Allen1996
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Rage against the heavens: chapter 17: The unkindness of the world
🕑 Added 2025-03-25 05:51:03 +0000 UTCThe study smelled of aged leather and dying fire. Henry Huntington’s fingers traced the rim of his whiskey glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light like trapped sunlight. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, heavy as unspoken truths. I stood by the window, watching rain slide down the panes—thin, silver veins cutting through the night.
“We’re drowning in preorders,” he said, voice low, almost reverent. “Even the vultures who wanted you to fail are clawing for a piece of it. You’ve tilted the axis, Alex. The world spins differently now.”
I didn’t turn. The glass felt cold against my palm. “And the ones who can’t claw? The ones who’ll never afford it?”
A log cracked in the hearth, spitting embers onto the marble. Henry’s silence was a blade.
“If it’s only for them—the kings and their castles—what’s the point?” My reflection in the window wavered, fractured by rain. “Power, advancement, the best shouldn’t be a privilege. It’s a right. Water. Air. Light.”
He chuckled, a sound like gravel underfoot. “Idealism suits you. Sharpen your edges. I'm sure that you see the world as something wrong.” His chair groaned as he leaned forward, the firelight carving hollows beneath his eyes. “But the world isn’t wrong, boy. It just is. You don’t feed the masses by handing them a lion’s share. You feed them crumbs and call it mercy.”
I faced him then. His gaze was a vise—steady, unyielding. The air thickened, tasting of peat smoke and impending thunder.
“Crumbles aren’t enough.” My thumb brushed the chain around my neck, the runes almost humming like a faint heartbeat. “I won’t let this become another toy for gilded hands.”
I looked at him in the eyes “I won’t allow this.” I knew he understood the threat behind my voice. I wanted to make things better for everyone, not only for the rich. The man was making things easy to me but in the end, it didn't change the fact that he was the one needing me. I didn't need him.
Henry rose, his shadow swallowing the room. For a moment, he looked less like a man and more like a monument—weatherworn, inevitable. “You think I built empires on crumbs?” He swept a hand toward the window, where the city’s skyline flickered like a dying bulb. “Every bridge I burned, every soul I buried—it was to spare the ones I cared about from the meat grinder. You must understand. Life is evil, Alex. We take, we ruin, we survive. But you—” He halted, something raw fissuring his voice. “Without even trying, you make survival mean something more.”
His palm settled on my shoulder, weight like a sacrament. “Don’t worry. It’ll be done. The factories, the grids—I’ll gut the prices myself. Let the suits choke on their gold. Your light will reach the cracks.”
The words should’ve been a balm. Instead, my skin prickled. Promises from men like him were grenades with pins half-pulled. I still didn't get it. I still don’t understand why the man was treating me in such a way.
“Why?” The question slipped out, sharp as a scalpel. “Why stake your legacy on my ‘idealism’?”
His laughter this time was softer, frayed at the edges. “When you’re old, you see ghosts in every shadow. My time… it’s a closing door. But you?” He gestured to the device, its outline visible through the fabric. “You’re a beginning. I saw it, Alexander. And beginnings… they outlast us.”
He moved to the hearth, poking the embers. Sparks spiraled upward, brief as fireflies. “I wanted better once. Wanted to carve a world where my children didn’t have to lick boots or be cruel. But good intentions drown in the tide. You learn to swim with sharks or sink.”
The rain thickened. Somewhere, a clock tolled.
“You still believe that?” I asked.
He didn’t turn. “Belief’s a luxury. I have results.” A beat. “But you—you’ll plant seeds. Watch them bloom. I know that they will grow past the rot.”
Henry’s voice gentled. It was probably a rarity to anyone he didn't see as family.
“You remind me of her. Someone I once admired, someone I once loved. She used to say, Sometimes good people make bad choices. It doesn’t mean they’re bad people. It means they’re human.” His jaw tightened. “She chose a gallows over a gilded cage because nothing else was possible, because it was the edict of the world. I’ve hated the world ever since.”
The admission hung between us, fragile as a moth’s wing. Outside, lightning split the sky—a jagged wound of white.
