Centaurian

RHHorst

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It's me again with another novel. I just finished this one. It's a fantasy novel involving the Greek gods, but it's different from what you might expect. It may have the name Centaurian, but there's no four legged centaurs in this story. It's very different. Read and you'll see.

Copyright © 2022 Rick Haydn Horst
Synopsys: An unusual man comes into the protection of Officer Liam Phillips, and the world will never be the same in this sexy LGBTQ adventure about the evolution of the gods, a need for real freedom, and the one being in the universe who can save them.

Chapter 1a

June 20th

Henri Estalon could never have found the perfect location in Miami simply by looking. An inner voice told him to use the southernmost point of Key Biscayne. So, on that warm and windy summer solstice, he and Ronan would allow the transfer to happen there, accepting that events would unfold as they should.

Eight o’clock had sped toward them, but the sun had yet to touch the horizon in that so-called, golden hour—which would last 32 minutes—before the sunset at 8:14. So, they waited in nail-biting anticipation upon the concrete sea wall staring out over the water.

“The world is a far more complicated place than in my day,” said Henri. “To lose the personal memories from your past in 2016 is a frightening prospect. People can verify things these days; you can’t just make stuff up anymore. And not to deter you—as the decision is yours—but have you the will to become the man you envision? None of the others ever drew such attention, and you must endure the repercussions for a thousand years.”

“I’m sure,” said Ronan. “I don’t know that anything I do will change much, but I want to make a difference somehow.”

“You will bring something quite new to Chiron’s unique existence; you are a very different sort of man from myself and the others that came before you.”

“You mean because I identify as gay.”

“Well, yes, there’s that…but then, perhaps, it’s just because I came from an era so far removed from this one, and there’s only so much a man can do to stay current. At this stage, I do feel a bit too disconnected from modernity to function well here. I suppose that’s why a change must occur every thousand years. In the end, Admissārius probably realized that too.”

“Are you afraid?” Ronan asked.

“No, and when your time comes, neither will you be.” He glanced down at Ronan’s lap, and he laughed a little at the skinny young man. “I don’t know that your plan with the oversized bathing suit will work. It won’t hurt to try, but Admissārius and I were both naked when the transfer happened, and…well…let’s just say one must experience it to understand why. But I will wear mine as an experiment, and we’ll see what happens.”

“You told me I would pass out. I just thought it would be better if I weren’t naked when that happens.”

“You will be half Chiron and therefore one-quarter equine, so Stallion by name, stallion by nature. An intellectual or not, Chiron would have suffered a deplorable sense of inadequacy as a pure human, so you both have a say. You agreed to this though, so you’ll just have to live with it as the rest of us have.”

Turning his head, Ronan checked both directions of the bicycle path behind them. “You’re sure this is the spot?”

Henri nodded. “I believe that we came to this spot for more than just the view, only Prometheus knows why, but I feel deep within me the importance of your presence here. So, fear not, the stars will reach their position, and it will happen as it should.”

Ronan held Henri’s hand. “I have loved you like a father. I want you to know that.”

“I know,” said Henri. “In 1026, I had one biological child, and I would have outlived them…and my grandchildren if they had any…and any great-grandchildren, and so on.”

“Can we have children? I got the impression that couldn’t happen.”

“Admissārius gave me that impression as well, but it happened just the once, and it never happened again. It was not something I intended; due to the nature of this life, I couldn’t stay. And while we’re not expressly forbidden to tell anyone anything, the fewer the better. What would I have said to them? One day the child or any of their progeny could turn eighty, and I would still be thirty. This life is not an easy one. It holds many incredible experiences that most people could never imagine, counterbalanced by enough heartbreak to make you question if it’s even worth it. But then, I met you. You’re the only one that I’ve had the opportunity to love like a son, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. You have made the last thousand years worthwhile, and I love you very much.”

Ronan squeezed his hand. “I don’t recall you telling me that you once had a girlfriend or was she your wife?”

“My wife. Her name was Rosine, and she was so beautiful. She used to call me her angele, her angel.”

Ronan had a wistful smile. “That’s nice.”

“I could never see myself as she saw me. She sensed my unusual nature, but she wasn’t the only one. Over the centuries, many people have sensed it; those are typically the people you can trust.”

They watched the sun in the distance as it met the sea. It had begun, so they left the wall and moved to the middle of the pathway.

“I don’t want you to go,” said Ronan, hugging Henri tightly.

“I have no choice,” he said in sympathy, “and despite how you feel at this moment, you don’t need me anymore. It’s time for you to take my place.”

Ronan hesitated to ask, “Will this hurt?”

“You’ve been afraid to ask me that question.”

“Yeah.”

“For me,” he said, “I don’t know. For you, this will be quite painful for a few moments, but you’ll fall unconscious for the worst of it. Fortunately, you won’t have to carry the memory of seeing me go, and I suspect that would hurt you more than anything else.”

They stood there in one another’s arms, prepared for a painful parting, watching the beauty of the sinking sun with the roar of the ocean and the wind in their ears. On any other occasion, such a scene would impart a sense of awe and the mystery about the simple joys of being alive.

When the sun had only one half left, Henri sounded a little breathless, “I’m beginning to feel hot.” He pulled Ronan more tightly to him. “Not long now.” When the last moments came, wisps of a fiery glow emerged from Henri and swirled around him. He brought his mouth near Ronan’s ear. “Remember to keep the love in your heart and the image in your mind.”

Henri’s body began to shudder, and the moment the sun vanished, a brilliant, white-hot light passed between them, and a searing burn ripped through Ronan’s body. His mouth gaped in a silent scream, and his arms—spread as they were—no longer wrapped Henri in a loving embrace. Keeping their chests together, Henri held him aloft when Ronan’s legs left the ground. Every nerve blistering like he had become fire itself. The pain overwhelmed his senses, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

His strength failing him, Henri used the last he had to lower Ronan’s naked body to the ground. He stood over him only for a moment and gazed upon the young man whom he had loved for many years. He had time for three words, “Goodbye, my son.” His feet no longer held him, and as he tipped away from Ronan, the wind caught bits of ash until he crashed upon the ground in a billowing plume, carried on the breeze to the sea, and by morning, the remainder would lay indistinguishable from the inconsequential dust beneath any passing jogger’s feet.



June 21st

Officer Liam Phillips would never procrastinate with the snooze button for an extra five minutes of sleep, nor would he set all his clocks ahead ten minutes to compensate for a lifetime of tardiness. In his perpetual best-foot-forward attitude, for five days of every week, when the alarm went off, his feet would hit the floor for his morning exercise in the gym up the street. Unlike a stereotypical cop, Officer Phillips stayed fit. He never knew when he needed any specific ability; not that his job on Key Biscayne consisted of the frequent pulling of victims from burning vehicles, but he could manage it with ease if the occasion should arise, and to him, that mattered most.

Five years earlier, he started work at the station on the key. At that time, he moved into a one-bedroom, South-Point apartment on Collins Avenue, but he never settled in. The apartment’s empty white walls lacked a personal touch, and a veritable Klotski of square boxes holding much of his past, all packed and taped with care, remained stacked against the dining room wall, a puzzle that needed solving for why he had yet to make a home there.

After a morning workout, he ate a hearty breakfast of eggs, oatmeal, plain yogurt, fruit, and coffee while he caught up on the news and weather report, followed by readying himself for work, singing along with whatever song suited his mood from the eclectic array of music on his smartphone.

He used the towel to defog the bathroom mirror to the metronomic beat of “I Love a Rainy Night” and lathered up for a quick shave of his sun-kissed skin. As a Florida Police Officer, they had regulations against facial hair, and that made grooming more complicated for him. His dark beard hair would blend into his chest hair if he let it, but with manscaping all the rage, he had a plethora of options for trimmers to fight the growth that sought to emerge from beneath his t-shirts, and he kept his trimmed to the collarbone.

He leaned close to the mirror as he donned his contact lenses. His mother, grandmother, classmates, past boyfriends, and anyone who ever got close enough to his face would comment about his eyes. Strangers would often ask if they were natural, as most anyone else would have to fake the cornflower blue that garnered so much attention in his youth.

He parked his Jeep at the station, stared at the building, and smiled to himself. He enjoyed being a police officer on Key Biscayne. Some might say he enjoyed it a little too much.

Uniformed and ready, he sauntered into the department at 7:54 AM to check in and get a cup of coffee, as everyone did.

“Good morning, short-timer,” said Rodriguez at the front desk.

“Hey! I figured you would get back out there today.”

“No. They removed the cast and said my arm was fine, but here I am for seven more days of light-duty; the doctor insisted. I cover for you starting next week. And speaking of that, Sergeant Watkins told me you’ve not taken a vacation in three years, and they made you use it or lose it. What is wrong with you?”

Phillips laughed. “Isn’t every day a vacation when you love your job?”

“No,” stated Sergeant Watkins who had walked up behind him, shaking his head at such a ridiculous idea. “And since this is your last day before you begin a prescribed six weeks of workaholic rehabilitation—and I know we’ll get so little out of you today—I will offer it to you again, if you want to take a personal day and just go, no one will blame you.”
 

RHHorst

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Chapter 1b

Phillips knew the sergeant was right, he had nearly turned into a 28-year-old workaholic. Every chance he could work, he did, but he knew he needed the time away from it. However, for the past three years, and for a reason he couldn’t explain, he never took any.

“That’s tempting,” he said. “Will you give me some time today to think about it?”

“Sure, and I have a crap job to help convince you. A call just came in. Bill Baggs just opened, and the first jogger of the day says there’s a naked drunk man passed out on the trail at the south tip. I want you to go assess the situation, and call an ambulance if it’s warranted, but text Rodriguez and let us know if he’s covered in puke. Right now, the puke pool has set the odds at 20 to 1, and as I lost the last two times, this one better be puke-free; I need to recoup my losses.”

“No problem,” said Phillips. “Depending on his location, I might get a patrol car stuck there. I’ll take my Jeep.” Phillips hurried out the door.

Key Biscayne would get the occasional passed-out drunk. Sometimes it was an actual resident, but usually, someone from elsewhere would show up and be a poor reminder to rich residents of the realities of the world. Residents wouldn’t even bother to call 9-1-1 when they saw one, they had no desire to draw attention to unsightliness. The locals paid such high taxes they expected never to see drunks on the streets or anywhere else. So, they insisted that the police give them a surreptitious bum’s rush and take them off the key.

Phillips would find the location in question seven minutes down Crandon Boulevard. The Bill Baggs Cape Florida State Park, home of the decommissioned Cape Florida Lighthouse, presented an opportunity for birdwatching, jogging, family gatherings, and the like.

On arrival, three people, including the caller, hovered over what he could see was a man sprawled on the ground. He cautiously pulled past them to provide access to the cargo area and parked the Jeep. The naked man lay in an odd position, his legs partially tucked under him with his knees off to the side, and his arms straight out from his body. The caller had found a red solo cup on the side of the pathway and placed it over the man’s genitals to keep people from gawking, a thoughtful—if not wholly sanitary—idea.

