers can tell their stories or random people can tell their stories-

well i have a story to share...but it seems tht noones near..so i begin with the fear ..of a life and the ice sword Excalibur
…..Excalibur slid smoothly into the wood, sinking right up to the hilt without resistance. For a long moment nothing happened, and then the Yggdrasill began to moan. The sound was like that of an animal in pain: beginning as a deep grumbling, it quickly rose to a high-pitched whimpering. Where the hilt of the sword protruded from the tree, a blue stain appeared. Like dripping ink, it flowed down the tree and seeped into the ground, the oily blue light ran along the veins and seams of wood. Yggdrasill’s cries grew higher and higher, until they were almost beyond human hearing. The surviving Torc Allta fell to the ground, writhing in pain, clutching at their ears; birdmen whirled in confusion and the cat-people began to hiss and howl in unison.

The blue stain raced around the tree, coating everything in a thin veneer of glittering ice crystals that reflected the light. Blue-black and purple-green rainbows shimmered in the air.

The oily stain shot up the length of the tree and out along the branches, turning everything it touched to faceted crystals. Even the fire was not immune to it. Flames froze, fire caught in ornate and intricate patterns, then spider webbed, like ice on the surface of a pond, and dissolved to sparkling dust. Where the blue stain touched the leaves, they hardened and broke away from the branches. They did not spiral to the ground: they fell and shattered with tiny tinkling sounds, while the branches, now solid piece of ice, ripped away from the trunk of the tree and crashed to the earth. Dee threw himself to one side to avoid being impaled by a three-foot length of frozen branch. Catching hold of Excalibur’s hilt, he dragged the stone blade free of the ancient tree and ran for cover.

The Yggdrasill was dying. Huge slabs of bark sheared off, like icebergs breaking away from an ice cap, and crashed to the ground, littering the beautiful Shadowrealm landscape with shards of razor-sharp ice.

Keeping his distance and watching for falling branches, Dee raced around the tree; he needed to see Hekate.

The Goddess with Three Faces was dying.

Standing quite still before the crumbling Yggdrasill, Hekate was flickering through her three faces-young, mature and old-in heartbeats. The change was happening so fast that her flesh had no time to adapt and she was caught between phases: young eyes in an old faces, a girl’s head on a woman’s body, a woman’s body with a child’s arms. Her ever-changing dress had lost all color and was the same solid black as her skin.

Dee stood beside the Morrigan and they watched in silence. Bastet rejoined them, and together the three observed Hekate and Yggdrasill’s last moments.

The World tree was now almost entirely blue, covered with a sheath of ice. Frozen roots had burst through the ground, destroying the perfect symmetry of the earth, cutting think gouges in the soil. Huge holes had speared in the massive trunk, revealing the circular rooms within, which were warped and stained with the blue ice.

Hekate’s transformation slowed. The changes were taking longer to materialize because now the blue stain was slowly creeping up her body, hardening her skin, turning it to ice crystals.

…..What remained of the Yggdrasill was now a solid block of ice. Hekate too, was completely covered beneath a frozen sheet, though behind the blue crystals, her butter-colored eyes were bright and alive. The top of the tree began to melt, dirty water running down the length of the bark, cutting deep grooves into it.

…..Howling his rage, Dr. John Dee spun around and flung Excalibur at the Yggdrasill. The stone blade struck the ancient World Tree, which tolled with a solemn sound of a great bell. The single note, high-pitched and serene, hung vibrating on the air…and then the Yggdrasill began to crack. Long fractures and tears ran the height of the tree. They started small, but widened as the raced upward in ragged patterns. Within moments the entire tree was covered in the crazed zigzagging.

Then the Yggdrasill shattered and came crashing down on the ice statue of Hekate, crushing it to dust.

No! It wasn’t possible! She was dead! Crushed beneath the frozen limbs of the Yggdrasill. Her Yggdrasill. She tried to be angry, to be furious. She tried to let the fury well up inside her, but every time she tried it was quenched by her surprise, guilt, and the one emotion she never thought she’d feel again: Love.

Ymir.

He stood before her motionless, save for the flickering of his body through its textures. His ice-covered skin shifted and spun: Smooth, rigid, pointy, flat. She wanted to reach out, to feel the cold of his skin streak with warmth at her touch.

Ymir.

Her long dead love. His cold black eyes glistening with the twin-suns light, barely noticeable through the deathly rapid-fire blizzard.

“Ymir.”

Her voice came out smooth, her butter colored eyes welling up with tears.

“Hekate, my diamond, my life, my love,” Ymir spoke for the first time, his voice rocky, yet alluring and beautiful.

Ymir. One of the Titans, the species that dominated Earth before the Elder Race. After the Elders had waged a war against them, and won, Odin, the Chief of the Elders, and his beautiful wife, Juno, had made sure that the Chief Titans were destroyed, mind, body, and spirit. Ymir, somehow, had escaped the destruction of the soul. If only Hekate had known sooner, if only she had known that his spirit still remained…

But unbeknownst to either the Titans or the Elders, she and the Frost Giant had been in love. Hiding their infatuation for each other, from both clans, it was the day they decided to run to the end of the Earth, away from the Great War, that Ymir had been murdered.

No, not murdered. Annihilated.

But now she had found his spirit, his soul, the aether of his being. And now they were united. Even through death, they were together.

“My Love,” the Frost Giant began, “You have been destroyed by ice, by Excalibur, the sword which I created.” He breathed in deeply, savoring the last memories he would have of Hekate.

“Ymir, we are together,” She was beginning to worry, her brows pulled together in confusion, “Why would that matter?” They were in a Shadowrealm, the World of Ghosts. And, probably because of her love for Ymir, she had been pulled to this particularly nasty realm. Her love’s prison.