“You’ll have to to deal with a lot. They already hate me because what I built.” I murmured. “The others… they won’t let you undercut their game.”
He smirked, raising his glass in salute. “Let them try. I’ve crossed bridges just to burn them. It’s the only way to keep moving.”
For a heartbeat, I saw it—a future, one raw and bleeding. The world, the city, everything in ashes, a thousand of dead hands pointing at me, trying to reach me, Thalia’s tears as a storm rolled in.
It felt like a calm before the storm.
But then he smiled—a father’s smile, proud and doomed—and the moment shattered.
“To seeds,” he said, draining his glass.
I didn’t drink. Looking at outside, it almost felt as if The rain was trying to whisper warnings to me, as if trying to tell me something akin to the fact that the act of taking is equally evil almost as if it was an answer to the words the Huntington Patriarch had shared with me.
The words, they felt like warnings, about stopping, about distancing myself from him, about giving up my ambitions of going against the gods least I'd be dampened and yet, I’d still take it all, take his deal. Take his money, his influence, his daughter’s hungry glances.
For Thalia.
For the cracks where the light could get in.
The fire died. The room dimmed. Somewhere, a storm brewed—not in the sky, but in the silence between two men, one playing to the dictate of the world with disgust and anger, the other playing fool.
And the world, as it always did, kept turning.
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I was sitting in the room I had turned into a workshop. The air smelled of ozone and iron, a metallic tang that clung to the back of my throat. In the center of it all, suspended in a tank of translucent fluid, floated her. Elpida. My creation. My sin. My hope.
I sat in my chair, the leather creaking softly as I leaned back, my eyes fixed on her. She was perfect, in a way that made my chest ache. Her skin was pale, almost luminous under the soft glow of the tank’s light, her hair a dark halo that drifted lazily in the fluid. She looked like Beryl, like Thalia, like me.
Her eyes were closed, her expression serene, as if she were merely sleeping. But I knew better. She wasn’t asleep. She was waiting. Waiting for me to wake her, to give her purpose. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Purpose. I had given her one, but it wasn’t the kind of purpose I had ever wanted to impose on anyone.
The clock on the wall ticked softly, a steady rhythm that seemed to mock me. Time had slipped through my fingers like sand, faster than I could have imagined. One moment, I was sitting across from Spielberg, discussing the logistics of a project that felt almost trivial now. The next, I was standing in the Huntington estate, the weight of the Patriarch’s gaze pressing down on me like a physical force. And now, here I was, staring at the culmination of everything I had worked for, everything I had sacrificed. It felt like no time at all had passed, and yet, it felt like an eternity.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I always hated people who pushed their dreams onto their children,” I said aloud, my voice echoing softly in the quiet room. “People who saw their kids as tools, as extensions of themselves. I hated it with every fiber of my being. In my first life, I walked away from so many relationships because I was afraid. Afraid that I would become like them. Afraid that I would do worse.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my gaze never leaving Elpida. “I gave up on love so many times,” I continued, my voice softer now, almost a whisper. “On people I cared about. On people I wanted to grow old with, to laugh with, to cry with. I gave up on the idea of a family because I was terrified that I would turn into the very thing I despised. And now… now I’ve done exactly that.”
I stood, pacing the length of the room, my footsteps echoing in the silence. “I hate that I’m bringing you into this world just to fight, just to struggle, just to obey,” I said, my voice rising slightly. “I hate it, Elpida. I wish things were different. I wish this world was as normal as the one I left behind. I wish you could be born into a world where your only purpose was to be happy. I still hope… I still hope that after all of this, that’s what you’ll find. I hope all of this will be worth it.”
I stopped pacing, turning back to face her. My lips twitched into a sad smile. “I always hated that quote, you know? The one that says the best things are always the hardest to reach. It’s such a cliché. But… I guess there’s some truth to it.”