“Thank you very much,” Phillips told them, and insisted they move along to let him do his job, and they left. He pulled on a pair of blue gloves from a pouch on his belt giving the man an assessment of his appearance. No doubt about it, the guy was attractive. He had a rectangular face with masculine features, and if he were a drunk, his skin showed no sign of it. So, he wasn’t the usual drunk.

“Hey, buddy,” he tried to shake him a little to awaken him. “Can you hear me?”

The man was unconscious, but he had a regular pulse and was breathing fine. The pupils of his cognac-colored eyes responded normally with a flashlight. He opened his mouth to find beautiful, straight white teeth. He had no sign of alcohol on his breath, or anything up his nose. Overall, his skin looked healthy without discoloration and wasn’t cool to the touch.

He texted Rodriguez. [No puke. Not a drunk, but unconscious. No time for an ambulance. Taking him to Mercy.]

He received a text that read [Acknowledged].

He opened the rear of his vehicle and lowered the seats to enlarge the cargo space. In his attempt to hoist him into the Jeep, he noticed the man had a bold, half-finished black tattoo across his back—shoulder to shoulder—that when complete, would read “STALLION” in a fancy but legible serif font. When he picked him up a bit more, the solo cup fell and out spilled the reason the woman bothered.

“Oh, wow... You know what you are, don’t ya, big fella?” He struggled to get him into the vehicle, but he got him there. He covered him with the blanket he always kept in the back.

On the way, he called Mercy Hospital—hands-free of course. He had a number he could call for emergency use. He relayed what he could from his cursory observations. “I am Officer Liam Phillips from the Key Biscayne Police Department. I’m bringing to the emergency entrance a man about 27 years old, maybe 6-feet-tall. He’s fit, about 190 pounds. He is breathing. His pulse is good. His pupils respond normally, but he’s unconscious and unresponsive. He has no apparent drug use and may have been exposed to the elements all night, but his skin is warm to the touch.”

As it was still early, the hospital wasn’t too busy, so they took the man back immediately, and checked his vitals. His temperature was normal; his blood pressure was 117 over 78. The man’s nurse named Lidia Morales felt in his hair to find any bumps or contusions on his head.

“Where did you find him?” she asked Phillips.

“On the bike trail in the park on south Key Biscayne. I couldn’t tell how long he had been there. The ground around him was dry, so that probably helped.”

“I don’t feel or see any bumps, and no ticks; externally, he seems fine. We have an open bed, so we’ll take him back. The doctor will want a blood sample.”

Phillips followed the man on the gurney from triage into an examination room with a bed that could weigh the patient. It read 193 pounds. “I guesstimated pretty well,” he said to himself. Once alone with him, he hovered over his face and gazed upon him in the stark fluorescent lighting. “Can you hear me?” he said to the guy. “You know, some guys get their surnames across their back like that. They usually have many other tattoos though. You look too clean-cut for that. So, are you Mr. Stallion or just known as a stallion? Hmm? I wish you would wake up. I have questions. Has someone assaulted you? Has someone injected you or something? What happened to you?”

After a few minutes, Dr. Cohen entered the room.

“Hello, officer, I heard you brought someone in. Let’s see what we have here.” He checked his pulse, pupils, mouth, nose, and ears, rechecked his scalp, and gave his body a visual examination. “He certainly is healthy-looking for someone so unconscious,” said the doctor. “I have ordered some blood work, and we’ll see what information that gets us. May I ask your interest in this man?”

“I want to know if he’s been assaulted. If he suddenly awakens, it would be nice to get a statement if that’s possible. So, I guess you could say that my interest is a professional one, and I’m the one who brought him here.”

“If he should wake up, there’s no guarantee he’ll be in a position to answer any questions, but out of professional courtesy, I will agree for you to stay, so long as you don’t get in the way.”

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

The phlebotomist entered when the doctor left.

“Hey, I’m here to draw blood,” she said in obviousness.

Phillips watched closely as she laid her instruments on the metal tray table, including six vacuum tubes. She seated herself upon the stool and found his arm beneath the blanket, studied his veins for a moment, and proceeded to prepare for the draw. She gloved up and installed a needle on the vacutainer tube holder with practiced ease. She tied the rubber tourniquet around his upper arm and swabbed the area with alcohol. She held the needle for insertion and pushed. Nothing happened. She repositioned the needle and pushed. The needle wouldn’t pierce his skin. Phillips got closer and watched her try it again. It just wouldn’t go in. The phlebotomist was getting frustrated. She closed off the needle, set it aside, and prepared another from her pocket. She tried it again, but it wouldn’t go in. Turning a tad pale, she set everything down, said, “Excuse me,” and left the room.

Phillips immediately called Sergeant Watkins and not once could he take his eyes off the arm of the man on the hospital bed. “Hey, you were right all along,” he said in distraction. “I should take that personal day.” The sergeant said he would put it in the books and told him to enjoy his vacation.

Phillips found the man intriguing. Before him lay a handsome mystery, and he had no intention of leaving.

A few minutes later, Dr. Cohen entered, a little perturbed with the phlebotomist. Apparently, if you wanted something done right, you must do it yourself, but the instant he tried to push the needle into the man’s arm, it wouldn’t go in for him either, not even a little. He laid the vacutainer holder onto the metal tray and stepped back. He turned to the phlebotomist. “Could you leave the room, please?” Once she had, he spoke to the officer. “Where did you find this man?”

“A jogger found him naked and unconscious at the southern tip of Key Biscayne, I checked him over, he is now as he was then, and I brought him here.”

The doctor uncovered the man, and they could see his fully nude body. He picked up the needle and an alcohol pad. He swabbed the man’s right thigh and tried to push the needle into his leg. It wouldn’t pierce the skin. He raised his hand and slammed the needle into the man’s thigh. It didn’t penetrate and left not even a scratch.

“That’s…aah, that’s not normal,” said Phillips.

“No…it’s not…” The doctor laid the instrument onto the table again and began to check the man’s every nook and fold to find anything unusual. He recovered him with the blanket. He looked at the chart made by the staff when he arrived. “This says his weight is 193 pounds.”

“Yeah, that’s what it was when they brought him in, I saw it on the end of the bed when she wrote it down.”

“Then either this bed is suddenly reading wrong, or this man has gained a pound and a half since he’s been here.”

His brows drew together. “What? That’s impossible.” He looked for himself and it read 194.5 pounds.

The doctor sat on the bed for a moment to change the weight. When he left the bed, it went back down but now it read 194.6 pounds. The doctor thought for a moment.

“So, what’s wrong with him?” Phillips asked.

Dr. Cohen just stood there shaking his head. “I don’t know what this is, but he’s not human. He looks human, feels human, has a pulse like a human, breathes like a human, but no human has skin that a needle cannot penetrate and gains weight like this. They could revoke my license for making this suggestion, but I’m not certain he needs medical attention or anything else. It’s like he’s in a state of dormancy, and that would explain why he’s unconscious. I would suggest that he could be a government experiment, but we don’t have that sort of medical technology. He’s gaining weight with no external input. That should be impossible.”

“An alien/human hybrid of some kind,” Phillips suggested.

The doctor shrugged. “Maybe. I just know there’s nothing a hospital can do for him. We can give him an X-ray to see what that reveals, but if I’m right, it will only create more evidence, and I think that’s a bad idea. What do you want to do with him?”

“Me?”

“You brought him here, so you’ve taken on a responsibility for him.” Dr. Cohen glanced down at the scale readout. “He’s gained another tenth of a pound. This, whatever this is, can’t stay here.”

“Oh, shit,” said Phillips. “Maybe, we should call the government.”

The doctor turned to him; his face scrunched into complete disbelief at the officer’s naivety. “Have you not seen any films?” he asked. “When the government gets involved in situations like this, things go catastrophically bad. At the very least, they would take him away and no one would ever see him again, just for existing. And I’m Jewish, so trust me on this, it’s not okay to take someone away for existing.”

“What if he’s dangerous?”

“You don’t know that he is. You’re a police officer. Human or not, what laws has he broken?”

“Indecent exposure at most, which may not have been of his own volition. And it looked like someone had dumped him in the park. What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should take him with you, protect him, and wait until he wakes up on his own. Once he does, find out who he is. He’s a fascinating case; I would love to do it myself, but my wife hates it when I bring work home.”

Phillips leaned close to the man’s face. And stared at him for a moment. His hair, his brow, his nose, and the tiny up-curl of his mouth, spoke to him like it had the moment he saw him on the ground. The man carried a certain celestiality about him. “He looks like an angel to me,” he said.

“At this point, I couldn’t discount that idea either. Will you do it?”

Phillips’s brows drew together and held his breath in a moment of decision. “Yeah.”

“Do you know of the employee side entrance to the emergency room?”

“I think so.”

“Get your vehicle. I’ll have him waiting there. Do it quickly.”

It only took two seconds for Phillips to find himself leaving the room to get the Jeep. “The doctor is right,” he thought to himself, “the guy hasn’t done anything. There’s no legal reason not to help him, and I have the time, so I’m choosing to do this.”

The doctor got a wheelchair from the hallway, and as he had a lot of experience with patients, he hadn’t much difficulty getting the man into it. He pushed him from the room, and like driving down a boulevard full of traffic lights, every one of them turned green at the exact moment necessary to get the man out the door. Hospital employees, patients, and their family members either turned away at the right moment or had their back to him as they walked the hall in a perfect clockwork that would have made anyone think perhaps miracles do happen.

Phillips saw that the doctor waited for him when he pulled up.

“Any problems?” he asked the doctor as they put him into the cargo space.

“It happened with an ease that had to be divine intervention,” said Dr. Cohen, “so I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“I hope so.” Phillips shook his hand, got into the vehicle, and buckled in. “Did you hear that, buddy? You’re staying at Chez Phillips for a while. I just hope you’re not incubating an alien in your chest.”

-------

Particularly pleased with herself, Mrs. Novak who lives in apartment 3, an octogenarian with a gray beehive and the uncanny ability to detect from inside her apartment when someone drops a lit cigarette end near her door, had the opportunity that morning to report to the super a drip in her shower; she chastised a passing dog walker for allowing her canines to crap in the coreopsis, piss on the pentas, and dig into the dianthus; also, she noted that Mr. Frankenbush from apartment 6 had, once again, stayed overnight with Ms. Gibson in apartment 2 next door. Little escaped the eagle eyes of Ms. Novak, a fact well known to Officer Phillips who, on more than one occasion, endured the precise details about minor infractions made by his own neighbors of laws that never existed.
 
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RHHorst

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Chapter 1c

She saw the officer backing into his parking space, and his unexpected early return from work caused her to meet him by his vehicle, and she barely allowed him to close his door.

“Hello, officer,” she said in her Jersey accent, “I just wanted to tell you that Mrs. Hinklemeyer in apartment 10 has killed a cockroach in her kitchen, so they will make an emergency spray of the apartments this afternoon.”

He smiled. “Well, you have no idea how much I appreciate your letting me know that.”

She glanced into the back of his vehicle. “You have a body back there!”

He laughed and put his finger to his lips and began whispering. “No, it’s just a friend.” He nodded his head. “A drunk friend. Aah, he needs drying out. I’m helping him.”