“Hekate, I have been here for eons, I know every dying secret and every living breath of this place,” Something in his voice made her take a step back, eyebrow raised in suspicion. “My Dear, I can, I must, send you back to the world of the living.

“No! I will not leave you!”

“You have no choice; I cannot bear to watch you rot here in this place.”
“Then come with me!” Hekate pleaded, “I was the most powerful of the Elders! I can tear this Shadowrealm apart piece by piece! I can release you!”

He shook his head, eyes downcast. “No, every immortal human, Elder, Were creature, and Next Generation on the planet, plus the adjoining Shadowrealms, would hunt me down like an animal.” Tears were streaming down Hekate’s jet black face.

“No,” She whispered, her voice barely audible.

Ymir glided in an angelic manner towards her. He slowly pressed his cold, icy lips against hers and…..



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Thump, Thump, Thump.


Hekate’s own heartbeat startled her; she strained to open her eyes in this new, light filled world. She was sitting on a dirt back road in Mill Valley, California. Unbeknownst to her, a large, vine encrusted hedge was slowly reforming itself behind her.

She was Alive.

But without Ymir, she was dead.

Then a thought hit: She had spent millennia, no, eons, in the Underworld Shadowrealm and she had spent her whole life studying the Dark Arts. And now that she knew where Ymir was, and that his soul still existed, she could bring him to life….

Then she stopped. How? If she brought him back in his ice covered body, he would be instantly destroyed by every immortal being on the face of the Earth.

But...

There was another way. It had only been attempted by one other being...ever. And it had almost worked...if the patient hadn't spontaneously burst into flames.

But she would be more careful.

There was an intricate, complicated, and extremely delicate spell that could bring back the dead; but in another's body. What if Ymir's soul could be transferred into the vessel of another being; specifically a human.

But would a humani be able to contain Ymir's power? Yes, it was Ymir's soul, and his mind, just his memories would be gone.

The Goddess with Three Faces shrugged as she stood up: Ymir. Alive. It was worth a shot.


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The nurse checked her clock, 6:06. Another one scuttled up to the sweated woman lying in the hospital bed, her pulse was still.

One of the other nurses handed a beautiful baby boy with dark, cold ices and a slight bluish tinge to his skin, to the female doctor. She lifted the baby into her arms. When he grew older he would be different from the other humani: Stronger, smarter, all-out better. He wouldn’t remember his previous life or his eons of memories, but, worst, and best, of all, he would forget the love he felt for the Goddess with Three Faces.

“Doctor, the parents are both dead” a young nurse said, interrupting her reverie, “What will his name be?”

The Doctor regarded the girl with stunning butter-toned eyes, “We shall name him,” She said, smiling down at the baby, recalling millennia of memories they had shared, “Ymir.”

Where to begin?

Hekate stood on a nondescript back road outside of Mill Valley in California. Her hands were on her hips, her foot slowly tapping. She looked up and down a large, impenetrable hedge in front of her.

Here was the entrance.

The old entrance to her Shadowrealm.

And now that she was alive, her full power restored to her, she could restart what she had created millennia ago.

She took a deep breath, and in one long stride, she stepped through the earthen wall…..

…and into nothingness.

Her Shadowrealm was still there-It probably rebuilt itself as soon as she came back to life.-but the exotic flora and fauna were gone. Everything was just dirt, with patches of grass here and there. But then what was that huge source of energy that was emanating all around her. It was an ancient and arcane source of power. But power none the less.

Then she saw it.

Yggdrasill.

It wasn’t the towering skyscraper of a tree, but, sprouting fifteen feet in front of her, was a tiny, green sprout. And the energy pulsing from it could give power to New York City for a month.

She bent down, her silver dress shooting with color, like oil on water at the movement. Her jet black hands brushed against the little plant. It shivered, like it recognized her touch.

She got down low, so her lips were almost touching the little sprout, and she blew gently. Yggdrasill shivered and twitched again, but this time, as it moved in her breath, it began to grow. Slowly at first, then it began to shoot to life until it was twice the size of her, where it abruptly stopped.

“Soon, my dear Yggdrasill,” She rested her palm against the soft wood as she spoke. She began to hum a sad, yet hopeful, melody. The World Tree began to grow, slowly, again. She turned away from it, and began to focus her magical power on the rest of the Shadowrealm.

Where were her precious servants and protectors? The Torc Allta? Lizard Nathair? Or any of the other myriad mythological beings who lived in her Shadowrealm.

A deep growl began at the back of her throat.

Bastet.

The Morrigan.

Dr. John Dee.

They had been responsible for the destruction of her dear creatures and her home. Her Yggdrasill included.

But beyond that, beyond what could be simply repaired by her power over magic, they had been responsible for her death.

An ugly, poisonous, acid-filled smile stretched across her face. Revenge. The feeling coursed through her like a drug. It made her heart beat rapidly, it made whips and sparks of energy crack off her, hissing and spitting in the air around her. She had a plan. A devious, evil, wretched plan. One that would be put into action, as soon as her home was restored.

The Goddess with Three Faces whirled around, still in her matron form. She looked up at the Shadowrealm’s afternoon sun before striding to the World Tree. She laid her hands on its think trunk, and, in response to her touch, the Yggdrasill began to moan and sing. Green sparks of power sizzled off of it, flowing on and into her black skin.

“Give me your power, and I will share mine with you,” She chanted, her eyes had become flat gold coins, “Together, we will rebuild our Shadowrealm, and together, we will destroy the Dark Elders.

With that, the Yggdrasill shot back to life, towering above the brown earth all around it, and together, the two, through each other’s power, became, once again, invincible.

