The Time After Oblivion E-Book

Jonny Capps

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

What becomes of a god when no one believes?

After one too many drinks at Dionysus' bar, Jason and Hercules find themselves transported to the 21st century: a world where they've been practically forgotten. The gods of Olympus are gone, existing in a separate dimension, forced only to observe as the world relegates their history to children's stories and fantasy.

But some of the Olympians still remember a time when people came to them in droves, worshipping and sacrificing in their name, and they miss the love which was bestowed upon them. 

Join the heroes, along with Zeus, Cupid, Artemis, and many others, in a tale across time, combining classic mythology with modern storytelling. What's left to do for a god when their followers have left them? Find out in The Time After Oblivion.

Leseprobe

THE TIME AFTER OBLIVION

MYTHOS BOOK 1

JONNY CAPPS

CONTENTS

Introduction

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Post Script

Cupid

Acknowledgments

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2020 Jonny Capps

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

INTRODUCTION

When I sleep, I dream. Within those dreams, I am escorted into another realm. I transcend reality and enter a world that is unknown to mankind, existing behind the barrier. When I was young, it used to terrify me. I was unclear as to which was true reality, and which was my dream. In my teen years, I discovered the truth: my dreams were not truly dreams, but rather visions of a dimension that humanity was not prepared for, nor could they understand. I was seeing visions of another world, existing alongside our own.

One night, while channeling in this distant, neighboring realm, the great sun god, Ra, came to me. He told me that there were things that he needed me to see. Taking hold of my shoulder, he flew with me over plains and waters, revealing to me things that I could have never imagined. He showed me that the gods of myth were not only real, but existing with us, gently guiding and controlling cultures. As he revealed these things to me, I was astonished by what I saw. The great gods of old, ruthless and savage, governed humanity. Their influence was in everything, from Parliament to Saturday morning cartoons. They stayed behind their curtain, awaiting the time when they could reveal themselves and bring about the destruction of the human age, guiding us into a new age of mythology. Ra revealed to me that it was my destiny to prepare humanity for this time. I was chosen as the scribe of the gods, and it was up to me to document their tales.

As we flew over the Lilliputian colonies (Jonathan Swift was a god-scribe, too) in the waters of the Atlantic, Ra sensed a great force beneath us. He tried to protect us by detouring, but it was too late. The goddess Hecate attacked us with her dark magic, striking Ra. Ra fought back with his sun-god powers, but he had been struck too harshly. He fell toward the waters. As we fell, Hecate took hold of me. She warned me that it would be detrimental to reveal these things to humanity. They were not ready to see the truth. I would be no scribe, but rather a harbinger of doom. Humanity could not know the secret workings of the gods. I had not been given a gift, but rather a curse, to see these things. She released me then, to plummet to my death in the bowels of the Krakan who had suddenly appeared beneath us, its savage jaws awaiting our imminent doom.

I awoke screaming. Scarlet Johansson told me to shut up and go back to sleep.

Obviously, that’s complete horse crap. “Mythos” was originally inspired by a thirty-second scene in a bad ’90s movie.

Just to be clear, I don’t actually believe in or worship these gods. If someone else wants to start a religion based on my books, I would be okay with that. Please don’t expect me to be at your meetings.

—Jonny Capps

Dedicated to the cat burglar who sits outside my window.

PROLOGUE

Passage through the Mists of Time is not as difficult as one would think. Really, if one simply focuses on their destination, it is easy to navigate. That is, of course, as long as the destination contains no distractions. Inevitably, distractions will crop up. Then, the journey becomes more complex, dangerous, even. Still, that is not Time’s fault. The travelers are the ones who decide to stray from the straightforward road in search of adventure, thrills, or opportunity. Most are still able to navigate their path to some certainty, and most reach their destination, more or less, in one piece. It is, after all, human nature to survive.

In a frozen corner of Time, three sisters sit. They have sat there since the Beginning, and they will continue to sit there until they are done with their task. The first is a beautiful young blond with eyes as blue as the sky and lips as full and red as fresh strawberries, but surely tasting twice as sweet. She begins the task by pulling the Thread. Supporting it, she passes the Thread to her sister. This woman is middle-aged and plump, but with eyes that shine with matronly love. She accepts the Thread and studies it. She continues to pull it away from the first sister until she has found an exact spot on the string. She then points to the area and passes the Thread to the third sister. This woman, old, wrinkled, and crone-like, takes no pleasure in her task. Her vacant eyes hold no emotion at all as she brings the macabre razor in her hand to the area and severs the Thread.

Once the Thread has been cut, the process begins again.