“Oh! That’s so kind of you, dear,” she replied. “My first husband Mortie was just the same, it killed him in the end.”

“I seem to recall you mentioning that once or twice. Well, thank you for letting me know about the bug man, but I need to get on with this, so I can get him upstairs. I don’t want to embarrass him by drawing too much attention to him. I think that would be unhelpful. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh, I quite agree,” she whispered. “No sense in embarrassing anyone, after all, the inability to stay off the sauce is a disease, you know.”

“I’m so pleased you understand, Mrs. Novak.”

He locked the doors to the vehicle and sprinted up the staircase. As the first order of business, at the least, the guy needed a pair of shorts and a shirt. He dug through his chest of drawers, tossing aside the ones with too short an inseam. At the bottom, he found an extra-long pair of black and blue basketball shorts that he purchased at the end of that sad and oxymoronic “long shorts” era and found an orange, extra-large Miami Hurricanes t-shirt given to him during a particularly festive Dirty Santa one Christmas at the police station.

Having backed into his spot meant no one could see into the cargo area of the vehicle unless they descended the stairs, and that gave him time. He slipped the shorts over the man’s feet with no problem, but the farther up the leg they went the more he struggled.

“You’re not gonna help me at all, are you, buddy? You know, I suddenly have a newfound respect for people who dress the dead in mortuaries. I had no idea of the difficulty in dressing someone who doesn’t help you. The problem is, you have a major bootie, and I can’t simultaneously pick you up and push.” He moved to the doorway on the side of the vehicle, reached in, grabbed the waistband, and with a great heaving pull, he got them over the hurdle. However, his uncut flaccid penis stubbornly refused to go into the shorts without assistance. “My apologies for this.” He picked up the waistband with one hand, the end of his penis with the other, and tossed it into the shorts. “There. Now you’re presentable and street legal. After the shorts though, I’m not even going to attempt this shirt.” He tossed it aside. “Now it’s just a matter of carrying you upstairs, and you’ll be safe. At the rate you’re gaining weight, you’re probably seven pounds more than in the park, but don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

He pulled him from the vehicle and stood him up behind it by locking his knees. “Wow, so this is you standing. I’m six feet, so you must be a couple of inches taller than that. Okay, here we go.” Phillips bent down a bit and allowed the man to drape over him with his right shoulder in the man’s groin area. “I hope I’m not busting your balls.” He stood and could carry him well, but he needed to climb the stairs immediately. One foot in front of the other, he took each step carefully to maintain his balance. Navigating a flight of stairs with an unconscious body wasn’t something he wanted to try again.

Once he arrived at his door, he paused a moment, breathing like he had run a mile. He turned the knob, carried him into the living room, and lowered him into a low-backed slipcovered chair with less grace than he intended. “Sorry, if that was too hard, buddy. I’ll be right back.” He ran from the room and down the staircase to shut the doors of his vehicle and lock it. Taking two steps at a time, he returned to his guest.

He closed the door behind him and locked it. “Ugh! Tired now. You would make an incredible piece of gym equipment, you know that?” The swiveling chair in which he sat faced away from the door, and Phillips noticed the tattoo across the man’s back. “Hey! Your tattoo has filled in more.” He smiled and laughed a little. “Oh wow, that’s so great! I’m actually encouraged by that.” He squatted in front of him. “This tells me that the doctor was probably right. You’re in some kind of dormancy, aren’t you? And you’ll most likely wake up when you’re finished becoming whoever you are. Perhaps, I should start calling you Stallion. Would you like that? With the tattoo and all, I must assume you would. Well, Stallion, this is it,” he said turning the chair and looking around the living, dining, and kitchen combo. “Apartment Sweet Apartment.”

The guy said nothing.

Phillips sighed. “Yeah, it’s pretty underwhelming to me too. Let me get out of this while I figure out what to do with you.”

First thing, he tapped the code into his gun safe at the top of his closet and locked away his weapon. He began changing clothes and spoke to him all the while.

“I know it sounds crazy for me to talk to you, but I’ve heard that some coma patients can hear everything going on around them. I don’t see why that might not apply to you, so I’m going with the assumption that you can hear me, even if you can’t respond right now. It only seems polite; I mean, I wouldn’t want to make the mistake of assuming you couldn’t and then give you the silent treatment. How rude would that be?”

He picked up a couple of washcloths and seven towels from the linen closet, along with mild soap from the bathroom, and returned to the living room.

“The bug man will be here this afternoon, so I should have at least an hour for this. You’ll have to take my word for it, but the overnight incident in the park has left you filthy, and unfortunately, my dragging you on the ground to get you into the Jeep hadn’t helped. I have no idea how you might feel about this, but you need a bath, and since getting you into the tub by myself is just asking for trouble, I will lay towels on the floor, place you on them, and then clean you up. I view this as a clinical necessity, so I will wear gloves and act professionally. I am a policeman, after all, and I have too much integrity to take advantage of your incapacitation.”

He spread three towels onto the floor. Picking him up from the front had proved useful since he could lock Stallion’s knees. He pulled down his shorts until they lay at his feet. He moved him forward and laid him face down on the towels then removed the shorts altogether.

In the kitchen, he pulled a bucket from the laundry room and cleaned it out. He then filled it with very warm water. He carried it into the living room and sat next to him. He donned the gloves he said he would wear and began to clean him up.

“I wouldn’t want to use too much soap. It would take forever to rinse you off.

“You know, Stallion,” he said as he continued, “I’m fascinated by this process you’re going through. I hope you’re willing to tell me all about it when you wake up, but…I get the feeling that you’re someone important, and maybe you can’t take the time to talk to some cop from Key Biscayne. It’s not like you asked for my help, and perhaps you never needed any. If a needle can’t injure you, maybe you’re impervious to far more and weren’t in danger no matter what. I don’t know, but you may have more important things to take care of when you wake up. I just want you to know, that’s okay, I will understand. However, in the absence of any evidence that that’s true, I will assume you need my help, and I’m going to give it to you.”

He shook his head and laughed. “You wanna hear something funny? I wasn’t sure about helping you, but once I started and gained momentum, I now feel like I have an investment in seeing it through.” He squeezed the cloth into the bucket, rewet it, and continued.

“I will be honest with you, though. If by some happenstance, someone at the hospital says something to the right person, and I get a visit over your disappearance there, I’m unsure what I could do if they discover you’re here and wanted to take you. I can only hope you’re awake by then if it ever comes to that.

“Well, that’s your back half done. I wish I could wash your hair; it’s full of sand and dirt. Let me think about how we might do that. Whatever we do, we need to take care of it before you become too heavy for me to maneuver. Providing, you ever get that far, of course.”

He laid three towels down beside him and rolled him onto them.

“I can tell, you’re definitely getting bigger, and probably taller too, but it seems unlikely to me though that you’ll get extremely large. Your rate of growth would mean you would have to remain dormant for an unreasonable amount of time, and I suspect, that wouldn’t necessarily be to your advantage. This water is too cold and dirty; let me refill it with fresh.

On the way to the sink, a knock came upon the door.

“Shit!” he said to himself. “One moment!” he yelled to the door. He ran into the living room, turned Stallion face down onto the carpet, and tossed the towels out of view. He covered Stallion’s lower half with a throw from the couch, placed his arms in a relaxed pose at his sides, and turned his head to the left before answering the door.

“Just pest control to spray your apartment,” said the man holding the tools of his trade.

“Yeah, come on in. I’ve been expecting you.” He returned to Stallion’s side and pretended to dig an elbow into Stallion’s back as though he were giving a massage. “I heard that Mrs. Hinklemeyer in apartment 10 found a roach in her kitchen. I appreciate you staying on top of the problem.”

“Well,” said the man spraying the baseboards, “where there’s one, there’s more, and our company makes guarantees, so here I am.”

“True, very true.” He began massaging Stallion’s shoulders.

Once the man completed spraying, he said, “I think that’s got you covered.”

“Thank you for that. If you would, please, just shut the door on your way out.”

“No problem. Have a good day.” And he left.

Phillips sighed. “I might have known if I counted on him not showing up that he would. Sorry about that.”

He locked the front door, returned Stallion to his original position, and used the bathtub to get the water, so he could avoid the wet spray in the kitchen.

Using a fresh washcloth, he cleaned Stallion’s face.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you are one handsome man; you know that? Although, I think you would look even better with a beard. And speaking of beards, that reminds me. I’m going to grow mine out a bit. You may not realize this, but I’m on leave from work for the next 6 weeks. So, you have impeccable timing, or perhaps it’s fate or something. You need help, and I just happen to have the time and willingness to help you. But don’t think you’re taking up my vacation. It would have been nice to go somewhere. I even have my passport and everything, but I had made no plans; I don’t like traveling by myself.”

Once he had reached the point of his lower abdominals, he discovered something. “I thought this was just dirt, but you’re developing another tattoo. This one is on your left external oblique. It’s too unfinished to say what it is, but I suppose that would mean you’ll be like this a while longer, wouldn’t it? I’m sure all this change was pre-planned in advance, but I don’t understand why someone left you on your own though, and in that odd position. Was that planned too? Things could have gone very badly, you know. Unless…was I supposed to find you? I’m probably on some celestial Candid Camera or something. I did say you looked like an angel, and on that opinion, I have not changed my mind.

“I have one part of you left to wash, and I have to admit, having reached your dangly bits—if you are an angel—I had no idea you would be so well endowed.” He began washing his penis and spoke to him at the same speed he washed him to hurry it along. “You’re bigger now than this morning, and at this point, it wouldn’t matter what brand of toilet you sit on, you’re in the water; I hope you realize that. Of course, that assumes you need to eat and that sphincter in the back isn’t just there for fun. Hey, no judgment from you. I already feel uncomfortable just washing you, and I want it on official record with you, God, Santa Claus, or whoever else that may be watching, that I’m on my best behavior. I’m just making light of this because it’s so awkward. Okay, there; I’m done!”

He picked up the towel and dried him off.

“I don’t want to leave your hair unwashed, and I think I may have an idea.”

He folded a towel that he used and taped it to the edge of the counter along the front of the sink for padding. He put a clean pair of shorts on Stallion along with his rubber-soled house shoes for traction and wore his second pair. He gathered the shampoo, another towel, and readied everything he needed. He stood Stallion up, brought him into the kitchen, and leaned him over the edge into the sink. He held him balanced there with his hand gripping the waistband of the shorts in the back. He only had one hand available to do the washing, but it worked.

When he finished, he began removing Stallion’s shorts. “Sorry, pal, if you outgrow these, I’ll have to cut them off you, and you’re hanging out of them anyway.

“I just got this shampoo, so I will leave your hair a little damp to evaluate the manufacturer’s wash and go claims. I hope you don’t mind being my test subject.”