Yggdrasill was there; towering and powerful, like a natural skyscraper. Its top limbs were intertwined with the clouds. Hekate looked up; the sun was just now rising. It had taken her al the way until midnight to restore Yggdrasill. Then she had rested, and now she was returned to her maiden from. She looked at herself; she guessed she looked about nine years old. She laughed to herself; she would never get over seeing herself so youthful after all the millennia she had lived.

What was wrong with her? Ever since her “rebirth”, you could call it, she had been so…so…what was the word? Emotional. Yes, that was it. She had been so emotional: smiling, laughing, etc. She had never been like this, not since….

She pursed her lips. Since Ymir had been alive. And now, that’s he knew, somewhere, in some form, he was alive, she guessed it made her…happy.

She turned her back on the World Tree, the sudden, jerky, movement sending thrills of color down her silver dress.

She had all day. All day to restore her home.

Hekate raised her arms, when she realized: Where to start? Back to step one, she figured. Before, she had been searching for that source of power, when she found the Yggdrasill, so she was kept busy before actual work needed to be started on the restoration of her Shadowrealm.

But now, now she could focus all of her power, he magic, on awakening her home. And with the energy from Yggdrasill feeding her now, her power was practically unlimited; which was good, considering she needed an unlimited supply of it to restore her world: her home.

And now: Where to start?

She smiled to herself; she knew. Her “guards”, which were practically useless until the moon rose high in the sky and she needed to rest: which was when she was at her most vulnerable, needed to be called back. The large amount of them that were killed in Bastet, the Morrigan, and Dee’s siege had other clan members; others that would gladly join her, knowing that sometime, somewhere, they’re lost ones death could be avenged by their hands.

And the Goddess with Three Faces knew just which guards too call first.

The Torc Allta.

She bent down to the dry dirt and picked up a handful of gravel in her hand. She lifted herself back up, and took the pebbles of earth, and began speaking in an ancient language that sounded like a composition of insects buzzing. When she had finished the chant, she breathed into the dirt, scattering it in the wind.

A low rumbling signified the coming of the Wereboar. The shaking grew stronger and louder, until everything-the trees, grass, and prehistoric plants-were shaking.

Abruptly, the Torc Allta, about thirty of them, burst through the great hedge that stood as the entrance to her Shadowrealm.

The largest of them, a gigantic, muscled, red boar, grunted slowly until it was only inches from the goddess’ face. The two locked eyes for a few seconds, coming to a silent agreement, when the boar slowly knelled on its front legs, its head bristles scrapping the dry earth.

Hekate motioned aimlessly to her left as she spoke, “Go, set up your home with the World Tree,” then he turned to a white boar, one of the few females, and said, “Summon the Lizard Nathair, you know what to do and where to find it.”

With that the Torc Allta bust into action, stampeding around the incredibly ancient elder and assumed positions throughout Yggdrasill and around the tree, save for the young white boar, who quickly scuttled through the twenty foot doors of the World Tree (which opened of their own accord) and ran of the intricate stairwell.

Hekate turned her head back to the west. She breathed deeply, she could already felt he presence of myriad ghosts in her realm, which would serve to frighten off any attackers. But she needed something more, something more powerful.

Then she smiled evilly to herself. She knew just what…

At that moment, a loud conch shell was blown from high in the World Tree.

The sky began to turn to a pale green, the sun hidden by emerald clouds. The Lizard Nathair soared through the sky, their cries, screeches, and screams echoed through the endless reaches of the Shadowrealm. They landed; large raptor clawed gripping tightly, on the topmost branches of the Yggdrasill, heads tilting to the side in curiosity.

Two down, one to go, she thought.

She motioned to a little branch lying on the dirt path she was standing on. It twitched twice, and then flew to her hand. She bent down and drew a light circle around herself. She threw the twig aside, and began to recite an incantation that Yggdrasill itself had taught her.

Screams echoed from the endless beyond. Spirits that were made of wind, but vaguely human faces were visible, began to fly in from all around her; screaming and singing their stories of sorrow and despair.

The Banshee.

The three powerful creatures now owed their allegiance to her. And, no doubt, they would call they’re sister-species to join them. The fauna of her Shadowrealm had returned.

She spread her hands out to her side as she walked back towards the World Tree. Where her hands were pointed, trees, plants, shrubs, bushes, flowers, all kinds of flora sprouted and bust to life. She continued walking this way, concentrating on restoring the plant life to her home, until she reached the Great Hall of the great tree.

Hekate, the Goddess with Three Faces, had restored her Shadowrealm. Her guards and soldiers, along with other creatures from the darkest ages of myth, had returned, bringing some not so familiar species with them. The plant life had returned, bursting into bloom. She had always loved the prehistoric flowers and trees, they reminded of her youth. She glanced up at the sky: it had been reconstructed to look just the way she remembered it from before the time of Danu Talis or that wretched Abraham the Mage.

”Hasn’t changed in ten-thousand years,” she said with a smile, before turning and striding into the Yggdrasill, into her past, her present, and the inevitable futur

The Goddess with Three Faces was aggravated.

She was sitting at her large circular table that was on a raised branch shooting out from the wall. A twisting staircase connected the seemingly-hovering platform to the ground of the Yggdrasill.

The Chief of the Torc Allta, Ultor, was sitting across from her, with four other Wereboar sitting on his side, two to his left, and two to his right. Various other were-creatures sat around the table, each clan had sent an ambassador to the meeting; Hekate had helped restore the Were-clans, and so they still worshipped her, and they all stood waiting for when their tribe would be needed to benefit their goddess. Three of the Lizard Nathair perched themselves atop the white wood railing, eyeing the others with curiosity. The Banshee floated high above them, singing their death-songs. Ghosts shifted in and out of view all around them. They all shifted uncomfortably, save for Hekate, as they heard and felt, but didn’t see, other creatures lurking in corridors and hallways all around them, waiting for the verdict of the counsel.

