Beyond The Impossible

Olympus, 28,000 light-years from Earth

This sector is constantly bombarded by the light and radiation from the thousands of stars that orbit near the supermassive black hole that is the real center of the Galaxy. Located as near the center as possible is a very particular celestial object: a white dwarf star, the size of a regular planet but with an immensely higher mass.

While that doesn’t make it unique, the fact that it’s inhabited is unusual… as is the fact that it’s supposed to be the seat of government of the entire Galaxy.

The name Olympus technically refers to the whole star, but the only feature of any importance is the complex of palaces built out of Neutral Matter. Its stunning beaty is not for mortal eyes.

Even if a mortal did manage to survive the crushing gravity, the hellish temperatures or the deadly radiation, his or her retinas would be annihilated in an instant by the sheer brightness of everything.

It’s only because everything is made of indestructible Neutral Matter than the palaces are not in complete disrepair: with Hephaestus gone, nobody else is supplying robots capable of running the place. On a regular day, Olympus is actually completely empty.

Today is not a regular day. In fact, it might be the most important day in the last twenty thousand years on Olympus.

The importance is not lost on Athena, who materializes out of the portal that leads directly to the capital world of the Athenian Federation, but even if she’s wearing her full armor this is just a regular commute to work for her.

Not so much for the much younger goddess Tyche, who stumbles on her feet and falls flat on her face as soon as gravity catches up with her.

<Please tell me nobody saw that.> she mumbles; she’s just a Class-4 goddess after all, and in divine terms she’s still basically a teenager. Considering how Athena doesn’t seem to mind being on the surface of a star, it’s a sharp reminder of how vastly more powerful the older gods are.

<If you’re worried about your dignity, you are far from the most embarrassing guest.> Athena comments, rolling her eyes at the sight of Dionysus throwing up on the entrance door.

<Don’t remind me. He’s my husband, you know.>

<You sure can pick them.> Athena snarks, not bothering hiding her disdain for the god of debauchery as he waves one hand to greet her while using the other to scratch his backside.

Two other goddesses appear in the palace: one accompanied by a flurry of rose petals, the other one by a cloud of radioactive decay.

<So it’s already a s#itshow around here. Well that didn’t take very f##king long!> Persephone exclaims looking at Dionysus, taking a step back from the mess he created to bump against Aphrodite’s bare breasts.

<Hey, c## dumpster, do you mind pointing those things somewhere else!?>

<What are you doing here, sweetie? Didn’t you renounce your position to the Council of Twelve?> the goddess of sex asks, not even registering that she’s been insulted.

<I was wondering the same thing. Seems to me nobody got the memo of what happened in the last, I don’t know, five years or something.> is the comment from Hermes, a god that nobody seemed to expect seeing here… save perhaps Athena.

<Father? What are you doing here!?> Tyche asks.

<Never a good sign when the goddess of destiny has no clue about what’s happening. But at least the gravity seems to have taken care of Anubis’ necrobots, so… see you around!> Hermes says: with the nanites inside his body no longer active he now has his divine powers back, and nothing should stop him from being on the other side of the universe in the blink of an eye… except once he disappears, he’s teleported back in a nanosecond.

<Ah! Verily, ‘tis a rare sight to witness my half-brother speechless!!!> Herakles loudly laughs, as he walks into the room followed by his wife Hebe.

More gods appear in rapid succession, each one looking at each other in utter confusion.

<So… is there a reason why we’re all here?> Eros wonders; with so many people around he’s not even attempting to take a solid form, manifesting as pink energy in a vague humanoid shape.

Lilith, who most of the gods still know as Eris, caresses the snake lounging on her shoulders.

<A better question would be: why was she allowed back?> she asks, pointing her finger at the person feeling the most out of place in this group.

<I’m… I’m back on Olympus?> Vesta asks herself: just a moment ago she was on Aquilia, and now she finds herself on the home that banished her over two thousand years earlier.

The gods chat between themselves, but they stop when they hear a word loud enough to shake the entire building.

<Silence.> is the single word pronounced by Enyo. There’s no time to question how she’s back among them: their supreme ruler has arrived.