He struggled to get Stallion into the bedroom. “I’m going to put you to bed, so you’ll be comfortable.” Phillips’s strength was flagging, and Stallion started listing to the right when he entered the bedroom. “Woah…no-no, buddy, you can’t have that side of the bed. That’s my side, and yes, I’m sleeping in the same bed with you. There’s an entire king-size bed in here, and my couch isn’t fit to sleep on.” He dropped him onto the bed, and he began straightening him up. “Besides, if you should awaken in the middle of the night, I want to know it. And yes, I know that I don’t know you, so why would I trust you, right?” He hovered over Stallion’s face. “I’ve given that some thought. Just because your skin has an apparent imperviousness that wouldn’t mean you have no other vulnerabilities. I can’t tell who, but someone has left you to the mercy of humanity and the kindness of strangers. But no matter the cause, there was an intention for someone to find you. If that weren’t the case, they could have picked many other places on this planet, so why there? I seriously doubt any randomness caused you to end up at the southern tip of Key Biscayne, of all places. I know that coincidences happen, but my situation fits with yours entirely too hand-in-glove to be a coincidence.

“Before I leave to clean up the mess I made and get something to eat, I thought I would give you something to think about while I give your ears a rest. My last name is Phillips…that’s from the Greek word Philippos. It means Lover of horses…and I’ll tell ya…I’ve never met a horse I didn’t like.” He tucked Stallion’s feet under the covers and pulled them over him.

Elsewhere that afternoon

The businessman lived alone in a house that could hold three full families with little difficulty. He had dined with royalty and presidents and influenced the world around him for years. But despite all this, he was secretly a miserable man. Having seen enough of it, the world bored him. He had no life within him, and the mental vitality he once felt had withered with time, which would have surprised anyone who knew him as he only appeared to be in his late twenties.
 
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Chapter 1d

While seldom found in his Manhattan office, at four o’clock on the afternoon of June 21st, he had taken a jaunt there to catch up on financial matters. Wearing a coal-colored Armani made of the finest fabrics that both his gotten and ill-gotten gains could afford, the man with reddish hair and a dour expression, stalked into the room like he owned the entire high-rise building, and he did. On arrival, he noted a dark-haired, curvy woman wearing a white skirt and low-cut blouse holding a tablet. She waited for him from the Corinthian-leather couch that dominated the outer office. The man never stopped, and Carl, his administrative assistant, followed him to the antique mahogany desk that once belong to a former CEO of a major New York bank.

“You have an array of messages, sir. In order of those most imperative, the President wants to have another round of golf at Edgartown on Martha’s Vineyard to have an important chat. The Patterson Brothers are advising you to dump your stock on Friday for the companies they list here. I’m unsure which they are, but said you would know, and there are several other messages of lesser urgency.”

“Who is the woman in the outer office?”

He cleared his throat. “She said her friends call her Happiness, sir. She claims to have information you will want concerning the year 1026.”

The moment he heard the mention of the year, he had his complete attention. “How long has she been there?”

“About fifteen minutes, sir.”

“Send her in and close the door on the way out.”

When Carl turned to go, they both could see the woman had already let herself in and waited halfway to the desk from the office entrance.

Once Carl closed the door, the woman began.

She tipped her head a little, and her blood-red lips always spoke with a slow, smooth, and slightly breathy quality. “Hello, Aquila.”

Aquila, a man known in 2016 as Elias Adrianus had amassed an incredible amount of hidden wealth in the form of precious metals, and visible wealth from his investments. It calculated to many lifetimes’ worth of riches, and he considered all of it, to the last penny, his compensation (a pittance in his opinion) for the many years he spent living in misery. He often compared his life to standing in the center of a clock face with the advancement of the ages passing around him, while he alone remained untouched by the hands of time.

Over the years, Father Time had taken from him every friend, every lover, every wife, and everyone he had ever cared about. In the past, whenever it happened, he tried to get on with his life—as one does at such losses. He picked himself up, dusted himself off, and kept going, but with every loss, part of him died, until all he had left was a growing contempt for the world and everyone in it.

It had been hundreds of years since anyone called him Aquila.

“Who are you?”

“My friends call me Happiness, but those less friendly might call me Kakia, and I am here to help you.”

“Help me, how?”

“Your desire is known to me and can be achieved.” She eased behind the man, and she laid the tablet before him. The image depicted two men sitting on a sea wall, and as the video played, one mentioned the year 1026. Her voice was like honey, and she smelled of jasmine. “The man to the left is Henri Estalon. He was your father. He is now dead. The man to the right is Ronan Stallion, the man he chose as his replacement.” She slowly forwarded the video and paused it the moment the transfer occurred with a brilliant white light spilling from between the two men. “You are the son of a man bound to an eternal flame, and you are its product. So long as that flame burns, you cannot die.”

He couldn’t stop staring at the image before him. “How can I extinguish the flame?”

She leaned into his left ear and whispered to him. “The flame and the stallion are connected. To kill the flame, you must kill the stallion…with this.” Standing behind him she reached out and placed on the desk a dagger made of an unusual metal that Elias had never seen. She moved to his other ear and spoke as if whispering sweet nothings in a slow sensuous purr. “He must be vulnerable, so use the blade.”

“And then I’ll die.”

“When the stallion dies, you die.”

“But to kill someone…”

She whispered seductively into his ear. “You have already killed many times,” she said planting the seeds of her temptation. “You played both sides of wars throughout the last two centuries, and your lobbying kept people from the medicine and care they needed to survive. You have killed many, but you did so from a distance where the deaths were out of sight and out of mind. What would you find easier, continuing to do that for all eternity,”—she moved to his other ear—“or to kill this one man directly, thereby ending your own misery?”

Unable to find a flaw in her argument, he asked her, “Where will I find this Ronan Stallion?”

“He is in Miami. I cannot guarantee he will remain there. He is…protected. You must catch him when and where he is vulnerable.” She drew back from him and left his peripheral vision.

“How can I find him?” He turned his chair to see her, but she had vanished, leaving him armed with only the dagger and the information on the tablet.

He used the intercom. “Carl, have them prepare the jet. I’m leaving for Miami.”
 

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Chapter 2a

7:50 PM, June 21st

The jet began to shudder and shake.

“Mr. Adrianus,” said the flight attendant, “we are experiencing some turbulence. May I stow your bag for you, sir?”

She stood over him, the only flight attendant on the private Lear jet, wearing her red uniform and pillbox hat, performing her job as anyone should expect. They had only an hour left of the flight, and the bag in question lay in the window seat beside him. He rested his hand upon it, knowing it contained the dagger given to him by the Kakia woman who called herself Happiness, so he felt protective and defensive of it.

“This is the second time you have asked me during this flight,” he said, “so for the last time, no, and if you ask me once more, I will fire you.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m merely trying to keep you safe.”

Elias gazed up at her and laughed a little with a slight shake of his head. He turned his attention out the window to the sunlit clouds, during that last hour before sunset, and he recalled years earlier during one of the many times he faked his death. While on a solo flight, he allowed himself to endure a plane crash, having left all his money to a nonexistent son whose identity he would assume, so he could eventually claim it. By her reflection in the window, he could see the flight attendant hadn’t left his side, he raised the crystal lowball glass in his hand to her. “Just pour me another.”

He had watched the 4K video on the tablet several times. What he found so ironic and galling is that Henri believed he outlived his child, and yet, hundreds of years later, there he sat on a private jet headed to Miami. Over time, he had evolved into the perfect model of a man both lonely and friendless who had just outlived the father he never knew, while this Ronan person, who Henri knew only a few years, had received all the love and companionship that should have come to Elias by birth. He knew Ronan carried no fault for that, but he hated him for it anyway.

In the video, the fire passed from his father to Ronan, after which, Elias saw his father fall to ash and the skinny young man lying there for the entire night in that awkward position, undisturbed, unconscious, and unmoving. The next morning, as the sun rose and the light level increased enough to see, it showed that Ronan had never moved, but he appeared different from the man his father had placed on the ground the previous evening. No longer skinny, his body had swollen with muscle, and he seemed taller.

A few minutes before eight that morning, a female jogger of about thirty, dressed in running tights and a t-shirt came upon the man.

She pulled the earbuds from her ears when she stopped. Sounding disgusted, she said, “Oh no, another drunk.” Bending over him a little, she gave his body a closer inspection. “My god, it’s the man from Nantucket.” She knocked at Ronan’s leg with her running shoe. “Hey, you can’t stay here. Get up and move along, will you?” He never moved, so she shook her head in dismay and called the police. She noticed something off-camera, retrieved it, and tried to cover the man’s genitals by scooping them up with the red solo cup she found, but it refused to stay put. With her hand, she pushed down on the cup and attempted to wedge it into place by moving him into an even more awkward position with her foot. A few minutes later two other people loomed over the man, and not long after that, a policeman arrived driving an olive-colored Jeep.

Elias noted the license plate, and given an opportune moment, the video had the officer at the perfect angle. He zoomed in and could easily read his name tag, L. Phillips, and his sleeve had a patch stitched with the words The Village of Key Biscayne. He concluded, by the officer’s concern, that he most likely drove him to a hospital. He made an online search and based on the distance, Mercy Hospital seemed most likely, so Elias would start there when he could talk to the morning shift.

Thinking of killing the man on the video with his own hands, he thought, “I’m too wealthy to kill someone myself. That’s what money is for!” He couldn’t imagine any hitman agreeing to use the dagger when they probably had their preferred methods, and he wouldn’t know how to acquire a hitman anyway, not that that would present the greatest complication. He accepted what the woman had told him with relative ease because he had lived for hundreds of years. He couldn’t imagine how a mortal not already exposed to anything otherworldly would view the dagger. He gazed into his glass and stared transfixed at the single transparent sphere of ice that chilled his drink and the light fog that had settled over his whisky.

After the woman had vanished from his office, he studied the dagger. The metal of its handle and scabbard he had never seen before, but the curiousness of it paled when he unsheathed it. He beheld a transparent blade whose subtle vaporous wisps from the sharpened edges and pointed tip vanished into the air around it, manifesting its ethereal nature.

Waking from his thoughts, he asked himself, “What sort of magic is this?” He lifted the drink the flight attendant had brought him to his mouth and downed it in one gulp, but the thirst of his anxiety remained parched, and he demanded another.



Felix Raposo, the aptly named lucky fox, worked as a bellhop at the luxury boutique hotel on Miami Beach called The Cerulean Sea Hotel and Spa. He had worked there for a year, and not once had anyone mentioned the little side-hustle he had going with the owner/night manager, Mr. Moreno, who covered for him.

The handsome nineteen-year-old of Puerto Rican descent took pride in his considerable abilities and the unblemished, sienna-skinned body that displayed the virile athleticism for which he was known. And by word of mouth alone, new clients gathered to him faster than he could ever have imagined. Monday through Thursday, he could count on having one client a night—two at most. However, from Friday at check-in through Monday morning at checkout, he could have a dozen clients, and many of them stayed at the hotel just for an experience that only Felix seemed capable of providing.

One such client, the math teacher from a local middle school, learned that his best friend, the teacher of English Literature, hadn’t exaggerated in his assessment of him, rewriting and repurposing a famous Shakespearean quote from Hamlet, “What a piece of work is Felix. How solicitous in spirit. How seductive in speech. In form and movement, how capable and confident. In action, how like a lord. And in pleasure, how like a god.”

