24. CORIOLANUS

CORIOLANUS

The Past

“ T HE Olympians kept their word,” Coriolanus noted as he stumbled out of the forest. Though banged up, all his lacerations from slamming into the tree were fully healed. “Nature and god were unharmed in their action to remove all evidence of godly presence. But my poor men! I tried to stop them, Olympius, but I—oh!”

Before the warrior-god could finish his explanation, Olympius appeared at his side. With a fierce expression, the angered god grabbed Coriolanus’ arm and ascended with him into the night sky, unwilling to discuss anything amid what he believed was their collective failure.

Taken aback by this sudden aggressive action, Coriolanus tried to reason with Olympius, imploring him to calm down and loosen his grip, for he was not his enemy. He stated he wished to fly alongside him, not bound in such an unfriendly embrace.

As Olympius came to a sudden halt, his face contorted with anger as he pushed Coriolanus away from him. With his arms crossed, the older immortal launched into a furious tirade against the warrior-god, his voice filled with venomous accusations of betrayal.

“How could you betray me, Coriolanus? I trusted you, yet you rushed back to show your allegiance to the Olympians. Have I not always said we were never in any real danger from them? Gods do not kill gods, Coriolanus. I do not fear them. As you saw, even Apollo’s power is nothing to me, whether day or night. Even in a weakened state, I am stronger in the blood of the ancients than he. Than most of them!

“All of this was nothing but Olympian boasting and bluster! They have no right to stand in my way! Blast their threats of Tartarus. I am no fool like Prometheus, taken and imprisoned like a misbehaving child. I am Lord of the Night —and I will have my revenge upon Rome!”

Coriolanus was confused and profoundly concerned about Olympius’ erratic behaviour. Though deeply wounded by being accused of betrayal, he desperately searched for ways to calm the situation. Though his heart was heavy, he tried comforting his agitated partner with soothing words.

“My love,” the warrior-god spoke gently, “I know nothing of betrayal. I tried to stop the Olympians. They appeared upon the road and ordered me to turn away from Rome and disband our army. But I am ever loyal to you, even to my death, if gods can die. You must know that! I refused their order, of course.”

Coriolanus attempted to place his hand upon Olympius’ shoulder, but his Maker shrugged it off.

“Liar! You told me yourself that you accepted their ruling, their reasoning. Do you take me for some addled simpleton who quickly forgets? Your charms, alluring as they are, will not obfuscate my memory.”

Coriolanus scrunched his face, utterly perplexed and teetering on vexation now that his word and honour were in question. “I did nothing of the sort!” the hot-headed warrior-god loudly declared, tossing his calm demeanour aside. “Have you gone mad? Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me? Unlike you, who—”

Catching himself, Coriolanus paused mid-sentence, but it was too late. The beginning of an accusation, a revelation of secret information he had never meant to weaponize, now lingered between them, impossible to retract.

“Unlike me?! What do you mean? Speak plainly! I have given my reasons for gifting you immortality, for falling in love with you! What evil do you believe I did that you have kept hidden from me, secretly resenting me for? ”

Like poor Pandora, it was too late for the warrior-god to undo his act. The meaning behind his few words was already out of the box, and the lid had closed too late.

“I know what you did at Antium, Olympius,” Coriolanus said plainly, as his Maker asked of him.

“Antium?”

“Do not play games with me, Olympius. I know you murdered my mother and Aufidius, disregarding my choice to allow them to live with their suffering.”

“I did no such thing!” Olympius huffed. “What lies those Olympian bastards fed you! And for you to believe them so easily pains me deeply. Did I not make you strong enough to withstand their sinister magics?”

“I am no weakling, Olympius! To make me think I am bewitched solely to evade ownership of your choices and misdeeds is the act of a villain. Perhaps—perhaps I do not know you as well as I thought.” His last statement started as a condemnation but swiftly turned melancholic. Coriolanus never expected or desired to speak these words.

“Know me?! How dare you!”

As they hovered high up in the night sky, feeling the cold, brisk wind against their immortal flesh, the two gods engaged in a heated argument that lasted for some time. The air was filled with accusations, criticisms, and denials as Olympius and Coriolanus hurled pointed words at each other.

Olympius seethed with anger at Coriolanus for abandoning their shared goals to curry favour with Olympus, telling lies to justify his betrayal. He was also incensed at the warrior-god for believing the lies that painted him as a villain.

Coriolanus railed at Olympius for denying his role in the murders at Antium and for accepting as truth that he supplicated to Olympus, either by choice or by a weakness of spirit, leaving him susceptible to bewitchment, spurning his loyalty to his Maker, his love.

At a certain point, the heated words became ineffective in convincing either party of the other’s innocence.

“Enough of this!” Coriolanus declared bluntly. “If you refuse to believe my words and I cannot disbelieve what my godly eyes have seen, search my thoughts, Maker. There, within my mind, you will find only the truth.”

Having been given permission, Olympius entered his beloved’s mind, silently cursing himself for not thinking of this action earlier. He made his way through the winding pathways of Coriolanus’ thoughts, retracing the steps of the past few hours.