<Thanks, honey. So everyone, are we doing this or what?> Zeus asks, standing before them.

Everyone looks at him in amazement: it’s been ages since they have seen him.

<What are you all staring at? I didn’t forget to put on pants again, didn’t I?>

Council Of The Twelve Gods

This room used to be the true center of the Olympian Galaxy, and technically it still is: all decisions by the Council are the supreme law of the realm. But the Twelve have gathered less and less over the years, and most of the typical roster is now dead.

Vesta is old enough to remember when both Poseidon and Ares used to have seats, before leaving to rule their own galaxies. So far they have been the only members to voluntarily relinquish a seat: Vesta was forced by her exile, and both Persephone and Hermes are still formally members despite having completely abandoned their own sectors for years.

Noriko Null is directly responsible for the death of nearly half of the Twelve Gods: Demeter, Hephaestus, Artemis, Apollo and Ares are missing because of her.

Zeus is now sitting on his throne, positioned at the center of a semicircle of thrones and slightly elevated above everybody else’s. Hera, sitting to his left, is the only goddess who has already taken her seat: the rest are awkwardly gathered in front of them, unsure of the current situation of the entire institution. For Vesta, it’s more than a little weird to be in close proximity of so many relatives who would want nothing more than kill her if they could.

She recognizes a few more familiar faces in the crowd. It’s impossible to miss her aunt Themis: even if the goddess of divine law has reduced her titanic height to a more manageable twenty feet, she still towers above everybody else. Considering she has no eyes, it’s hard to read her expression.

Harmonia, daughter of Ares and de facto leader of his former sector, leaning against a wall keeping her arms crossed and with her eyes shifting from one god to another.

The most baffling presence is the god with a fish tail instead of legs, floating inside a bubble of water defying gravity. It takes her a while to recognize Triton, Poseidon’s oldest son: she hasn’t seen him if over a hundred thousand years.

<Well, that should be everybody right? I wanted Helen to be present for this, but I don’t think a demigoddess would survive around here.> Zeus says.

<Don’t worry, grandfather, she’s being taken care of.> Harmonia states with an ominous tone.

<Alright, we better move things along, I don’t think we’ve ever had so many family members in the same room without a war breaking out!> Hermes points out.

<Fine by me. I’ve gathered you all here because I’ve come up with a couple new rules. Yo, Themis, do you mind doing your thing?> Zeus asks, snapping his fingers a few times.

The giant blind goddess conjures up a scroll in her hands and reads out loud:

<In the year 14,077 of the Age of Olympus, Lord Zeus Almighty, Most Awesome Son Of Kronos, issues a complete pardon on the crimes against divinity of his beloved daughters Enyo and Eris, the latter of which shall henceforth be named Lilith, and of his dear sister Hestia, who shall henceforth be named Vesta.>

<I… I can’t believe this. He pardoned me!?> Vesta exclaims.

<I can’t believe he pardoned Enyo! She tried to kill mom!> Hebe gasps.

<I can’t believe he knows how to spell “henceforth”.> Athena deadpans.

<I’m not done: “It is also decreed by Lord Zeus that the following gods shall be elevated to the Council Of Twelve Gods: Enyo, Hebe, Harmonia, Eros, Tyche and Herakles.”> Themis adds.

<You dragged us all the way here for this s#it? This could’ve been a f#king call!> Persphone protests loudly.

Unlike most of his family, Hermes keeps his thoughts to himself:

“Hera should be fuming about Herakles getting a seat on the Council, but she’s smiling. Did she put Zeus up to this? What’s going on?”

<There’s one last decree. “The position of Divine Observers is also established. Persephone shall act as observer for the Stygian Galaxy, Triton as observer for the Aegian Galaxy, Lilith as observer for the Egyptian and Sumerian galaxies, and Vesta as observer for the realms of mortals. Observers can participate in all discussions of the Council of Twelve, but shall have no voting rights.”>

<Actually, auntie, that was only the last of the decrees that I wrote down. There’s one last thing that I have to do on my own.> Zeus clarifies.