And the Goddess with Three Faces was aggravated.

It had been six months since the restoration of her Shadowrealm. The Yggdrasill had been restored to its former glory, and her army had been collected from various parts of the world. And now it was time to put that force to work.

But, unfortunately, there was one single missing piece to her plan: Power.

She had all energy, elements, and magical forces at her disposal; except for one.

Although she was still infinitely more powerful (and dangerous) than many of the Dark elders, she still saw defeat on the horizon could she not master what only one other had mastered: The Fifth Element, the element that was even out of the Elder Race’s control. And that force, that power, was Time.

She had heard of it only as being used as an element when Nicholas Flamel had visited her. Unbeknownst to him, everything spoken, or even thought, in her Shadowrealm, she could hear.

That was also when she had heard the plan of Perenelle Flamel.

The Sorceress was always a fighter. Many a time had she urged Nicholas to stop running; to gather every Elder, Immortal Human, and Next generation that stood alongside the humani and wage a war against he Dark Elders. But he had been obsessed with finding the Twins of Legend: Gold and Silver, Sun and Moon. But that was another story altogether.

But as soon as she had heard the plan of Perenelles, a tiny, minute seed had been planted. And then, after her murder by the Dark Elders, that seed had been watered and fed. And now, at her rebirth, had that seed grown and had become something dark and vengeful.

But first, she had to make herself almighty. Even Odin, the Chief of the Gods, couldn’t control the Element of Time. But, unlike him, she knew where to get it. And she would stop at nothing to have power over it.

“My Queen,” the ambassador of the Torc Tiogar clan spoke emotionless, “Gaining control over the Fifth Element is the, er, Grand Architect, if you will, of your plan.”

“I know that, you fool!” Hekate hissed, she hated it when people told her things eh already knew. It was like they were implying that she was somehow inferior. “If I can master it, I will be of infinite power compared to the other Elders.”

The ambassador shook his head, his eyes closed. “No, My Goddess, that’s not what I mean.” Hekate raised an eyebrow in curiosity, what did he mean then? “Time, also controls age.”

She nodded. Now she understood.

The only thing that would ever stand in her way of a fight was her age. How she would change through the day: slowly getting older and older, until midnight, in which time she would “die”, and be reborn in the morning.

And during her sleep, she was at her most vulnerable.

If she could control the Fifth Element, she could control the aging process, and with it, her durability during a fight would be almost limitless.

The other creatures nodded in agreement, understanding what the Weretiger meant.

“Well then,” the leader of the Lizard Nathair said, its lips unmoving, but the sound clearly echoing through the council member’s heads, “There is no argument. Hekate, you know what you must do. There is no question about it.”

Everyone nodded their heads again: no one argued with a Lizard Nathair. They were one of the wisest creatures in the known world. And the rows of overlarge fangs in their mouths helped, too.

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Hekate was going south.

Because the Witch was south.

And she needed the Witch.

The Witch of Endor.

The Goddess with Three Faces needed to control the elusive Fifth Element, an element that only two of the Elder Race could control; and neither of them could completely control it.

Endor could control Time mentally: she could see the winding strands of time, the possible future and, occasionally, the past or present.

The Witch’s power was, of course, limited. The future wouldn’t ever be certain, not while the possibility of a different future existed, which always did. If only that stupid Abraham the Mage was still alive. He could actually see the future, exactly how it was going to unfold. But then she shrugged, she’d rather have the blasted magician dead right now.

Hekate had to shift through myriad Shadowrealm because of her weakness to the artificial metal of iron. All of the Elder race and Next Generation were easily killed by iron. After all, it had been iron that destroyed the Elder Times, and had sunk Danu Talis. Every creature who witnessed that day remembered it the same: The day the World Ended.

She was coming close to Ojai, the home of the Witch of Endor, in southern California. She had just stepped out of an extremely wet Shadowrealm, when she suddenly found herself in front of Dora Witcherly Antiques.

Hekate smiled to herself. The Witch of Endor always liked to blend in with the human, after all, she had been the one, along with her brother, Prometheus, that colonized the early Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon.

The incredibly ancient Elder took a deep breath, and, in one long stride, stepped through the door.

A small bell signaled her entrance. Hekate looked up at it, and it immediately started to rust and in less then three seconds, it had collapse into a pile of dust. And that was when she spotted her.

Sitting on a small stool sat the Witch of Endor. She was resting both her hands on an extendable seeing pole, her long, manicured fingers tapping slowly on it’s handle. She was wearing her typical black glasses, covering the true look of her eyes. Hekate smiled evilly, what lay behind those glasses was the reason she had come.

“So, what I have seen was true,” The Witch said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

“And what is it you have seen, Endor?”

She waved her hand dismissively, “I saw many things. In some stands of time I saw Ymir kill you; overcome with hunger for your soul. In another I saw you refuse to leave him, and you got into a fight, and you killed him, destroying the Shadowrealm and the neighboring worlds too. And yet, in others I saw you let Ymir free, but you were forever trapped there.” She sighed bringing her palm back onto the pole. “And only a few months ago had I seen the future that had come to pass.”

“Then you know why I come?” Hekate said, raising an eyebrow in suspicion, and what may have been curiosity.

“I do not know why you have come, Hekate, but I do know of your plans, your plans to mass an army and to topple the Dark El-.”

“You know nothing, Witch!” Hekate roared. How dare she! She was an old Elder, but surely she had grown dull in her years. Why else would she dare to speak to Hekate that way?

“Hekate…” Endor warned, tying to calm her.

