PixlBit

Have a story. It's about all the deities battling for supremacy.

I hereby invite thou to Jesus the 3rd's coming out party.

 

The black card was empty apart from those words. I sighed and glanced up at Hermes.

 

“This for real?”

 

“Seems to be,” came the reply from Hermes. Ever since he saw Scott Pilgrim he's been doing his best Michael Cera impression. If it weren't for his blue pigment he would practically pass as his doppleganger.

 

“His dad is going to hate this,” I said.

 

“Aren't they the same person Herc?”

 

“Nah. His Dad's kinda fucked up from all the shit he used to take. Went Schitzo. Thinks he's Jesus half the time.”

 

“That would be weird to hear as an adopted kid.”

 

“Yeah but what are you going to do?”

 

“True. Anyway, I gotta get back to work. Hades has been looking for you.”

 

“Alright, I'll go see him I guess. Don't work too hard.”

 

“No such thing. See ya Herc.”

 

I waved, slipped my headphones on and chucked on Run the Jewels' Close your eyes. It helped to get your emotions out before dealing with someone that damaged. I sighed.

 

Life is so fucking boring. That's the hardest part about it. I'm immortal. I've lived a full life and then some. My body is in peak condition, but my mind is withering and rotting with misuse. There's only so many puzzles and tactics games you can play before you get sick of winning all the time.

 

I could try the father angle I guess, but Olympus is no place to raise a child. I am thankful every day to my Earthly parents, for if I had've been raised as my brothers were, I'd be just as fucked as them. It's hard to explain that to the 696 women who's lives I've ruined though.

 

I've been alive a millennium and I still perpetually feel like I'm in my twenties. I'm still unsure of who I am half the time. I know I'm a warrior, but what's that mean at home? What's that mean when the fighting stops? I still feel like a child, a schoolyard bully just wanting to fight to feel whole again.

 

I'm fucking pathetic. I sighed, turned off my walkman, and made my way to my destination.

 

I entered Hades abode. He'd recently decorated. Gone were the Cerberus and gothic statues. He'd gone full Donald Trump. Everything was gold, including the statue of him Necro-fucking David Bowie. I thought it was a little distasteful until I learned about his penchant for young girls.

 

“Hercules my man! How are you?” Hades was clearly a little high on something.

 

“I'll be better once your obscene narcissism is done blinding me.” I replied.

 

“Ah. Very well.” He clicked his fingers and the gold faded and went back to being classical hades. “We have a problem. Well... two problems.”

 

“Your “perversions,” sick as they may be, are legally covered under the theological Geneva act. Torture act 3.1.”

 

“Nah, it's about admissions. A) Rod Stewart is back again and he wants to stay. I told him he wished for immortality so he can't stay more than a week.”

 

“Good. What's the second part?”

 

“Well... we have Robin Williams here.”

 

“What? How the fuck did that happen?” I responded, mouth ajar.

 

“Well... you see some idiots desecrated a shrine in his honour and now he technically outranks us.”

 

“He's a deity?”

 

“Yeah, something like that,” Hades laughed.

 

“You told Jay-Ho yet?”

 

“Tried. You know how busy he is. He ignores almost every prayer these days unless it's to 'kill a faggot or nigger'. His words.”

 

“Alright I'll get in contact with Satan or Jesus. Maybe Satan can hold him for a little bit until we work out some better accommodation.”

 

“You think he's safer there than here?”

 

“He belongs to the Christians. He did kill himself. I'll try and get that one sin waved and see if his other acts can outweigh it.”

 

“Fine, I'll get you on the phone to the Christian soul trading network. I'm warning you though, you will be on hold for a while – Oh. Jesus is calling you. Never mind.”

 

Hades passed me the phone.

 

“Hercules, how are you?”

 

I pressed the phone to my chest. “I thought you said this was Jesus not Bradley Cooper!”

 

“It is Jesus. He just watched The Hangover too many times and now the voice kinda stuck.”

 

“Oh.” I took the phone away from my chest. “Hey Jesus, how are you these days?”

 

“I'm great! Never better. You get my invite?”

 

“Yeah, I did. What's up with that?”

 

Jesus laughed a laugh that can only be described as a large lady queefing into an acoustic guitar.

 

“It's all publicity. It's the second coming man!”