With the math teacher both contented and fast asleep, Felix took a quick shower, redressed in his cream-colored uniform, pocketed the money left for him on the table by the television, and quietly closed the door behind him. In the elevator to the lobby, he counted the cash and tucked half of it into his wallet. The other half he held in his hand to slip to the owner who crammed it into his pocket before anyone noticed.

Mr. Moreno was not Felix’s pimp. They had a reciprocal arrangement. The owner pretended to hire him as a bellhop, and that allowed Felix to hire him in return to cover for him with other employees while taking care of a client rather than taking care of someone’s baggage.

Unlike some boutique hotels, The Cerulean Sea Hotel was not a Dadaist’s dream, nor one that, upon entry, screamed MIAMI in a pastel nightmare of neon capital lettering. The Cerulean Sea Hotel had a nature-based décor both stylish and timeless with a serene atmosphere. The lobby’s contemporary modern furniture, based on tried-and-true styles, sat atop mottled, latte-colored marble slabs for flooring. But the spectacle of the monolithic black granite check-in desk with its gravity-defying cantilevered design overshadowed all else.

Standing at the sandstone bellhop wall that evening, Felix watched a limousine drive beneath the covered drop-off. He walked to the entrance and when the door attendant opened the car door, a late twenty-something man wearing a coal-colored Armani exited the vehicle, and he shouldered the satchel he carried.

“May I take your bag, sir?”

The man gripped the strap more tightly. “Just the one in the back.”

The driver had opened the trunk and Felix reached to grab the handle. It was a piece built in an antique style with no wheels, so he knew he would carry it to the man’s room. He stood at a respectful distance while he checked in.

“My name is Elias Adrianus, and I have a reservation,” he said to the night manager.

“Ah, Mr. Adrianus, it’s good to have you with us,” said Moreno checking the computer. “I see you have a terrace suite which you will find at the top, on the 12th floor.” He fingered the credit card Elias dropped onto the polished-granite counter for incidentals.

“What time does the bar close?”

“It closes at 2 AM, sir.”

When Elias returned the credit card to his wallet, he noticed a pale pink business card there he couldn’t remember acquiring and wasn’t there a moment ago. It read, “You don’t need a drink. Wink at the bellhop and let him take care of you” signed Happiness. His insides stiffened, and his hands shook in agitation as he slid it into the wallet alongside the credit card.

“Here are your key cards, sir,” said Moreno, “and if you like, Felix can take you in your suite.”

Elias blinked and looked at the night manager in astonishment. “What did you say?”

“I said, if you like, Felix can take you to your suite. Have a goodnight, sir.”

“Right…goodnight.”

He turned and raked his eyes over Felix, thinking how he certainly was a handsome young man—young being the operable term, especially compared to his nine hundred and ninety years. They entered the elevator and the moment the doors closed, Elias asked, “Is it true that if I wink at you, you’ll take care of me?” He gazed upon Felix awaiting his answer.

“Do you need taken-care-of, sir?”

“Someone believes that I do, apparently. I’ve never been taken-care-of by a man before.”

The lift doors opened to a short hallway lined with cream wallpaper. They walked to the back corner room. He held the key to the card reader, the door unlocked, and they stepped inside.

The 12th floor consisted of four duplicate terrace suites. A palette of medium and light-colored earth tones filled the enormous room on every wall and surface. It had a kitchen, dining room, sitting room, and a king-sized bed sat before a wall of windows that one could pull back, allowing the terrace—which overlooked the ocean—to blend into the living space.

Felix unfolded the suitcase stand from the closet and laid the case upon it. When he turned around, Elias stared at him.

“Who referred you to me?” asked Felix in his lovely Latin accent with his smooth masculine voice. “I have many clients, and they’re all referrals.”

“A woman named Happiness if you can believe it. Clients… So, you charge for your services?”

He removed his hat and tossed it on the table beside him and spoke in a slow, comfortable way that demonstrated his confidence. “Would you expect to enjoy the Bolshoi or Vienna’s philharmonic for free?” He stepped within a foot of him, and stared, without deviation, into Elias’s unblinking eyes. “They have dedicated themselves to their artistry, and that requires time and effort. What I do is as consuming and just as artistic, but the dance is far more intimate and the instrument much more beautiful.”

“And just what is the instrument?” asked Elias, whispering. “Do you make a living playing people like a fiddle?”

He drew closer and Elias never backed away. Felix made a rapid glance to his lips, and another, as they came together. “If so, I would play you as one would a Stradivarius, and I assure you, you will want an encore.” Felix kissed him, and his innate sensuality had an alluring, forbidden, seductive power over Elias. In all his years, he had never met anyone like Felix.

Elias couldn’t imagine why he would allow himself to have sex with the man, but he didn’t care. Lost in the moment, he needed what Felix had to offer, and he had it in abundance. By the time they were on the bed naked, Felix had Elias’s enormous appendage in his mouth making love to it, and Elias had Felix’s in his face. At about nine inches with a slight upward curve, soft skin, and perfectly hooded, it was the most elegant-looking one he had ever seen. He tasted the clear liquid that flowed from the tip, and he enjoyed its unique flavor. He covered the entire end with his mouth and imitated the motions that Felix used to pleasure him. After about fifteen minutes, Felix stopped, turned Elias onto his stomach, and lay atop him.

“I’ve never done this,” said Elias.

Kissing his ear, Felix rubbed his length along the cleft of his ass. “Shhh…,” he whispered into his ear and continued with the musical metaphor. “Your instrument is in the hands of a virtuoso. I will warm you before the violin bow touches your strings, and while you are only one instrument, when the music starts you will feel an entire symphony, and I promise, you will not want the concert to end.”

Felix enjoyed doing what he knew he did best, plucking a man’s cherry as he plucked his strings to pleasure him. After sliding down his back, he planted his tongue onto his tight pucker, and the more he ate his ass the more the man moaned, arched his back, and relaxed. Once he wet him well, he stopped.

“That was amazing,” said Elias.

“The music hasn’t even started. Just allow your body to relax and feel.” He moved upward and rubbed his wet, leaking knob against the opening. Felix kept an erection with no difficulty, and unlike some men with no patience who think pain is always involved the first time, he pushed and pulled at a slow incremental pace, taking many minutes to fully enter him, and the man felt no pain, just steady internal pressure. Once fully inside him, he knew he had leaked enough precum to wet him well, so he said, “And now we begin.” He pulled back slowly and began to thrust in longer and longer strokes. Elias squirmed beneath him, moaning, and making sounds that told Felix he enjoyed it. Before long, he began long-stroking him, and then he varied the length of the stroke and the intensity. Along with a heavy breath, a series of mostly unintelligible words poured in a pleasure-filled stream from Elias’s mouth as he writhed beneath him for just over an hour, some of which he repeated. Oh. Felix. Yes. More. So good. Don’t stop. Oh my god. When Felix felt the tight squeeze of his cock in a series of rhythmic contractions, he knew the man had an orgasm. When it ended Felix slowed, slid himself deep inside the man, lay atop him, and brought his mouth to his ear. “I wrote that piece just for you. I hope you enjoyed it.” Every few seconds, Felix pulled back a little and slid into him again.

“It was beautiful.” Elias laughed, having almost forgotten what it was like to feel happy. “Felix, there is no other word for you; you are magnificent. I had no idea that could feel so incredible.” He turned his head and kissed him. “Can you stay with me tonight? I will understand if you can’t, but I would love for you to stay.”
 

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Chapter 2b

“I can stay,” he said and kissed him.

“Will you play that song again?”

“I can play it as often as you like.” And once again, Felix began to saw his violin bow against the man’s Stradivarian strings, playing an exquisite melody that vibrated throughout the man’s body, but only Felix heard the music as the instrument vocalized his pleasure.

June 22nd

Wearing a tan pair of pull-on cotton shorts and a white t-shirt, Phillips had kept an eye on Stallion the previous evening, watching him grow slow enough to find it on par with the speed at which paint dries. So, while he could have more interest in Stallion than drying paint, the passing hours caused the act of remaining conscious too heavy a burden. A foggy haze had drawn his mind ever deeper into a need for slumber with eyes that wouldn’t stay open or focused, and just before he faded for the evening, he had laid his hand on Stallion’s arm, semiconsciously thinking that would be enough.

Having deactivated the alarm on his phone the night before, Phillips awoke the next morning at 8 o’clock, and the first thing he noticed was a muscular arm over him and the realization that Stallion was spooning him. He backed away a little as he turned over.

The color of the man’s slightly tousled midnight-brown hair began a theme for all the rest as Liam’s eyes took in what he could see of him. Thick, dark lashes surrounded the depth of his kind and fully awake, cognac-colored eyes. His prominent jaw held a well-kempt beard, and his pectorals, densely packed with an armor of muscle, had a hairy covering across their broadness and in the deep crevice between them which spilled down his abdominals and disappeared under the covers. Gauntlets of hair on his forearms faded at the elbow on their way to his cannonball biceps with their mountainous peaks leading to shoulders so thick and meaty, it looked like he could easily give Atlas a break for a long liquid lunch.

The godlike man gazed in benevolence and smiled upon Phillips for the first time. “Ah, that’s what you look like.”

“How long have you lain awake?” Phillips couldn’t recall a time when a man that beautiful ever shared his bed.

“I’m not sure, you don’t have a regular clock.” He stopped smiling for a moment and spoke in seriousness. “Thank you for protecting me, cleaning me up, and not giving me the silent treatment.”

“Oh, so you could hear me, good. Just who and what are you?” he asked in apprehension.

“Since you’re my protector, I owe you an explanation, but apart from my name, all the rest is between you and me for the moment. Okay?”

“Okay...”

“My name is Ronan Stallion. I am the Centaurian. To put it simply, I am part who I was, and part life essence of Chiron the Centaur, bound by an eternal fire gifted by Prometheus.”

Phillips nodded. “Of course, and if given a few more waking hours, I could have figured that out all on my own.”

Ronan laughed a little. “I want you to know that I’m not here to harm anyone, but you intuitively know that; don’t you?”

“I don’t know how, but yes, somehow, I know that. Why are you here?”

“Zeus held Prometheus captive and horrifically tortured him. So, in an act of empathy, when a particular situation occurred with a centaur named Chiron, he gave up his immortality to set Prometheus free. Prometheus, the prescient and skillful thief that he is, felt grateful and captured Chiron’s essence in an eternal flame, and then hid it from the Olympians inside the first of us, a Neo-Centaurian he named Epivítoras; that’s Greek for Stallion. After one thousand years Chiron and the fire must transfer to someone of the current Centaurian’s choosing. The millenniums passed and after Epivítoras came Hrb'eh (That is Hebrew for Stallion), then came Admissārius (that is Latin for Stallion), and then my friend Henri Estalon (Estalon is old French for Stallion), and now there’s me. I exist to give Chiron a kind of life that he would otherwise have lost. Prometheus saw that Chiron was too special to lose and his life too precious. However, what Prometheus did, no one had ever done, and he created something far more that has no name.”

“What is the more?”