The Goddess with Three Faces looked outside the tinted glass windows that lined the front wall of the building. The sun would set in a matter of hours, and she could already feel the age upon her face. The Witch of Endor would not hesitate to remove her from her home. And, no doubt, the Witch would go into hiding, somewhere where even the legendary tracker Selene, a renowned Elder huntress, wouldn’t be able to find her.

“I’m sorry Endor, it was not my place to raise my voice to you,” She said, her voice calm and sympathetic, before turning black and old again. “But I need something only you have. And I will not leave here without it.”

Before the Witch had time to react, Hekate was in front of her, pressing her right thumb against her forehead. Endor collapsed into her jet black arms, unconscious.

“Shh, shh, shhhh,” She whispered into prophetic Elder’s ear, “Sleep now. Just Sleep.”


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Hekate’s face was turned in concentration. Was it worth it? The sacrifice necessary just to gain revenge against the Dark Elders? She didn’t want to dwell on that question too long, in case she changed her mind.

The Witch of Endor lay on the ground, “sleeping”. Bending down beside her limp body, Hekate kissed her closed eyes, whispering an ancient incantation. She laid one of her hands against the right side of Endor’s face, and another hand on the same side of her own face.

With a rasping gasp, the Witch woke suddenly. Hekate, using all her strength to hold the struggling Elder down, continued reciting the spell without interruption.

And then, in unison, the two screamed a shrill and high-pitched yell of pain that was far beyond human hearing. And then, at once, every piece of glass within a mile radius, shattered.


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Hekate was in Yggdrasill, pacing in circles around a giant pool of crystal water filled with giant lilies and koi fish. A crystal clear waterfall poured out of an invisible opening in the tree and poured into the pond.

It had worked.

The Witch had been horrified at what Hekate had done. But, of course, she would not appose her. Especially now that she had a power that even the legendary Witch of Endor wasn’t immune to.

Time.

The Goddess with Three Faces could now see the curling strands of time, and had mastered the Fifth Element mentally. But she had to pay a hefty price: The Witch of Endor could see everything Hekate saw.

She turned her head to look down at her reflection in the pool. The left side of her face looked now different, save for a certain type of smugness and power that eminated from her expression.

It was the left side of her face that had changed for the first time since to beginning of the Elder Age.

Her golden iris had changed color: It had transformed into a brilliant silver. She blinked twice, not believing what she saw. This wasn’t her eye.

It was the Witch of Endor’s eye.

It had been necessary to trade eyes, even against Endor’s will, as the first step in mastering the Fifth Element. And now, she could see the curling strands of time.

A tear slid down her jet black cheek, and, for the first time since she had devised the plan, he began to wonder if it really was worth it.

The she swallowed back her regret and sadness, and strode into the deep corridors of the Yggdrasill, just as the moon slid into its topmost position in the black, midnight sky.

Thoughts began to swirl inside the immortal beings head. Thoughts that she had no control over. Thoughts that she didn’t want to confront.

Was it worth it? She had been forced to give up her own eyeball, and steal the Witch of Endor’s to replace it, just to see through time: the first step of two in mastering the all-powerful and elusive fifth element.

Was it worth it going through all this trouble to mass an army to destroy the Dark Elders whom she knew could only be stopped by killing them all, which would only cause to offend the other related Elders?

She had come to a conclusion: The war against the Dark Elders would not take place. It would end only in vain, and she knew it.

But, her revenge was imminent. Inevitable. So, she decided, she would focus every last inch on her power on destroying those who had destroyed her.

Those who had killed her.

She blinked, once, twice, when she realized that she was looking down on the huge crystal blue pool that was located in the Grand Hall to the Yggdrasill. She looked up from the still waters and watched the Torc Allta clear off a massive wooden table on an elevated branch.

They wee so calm; so serene. Did they not know? Were they unaware of the ancient Elder coming to the Shadowrealm to confront her?

Chronos.

She had sent him a very persuasive letter (by Lizard Nathair of course) inviting him to indulge in the grandeur and splendor of her home.

He had no idea that she had been murdered. No idea that the only reason she was inviting him to her home was to steal his power. To kill him.

Chronos, a vile and easily loathed Elder, had the unique power of being able to dip through time. There were, of course, certain rules that applied to time travel. Like how it was impossible to travel into the future, because once you entered the future, it became the present, and then you were back to where you started. Hekate shrugged: She had no urge to actually visit the future. It was way too complicated.

You could, although, travel back in time, although you could not change the past. You could however, take someone or something from the past and bring them to the present, and depositing them back at the exact moment you transported them. Doing so would cause no tear in reality and the future would not change.

There was an electric noise echoing from one of the many chambers above Hekate, and the goddess immediately felt the rise in pressure in the air by the waves of energy emitting from the powerful Elder whom had now entered her domain.

Another perk of time travel, was the ability to stop time. It wasn’t an actual freezing of time, but more of a slower version of it. It would be like moving so fast, that the rest of the world looked like it wasn’t moving at all. This ability, in a battle, would make your enemy fight an invisible attacker. And it also helped in speedy transportation.

And at that moment, while the Goddess with Three Faces was trapped in deep thought, the Elder of Time stepped out of one of the myriad rooms in the World Tree, and, for the first time in eons, rested his gaze upon the solid black figure standing before a pool of crystalline water.

Hekate glanced up at him, not forgetting to feint surprise at his entrance. Chronos, like many of the Elders, were vain.

She was particularly surprised by how he looked. He had a gray-white beard, although the rest of him was entirely youthful. His storm cloud eyes sparkled with arcane knowledge. His snow white wings flapped carelessly behind him where they sprouted from his back. He wore a loosely fitting tan cloth around his waste, but other than that, his body was bare. His body was a light tan and smooth, unlike the wrinkles that you would expect from someone who represented age. He carried a long scythe that shimmered with new sharpness. A black raven perched on his shoulder, tilting its head in curiosity at the all-mighty goddess below it. And she noticed a pitched black hour glass symbol tattooed over the spot where is heart was.

