I Am Zeus

The air in the throne room of Pandemonium was thick with the scent of ash and ambition. The seven thrones, carved from the petrified remains of archangels, formed a broken circle around a pit that glowed with the faint, screaming light of damned souls. Six of them were occupied.

Mephisto materialized in the center of the circle, the perfect cut of his robes now seeming slightly less immaculate. A faint smudge of dust was on one shoulder, and a lock of his hair refused to stay in place. He did not sit.

The other Kings observed his return with varying degrees of detached interest.

Belial, a being whose form constantly shifted between a beautiful youth and a rotting corpse, chuckled softly. "You look... ruffled, Mephisto. The mortal world not to your liking?"

"Silence," Mephisto snapped, the word cracking through the chamber like a whip. He took a moment, visibly smoothing his robes and his composure. "The initial assessment was incomplete. The resistance is more... varied than anticipated."

From the shadows near the wall, a hulking shape stirred. Moloch, a mountain of scarred, crimson flesh and black iron, grunted. "My scouts in the frozen north spoke of a thunder god. A brute with a hammer. He broke a captain's will before we could properly gauge their defenses." He spat a glob of acidic phlegm into the pit. "Straightforward. Annoying."

A graceful figure seated on a throne of frozen tears, Asmodeus, waved a languid hand. "My own little foray into the green realms was met with thorns and sunlight. A goddess who makes plants fight for her, and a pretty boy who shoots light from his fingers. They have a certain... aesthetic charm. But they were contained."

Then, a new voice, dry and rasping as sand over stone, emerged from a throne that seemed woven from forgotten nightmares. It was Baal, his form obscured by shifting veils of shadow. "Containment is not the report I received."

All eyes turned to him.

"A messenger," Baal continued. "The one they call Hermes. He was waylaid by Malakor and a full interception squad."

Mephisto's eyes narrowed. "And?"

"And Malakor failed. Spectacularly." Baal made a slight gesture, and an image shimmered in the air above the pit: the folded, immobilized form of Lord Malakor, bent into a U-shape and slung over Hermes' shoulder like a sack of grain. "The messenger did not just escape. He took a trophy. He used one of our Lords as a... visual aid, it seems, for the warning he was sent to deliver."

A low murmur circulated among the Kings. This was not mere resistance. This was insult.

Belial's shifting form paused on his beautiful face, his eyes wide with mocking delight. "He folded him! Oh, that is delicious. I haven't seen a humiliation that complete since Lucifer cast the previous holder of your title into the abyss, Mephisto."

Mephisto ignored him, his gaze fixed on the image. "This changes nothing. The messenger is clearly more than he appears. A tactical oversight."

"Oversight?" Another king, Mammon, who resembled a corpulent, multi-armed insect made of gold and grafted flesh, tapped his claws together. "This speaks of a fundamental miscalculation. We budgeted for localized, predictable divinities. We are encountering systemic, adaptive power."

It was then that Mephisto delivered his own news. "There is another. In the mortal realm of the East. A... creature. Simian in form."

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow. "A monkey? You were bested by a monkey?"

"I was not bested," Mephisto said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I was tested. This 'monkey' is an anomaly. It possesses a power that is not merely strong, but... fluid. It defies categorization. It mocked me. It evaded every attack without apparent effort. It did not fight to win; it fought to prove a point."

He looked around the circle, his expression grim. "It called itself the 'Great Sage, Equal to Heaven'."

For a long moment, there was only the silent scream of the pit.

Belial was the first to break it, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Equal to Heaven? That is a title with weight. Even in our old home, few dared claim such a thing."

"Our strategy is flawed," Baal rasped. "We are probing a fortress, thinking it a house. We sent scouts to a realm of Olympus, and they were met by the King of the Dead himself, who sealed our gateway with primordial light. We sent a lord to stop a message, and he was returned to us as a piece of folded correspondence. We sent a King to pacify a mortal world, and he was taunted by a primate."

Moloch slammed a fist the size of a boulder onto his throne's armrest. "Then we stop probing! We gather the legions. We break their doors down and drown their worlds in fire and blood! Let them try to mock an infinite army!"

"And risk what?" Mephisto countered, his cool demeanor returning as strategy took over from pride. "We do not know the full extent of their capabilities. The Thunderer, the Life-Giver, the Death-King, the Trickster Messenger, and now this... Monkey. These are not isolated local deities. They are a network. A pantheon of pantheons. To commit fully now is to gamble everything on a single, blind assault."

He looked at each of them in turn. "We thought this would be a reclamation. It is becoming a war. And the first rule of war is to know your enemy."

He finally moved to his throne and sat, steepling his fingers. "We recalibrate. We observe. We find the cracks in their alliance, the weaknesses in their individual realms. We let them think they have repelled us. Let them grow confident."

A slow, cruel smile spread across Asmodeus's face. "Let them bicker among themselves. They always do."

"Precisely," Mephisto said. "We continue the pressure, but subtly. Not with armies, but with whispers. With corruption. We turn their strengths against them. Their hope, their love, their pride... these are not shields. They are levers."

The six Kings of Hell sat in council, the initial arrogance of the conqueror replaced by the cold, patient calculation of the veteran. The easy victory they had envisioned was gone. In its place was the grim, familiar prospect of a long and brutal campaign.

They had opened the door to their prison. Now they realized the world outside was not full of sheep, but of shepherds with very sharp staves. And at least one of them was a monkey with a sense of humor.