“It had given us a power that the others were too afraid to tap into, and I can see why.” Ronan tipped his head in curiosity. “You’re taking all this rather easily.”

“After everything I’ve witnessed so far, you could have told me you were from a planet around Alpha Centauri, and I would have believed you. What have you done since you awoke?”

“Meditate and cuddle with you, which was lovely, by the way. So, should I call you Liam, Phillips, or would you want to keep it professional and have me call you Officer?”

“You steal cuddles, and now you ask whether I want to keep it professional?”

Ronan laughed. “Actually, you cuddled up to me in your sleep and held my dick in your hand most of the night, but you slept so soundly, I hadn’t wanted to awaken you.”

Liam laid back on the pillow, covered his face with his hands, and laughed. “I’m so sorry! That’s embarrassing. Please, call me Liam.” He thought about the strangeness of it all. “I don’t really know you; why do I trust you so much?”

“Because you want to. And you already know why you want to.”

They sat there staring at one another for a long moment.

“Yeah,” whispered Liam. “I guess I do.” He took a deep breath. “So, do you know what you look like, or are you just as curious as me?”

“I’m pretty curious myself.”

Liam left the bed and opened his closet door which had a mirror on the back. Ronan moved to the side of the bed, and Phillips could see the hair trailing off the bottom of an extraordinary eight-pack of abdominals, but when he pulled the covers away to stand, he could see the hair covering each proportionally muscular leg to a distinct line just beneath his iliac furrow and down the crevice between the leg and groin area. He stood slowly to his full height and looked down at himself. He had no pubic hair or hair on his penis and scrotum at all. And the tattoo on his oblique had finished; it was of a centaur.

Ronan hefted the smooth, foot-long hunk of flaccid meat in his hand. “Henri told me it would be centaur-like, but I had no idea. And not being a full centaur, I can’t pull this back into my body.”

Liam stared at it in disbelief. “It reminds me—in case you ever need it—I have expertise as a snake wrangler.”

Ronan’s forehead furrowed. “Are you really a snake wrangler?”

“In my time as a police officer, I’ve caught and relocated quite a few snakes. Many of the guys won’t do it, so they tend to call me. I’m certainly not afraid of your python, and I can think of a few choice locations to put it.”

“Is it not too big?”

Liam slowly shook his head staring at it. “It’s perfect.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m part centaur?”

Liam shrugged. “What part of you is really centaur? You’re just the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“I appreciate your saying that. In this form, physiologically, I’m human in appearance, but I am half Chiron, and he was half equine. That makes me one-fourth equine, but just as a flame can change its shape, I can change form to a kind of bipedal centaur, like a satyr or faun.”

“I would love to see you change shape.”

“That’s part of the more that I talked about, and from Chiron’s memories, I know that the first time tapping into that power comes with a serious irreversible consequence. It was a line the others would not cross. I see now why Henri couldn’t tell me about it.”

“Why couldn’t he?”

“They could never tell because the knowledge of it could make agreeing to replace them too alluring for power-hungry people or make the idea of having access to such a power too aversive for most anyone good.”

“What kind of power is it?”

“A power too strong to contemplate and too terrifying to wield lightly. That’s all I can say.”

“I see. Hold on a sec…” He retrieved the scales from his bathroom and set them in front of the mirror.

“You want to guess?” asked Ronan.

He looked Ronan up and down. “Mmm…270.”

He stepped onto the scales, and it read 275 pounds.

“I would have guessed it perfectly, but I forgot to take into account the five pounds of Centaurian appendage.”

“Well, it’s close enough without going over, right?” He stepped off the scales and slid them to the side. “I’m so huge. I weigh about forty pounds more than I expected, so that’s Chiron’s doing. He hadn’t done that with the others, but I have no memory for why he would choose that on this occasion.”

As Ronan faced the mirror, Liam could see the completed STALLION tattoo, shoulder to shoulder, and the hairless skin of his wide back, but the thick dark hair covering his legs and buttocks began with a distinct line from the iliac furrow at his sides toward the sacrum at his spine. On anyone else, it would appear too perfect to be natural, but on Ronan, it must be.

“Did you intend your body hair to be like that? You have no pubic hair.

“It’s because I’m part centaur. From what I could tell, Henri was the same way. In the front, as a full centaur, where my pubic hair would begin is a transition point, where the equine part of me would have pectorals and the penis would be toward the back, so since I’m not fully centaur, it left off what would have been my pubic hair.” He looked himself in the mirror. “I think I like it. So, how tall do you think I am?”

“Umm…I would say you look about 19 and a half hands high.”

Ronan laughed to himself and did some quick math. “So, six feet and six inches.” He turned to Liam. “I want you to know that I appreciate the help you’ve given me, and if you want to stop helping me at any point for any reason, it’s okay. I will understand.”

“I will help you so long as your needs coincide with my ability.”

“That’s kind of you, thank you.”

“I need breakfast,” said Phillips. “Are you hungry?”

“Well…”

“You do eat, right?”

“I can, but I only look human. I don’t have to sleep, eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. I don’t even have to breathe or blink my eyes. Apparently, some habits are just too integrated to break, but I need to simulate breathing so I can speak as you do. Can you cope with that thought?”

“But you have a heartbeat, a readable blood pressure, and a normal body temperature.”

“Those are real but simulated, and they serve a purpose. Those things are for me, not for others. People don’t realize it because they’ve had it for a lifetime, but if suddenly you were alive without a normal body temperature or had no sensation of a heartbeat and the ability to passively sense the blood coursing through you, you would not be able to tolerate the silence of your own body; it would be maddening. It would be like you were dead, but not dead.”

Liam placed his hand on his chest. “Am I sensing the blood coursing through me?”

“You may not realize you sense it, but if it suddenly stopped, you would recognize its absence immediately. So, can you cope with how I am?”

Ronan stood for almost a minute while watching Liam scan his every feature and movement.

“Those things don’t matter. I just know that the opportunity to remain in your company would please me enormously. Let’s make your Centaurian appendage street-legal, we’ll drop by my favorite smoothie place, and then we’ll find you some clothing that actually fits.”

“I need to meet up with a friend. He has my money, identification, and other necessities.”

“Who? And how can you have identification? You just came into existence yesterday.”

“I met him through Henri. He’s quite adept at making identification, and whatever else I might need that isn’t quite on the up and up.”

“It’s illegal?”

“What do you expect, Liam? I can’t just trot off to the DMV and ask for a driver’s license.”

“I understand that, but I’m a police officer!”

“If I ever abuse it, you’re welcome to arrest me. I promise not to buy alcohol for anyone underage.”

“Did you have a driver’s license in your previous life?”

“I don’t know; I’m sure I did.”

“How can you not know?”

“Because those memories are gone now.”

“You have no memories of your life before? Why?”

“They would intrude and hinder my ability to accept who I am now. But don’t worry, if you ran the IDs, you would discover they’re completely legal.”

“How can that be?”

“Because Dolos is thorough.”

“So, they’re registered.” Liam walked into his closet. “This, I will have to see.” He brought out the navy and black pair of “long shorts” he had on him the day before. “I washed this yesterday afternoon along with everything else. They’re mediums, but the elastic is pretty forgiving.”

“What about underwear to rein in the Centaurian appendage?”

“I have nothing that would fit you. This will have to do until we get something more appropriate.”

“What will we do, go to a discount store?”

“We could, but I know of a store that’s perfect for your needs.”

Ronan had slipped a leg into the shorts. “It’s not some equestrian tack shop, is it? Because I’ll tell you right now, this stallion will not be broken.”

“No, smarty pants, it’s a proper clothing store. I’ve shopped there for myself many times.”

He popped a few stitches squeezing them over his hips and muscular ass, but once he had they slid right on.
 
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Chapter 2c

“Those shorts aren’t supposed to fit tight, but they look fine that they do. I told you that you had a major bootie. If the store I have in mind doesn’t work, we’ll just go to a sporting goods store, but I want to avoid that if we can.”

“It would be a good place to buy a jockstrap.”

“You’ll never find one with a stallion-sized pouch. The store I have in mind sells underwear from the only company I know that caters to the undergirding needs of the…aah…supportively challenged. So, trust me on this, I know what I’m doing. Where will we meet this friend? Do you need to contact them and set up a time?”

“I just have to be outdoors, say his name, and he’ll show up.”

“Really?”

“Dolos is a god. He’ll hear me.”

“A god…like Zeus and Apollo.”

“That’s right.”

“I see. Well, whatever you decide, don’t call his name downstairs in the parking lot. Mrs. Novak in apartment three has a terminal case of Gladys Kravitz syndrome.” Liam dug into a drawer for an A-shirt and found a white one. “Here, try this on. It says it’s large, but it’s oversized on me, so it might fit, but no guarantees. I may have to cut it, and that’s fine; I have plenty.”

Slipping it over his head, Liam helped pull it down, but they could hear several popping threads, and even then, the seams around the neck and arms were too tight.

“Hold on, let me get the scissors.” He returned with a pair from the kitchen. Sliding the scissor blade between his pecs, he cut the middle of the collar several inches, and under each arm on the sides to split the seams. After that, it fit fine for the time being.

“I look like shit in this, don’t I?” Ronan asked.

“Are you kidding? You could make bin bags look sexy.”

He gave him the pair of house shoes to wear. They barely fit, but he could wear them for a while. Liam wore a pair of tan linen shorts with a sky-blue A-shirt, beneath a white short-sleeve button-up, left untucked and open.

The moment Ronan stood in the breezeway outside Liam’s door, he looked around and saw that no one could see. “Dolos,” he said, and down the staircase from above came a bearded and swarthy-looking man in his thirties wearing a white suit holding two, forty-liter-sized traditional duffel bags in leather, one in black and one in brown. Ronan waved him into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Ronan,” said Dolos. “I’ve been wandering around Miami. I see why Henri wanted to live here.”

“Liam Phillips, please meet Dolos, the god of trickery and deception. Dolos, this is Liam, my friend and protector.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Liam.

“Any friend of Ronan’s is a friend of mine,” said Dolos who squinted at Ronan looking him up and down. “What are you wearing?”

“We are making do with what we have.”

“Making do…” Dolos laughed and shook his head. “Here.” He gave Ronan the brown bag which had a Centaurian archer embossed into a leather tag stitched onto the side. “It has everything Henri asked me to hold for you, and it has everything you needed of me, including clothing. So, you can change out of that embarrassment before anyone else sees you. And Liam, although your attire is a marginal improvement, this is for you. It has everything you could want or need. Don’t thank me now, wait until you’ve browsed the contents and then thank me. I will hear you.

“You know, Ronan,” said Dolos, “Prometheus could easily forgive the others for not using their abilities because they came from a far less sophisticated era; you do not have that luxury, especially now that Zeus has sent Henri’s son after you. Zeus wants to know what you can do, and just how vulnerable you are…or aren’t.”

“So, Zeus had caused Henri to have the child? Henri believed he outlived him. I thought I could feel a presence here. He’s in Miami, isn’t he?”

