Chapter 334. Phastos, The Eternal
Following its horrific mutation, the giant Deviant's physiology had undergone a radical, transcendental shift. It no longer relied on mere sight or scent; it could now perceive the very strands of Eternal DNA vibrating in the atmosphere, a celestial beacon calling out to be extinguished.
Standing like a dark monolith amidst the endless, rolling dunes of the Alaskan tundra, the beast loomed over the landscape. Four eyes, glowing with a malevolent, amber light, peered out from a skull that looked like a fusion of bone and twisted obsidian. Once a creature that prowled on all fours like a nightmare hound, its massive frame—now stretching nearly twenty feet into the air—stood upright, adopting a predatory, humanoid stance.
It shifted its weight, testing the balance of its new, vertical form. The snow crunched beneath its massive talons as it forced air through its gore-stained throat, molding the sound into two guttural, jagged syllables: "Kro."
Kro. That was the name that bubbled up from its awakening consciousness.
In another version of history, Kro would have only found his voice after consuming the essence of Ajak and Gilgamesh, stealing their memories and their cosmic sparks to fuel his ascent.
But the fate of this Kro had diverged sharply. Noah's intervention had denied him the prize of Ajak's life, yet the beast had found a different catalyst—a strange, surging life force that had acted as a key to his frozen cage.
This potent energy had bestowed upon him gifts he could scarcely comprehend: a burgeoning, cold intelligence, a body of reinforced sinew, and that singular, unerring sense for his ancient enemies.
By consuming a handful of humans—creatures who looked like the Eternals but tasted of weakness and mortality—he had not only learned what they were called but had digested their very language. In the dark recesses of Kro's mind, memories flickered like dying embers; he recalled that the two Eternals he had encountered earlier also spoke in these human tongues.
Kro stood motionless, his mind a whirlpool of strategy. The fragments of human knowledge he had absorbed painted a picture of a world much changed since his long slumber.
He remembered a time when humans were nothing more than bleating sheep, helpless before the Deviant tide. Now, they had forged terrible toys of metal and fire: screaming rockets, sun-bright bombs, and winged steel. These stolen memories warned him that despite his newfound power, he had to tread carefully among the gears of human civilization.
Thus, even as the "scent" of an Eternal tugged at his instincts, Kro did not simply charge. He understood the necessity of shadow. To strike too openly would be to invite the wrath of the humans and, worse, to alert the Eternals that their predator had finally arrived.
He began to weave a plan, a way to navigate the blind spots of human technology while honing in on his prey with lethal efficiency.
"Kin..." Kro rasped, the word grinding like stones in a mill. A clear objective had formed. He would first build an army. He had abandoned his previous sycophants at the frozen lake, and he sensed they were long dead, extinguished by the golden-haired warrior or the one who moved like the wind.
He would find new Deviants, gather a pack of monsters to his banner, and then lead them on a crusade to hunt down the shimmering signal he felt pulsing in the distance.
Beyond the Eternals, Kro's status as an alpha allowed him to feel the stirrings of his own kind. He could sense that after that strange, global surge of energy, other Deviants, entombed in the forgotten corners of the earth, were beginning to crack their shells and claw toward the surface.
He would find them. He would lead them. As their sovereign, he would command the mindless ones by instinct; and if he encountered another of his rank, he would prove his dominance through tooth and claw.
With a final, lingering look toward the source of the Eternal's signal, Kro dropped back onto four powerful limbs. He vanished into the white blur of a snowstorm, a grey ghost running toward the call of his brothers. Search, hunt, evolve—the cycle had begun again.
Thousands of miles to the southeast, far from the arctic bite of Alaska, the very Eternal Kro had targeted was living a life of quiet, unassuming peace in the state of Illinois.
Chicago, the "Windy City," rose from the plains as a sprawling titan of glass and steel, the third-largest metropolis in the United States. It was a place of frantic energy and architectural grandeur, a hub of finance and culture that pulsed with the lives of millions.
It was here, amidst the roar of the "L" trains and the mist of Lake Michigan, that one of the Eternals had chosen to bury his past and forge a future as a mortal.
Phastos. The scholar. The engineer. Within the ranks of the Eternals, he was the one who could manipulate the very fabric of technology, shaping metal and energy with a thought. Yet, he rarely drew a blade in anger. He preferred the elegance of creation over the crudeness of destruction, often fighting with ingenious devices of his own making.
He was blissfully unaware of the shadow creeping across the north. Years ago, the horrors of human conflict—the mushroom clouds and the scorched earth—had driven him into a deep, soul-crushing despair. It was Ajak who had reached through his darkness, helping him find a reason to love the world again.
In Chicago, he had found the one thing he had lacked for millennia: a family. He had built a life with his husband, Ben, and together they were raising a young boy named Jack.
To Phastos, this was his greatest masterpiece. He was a gay man married to another, living in a city where the "freedom" of the modern age allowed them to exist without the shackles of ancient prejudice.
The home of Phastos sat in a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. To a passerby, it was merely another handsome suburban residence, but within its walls were wonders that would have baffled the world's greatest scientists.
"Hey, Jack! Careful, don't go out into the street!" Ben's voice rang out across the manicured lawn. He was laughing, tossing a weathered rugby ball back and forth with their adopted son. When Jack made a sudden break for the fence to chase a stray throw, Ben moved with a father's practiced urgency, catching the boy before he could reach the curb.
The street was busy with afternoon traffic, the hum of tires on asphalt a constant backdrop to their play. Ben stepped out to retrieve the ball, then returned, kneeling down to Jack's level. With patient, gentle words, he began to explain the dangers of the road, his eyes full of a warmth that only a parent could possess.
Phastos stood in the open mouth of the garage, his hands stained with grease as he worked on a small, toy car for his son. He watched them, a rare, genuine smile softening his features. He would trade ten thousand years of cosmic glory for a single afternoon of this mundane, beautiful peace.
"...Super-hero Iron Man..."
The voice from a nearby television, broadcasting the afternoon news, caught his ear. Phastos felt a small furrow form in his brow. The world was changing; it was becoming louder, more chaotic, filled with gods and armored men. Yet, he felt no fear for his sanctuary. His home, though it looked like wood and brick, was shielded by defensive systems that could withstand a saturation missile strike. He had built a fortress of love, and he intended to keep the world outside its gates.
--------
You can read up to 200+ advanced chapters and support me at patreon.com/raaaaven
Daily +2 chapters updates