Bash of the Titains: Short Fiction

Bash of the Titans

Chris Costello

The bouncer was a huge man with rippling muscles and one bulbous eye set smack in the middle of his head, and he didn’t even pretend to glance at the guest list. “Your name’s not on here.” He grunted.

“Oh, come on.” Said Prometheus, doing his best not to whine. “Check again. I’m sure my invite got lost in the mail.”

“Look, you’re name’s not on the list.” The bouncer said. “There’s not a lot I can do for you, pal.”

“Hey, move it!” Said a booming voice from a few feet behind Prometheus. Before Prometheus could do as told, something huge slammed into his back. The young deity stumbled forward, coming to a stop once he collided with one of the huge marble columns that held up the nightclub. He groaned, rubbing the bump that was rapidly swelling on his head.

“Thank you.” Said the voice, condescension dripping off of every syllable. He was a handsome guy in an impeccably tailored suit, and a blinding white light poured off of him. The cyclops had to shield his eyes, or rather eye. The glowing man approached the bouncer, accompanied by a beautiful woman on each arm. “Helios.” He said with a grin. “Party of three.”

Prometheus’ heart soared. “Helios, bro!” He said, waving his ams wildly. “Dude, it’s me.”

Helios never took his eyes off the bouncer. “Oh.” He said. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Can you do me a favor and tell this guy I belong here?” Prometheus knew it was asinine even before the words left his mouth.

Helios frowned, and the aura surrounding him dimmed. “Is your name on the list?”

The cyclops shook his head. “Nope.”

Helios’ scowl deepened. “Can’t help you, brother.”

“Bullshit. Just let me in.”

“Sorry. You brought this on yourself.” Helios said.

The girls on his arm, probably nymphs, giggled at this. Their laughter sounded like a dying chimera.

“How many eons before the family gets over that?” Prometheus snapped.

“You’re the foresight guy. You tell me.”

The bouncer snickered. Then he undid the velvet rope and ushered Helios into the party. Bumping techno music filtered out onto the street.

Prometheus glowered at the bouncer. “Your wife is going to sleep with your brother tonight.” He said.

“Piss off, pal.” The bouncer grunted.

Prometheus crossed the street, sat on a bus bench, and watched the party fill up. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a raven perched on a nearby telephone wire. He groaned. Whenever he was feeling down on himself, that damn buzzard would appear. Just to taunt him. The thing cawed and spread its huge wings.

“Scram.” Prometheus grumbled. He didn’t know what the bird wanted, but he expected that somebody was keeping tabs on him. Well, he wasn’t having any of it.

The terrible black bird gave him a reproachful look, but soon it was gone.

He glanced down at his watch, though he already knew what time it was. He always did. A few of the minor gods were throwing a gala across town, and if he hurried, he could arrive fashionably late. He hadn’t exactly been invited, but his invitation had probably been lost in the mail. He knew better, of course, but he also figured it was worth a shot. He had to be wrong sooner or later.

With fresh optimism in his heart and a hungry vulture flying overhead, he hailed a taxi. He would have flown, or teleported, but Zeus had robbed him of most of his powers. If everything went well tonight, all that would change.