CHAPTERONE

I

Thick cloud cover, heralding an approaching storm, obscured the sun. The ear-piercing screech of a carrion bird tore through the air. Any who heard it would know that it signaled a recent or approaching death, as if the bird were saying a blessing over its meal before it dined. Neither man nor beast mattered to the fowl; it only knew that the natural order was soon to provide a meal.

The residents of the coastal city, Aigio, knew the sound well. Aigio was a coastal town on the Gulf of Corinth. It relied on exporting fish as well as fruits grown in the hills clustered around the city. Like many cities, Aigio had its athletes, its smiths and carpenters, but its main claim to notoriety was the luscious fruit. Without the export of fruit, the town’s economy would collapse. This made the arrival of a particularly bloodthirsty beast even more troubling. The beast, a chimera, had situated itself between the town and its crop. A few men from the town risked the beast for the sake of the harvest. Their blood stained the ground. Aigio’s desperate mayor chose to outsource the task of dealing with the beast, rather than risk losing more of his residents. Were the heroes successful in their venture, a few coins would be an acceptable sacrifice to be rid of the nuisance. If (or, more likely, when) the beast killed them, the town would preserve its numbers. Perhaps the beast would even consume enough to be satisfied for a time, allowing the town to harvest its fruit for a brief time.

Although, should they witness the chimera devouring the champions, the mayor doubted Aigio held men brave enough to attempt it.

The beast was huge. With the body of a gigantic lion, it stood nearly ten feet from the ground. Its tail was a python that wrapped and swirled its way around any nearby attackers. Should there be none close, it would spew fire from its mouth to incinerate assailants at range. Atop the lion’s head, emerging from beneath the mane and behind the ears, ram’s horns sprouted, threatening those who thought to avoid the tail by approaching the beast from the front. Those who were not swayed by the horns would certainly be made more than a bit weary by the jagged line of razors which lined the inside of the monster’s mouth, dripping with acidic saliva. Upon each of the monster’s feet were five long and sharp talons, capable of shredding a man beyond repair with a mere twitch. The beast roared, and those who heard saw the gates of the Underworld opening to welcome them. None with a shred of sanity would dare to approach this monster.

Sanity, of course, has no place in heroism.

“Pollux!” screamed a youthful man of sturdy build with long, blond hair, wielding a long sword. “Go for the belly! Slice the beast open!”

“You go for the belly, Castor,” a nearly identical (disregarding his dark, braided hair and choice of weapon, his being a flail, rather than a sword) man screamed back. “I’m not getting anywhere near those claws!”

“You’ve gone soft,” Castor ridiculed his brother. “There was a time when you would have raced me for the glory!”

With a quick jump to the side, Castor was able to block a tail strike with the broad side of his sword.

“Oh, I’ll still race you,” Pollux countered as he leaped out of the way of an attacking paw. “You’ll just win this time!”

“I’d win anyway,” Castor hollered back.

“Σκατά!” He dove toward the ground, avoiding the attacking jaws.

“Will you two shut up? Focus!” a dark, ruggedly handsome man reprimanded them. He was clothed with a breastplate, greaves, and a golden tunic, which hung across his torso.

He lunged for the creature’s side with his own sword, only to be blocked by an intimidating talon. “Orpheus, any chance we’ll get some music to soothe this thing soon?”

“I’m trying, Jason!” Orpheus, a thin and good-looking man with tawny hair and a soft face, answered. “This αηδιαστική σωρό από κοπριά broke the strings on my lyre! Give me a moment to fix them.”

“Hurry it up!” Jason cried in desperation as he narrowly evaded a striking paw’s talons.

The final member of the quintet, the largest and gruffest of the bunch, lunged with a grunt for the beast’s tail. The serpent wriggled and lashed with rage as the hero seized it behind the head with his massive hand, paralyzing it momentarily. With his free hand, the hero crushed the serpent’s head with a large rock. A small victory, only short-lived. The creature’s back paw connected with the hero’s torso, hurling him backward. Recovering, the hero sat up from the ground and groaned. The serpent was repairing itself and, within seconds, bellowed a wave of flame in the direction of the attacker. All the hero could do was drop to the ground and roll out of the way, the flames barely burning his back hair.

The beast rose to its back legs and let forth a monstrous roar, heard for many leagues. The heroes took this opportunity, whilst the beast was distracted, to regroup.

“Bravo, Hercules,” Pollux chided the fifth hero. “You knew the tail would heal itself: It’s a chimera! All you did was make it angry.”

“You fared no better!” Hercules snapped back. “I have taught it the meaning of pain!”

“It doesn’t seem to be taking the discovery very well,” Orpheus muttered as he desperately tried to restring his lyre.