He nodded. “His original name was Aquila, but he’s now known as Elias Adrianus, and I think your ability to feel his presence is because he carries a spark of the fire within you, and they’re connected. Prometheus told me that yesterday Zeus had Kakia visit Elias, and that evil seductive goddess of immorality and all-around badness has convinced him of an easy means to get what he wants. He believes he needs to kill you so he can die, and she gave him a Chronosian blade for the job.”

“What’s that?” asked Ronan.

“You are bound by an eternal flame. Eternity is a temporal construct involving duration, so the blade will destroy the flame by removing its eternality; an instantaneous flame can have no real existence.”

“Wouldn’t that create a paradox?” asked Liam.

Dolos smiled. “It’s so refreshing to talk to you modern humans; I don’t have to explain so much or assume you wouldn’t understand. It would create a paradox if it removed its eternality from all time, but it doesn’t, it begins from the point the blade pierces Ronan’s skin by temporally snuffing it out.”

“Can it pierce my skin?”

“That’s a question I can’t answer, and neither can anyone else. No one even knows if what they’re attempting will work. As human scientists like to say, it's a hypothesis; one that Zeus is putting to the test. But, for now, I’m not sure that Zeus wants you dead; I think he wants to create conditions so dire that it will force you to use the power within you. He wants to see what you can do.

“Why doesn’t Elias just use the blade on himself?” Liam asked.

“Unlike everyone else, he is not independent. It seems, he owes his perpetual existence to the flame that binds Ronan and Chiron, and he can only die if he destroys that flame, or so it’s believed. Apart from him though, it can destroy anyone whose skin it can pierce by turning their future into an instantaneous blip. And that also includes yourself, Liam, so be on your guard.

“I know that Elias stayed at the Cerulean Sea Hotel last night. I sent him a little pink card to distract him and signed it with Kakia’s preferred nickname. Zeus’s plan only works if Elias wants to die. I figure, he’s been an unhappy man for a long time, I’m hoping a new experience will help to change things, and perhaps he might see that living isn’t so terrible.”

“Just a spark has kept Elias alive all these centuries?” asked Ronan.

“Yes, so imagine what you can do with the full flame.”

“But isn’t fire just a destructive force?” Liam asked.

“From a human perspective,” said Dolos, “fire destroys forests and things humans create, so it’s viewed as destructive, but there’s something more profound happening. Normal fire doesn’t destroy, it’s a conversion process. It mindlessly changes things from one form into another. Prometheus believes Ronan is an eternal flame given sentience, and this fire is just energy that burns in such a unique way that it can willfully create through pure manifestation or by converting one thing into something else, and that’s just the beginning of what he believes Ronan may be capable.”

Liam turned to Ronan. “You said using the power just once would have a consequence; what is it?”

“Once he uses it,” said Dolos, “there will be no turning back. I admit, some of this is guesswork; no one has ever done it before, so it has a lot of unknowns, but we believe the eternal flame remains transferable only until a Centaurian uses it. At that point, it has found its permanent home. That’s why finding a good man for a replacement has been so crucial.

Liam asked Dolos. “If Ronan uses the power, what would he become? It sounds like he would be a god.”

“It’s complicated. Ronan consists of half the human that he was and half Chiron the centaur. And just like Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, Chiron is a son of the Titan Cronus, but his mother was a sea nymph named Philyra. So, Chiron is a demigod even if no one ever treated him as one, and he is a half-brother to Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. So, Ronan, as he stands, is already one-quarter god, but there’s no way Ronan and Chiron’s bondage to an eternal flame couldn’t change the equation. So, would he become a full god? I don’t think anyone knows, not even Prometheus in his prescience, but I suspect that he would, or something more.”

“In that case, Ronan,” said Liam, “you shouldn’t have to go through this alone; you need me more than I thought. If Zeus wants to know what Ronan can do so badly, why doesn’t he just challenge him directly?”

“When royalty fears the food, they get servants to taste it first, only then will they decide if it’s a meal fit for a king.”

“Oh, I see,” said Liam. “Well, Ronan, if this Elias person is in Miami, then we should leave.”

“I agree with your protector,” said Dolos. “It may only delay the inevitable, but it gives you time to think about what to do. The last thing you need is for Elias to show up while unprepared.”

“Won’t they just tell him where to find me?”

“Probably. So, wherever you go, don’t stay too long, unless you lay in wait. You should abandon this location soon.”

“If we flew somewhere, wouldn’t Zeus just knock the plane from the sky?” asked Ronan.

“I can’t imagine why he would bother. You would only survive it, and it wouldn’t give him what he wants. He has no reason to lift any more fingers. He has a man willing to travel anywhere to find you, and he has the resources to do it.”

“Why does Elias want to die so badly?” Liam asked.

“The difference between Ronan and Elias is one of choice. Ronan chose this, but Elias had immortality thrust upon him at birth, and for him—or anyone in his situation (even a god)—the price of forever is too high if you have no one with which to share it. That’s why the other stallions had only one thousand years, and Ronan has-”

Ronan interrupted, “That’s enough beans being spilled for one day, I think.”

Dolos paused staring at Ronan for a moment and gave a little smile. “Very well. I must go, anyway. This morning, I have my first genuine Cuban coffee followed by my first genuine Cuban. Yesterday, I met an exquisitely handsome man named Eterio at the nude beach.”

“Oh, well, don’t let us keep you, Dolos,” said Ronan as he walked him to the door. “Thank you for your assistance. You are, as always, a deceptively bright spot in any friend’s day. And I hope you enjoy your Cuban!”

The moment the door closed behind Dolos, Liam asked, “And Ronan has…what?”

“Much to do. That’s what.”

Liam laid his bag on the dining room table. “If Dolos is the god of deception and trickery, how can we believe anything he says?”

“Oh, even he would admit that’s a fair question,” said Ronan as he set his bag beside Liam’s. “He and Prometheus are trickster gods, but they’re not bad. Prometheus made humanity and wants humans to do well. He gave them fire, and that resulted in all the technology that came after it. Dolos is Prometheus’s apprentice. Together, they have been helpful to humanity and especially to those stallions who came before me. Besides, it gives Dolos opportunities to use his amazing imagination and abilities for a noble cause.” He pushed at the bag in front of Liam. “Here, open it.”

Liam took the bag and unzipped it from the left. “Hey! This is like the clothing from that store I wanted to take you to.” He pulled out a white, tailored Oxford shirt. The bag held an entire suit of clothes, jeans, socks, a pair of underwear, a belt, and a shoe bag containing a pair of coordinating shoes.

“Is that acceptable?” asked Ronan.

“It’s perfect.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something different?”

“There’s nothing else in the bag.”

“Oh, really?” Ronan zippered the bag. “Look again.”

Liam opened the bag, and inside was an entirely different suit of clothing. “How is that possible?”

“The bag unzips from both directions.” Ronan tapped the pull from the opposite side of the same zipper.

Liam unzipped it from the right and inside was a white linen suit. Ronan zipped it back, turned the bag around, and got him to unzip it from the left. Inside was various and sundry bathroom items and other necessities. He zipped it back and unzipped it from the right, and the bag was empty for whatever he wanted to bring. Ronan closed it and turned one end of the bag toward Liam. When he unzipped it, he found ten thousand dollars in American currency bundled in stacks of tens, twenties, and fifties. When he re-zipped it, he turned the bag to the opposite end and opened it again. It contained ten thousand euros in European currency divided into the same denominations, a Greek passport, a wallet with a Greek driver’s license, and various other pieces of identification, all of which had his photo on them.

Liam appeared stupefied as though he had just witnessed an illusionist performing a particularly convincing bit of street magic. He stood there studying the passport. “Is all this real?”

“Of course, it’s real,” said Ronan. “Let’s get changed, get a smoothie, and decide where we’re going. Whatever you need, be sure to bring it, like your US passport.”

“Okay, Dolos,” said Liam sifting through the Greek wallet. “I have no clue how you managed it, but you’re a genius. Thank you. I just hope we don’t get arrested while attempting to use any of it.”
 

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Chapter 3a

Having opened the glass wall to the terrace during the night, at about eight o’clock that morning, to the faint sound of seagulls and ocean waves, Felix played his final encore after several overnight performances of the song Elias loved so much. Only then had he allowed himself an orgasm during his final bow.

Elias laid there for a few minutes, enjoying the sensation he felt both inside and out, wishing Felix could provide a series of performances for the rest of his life, keeping his body aflame with the stimulation of every thrust like a bellows blowing coals to keep them hot. He made him feel alive and close to another person for the first time in a long while, and with every intimate moment, it drew him closer to the place inside him where the ability to feel love, care, and concern for another human being had lain fusty and fallow.

He rested his head on Felix’s chest and wrapped an arm over him, holding onto him as though he might leave, and said to him, “Sexually speaking, you are a giant among men. Did you know that?”

“Am I?” asked Felix.

“Oh yes. You are out-of-this-world, as some might say.”

Felix smiled.

“Now that you’re no longer in me though, I’m unsure that I’ve ever felt so empty.” The moment he said those words, he sensed the depth of their truth, in more ways than the one that prompted it.

The sound of his voice spoke to Felix as much as the words. He had heard it before. He knew he could fulfill a need that people seemed incapable of satisfying any other way. He gave them an experience that made them feel alive, and for some, it was not much different from those who bungee jump or casually steal from a department store, but for others like Elias, Felix fulfilled their need for a human connection, but also something even less tangible, something akin to a state of well-being, something to tip the scales back to an otherwise inaccessible okayness, even if only for a moment.

Felix asked him, “May I speak with you about you? One human being to another.”

“Sure.”

“How long have you felt empty?”

Elias thought about it for a moment, hesitated to answer, and sighed. “A long time.”

“The emptiness inside you…it cannot be filled from the outside. There is an external component to it, but there’s only so much that someone outside you can do. Do you want to feel whole?”

“I don’t know that I can; it’s been so long. How old do you think I am?”

“28, maybe.”

“I am far older, and if I told you how old, you would think I was crazy.”

Felix shrugged. “Maybe I already think you’re crazy.”

Elias laughed. “I probably am.”

“So, how old are you? I promise to believe you.”

“Out of fear, I’ve never told anyone this, but after my nine hundred and ninety years, I feel as empty as a dry well. I don’t know how to live my life anymore, and I just want it to stop.”

Felix tipped Elias’s head back to look him in the face to see if he were joking, and in the morning light, his eyes conveyed nothing but an unfathomable pain. “Okay,” he said. “Well…I made a promise, and I will stick to it. You already know how unbelievable that is, but let’s suggest for a moment that it isn’t. After all these years, what’s your biggest problem?”

“Being alone and watching everyone I care about die one day.”

“So, you have needed some interpersonal consistency in your life. At the very least, you need a friend like you. Do you know of no one who is as long-lived as you?”

Elias thought about it for a moment. It never occurred to him that he could befriend Ronan as an alternative to killing him. The stability of a consistent friend could be what he needed to make life more tolerable. He must admit, he had never had that, but he wasn’t sure. He felt he had lived too long, and Ronan’s death may be his only means out of life itself. Either now or later, Ronan would have to die if Elias wanted to die. He would have to think about it.