The tall, elegant Elder glided on his soft, albino wings and landed silently on the ground. He looked at Hekate with his stone gray eyes and then bowed deeply.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet the legendary Hekate,” Chronos said, genuine awe in his voice.

The Goddess with Three Faces didn’t speak, but kept her eyes glued to the swirling pond, following the giant koi’s movements.’

The Elder of Time sighed deeply. He closed the distance between them in one long stride, ending up standing right behind her. He began to breathe along the back of her neck, making her hair stand on end. “See, this isn’t so bad, is it?” He lifted his tan hand and…..

…..Hekate whirled around and grabbed his wrist with her jet black hand. “Don’t…Touch…Me.” She said slowly, emphasizing each word.

Chronos smiled. “Hekate, how could you ever forget what we once shared?”

The incredibly ancient Elder looked away. She may have, just one tiny little moment millions of years ago, pretended to love him. It was just all in a desperate attempt to bring Ymir back to life. But, unfortunately, Chronos had not been at the legendary Battle of the Red Moon, the final battle that ended the Great War. And you cannot revisit a time you have not been too.

“We shared nothing.” She spat. She wanted, needed, to turn away and rebuke him from her Shadowrealm, but she needed his power. And these things had to be handled with care and delicacy.

He spoke calmly, “But, my Love…”

“Go to Hell, Chronos,” Hekate said, whirling around and latching her suddenly clawed hand at his throat. She lifted him up above the earthen ground, a low, rumbling snarl echoing from the back of her throat.

He rolled his eyes, unaffected by her threats. “I’m not afraid.”

“You should be afraid,” She growled, “You should be terrified.”

His serene eyes suddenly filled with horror. Hekate grinned menacingly. He knew hwat he had just realized. And it gave her pleasure.

“Hekate…” He began.

“No, Chronos. No more.”

And in the moments before his desperate plee, the Elder of Time realized that he would die.


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And that was when the battle for his life began.

When his throat was enclosed in Hekate’s tight grasp, he flapped his feathery wings, twirling and gusting up dust and sand into her eyes. She released her grip, wiping the dirt from her face.

He rose to the air, high above her reach.

When the Goddess had recovered, she lifted her hands and let loose a gush of fire towards him. The fiery tornado burst all around him, singing his wings.

Chronos hurtled to the ground, crashing hard. He stood up slowly. He would have to fight her in hand-to-hand combat.

But there was one fatal flaw.

He had failed to realize that Hekate had absorbed the Witch of Endor’s powers. So as soon as he punched, lunged, or kicked, she would see the hit coming, and block or dodge it. Then she would react by hitting harder and more powerful than the blow before it. Chronos wouldn’t see the hit coming, and he had discovered that there was no fighting this almighty, all-powerful goddess. Her power was immense. It even rivaled, if not eclipsed, Odin’s power. There was no battling her. There was no winning this fight. And, deep in his gut, he knew there was no escape.

“Oh Chronos, don’t worry,” Hekate said, a devilish happiness rippling through her voice. “Everything is going according to plan.”

The Elder of Time decided to use the last option he had. He whipped out every last drop of energy he had to warp back in time. He closed his eyes in concentration, and when he opened his eyes…..

…..He was still there. He hadn’t moved. He attempted to use his time powers, warping, traveling, soaring, anything. But nothing would work.

And then he understood.

Yggdrasill.

It absorbed energy. His energy. The Goddess with Three Faces had planned this perfectly. She had stalled him long enough to render his rare ability useless.

Hekate smiled a jagged, twisted smile as she slowly pulled out a black marble dagger from behind her back.

“I’m not sorry,” She whispered as she plunged the knife deep into his heart…..


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She lifted the crystal goblet into the view of the artificial sun of her Shadowrealm, the light sending crimson diamonds sparkling all around her.

Hekate ignored the sliced, bloody body laying behind her in the pool of clear blue water, it’s wings stained with the blood of his heart.

“I’m not sorry” she repeated quietly, as she lifted the goblet to her lips, drinking the thick, ruby liquid. It had a sweet, metallic taste.

As she drank, a collage of rainbow colors exploded around her, pulsing in brightness.

She continued to drink the ugly blood as she slowly mastered the Fifth Element of Time.

And became the most powerful Elder in existence.
The pale figure looked out across the flashing crimson waves. The sky was a pitch black, just like the volcanic sand that she stood on. The moon was a deathly white, and the tropical trees, bushes, and flowers not far behind her created an impenetrable, sable wall of darkness.

No stars dotted the sky. No shells dotted the shore. No animals lurked in the bloody waves.

Because this was her punishment.

Her own little slice of Hell.

As the demonic witch watched the moon stay in the exact same place it had since she had been imprisoned here, she let out a blood-curdling scream and slowly endured her endless torture.


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Hekate was running, tearing her long multi-colored fingernails through the air, attempting to rip a hole in the very fabric of reality.

Why hadn’t she been there?

She shook her head, coming to a stop. She opened her eyes and took in the dense, frozen wasteland that was known to the humani as Antarctica.

This was where the portal was. She was positive.

The Goddess with Three Faces needed her allies. She knew many Elders who held grudges against Bastet, the Morrigan, and Dr. John Dee. So many who wouldn’t hesitate in assisting in their destruction. But she knew of only one goddess (more like demon) who would stop at nothing to see her sister dead.

There had been four of them. The Morrigan, the Macha, and the Badb are the ones mythology is familiar with. But there was another.

Rangda.

