The Olympians: The Fall of Kin

The Bonds of Trauma

Athena sat in her little chair, in her small, tiny room on the fortieth floor. Her eyes were locked on the pictures of the dead woman and her son. The flayed skin of the woman's stomach peeled away like a blooming flower, the abdominal muscles and intestines almost surgically removed and splayed out on the ground in some sick artistic display. It almost looked like the skin was peeled away from the woman's body in the shape of an angel. And the eye...it was carved out of her skull and replaced by a flat faced onyx gem.

Bastard...

After all these years, she was done running. Hiding. She'd like to say that she wasn't scared. But that wouldn't be the truth.

The only reason she was choosing to hunt this man, to track him down and put him in the ground, was because it was the only way she could be free. Free to fight and protect her friends. She had to do this so that she wouldn't be afraid anymore.

"And they called me broody." She heard the smooth, baritone voice of their newest recruit, the assassin draped in black, Kyn Linnaeus.

She whipped around in her chair; her amber eyes wide. "Wh-how the hell did you get in here? I haven't put you in the system!"

"Well, I'm an assassin. I have my ways. You know what they say about magicians and their secrets and blah, blah, blah." He smirked, revealing the slightest view of one of his fangs. A mutation granted to some Godkin, especially those of Omicron level or higher.

"Whatever, what do you want?"

"Well, I'm not really welcome by most of your friends. Not that that bothers me in the slightest. Really, I only need their help when it comes to my brother. And you all need mine it would seem. So, it works out."

"You're dodging the question." She acknowledged. His piercing, if a little unsettling black-eyes became a bit softer, though only for a moment.

"Right. Perceptive little one, aren't you." He slid to the ground, clutching his side, which was still injured from his fight. His coat absent, due to being burned up in his fight with Kirin, left his arms exposed. They were covered in scars. Deep ones.

Athena decided not to comment on them. She knew better than anyone that talking about trauma—especially if you've been through it yourself—only dredged up the memories you'd rather keep buried.

"I came up here because I wanted to see if you're okay. I'm kind of an expert on shitty-father-syndrome."

Athena chuckled at his joke. "Yeah? So, you know talking about that stuff isn't the best experience. Wouldn't you rather just—" She gestured to her right, as if the words she searched for would be in the dark corner of her room. "Just—just forget it? Pretend like none of the terrible shit you've been through never happened?"

"Why would I want that?" He brought his hand to a pendant that hung from his neck. "If I forgot it all, I'd be just like him."

"Like who?"

"My brother. Father. Kirin. They all wanna' pretend like the problems in the world aren't their fault. That the Godkin aren't responsible for any of the hostility dealt at them."

"I'll never be like him." She said, clutching the armrest of her chair, the leather groaning in the process.

"So, talk about it. It might help."

She snorted. "Fine. You first then. What's your story assassin?"

He smiled, though it seemed like he struggled to do so. He pushed himself to his feet, lumbered toward her, pulling a small flask from the pocket of his cargo pants. He collapsed to the ground beside her chair, groaning as he sipped from it. He proceeded to hand it to her.