The beast returned to the ground and targeted the group of heroes. It lowered its horns as it prepared to charge.

“I have a plan!” Jason blurted out. He turned to Hercules. “Toss me onto the monster,” he cried.

Hercules had no time to think with the beast thundering down upon them. As the group separated, diving out of the way of the beast’s charge, Hercules took hold of Jason’s tunic and tossed him into the air, toward the beast.

Jason’s chest collided with the monster’s shoulder, his breastplate protecting him from the majority of the impact. He gripped the chimera’s mane and hung on as the monster thrashed and bucked, attempting to throw him loose. Quickly, Jason pulled himself up the chimera’s back.

“Castor,” Pollux cried, realizing Jason’s plan, “the tail!”

Castor hefted his sword above his head and threw it with accuracy toward the tail, just as it began to rise toward Jason. The point of the blade pierced the serpent’s neck, obstructing airflow.

Pollux, who had been charging the beast with his own weapon, froze. The serpent writhed about, attempting and failing to dislodge the sword. Turning, Pollux scowled at his brother. Castor’s attack had effectively incapacitated the tail.

“I have your thanks.” Castor smirked back at him. “And the glory.”

“I should have sliced its belly open,” Pollux muttered, frustrated.

Castor’s quick action had allowed Jason time to get situated directly behind the creature’s head. Once there, his mission was easy. Pulling the sword from his hip, Jason drove the weapon deep into the chimera’s neck.

The beast paused for a moment as if unsure of what had just happened. It then wasted one of its last remaining breaths in an indignant roar as it threw its head back wrathfully. Jason used all of his might to hold on as the monster thrashed about, as if to avoid the obvious eventuality. As the monster raged, Jason withdrew his weapon, and plunged it into another area of the creature’s exposed throat, just as deeply. The creature’s blood ran thickly down his thighs and legs, splattering onto his chest and face as he withdrew the sword and repeated the strike in a third location.

With a final seizure, the beast whimpered. It then collapsed to its knees, and finally to the ground.

Jason slid down the beast’s now-motionless back, dragging his weapon behind him. Landing upon the ground, he wiped his sword clean in the grass and retrieved Castor’s blade from the now-motionless tail.

“We are victorious!” Hercules cheered as he ran to Jason. “Well done, brother!”

Jason barely had time to brace himself for Hercules’ emphatic pat on the back. He stood again and smiled widely at his excited comrade.

“Argonauts forever!” Castor shouted with joy, his left fist in the air.

“Until the end!” Pollux continued the cheer, copying Castor’s movement with his right fist.

The twins looked at each other and beat their testosterone-filled chests triumphantly.

“We are still Argonauts, are we?” Jason laughed. “Even without our ship?”

Orpheus looked away from his lyre momentarily. “People still tell our tales, and in those tales, we are the Argonauts,” he said, smiling along with his comrades. “We’ve done great deeds, not soon to be forgotten. Besides, have we not just proven that we are still champions? I agree with Castor: Argonauts forever.”

“To the end!” Castor and Pollux completed the cheer in unison, thrusting their opposing fists into the air once more.

Orpheus chuckled. “My point is made.”

Jason laughed as he examined the group: Castor and Pollux, the Gemini twins, always opposing each other, while at the same time, complementing the other’s talents with their own; Orpheus, the master musician, playing music on his lyre that could calm any beast; Hercules, the son of Zeus, mightiest of mortals and a god amongst heroes. Compared to his company, Jason felt almost inadequate. Still, wrapped around his breast was his own prize, the legendary Golden Fleece. The five of them were all that was left of the original Argonauts. Once their number had stood at nearly fifty. Time and war had worked their will, slowly eroding the group, chipping away at their numbers. Now, they were a mere shadow of the original cast. Still, as Jason looked at the small group, he felt a deep satisfaction. Perhaps they truly would be Argonauts forever.

II

He had been known as the man with one sandal.

It was not an impressive-sounding title (and a bit inaccurate, since most of the time, he wore two), but those who knew what it meant both respected and revered it.

Jason was the heir to the throne of Iolkos, placed in exile for his own safety when his cousin Pelias murdered his father, King Aeson, thus stealing the throne. During his ill-gotten reign, an Oracle warned Pelias that he would be murdered by a kinsman. The Oracle had also mentioned that he should be wary of anyone that he saw wearing only one sandal. From that day on, Pelias watched people’s footwear very closely.