A demonic witch who loathed her half-sisters. But, unfortunately, she had been imprisoned in a Shadowrealm that myriad Elders had created specifically for her containment. The Elder Race feared Rangda. She was extremely powerful for a Next Generation. So they created a Shadowrealm and forced her into it. And they put the portal to it in the most remote places of the humani age.

Antarctica.

Hidden deep within the Gamburtsev Mountain Range. Which hadn’t even existed before the Elders created it to contain the entrance to Rangda’s Shadowrealm. According to the humani, it wasn’t even supposed to be there. Which, Hekate guessed, was true.

She shook her head again and looked down almost twelve-thousand feet below her, down at the shifting, churning ice sheet that was based at the bottom of the mountain range.

And that’s when she smelled it.

A gentle breeze wafted around her and caressed her dress, sending waves of neon color shooting across the silver fabric. She was in her maiden form, despite the high position of the full moon. It didn’t matter what time it was; she could control time, and, with it, age.

Rose.

It was undeniable. The royal fragrance was lifting the air around it into joyous song, whispering and murmuring around the goddess. But that aroma was special: it was the auric scent if Rangda. She had a bloody red aura, streaked with black veins and lines. It was the Rose Aura. And Rangda was just like a rose. Alluring with her beauty, and when she brings you in close, she’ll choke you with her deathly sharp thorns.

The Thorn.

That was what the Elders had called her. And her title served her well, describing her perfectly to the very last bit.

In Indonesia, the remote chain of islands where she was worshipped, they had depicted her as an hideous, dragon-like woman. But she was far from ugly. But the legends about her devouring young babies and pregnant women: Hekate had no idea if they were true, although she suspected they were.

She followed the rich fragrance until she stopped at a strange site before her. A red diamond. A Blood diamond. And it was the gateway to the prison Shadowrealm. Hekate laid her hands on the shining jewel and focused her aura. Neon green tendrils of mist curled down her arm as the scent of lime mixed with the smell of rose. The diamond reflected the emerald light and the world suddenly started to fold in on itself. The laws of reality refocused and disoriented as the Goddess with Three Faces lowered the impenetrable wall that encased Rangda’s prison.

And then the world melted away, and everything turned black.


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Rangda’s screaming ceased as she felt the change in atmosphere. She felt more…free. Like the border that encamped the very limits of her prison had been ripped down and she was free to go free. But it was impossible. Like her mother, Echidna, she had been feared by even the Dark Elders. Rangda and the Crow triad had the same father, Set, but had different mothers. While they were the triplet daughters of the violet war goddess Aeron, she was the daughter of what the Elder Race called a “monster”. But Echidna had been so much more. She had been a visionary…..

A sudden rustling in the dense foliage behind her startled her reverie. Someone was here. There was no other explanation. There were no animals, insects, or birds here. There was no wind. And considering she hadn’t even gone into the tropical jungle, there was no reason the leaves would even be “settling”.

No. She was not alone. And the person, the being, with her, was incredibly powerful. A level of power never seen among the Elders since Danu Talis, when the original twins sat atop the Pyramid of the Sun. But that had been long before Rangda had been born. But her mother had told her stories. And she was sure that this creature’s power was infinite. And it was there to either save her, or kill her.

It took Hekate only a few seconds to realize what she had first thought was black emptiness was really a deep tropical forest. She had slowly, blindly, guided herself through the foliage when she saw specks of red through the palm trees. It was the legendary Ocean of Crimson that encircled the island.

Hekate heard the minute gasp that escaped Rangda’s lips as she withdrew herself from the trees and laid her midnight black feet on the cold similar colored sand. The powerful Elder noted the endless sea of red that stretched forever and on behind The Thorn, and she had no doubt in her mind of what the ocean was made out of. This place would only be a paradise to one species alone: The blood-drinking Vampires. They could not resist the metallic smell of the ocean. The ocean of blood.

“Impossible,” Rangda whispered to herself, barely believing what she saw, red lines streaking through her hair.

Hekate sized her up with silver and gold eyes. She knew that the witch was beautiful, but she had no idea just how gorgeous the Next Generation was.

She had snow white skin, like her father, and cold red eyes. She wore a tight piece of black cloth that wound around her upper torso, and a short sable skirt at her waist. She had curved, long; black fingernails that looked like someone had attacked them with a Sharpie. And then there was the red.

All the Elders knew about Rangda’s strange appearance. Whenever she felt extreme emotion, her dress would turn blood red, and her hair would turn the same deadly shade. Her eyes though would shift from red to black. This was the reason that she had been given the title the Two-Faced one. Although only her appearance changed, and not her physical or mental status, like Hekate once had.

“Rangda, I am in need of your abilities,” She said, emotionless. “Am I correct when I say that you still hold a grudge against your sisters for telling the Elders how to imprison you?”

“That and more,” The Thorn hissed, a slight Jamaican accent. Hekate knew she didn’t mean any disrespect at the tone of the comment, but she could not control the bitter hatred for her half-sisters flood her voice.

“The Badb and the Macha are dead,” She said flatly, “Murdered by the Morrigan.”

Rangda took an automatic step back, shock plastered across her face. Again, red veins shooting through her hair and clothes.

“But the Crow Goddess is yours for the kill, if you want her.”

“Yes,” She snarled, “I will not let her die without her blood being on my hands.”

“Good.” Hekate walked beside her and bent low, drawing a wide circle in the sand around them. The circle began to glow bitter red, shooting up waves of energy along the shallow lines. “We must gather our allies.”

Rangda raised a thin black eyebrow. “Who?”

“Your Uncle, my brother,” The goddess said as the light formed a dome around them and they were second’s away from phasing back into the world of the living.

“Shiva, the Destroyer.”