<Father, I must object. The Council has not voted on these decrees, and therefore cannot have legal standing.> Hermes interrupts.

<Actually…> Athena intervenes, taking pleasure to contradict one of her rivals <…in his position of King Of Olympus, the sovereign has the prerogative to issue divine pardons and select ambassadors. And in case of lack of quorum in the Twelve Gods, he has the prerogative to select new members… all of which require no vote of confidence.>

<And I guess it’s a coincidence that the Council doesn’t have a quorum mostly because your protégé killed most of its members, right?> Harmonia asks.

<I resent the implication.> Athena shrugs.

<Pay no attention to the children, my love. This is your moment.> Hera encourages Zeus.

<Right. I Zeus, son of Kronos the son of Gaea, God of Lightning, Thunder, Skies, Oaths, Justice, Honor, Kingship and Hospitality…> he pauses, perhaps pondering about his own decision as his family waits for him.

<…abdicate the Throne of Olympus, effective immediately.>

The reaction is a cacophony of shouts and exclamations, with a few exceptions. Vesta, who knew this was coming from their discussion on Aquilia, keeps her mouth shut.

Athena and Hera stare at each other in silence, hundreds of schemes rushing through their minds.

Dionysus just burps.

<In accordance to the Hera Succession Act signed by the Council in the year 1,047 of the Age of Olympus, the successor to the throne is…> Themis begins to say, interrupted by Hera who simply cannot contain her enthusiasm for her plan coming to fruition.

<Hebe! My oldest married daughter!>

<For. Now.> Enyo intervenes.

<Are you threatening rebellion, traitor!?> Hera shouts.

<She’s right. Fourth comma of the Succession act: “If the oldest god or goddess in the line of succession marries after the throne has already passed to a younger married sibling, then the throne shall revert to the oldest married god or goddess in the line of succession“. If Enyo marries, the throne will be hers.> Athena explains.

<Good thing I’m single then. Have I ever told you how attractive war goddesses are?> Hermes asks his half-sister, getting in her personal space in the blink of an eye.

<You are all wrong. Only my grandson Dionysus is the legitimate heir.> Harmonia disagrees.

<Oh f#ck off!> Persephone comments.

<I don’t think so, Harmonia: he’s illegitimate. Second comma: “Only legitimate offspring, defined as the children born of a lawful married god, shall be considered”… Ares died without legitimate children. See Athena, you’re not the only one who memorized the law.> Hermes intervenes.

<But Ares was a legitimate heir. The law excludes illegitimates from inheriting, it doesn’t exclude them from the succession line. I may be the illegitimate daughter of Ares, yes, but I was lawfully married to Cadmus. And through my legitimate daughter Semele, Dionysus shall inherit the Throne of Olympus.>

<That makes no sense!!! Dionysus is not the legitimate son of Zeus!!!> Hera shouts.

<Well… Semele didn’t actually give birth to Dionysus, didn’t she? Zeus sewed his fetus into his leg… I still can’t believe that story myself… but technically he was the one giving birth to Dionysus and technically Zeus was lawfully married to Hera at the time… so I guess my husband should be the king now?> Tyche reasons. The leap in logic is so absurd even she can hardly accept it.

<Wait, Eros is older than Harmonia, shouldn’t he become king the moment he marries?> Aphrodite wonders, scratching her head.

<Good luck for that, marriage’s not for me. How did we end up with a law of succession that makes things less clear than having no law!?> Eros wonders.

<How indeed. I would’ve thought having the goddess of wisdom proofread the thing should’ve cleared up all ambiguities.> Eris comments, staring at Athena.

<You know what mortals say. Only Zeus is perfect.> Athena comments, as if this chaos hadn’t been carefully calculated thousands of years ago.

<Well Zeus should have a say in how we should… Zeus? Where did he go?> Vesta wonders: in the middle of the confusion, the former King of Olympus decided to bail.

<But… if the law isn’t clear… how will we choose the heir?> Hebe wonders, biting her nails.

<War.> is the predictable answer from Enyo.