Jason spent the first twenty years of his life under the training of Chiron, the famous centaur who had also trained Hercules, in the mountains of Pelion. This was far enough away from Iolkos to avoid detection from Pelias, who surely would have killed Jason if he had known where Jason was. During this time, Jason had learned how to fight with as many weapons as Chiron knew of (including unarmed combat), how to survive in the wild, and how to ride and groom horses. Once he had reached the age of manhood Jason had set out to confront his cousin.

Just outside of Iolkos, there was a river. As Jason approached it, he saw an elderly woman sitting, looking forlorn. He asked her why she was so downcast. She informed Jason that she needed to cross the river, but there was no bridge for nearly a mile, and the water was moving too quickly for an old woman to wade across. She would surely drown. Jason volunteered to carry her across the river, and the woman accepted his help.

The river was indeed flowing quickly, and the bottom of the river was treacherous and dense with mud. Jason hefted the woman onto his back, secured her, and began to cross. About halfway through their journey, Jason’s left foot snagged on something, and he kicked violently to get himself loose. He achieved his goal, and soon, both he and the woman were safely across.

Once on the other side, the old woman smiled and revealed herself to be the goddess Hera. She thanked Jason for his heroism and chivalry, promising to watch over him during his quest. Jason thanked the goddess and continued on his trek to Iolkos.

Upon reaching the town, Jason requested an audience with King Pelias. Perhaps his request came with great authority and confidence, or maybe Hera’s blessing granted him favor that was evident to all, but he was uncharacteristically escorted directly into the throne room. There, he confronted the king without hesitation. Those within the throne room were amazed at the strange man’s ferocity, his courage, and the learned way with which he spoke. Others were simply captivated by Jason’s rippling musculature, his finely bronzed skin, and the golden curls that spun from his head to his shoulders.

King Pelias noticed none of this.

He was too distracted by Jason’s barren left foot.

III

After the battle, the heroes separated, each going about their own life. Orpheus announced he was playing a show at a nearby tavern and, should any of them wish to join him, he could supply drinks at a discounted rate. While this tempted the Gemini brothers, they said that they also had a commitment back in Sparta with their wives, Phoebe and Hilaeira. Hercules was headed back to Olympus (plus, Orpheus’ music always put him to sleep), so he could not make it. Jason honestly stated that he probably could have come, but he wanted instead to get home to his wife, Medea. She was surely waiting for him with a large meal. Thus, the company split, promising to meet again soon to see what adventures the world would hold.

Since Jason and Hercules both had destinations in the same direction, they walked together for a bit. Jason was still feeling pretty elated about the achievement, but Hercules seemed to walk with a cloud over his shoulders. They walked mostly in silence, occasionally engaging in petty small talk about the weather and local politics, topics that interested neither of them. The tension was too heavy.

“Hercules,” Jason confronted him finally, “is something wrong?”

“No, no.” Hercules shook his head unconvincingly. “It’s nothing. Simply my own thoughts.”

Jason shrugged and continued to walk beside his comrade.

Within a few steps, Hercules sighed.

“One chimera!” he blurted. “There was only one chimera, and it nearly bested us!”

Jason shook his head and chuckled, rolling his eyes at Hercules’ unbridled ambition. “To be fair,” he replied, “it was a rather large chimera.”

“The size should not matter,” Hercules grumbled. “We are the Argonauts. There should be no challenge too large for us. We should be defeating entire armies, not being paralyzed by a single beast. Remember the island of Lemnos?”

As Jason thought about the island, populated entirely by beautiful women, he smiled widely. “Of course I do.” He laughed. “Although, I fail to see how eating good food, drinking the best wine, and receiving fine clothing could constitute a challenge.”

“Those women had killed every other man that they had met,” Hercules defended his assertion. “Yet, they did not kill the Argonauts.”

“They did not even try!” Jason said, still happy with the memory. “I believe that they were simply overjoyed to see men once more. And if I might remind you,” he continued, looking at Hercules with raised eyebrows, “I believe you abandoned us shortly after that when your armor bearer became drawn to that water nymph.”

“Well, yes.” Hercules dropped his gaze to the road sheepishly. “But, I came back, did I not? I am still an Argonaut, and that is my point. If we are Argonauts forever, then we should proclaim that.”

Jason sighed as he considered reality. While his makeshift army of adventurers had at one time been a force to be reckoned with, it now seemed as if they were merely a dwindling cabal. There were those who still told of their adventures around campfires and sang of their journeys in taverns. They likely always would. However, the likelihood of new adventures seemed to be grow dimmer each day. The heroes left to find work elsewhere, or to live their quiet lives, free of adventure.

“Both of the Boreads are dead,” Jason said, his face falling to his chest.

“I know,” Hercules replied. “I was saddened when I learned of this. They were great warriors. That happens to adventurers sometimes. The risk of death comes with the territory.”