The two strange acquaintances looked out through the tinted, black windows of the limousine. Hekate motioned for the driver to press on. He wasn’t disturbed by the powerful Elders sitting in the back seats because the chauffer was in no way human.

“It’s been so long,” Rangda whispered in shock at the bustling metropolis around her. “So much has changed.”

Hekate nodded, “The humani are slowly destroying themselves. But, in their defense, they have come a long way for being such a young, primitive race.”

“The last time I saw the world of the humans was when the Indus Valley was just flourishing into it’s golden age.”

The sleek, black vehicle came to a stop next to a cracked and ancient sidewalk. The incredibly ancient Elder and the once-imprisoned Next Generation stepped out of the car and stood motionless on the walkway.

There was no one around to see their shockingly unique characteristics. Nothing moved around them. Everything was still, silent.

Hekate took a step into the large, creviced, empty parking lot. Ahead of her was a huge, empty, warehouse-looking building. There were multiple floors, many of which had caved in from destruction.

“Why would Shiva wish to come here? To this dying city?” The Thorn asked bitterly.

“ Los Angeles is chaotic. There is no system. This city thrives on destruction and discord. So does Shiva.” The Goddess with Three Faces answered as she quickly, yet silently, across the wide parking lot towards the large, falling apart building.

She stepped up to what looked like a splintered, old door. Rangda raised an eyebrow in a silent question beside her. Hekate smiled and held her hand up to the door. Shards of rainbow collected at her palm, and then, suddenly, a tie-dye bolt of energy shot at the door, ripping it off its hinges.

She bent down and picked it up, pointing to the thick side of it. There was an eight inch steel panel running along the outer edge of the door which they both knew that the door was made the exact same way.

“Paranoia much?” Rangda muttered as she stepped inside.

Hekate dropped the steel door and walked in as well. She looked around, her lips drawn into a tight, thin line. The building had obviously been devastated by a fire…..decades ago. The inside was scorched black, the floor splintered and charred. The ceiling was collapsing, and wide hole exposed the upper level in some places.

“Wha-…What happened?” Rangda stuttered, unsure of what was going on.

The goddess strode around the shocked Next Generation and walked up to a long, nondescript wall. She put her hands in specific spots, and pushed. Two wide circles appeared where she pushed. She spun them one way, and then the next until a deniable “click” echoed through the room.

The wall split in two, revealing another gray wall behind it, engraved with a giant lotus flower. The goddess spoke something in an inconceivable language that sounded like insect buzzing, and the flower’s petals began to turn until they too clicked into position, and the petal pulled away, revealing a strange scene behind them.

A dark room lay forth in front of them. There was a small square for them to sit on, but after that spread a dark pond of shining water, black square stepping stones a few feet from each other. They led up to a bigger pedestal that was made like a pyramid, flat on the top where someone sat.

Something.

Shiva, the Destroyer.

Millennia ago he had destroyed myriad civilization. But, despite his destructive powers, he was righteous and only decimated the wicked. He had destroyed Pompeii for their drunkenness, Sodom and Gomorra for their just plain evil, and he had even destroyed Ancient Egypt after they had been brutal to their slaves.

He was clothed in black jeans with a tight black shirt, exposing his lean, sinewy, muscled body. He had albino pale skin that looked grayish with the green tint in it. He had startling green eyes, with thick eyelashes that made him more attractive than feminine. This beautiful being was Shiva the Destroyer.

Hekate put her hand to Rangda’s torso, applying minimal pressure, but she knew she could produce thousand times that power. The goddess began to walk across the pond on the wobbly stepping squares. Shiva’s back was to her, his face hidden. His dark, short hair shined from the eerie glow that reflected from the pond of water. Lilies floated through the water, translucent humanoid creatures swam through he dark waters, flashing their sharp, pointed teeth.

Rangda decided to stay where she was.

The Goddess with Three Faces leaned her thin lips against his ear. She spoke rapid-fire, and then straightened her spine. Shiva turned his head slightly, so that Rangda could see his profile, and his mouth opened, but no words came out. He stood up quickly, and turned to the stepping stone, but instead, he just walked across the water, immune to gravity trying to pull him under.

The Destroyer passed the demon witch with little more than a tilt of his head to acknowledge his presence.

“It is time for you to go,” He said, politely banishing them from his home.

“Bastet lives, Shiva,” Hekate said sharply, still on the other side of the pond.

He stopped suddenly, shock plastered across his face. He couldn’t resist releasing a snarl from the back of his throat. “Bastet.”

“She is yours, if you join me,” Hekate knew about the rivalry between the two powerful Elders.

Eons ago Bastet had gone to Shiva’s mother, the Earth Mother Gaea, and had requested to be given the knowledge to destroy the powerful Elders that stood in the Dark Elder’s conquest. She had refused, so Bastet had attacked her. Gaea, being one of the most powerful Elders, cast the Cat Goddess into a fiery Shadowrealm. Years later, when Bastet had escaped, she had tried to kill the Earth Mother, and would’ve succeeded, if Shiva had not ultimately destroyed her. At least he had thought he had destroyed her, only now had he finally learned the truth that his arch-enemy lived.

“Bastet, is mine,” He said calmly. He was the righteous one. And he was a righteous fighter too. He would not indulge in torture like Rangda would to her sister. But she needed a powerful thinking Elder on her side. Shiva looked at Hekate, his bright eyes full of anxiety. “The battle had begun.”

“The battle has begun, and will end in the Dark Elders bloodshed.” Rangda said happily.

Shiva nodded, and with that, the two almighty Elders, and the powerful Next Generation, walked out into the dark night, embracing their blood-stained destiny.

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(ignore the usage of present names an all tht ,Disclaimer i dont own the characters and its shows tht gods an goddess can be kill but only by something made by one of them)