However, as he searched for answers, the god stumbled upon an unexpected gap. Coriolanus’ recollection of his altercation with Hermes was crystal clear. But then the memories abruptly ceased, leaving only emptiness until the image of the warrior-god standing among the Olympians before Apollo’s fall appeared.

Exiting Coriolanus’ mind, Olympius spoke his displeasure. “What truth was I supposed to find in there? Either you have discovered some way to conceal your treacherous actions from even my power, or the gods have removed memories. You have provided no evidence of your innocence.”

With a composed demeanour, the warrior-god softly responded, “I am no liar, Olympius. Is my word no longer sufficient? Can you not look within yourself, to your core, and know that I could never betray you.”

Coriolanus spoke with a heavy heart, his words filled with sadness and pain. He was tired of the endless fighting and wanted to put it all behind them. He pleaded with Olympius to listen to him and believe his assertion of innocence and devotion. He emphasized that their souls were intertwined, and this conflict was misguided and inconsequential to their love.

“If the Olympians have done something to my mind, or I was knocked unconscious by Mercu— Hermes , it does not change that, on my word, I have never betrayed your trust. Please, I need you to believe me.

“And though my eyes saw you in the mind of a dying Aufidius, killing my mother and fatally brutalizing him, I will accept that perhaps I misperceived those images. In the end, it does not matter. I will not have their deaths, no matter how they occurred, or those damned Olympians ruin what is between us. I love you. Trust in that, if nothing else.”

Olympius attempted to speak, but no words came out of his mouth. He was conflicted between his anger and his love for Coriolanus. The god felt stuck and frozen, with his heart fighting against his pride and his—fear. Yes, he did fear something after all. Olympius realized he was scared of forgiveness, of giving wholly into trust, even though he claimed to love Coriolanus unconditionally. He knew his recent actions did not reflect that.

And it was true that he did love his warrior-god above all else—was it not?

Olympius wondered if he could dismiss the assumptions, possible misjudgments, and the Olympians’ interference. He believed that Coriolanus loved him; he felt their innate connection every time they drank from each other, but love did not always equal trust. And their time together so far was short—at least for immortals.

He once trusted Coeus, and that mistake had nearly destroyed him.

“Your blood holds the key to the truth!” Olympius spoke in a firm, commanding tone, his eyes fixed intently on Coriolanus’ neck. “Any doubt I have concerning your loyalty, one taste of it will exonerate or damn you. I will know if the Olympians have corrupted you, beloved, if their power has left its mark on you.

“Nothing can alter our immortal blood’s essence—its magic is ancient and immutable. No god is mighty enough to destroy or manipulate the knowledge it holds. To prove your trustworthiness—give me your blood!”

Coriolanus balked, stunned by the demand, for the stern tone inferred no request . “No, Olympius. I have given you access to my mind, and you have my heart, but to demand my blood! It is not yours to take, but mine to give—and I say nay .

“Believe my words, the look of love upon my face, or do not. I am not your child to order about. I am your equal, or I am nothing to you. Think upon that.”

With that said, the warrior-god turned to leave, to fly off into the night for a momentary reprieve from all this ugliness—but he quickly found he could not move.

Olympius audaciously used his godly power to hold Coriolanus in place, binding him as if by invisible chains.

“Release me, Olympius!”

With a stoic expression, the older god declared, “No, beloved, I will not let it end like this. Your mind is muddled. I see now that you are a broken god to refuse me your ichor, the very magic I gave you as your Maker.

“You will return with me to my villa in Greece, and we shall strategize our next move. I will train you harder so that none may affect your mind again. Together, we will build a new, stronger army. And when the time is right, we shall reign fire upon Rome.”

“Enough, Olympius! Would you hold me a prisoner? Is revenge all you can see now, the blood of your enemies all you desire?

“Where is the god who told me he would sooner die than have harm come to me? Can you not see that is what you do by taking my free will? To call me broken because I choose to enact that freedom? Please do not prove me right in showing a pattern of disregard, as I once again bring up Antium. ”

“No, beloved, it is you who does not understand. I am doing this to protect you. You are not seeing clearly. You must trust that I know what is best.”

“And there is that voice of elder god arrogance, again! Best for me? No, best for you! Where once I saw love in your eyes, now all I see is the truth—you love only your vengeance. And I have had enough of bloodshed. No, Olympius, no more war. I want no more mortal lives thrown to the fire for your never-ending grudges.

“This obsessive drive for revenge befouls you. I no longer want any part of it. I want a future where we explore the world, free of ancient resentments and pointless vendettas. Release me, and let us start anew elsewhere, far from Rome. Please, unburden yourself. I will help you. Release me.”

“I—I cannot let you leave me. I love you, Coriolanus, I need you, but I must have my revenge. To give it up, I—”

But Olympius could speak nothing further. He could not comprehend the idea of never having vengeance upon Rome; the mere suggestion of it paralyzed him.

Olympius’ sudden frozen state and lack of focus lessened the invisible bindings holding Coriolanus in place. The warrior-god struggled momentarily before his power was strong enough to shrug off his imprisonment.

And seeing that nothing he said had made any difference, Coriolanus swiftly flew away, heartbroken, leaving his torpefied Maker, lover, and soulmate to remain alone amid the cold darkness of the starry night sky.