 

“Wait, you're ending the world now?”

“Yeah, it's either that or a nuclear holocaust. Trump and Putin kind of forced my hand,” Jesus replied.

 

“Unfortunate. Where are you doing it?”

 

“I booked a spot on Colbert, though I'm technically the opening act for Kendrick Lamar.”

 

“Goddamn, even you guys are struggling huh?”

 

“Yeah. Remember the good ole days when we were all at war?”

 

“Yeah, for a man of peace you sure as fuck killed a lot of Muslims.”

 

“Yeah. Not proud of the things I did then. I was young, stupid, and had a lot of rage when I found out I was adopted.”

“It's not an easy thing to hear.”

 

“Nah. But it's who I am. Gotta live with it so I might as well be proud of who I am and where my mistakes on my sleeves.”

 

“That's pretty mature for someone who backed Hitler in World War 2.”

 

“I don't count that as a mistake. You saw what those Jewy cunts did to me. I'll fucking gas those fuckers again before I'm done.”

 

“Jesus H Christ,” I sighed.

 

“Yes?”

“No, I was cursing.”

 

“Oh. I'm still not used to that. Anyway, nice talking to you but-”

 

“Jesus wait, we have Robin Williams here.”

 

“Really? I thought I sent him Buddha to be reincarnated as a talking chipmunk.”

 

“No, you sent him here.”

 

“Oh. Well I'll see about getting that sorted. He killed himself. He'll go straight to hell if we handle him.”

 

“He did so much good though. You can't wave that even once?”

 

“I can. Dad won't. He takes it as a personal offense.”

 

“Well he should if he's going to half ass a job and leave people in anguish like that. He should kill him-”

“Herc, I like you so I'm gonna go before my father kills you where you stand.”

 

“Got it. Thanks.”

 

Hades, clearly eavesdropping and not at all trying to hide it asked what that was about.

 

“You should know, porch monkey,” came the call across the room. The figure stepped out to reveal Ares.

 

“Well, if it isn't Kratos in the flesh.” Hades mocked him.

“Stop calling me that.”

 

“He has bigger numbers than you'll ever have.”

“Video games are bigger than theology these days,” I sighed.

 

“It's not just that. We're Gods, and he has the perfect figure, perfect everything.”

 

“He's a rage bound psycho.” I countered.

 

“True, but isn't that the spirit of war? I've gone soft in my old age.”

 

“Well, Jesus is bringing about the second coming, so you might be able to fight alongside the horseman or something,” Hades offered.

 

“Fuck that. We helped create this world, we ain't letting some infantile religion say when to call it quits.”

 

“So you want to fight the most powerful religion in the entire world?” I asked. “That's an act of war. A war we don't have the resources to fight.

 

“No, but they have a lot of powerful enemies we could rally to our side,” Hades posited.

 

“True,” I agreed. “Most of the polytheists hate them. We could rally Rome, Hinduism, even get Mohammad-”

 

“Mohammad and Jesus have too much history. We won't turn them against each other.” Ares countered. “The rest maybe, though it'll be hard to get Rome on our side.”

 

“They'll fight beside us. Whether we trust them is another thing entirely,” I said.

 

“We don't need to trust them. We'll do away with them the moment they step out of line.”

 

“True,” said Hades. “What does our pacifistic ex hero have to say?”

 

All eyes were on me. “I'm done doing nothing. We're warriors. All of us. That's our sole purpose. The world doesn't end until we say.”

 

“So what do we do?”Asked Ares.

 

“We may have a job for old robbie here,” Said Hades.

 

Chapter 2

 

Jesus sat in his rundown chair in his rundown dressing room when I was finally admitted.

 

“You nervous?” I asked, trying to gauge his mood.

 

“A little. Used to be the greatest spokesperson in the entire world. Little rusty though. Hoping it's more like riding a bike and I'll just be able to jump back on, you know?”

 

“Yeah. Can't really give you any advice honestly. I'm a warrior not a publicist.”

 

We both laughed.

 

“War isn't too dissimilar to public speaking. In fact, most good wars are won by a good speech. Remind the men what they're fighting for. Plus, when you're talking religion in even the most subtle of ways, it often ends in blood.”

 

“True. I mean, that's what you're hoping for right?”