“It does,” Jason agreed, raising his head again to look Hercules in the eye. “Think, though: We are family men now, each with a wife to defend and care for. If I were to die on an adventure, who would care for Medea? I know that was Nestor’s reason for leaving. He wanted to start a family, and he could not do that if his life were constantly in danger, as it was during his time with the Argonauts.”

Hercules cocked an eyebrow. “Was that Euphemus’ reasoning as well?”

Jason shook his head. “Euphemus chose to leave because politics offers a more stable salary than freelance adventuring. While you and I have our resources, not everyone else is so blessed. Some would find a steady pay more appealing, as Euphemus proved.”

“He was weak.” Hercules scowled. “Money is no substitute for adventure.”

“Oh,” Jason chuckled. “Should I tell Aigio’s mayor to keep our fee?”

Hercules swatted Jason on the back of the head. “That is not the point. We are adventurers, we are champions, and above all, we are Argonauts. Argonauts forever!”

With his fist thrust into the air, Hercules looked expectantly toward Jason for the completed cheer. Jason looked back at him with regretful eyes.

“There are but five of us now.” Jason sighed.

“So, maybe we should recruit more members.”

“Maybe we should let go of the dream.”

Hercules stopped walking abruptly. Jason walked two steps more, then turned to see his comrade glaring down at him darkly.

“I only stated what needed to be said,” Jason defended himself.

Hercules’ scowl deepened. Jason imagined he might see steam escaping from his ears and fire about to launch from his eyes.

“You still wear that Fleece,” Hercules growled.

Jason paused and ran his fingers through the golden fibers that composed his makeshift tunic. He understood Hercules’ accusation. While Jason was suggesting that perhaps they stop attempting to be heroes, his legacy was still wrapped around his chest, rather than hanging on a wall in his chamber or on display in a trophy case at his dwelling. While the thought of peace and tranquility appealed to him, the thought of taking off the Fleece nearly caused him physical pain. There was still adventure left in Jason and, until that spirit was quieted, he would not be able to simply let the Argonauts pass away.

“All right.” Jason stepped back to where Hercules was standing. “I’m in. What are you proposing?”

Hercules smiled, victorious once again. “Well, like you said, five champions are not enough. We should recruit others. I think that we should form a list of possible candidates and proceed with that accordingly. There are plenty of eligible heroes who would be overjoyed to join our ranks.”

“I agree.” Jason smiled, becoming more excited about the prospect as they continued the discussion. “Shall we go to the tavern where Orpheus is playing in order to discuss this further?”

“No.” Hercules shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to pay attention, what with the falling to sleep and all. Let us go to Oblivion.”

“Oh!” Jason’s grin widened, excitedly. “I’ve heard of Oblivion! That’s definitely where we should go.”

“Argonauts forever!” Hercules repeated his unanswered cheer with his fist in the air once more.

“To the end!” Jason replied this time, punching the air as was the accepted custom.

The champions left the road on which they had been traveling and proceeded instead down a detoured path, toward the future.

IV

Hercules made his way back to the table where Jason was seated, carrying two large glass goblets filled to the brim with a dark beverage, topped with a thick head of foam. The tavern was dimly lit with a soft light provided by candles situated strategically around the room and by lanterns hung on the walls. Creatures and deities from all different regions sat basking in the ambiance of the tavern and enjoying their drinks.

On one end of the room, there was a long bar, where two attractive women served drinks to patrons perched on stools. Opposite the bar, there was a small stage where an acting troupe was preparing for the evening show. At one table, the god Anubis could be seen discussing the afterlife with Nanna, the Norse goddess of grief. Elsewhere, Jason spotted Narcissus, sitting proudly with a wide smile and a beautiful water nymph on his arm. Drinking alone in a corner sat the tentacled Cthulhu, a god whom none of the others really understood. For his part, it did not seem he desired to be understood. He was satisfied sitting alone, drinking his beer, and dreaming of worlds to devour.

The bartending god Dionysus walked through the tavern, moving from table to table, making small talk with the patrons. He laughed at jokes, whether funny or not, and refilled drinks from the pitcher he carried with him. This was his tavern, and all were welcome, providing that they did not make too much of a scene. If they did make a scene, it had better be an entertaining one, otherwise they would be thrown out. The occasional fight could not be avoided, but if it was a foolish quarrel or a one-sided combat, the value was seriously diminished.

Hercules sat down in his seat, considered the drinks closely for a moment, and then passed the one with a thicker head to Jason. Jason accepted it and drank deeply. He made a face as he swallowed the fluid.

“Ugh,” he complained. “This is not wine.”