I walked back to the tank, placing a hand against the cool glass. “Right now, you’re asleep,” I said softly. “But soon, you’ll wake up for the first time. The knowledge I’ve given you, the things I’ve downloaded into your mind… my words, the ones I’m saying right now, they’ll be the only things you know. That’s why I need you to remember this. When you find Thalia, when you find your sister, I want you to tell her something. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I’m sorry for breaking my promise. Tell her I’m sorry for not being there. And tell her… tell her that no matter what, I care about her. That no matter what, I still love her. That no matter what happens, no matter what the world tries to make her believe, she never did anything wrong. She was never flawed, or stupid, or anything less than perfect. Tell her she’s loved. Always.”
I leaned back in my chair again, my hand falling away from the glass. I didn’t know why I was talking like this, as if something was about to go wrong. But I couldn’t shake the feeling. Ever since I left Ambrosia, it felt like a clock was ticking in the back of my mind, counting down to something inevitable. Like a sailor on the edge of a storm, I could feel the pressure building, the air growing heavier, even if I couldn’t see the clouds yet.
I had taken precautions, of course. I had finally tapped into the knowledge the stars had etched into my mind, using it to create wards that would conceal and protect this place. Spells that would ensure nothing short of a planet-ending catastrophe could breach these walls. But even with all that, I couldn’t shake the unease that coiled in my gut.
I raised my hand, and a hologram of Los Angeles materialized above my palm. The city glowed softly, a map of light and shadow. Little green dots scattered across the map represented the monsters that still roamed the streets, their numbers far too high for my liking. The golden dots, fewer in number, marked the demigods. And then there was the new addition—a massive golden dot, so bright it made the others look dim by comparison. A god. I didn’t need to guess who it was. My instincts screamed at me that they had noticed me just as I had noticed them.
I clenched my fist, and the hologram vanished. Of course, this was inevitable. When your goal is to defy the heavens, to challenge the gods themselves, you don’t get to do it from the shadows forever. Sooner or later, they would come for me. And I had prepared for that. I had contingencies in place, plans that would ensure my death wouldn’t be the end. But still… still, I was scared. I had died once before, and the thought of dying again made my chest tighten. The Alex who would come back… he wouldn’t be me. Not really. He would have my memories, my goals, my drive… but he wouldn’t be me. And I didn’t want to lose myself. I wanted to be the one to fix things. The one to reunite with Thalia. The one to make everything right again.
I stood, giving Elpida one last look. “I’ve given you everything I thought you’d need,” I said. “Even if something happens to me, you’ll have the knowledge of what’s to come. You’ll know how to build more like yourself, how to create weapons, how to cast spells. You’ll wake up when I’m gone, and you’ll do what needs to be done.”
I walked over to a nearby table, my hand hovering above its surface. With a thought, I manipulated the atoms, rearranging them until a small cake materialized, complete with a single candle. A lighter appeared beside it. I picked it up, lighting the candle and watching the flame flicker.
“Oh, before I forget,” I said, turning back to Elpida. “It’s your birthday today. Your first one.” I smiled, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Happy birthday, Elpida.”
I left the workshop, the door closing softly behind me. I stopped outside Beryl’s room, my hand raised as if to knock. But I hesitated, my fingers curling into a fist before I let it fall. I stood there for a moment, my breath catching in my throat, before I whispered, “See you later, Beryl.”
A gap in space opened beside me, a tear in reality that shimmered like a mirage. I stepped through, the world folding around me as I disappeared. The gap closed behind me, leaving only silence in its wake.
I was after all late to my meeting with god.
Comments
Kevin Valentin
Did I miss something or forget which god is he meeting with the only one I remember him talking to was Hephestus and I was under the impression he just thought he was a clear sighted mortal or something
Anthony Maxwell
I feel like the Huntington's in the story have some sort of affiliation with Artemis the goddess of the hunt.
Big ToFu
Well that's taken a turn. I know it sounds wrong but I think it's weak of him to think about giving in and just dying to some god. He needs to be defiant to the very end. None of this BS about the person coming back not being him. Spite amd vengeance should be far to strong to break his spirit and allow him to pass on. Bahh to all that defeatist thoughts and mentality.
allen 1996
Sorry for taking so long. It is because of the next chapter that I had been preparing and it should be at least 5000 words and posted if everything is right in 5 hours max