 

“I don't know. I don't really think now's the time, but Dad's forcing my hand. If I don't do it my way, he'll just kill everyone. You know how he is.”

 

“So why don't you fight him. You have the allies, the power. If anyone could “persuade” him, it's you.”

 

“I know, he's still my Dad though.”

 

“You know how many time my brothers and I have fought our father? You'd all be dead if we didn't kill him the hundreds of times we did. It's kind of like a reset button in a way. Maybe your Dad is the same.” I stated.

 

“You've seen what he does to traitors? Probably not. Ask Satan sometimes. He usually steps out while Dad tortures them, and has had to see counseling for the few times he has witnessed it.”

 

“Jesus...”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Okay, next time you do that I'm going to punch you.”

 

“Right. Sorry. It is my name though.”

 

I sighed. There was a knock on the door. One of Colberts men. “You're on after the commercial break. Two minutes.”

 

It was Jesus' time to sigh.

 

“Breathe. Be calm, you'll do fine.”

 

“I know what you're going to do.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I know the fire, the pain, I know it all. I won't stand in your way, but know I don't want to fight you. If there's bloodshed, make sure I'm the first one to die. I don't want to stand between my friends and my father.”

 

A tear fell from my eye, and I almost reconsidered. Okay was the only word I could muster. He nodded and left. I sat in his room and watched the events unfold on TV.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special guest this evening. Give it up for Jesus H Christ!”

 

The audience was an off-putting mix of cheers, boos, anger, and praise. I could feel Jesus' growing concern from here as he walked out.

 

“Greetings to all my followers, and those of you who have lost the way,” he started. “I am truly honored to be here tonight. I have some good news: The end is nigh. This is my second coming. That means war. Those of you pure at heart, regardless of religion, will be going to heaven. The rest of you, I'm sorry, but whether because of your dark past, your murky deeds, or because you're the wrong race, it's time for you to feel God's wrath.”

 

This met with terror from the Audience as Jesus burst into flames. His eyes rolled back into his head and he started speaking in tongues. It was time.

 

A zombified, horrifically monstrous and deformed Robin Williams stalked onto the stage. In his hand was a golden, gilded blade. He made his way over to Jesus. The crowd went into a manic hysteria as he walked up, grappled Jesus around the neck, and slit his throat.

 

I winced, feeling deep remorse, but knowing this had to happen. I rushed onto stage and was quickly joined by Hades and Ares.

 

Hades spoke first. “Bear witness to our power today. Your Messiah is no more. This is war. Jehovah, if you're listening, eat a dick. We helped create this planet, and we'll be damned if you destroy it without our permission!”

 

The crowd roared to life, and we each felt our power surge and twist within us.

 

“If you want to fight for your country, your rights as human beings to live as long as you fucking want, take up arms. Deities are only as powerful as you make them. Fight with us and we will win. We will succeed. We will make this universe great again!”

 

I already felt the pain in my wallet from Trump's greedy snake lawyers. The crowd dug it though, and Hades felt powerful enough to Zombify Stephen Colbert and the annoying Black guy sitting beside him who never shuts up and reminds me of the stereotypical Black asshole who keeps screaming “RUN BITCH RUN!” in a theater.

 

“Remember our power,” I spoke. “This is but a portion of what we can do. You're Americans. Do what you do best! Fight for this country. Fight for your rights. Take up arms, and kill any Christian you can!”

 

With that the war began. There were riot in the street. Looting, murdering, chaos. It was beautiful. Churches burned and in one foul swoop, we eliminated a quarter of the Christian population. They're a resilient bunch. They went into hiding, but over the next few months Trump commissioned a BS squad of soldiers to wipe out as many as humanly possible. Some were found in attics, basements, under stairs. It was like World War 2 all over again, and I relished it.

 

The broadcast struck a cord with some of our deity brethren. We had allies. Rome, Budha, Bishnu all had our back. Some were still on the fence, but they were scared. The Celts stated they were remaining neutral - as per fucking usual - but it was a start. And whoever wasn't on our side in the coming months was an enemy.

 

The next step was bringing back the pagan deities and giving them a voice. You don't want to see what a group treated that harshly will do if given a chance.

  

 Chapter 3

 

The archaic, decaying boardroom was reminiscent of a misused boarding school. Cobwebs filled the air, and the fog machine we were using to maintain our air of the heavenly was starting to malfunction, pumping fumes in the air. So we turned it off, revealing the cracked and stained mosaic of Ares greatest accomplishments. It showed as much wear and polish as he did these days.

 

“Right, you all know why we're here,” Ares spoke. “We're here because we're at war. This is not a time for pussyfooting. We're in a good place at the moment, but it won't last. Jehovah is the king of smear campaigns, and Trump is easily swayed. Jehovah could give him powers we dare not dream of. So we have to be prepared. Hades, how many fallen combatants can you raise?”

 

“About 10,000 give or take.” Hades responded.

 

“They trained?”

 

“In swords and bows, not fucking guns and explosives. None of us have that experience.”

 

“Yes, but it's a start. 10,000 men could be a powerful guerrilla unit, especially if they're not using up things like food and water. I think we could have Artemis leading the squad.”

 

Artemis smiled at that, and simply stated she would be honoured.

 

“Demeter, Dionysus, you are in charge of keeping the army well stocked and making sure morale is up. I want parties, I want drink, I want the men to be in good spirits before they fight.”

 

Finally I chimed in. “Ten thousand tireless men who don't use supplies is a good start, especially if we can continue to resurrect them. Though they won't win the war alone. What do we have in the way of surplus?”

 

“We introduce conscription. Those who don't take service die, unless they're important in civilian sectors like medicine and research. Those who don't take service can simply join Hades army.”

 

“Conscription is tricky. We need the people on our side before we put it into place, or we just risk decaying into anarchy.”

 

“Right. Aphrodite and Apollo, you're in charge of political campaigning. Sex sells, so work something out. The Mussi fucks have the 100 virgins or whatever the fuck it is. What can we offer those who take our side?” Ares asked.

 

“A wild night with yours truly, and a host of the fairest European maidens we can muster.” Spoke Aphrodite with the seductiveness of a bee soaked in honey and jizz.

 

“Excellent. Apollo, works of art are valuable in times of war. I want Anti-Christian protest songs, art pieces, and nationalist propaganda. Make it tasteful though, people will sense if it's being shoved down their throats.”

 

“Aye Aye,” came Apollo's response.

 

“Hermes, you're in charge of communications. Make sure we have clear communications with our Allies at all time. Poseidon, keep our oceans and the oceans of our allies clear. Rain storms down on our enemies. Can you still summon a Hydra?”

 

“Bitch please, I am a fucking Hydra.”

 

“Excellent. Athena, I want you to be the political leader. You're the voice of reason. Let us know when we're going to far.”

 

“I was going to do that anyway,” came the sardonic joyless whimper of a woman well past her prime.

 

“I know. Just making sure everyone is on the same level. Hephaestus will obviously be in charge of manufacturing arms, armour, and other resources. We have around 240,000 men in Greece's reserves, as well as Titans and other creatures who are willing to fight for us. Make sure they are equipped with the best military grade shit we can muster. How are we going for finances?”

 

“Not good,” Hermes replied. “We're in recession, we don't have the finances to support a war.”

 

“Can we get a loan?”

 

“They'll know we can't pay them back.”

 

“What can we do?”

 

“Start small scale operations I guess. Loot the soldiers we kill, sell what we find.”

 

“It's a start. Hestia, you're in charge of home defenses. Keep home and hearth safe, okay?”

 

“You got it bucko.”

“Call me bucko one more time and I'll flay you.”

 

“Got it buck- sorry, sir.”

 

“Better. Hera... um... just try to get better. Stay off the wine and stop trying to kill yourself.”

 

She had a gun in her mouth at that exact moment. I still to this day have no idea where to find it. She pulled the trigger and then replied: “I'm not hurting anyone.”

 

“You're not helping either.”

 

“You were always my least favourite child.”

 

“And you were always our least favourite mother you spiteful cunt. So either finish the job or fuck off.”

 

With that she left, and the room was filled with an uneasy quiet. That is until Zeus spoke. “My children, I am thrilled and so proud of each and every one of you. This isn't going to be easy, but we can do this. May I ask what my role in all this is?”

 

“We want you on artillery. Make it rain lightening on our enemies from here, and help me oversee this war.” Ares spoke.

 

“Ah, sounds like fun.” Zeus spoke.