“You told me you were only nineteen,” said Elias, “how did you get so wise?”

“I’ve been told I have a young body and an old soul.”

“I know that feeling, but I think you’re a wiser man than me.”

“Usually,” said Felix, “when it comes to problem-solving, someone’s objectivity is inversely proportional to their emotional proximity to the problem.”

Elias stared at him for a moment with a raised brow. “You’re obviously more than just a high-priced call-boy. How about we clean up, dress, have breakfast (on me), and we drop by a bank, so I can pay you? I’m not exactly poor; how does one hundred thousand dollars sound? In my opinion, you’ve more than earned it.”

“A hundred thousand?”

“Someone could easily pay an in-demand violin virtuoso ninety thousand for a one-night performance for a group of people who collectively paid more than that to hear them. You gave me six performances over about nine hours and proffered some invaluable advice. I think one hundred thousand is fitting considering your skill level. You’ve given me a transcendental experience and spoiled me for anyone else. That’s the problem with starting at the top, you know; anyone else will pale in comparison. How much do you usually charge for an overnight?”

“Just a thousand,” he said. “A hundred thousand is so outrageous, I don’t know that I should believe you, but I think you would pay too much if you did.”

“You must not have heard of me, but I insist. For the first time in my life, I would pay someone what they’re worth. You’ve helped me more than you can imagine. Besides, I suspect you waste that brain of yours. Think about going back to school.”

When Felix showered first, Elias set a code to the room’s safe, built into the cabinet that held the television. Not that he felt he couldn’t trust Felix, but he had to hide the dagger, and just so there would be no question, he tossed his wallet in while he had it open. He saw it as taking a reasonable precaution, given the circumstances.

He joined Felix in the bathroom and entered the oversized stand-up shower. He stood at the end watching Felix rinse off.

The young man smiled. “I enjoy the hotel’s water pressure.”

“Sometimes it’s the simple things in life.” Elias eyed him as the rivulets streamed down his sinewy body. “You are beautiful, Felix.”

“So are you and look at that gorgeous cock. I’ve only seen one that size in digitally altered photos.”

Elias lifted it and stared at it. “My father may have left before I was born nine hundred and ninety years ago, but at least he left me this, and for as huge as it is, it’s still inadequate compensation for an absent father.”

“You’re nine hundred and ninety years old,” said Felix. “Why have you not aged?”

“That’s a long story. I’ll tell you over breakfast.”

“I look forward to it.” He kissed him as they swapped places, and Felix left the shower to dry off.

As Elias showered, he fantasized the crazy notion of taking Felix with him and giving him a better life than the one he had. But he wouldn’t have wanted him to feel beholden to him; a healthy relationship of any kind would need a better foundation than that.

Over the sound of the water, he thought he heard voices, and at first, he figured it was the television, but then came the deep resonant metallic sound of something heavy ripping apart, and Felix yelled, “Elias!” He turned off the water and grabbed a towel as he ran into the room.

The only one there was the woman who inappropriately called herself Happiness wearing a red minidress, and Elias held his breath as he scanned the room. She stood at the dining table digging into his wallet. The wooden cabinet door and the door to the metal safe lay across the room, and the unsheathed dagger lay on the floor behind her. Felix’s bellhop uniform remained draped across the chair where he laid it the night before, but he saw no sign of him. The pall of a terrible truth fell over him, and a weight settled into the pit of his stomach like concrete. She had destroyed that beautiful young man, the first person with whom he had made a connection in over a century, and with swelling anger, he shook as he asked, “Why did you do that to him?”

She said nothing as she pulled the pink card from his wallet.

“WHY?” His voice could express no more than a fraction of the rage he felt.

“You need to remember why you’re here,” she said with a calm innocence, which only served to further infuriate him.

He moved toward her. “He was good; he didn’t deserve it!” He picked up the dagger from the floor.

“He was of no consequence. Where did you get this card?”

He came up behind her and looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said containing the rage that drove him to act. He snatched his wallet from the table in front of her. “I thought the card came from you.”

He gripped the dagger as hard as he could and drew back his right arm. It seemed fitting that she should receive what she meant for Ronan. The woman was manipulating Elias, but she wasn’t just the enemy, she was pure evil, and you don’t give evil a fighting chance. He thought to himself, “For Felix.” He gave her one sharp jab in the lower back, and the blade’s tip pierced her skin. In the moment of her destruction, time slowed, and a spherical shockwave punched him in the gut as it pushed his body away. As it expanded, it shattered like glass everything else in its path as the leading edge propelled him backward through the wall. Small chunks of metal and concrete accompanied him as he cannonballed through the open air, away from the hotel, and over the beach. As it all receded, he watched the wave eject part of the building upward and outward. As the sphere of destruction continued to expand, a concave depression broadened and deepened, compacting entire floors of the structure, crunching downward and away from him as the invisible wave demolished the building from the top down. As the wave lost energy, his momentum took over, carrying him a bit farther, but eventually, he dropped into the water ten yards from the shore.

He awoke naked on the beach with someone trying to resuscitate him, blowing air into his lungs, and for a moment, he thought it was Felix kissing him. He coughed and gasped trying to catch his breath from the gut punch.

The man who rescued him from the water had jogged the beach that morning, and as a few people gathered around, he removed the wet zip hoodie he wore and covered his naked body with it. “Are you okay?” he asked. Elias heard his muffled voice through the high pitch note in his ears from the percussive blast. “I saw you land in the water.”

Within a few minutes, Elias’s body would simply return to its previous state, just as it had whenever he had faked his own death. With stiff muscles, he struggled to turn onto his hands and knees, gasping for air, trying to comprehend what had happened. He could see building debris scattered around the beach and several floors of the hotel had disappeared from the detonation that he knew began when and where he stabbed the woman. The wind from the sea moved the dust cloud further onto the island. He gazed downward. One fist gripped his waterlogged wallet, but the fingers of the other still strangled the remains of the dagger, the blade either broken off or destroyed. He sat with his feet beneath him. Shaking, he threw his soggy wallet onto the sand and made a slow, painful effort to peel the fingers from the metal hilt in his hand.

“You are incredibly lucky,” said the man. “You look like you don’t have a scratch on you, but you probably should go to the hospital anyway.”

In breathless gasps, he said to the man, “Thank you, for your help.”

Knowing that not only was Felix gone, but his actions had killed many innocent people that morning. It caused him to look at himself and his life through the tears running down his cheeks. He had no idea who or what that woman was, but surely, she wasn’t alone, and he swore in the name of Felix Raposo and all those innocents who died that morning, that he would oppose them. “I need to find Stallion,” he whispered to himself.

-------

Dolos had tricked Ronan. Zipping and unzipping the bag would change the contents of the clothing, but no matter how many times he tried, he always had light-colored pants. With considerable aplomb, Ronan accepted that he couldn’t do much to rein in his Centaurian appendage, and apparently, Dolos insisted that it remain noticeable. As they dressed in far more stylish clothing, their pants fit a tad tight, but acceptable—Ronan’s in light gray and Liam’s in faded, distressed indigo. And like Liam’s light blue shirt, the white fabric of Ronan’s properly sized button-up gave a subtle display in the broadness of his armor-like pectorals, thick shoulders, and bulging biceps with a tapered fit at the waist.

In the bedroom, and nearly ready to go, Liam watched Ronan finish slipping the belt through the loops in his pants. “So, why do you think Chiron increased your size by forty pounds?”

“I’m uncertain. He must have believed we needed the extra strength for some reason.”

“Just how strong are you?”

Ronan pointed to the kitchen in the other room. “Do you have a case knife you can spare?”

“Sure.” He went to the drawer, retrieved one, and handed it to him.

He watched Ronan, thinking he would just bend the knife as though it were rubber, but instead, he took the stainless-steel knife and began to re-form it as though it were nothing more than sculpting putty. He flattened the handle and spread it out to make it roughly uniform in width and thickness to the blade. He folded the metal over on the short side, turning it into a slender and relatively flat bar. He then began to roll it up into the spiral shape of a snail shell or nautilus. When he finished, he tossed it in the air and said, “Here you go. Catch.”

Liam caught it but bounced it back and forth between his hands. “It’s hot!” He rushed it to the sink and cooled it under the faucet while looking it over. “That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I watched Henri do that, and he wasn’t even half my size. So, I don’t know how strong I am. I hope that doesn’t scare you.”

Liam dried off the bent hunk of metal with a dish towel, and he thought about it for a moment. He slipped it into his pocket, opened the refrigerator, and took out an egg. “Now it’s your turn to catch.”

Ronan caught the egg firmly but never broke the shell. He held it up. “What’s this for?”
 

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Chapter 3b

“Well, you’re no Lennie Small, so that’s good.” Liam retrieved the egg from Ronan. “I figure, if you have the control necessary to catch an egg without breaking it, then I have no reason to fear you.”

“Chiron has had several lifetimes of great strength to grow accustomed to handling delicate objects, so I have no problem with that.”

“I see.” He returned the egg to the refrigerator. “Let’s get out of here.”

They stepped outside to the breezeway with their bags, and Liam inserted his key into the deadbolt to lock up. They descended the staircase, and Liam unlocked his Jeep when a sudden noise like an enormous nearby sonic boom shook the ground and vibrated through the air. A strong gust of wind sent dust and sand through the breezeway in front of the vehicle.

“What the hell was that?” asked Liam.

And then came the falling debris. Dust, detritus, and larger fragments of building material rained from the sky, up to six blocks from the epicenter of the explosion, and all around them, they could hear the bits fall on every surface. Liam noticed Mrs. Novak gazing out her window. He spoke across the top of the Jeep’s hood. “Didn’t Dolos say that Elias stayed at the Cerulean Sea Hotel?”

“Yeah.”

Liam pointed. “The boom came from that direction; the hotel’s maybe three blocks away.”

The air grew hazier. “Quick, get in,” said Ronan, “this air is dangerous.” He laid his bag on the floorboard of the passenger side and tapped the vent control on the air conditioner. “Keep the vent closed until you get away from here; don’t breathe this air.”

“Where are you going?”

“I will assume that people need my help, and I’m going to give it to them.” He flashed a momentary smile. “The wind is blowing in our direction, so go north. I will meet you at the bench shaped like a mooring cleat at the Haulover rescue station.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with Elias?”

“It could, but the meaning behind it is unclear.”

“Be careful.”

“As careful as I can be. See you soon.”

As Liam drove to the right out of the parking lot, Ronan turned left and sprinted around the block toward the source of the mayhem. People were racing away from the Cerulean Sea Hotel, either on foot or in their vehicles. The sound of sirens told of the imminent arrival of police, but the fire department, rescue workers, and ambulances would soon follow. One officer had already stopped to set up temporary roadblocks and direct traffic away from the building.

Ronan had to circumnavigate a mound of fallen debris and wrecked vehicles that lay on the road along the front. As people trickled from the entrance, he rushed inside. The air held a haze of powder, the ceiling had cracked, plaster had fallen, and the incident left the lobby in disarray. He could hear someone crying and calling for help. The stone check-in desk had cracked from the vibration of the explosion and had fallen onto the foot of the clerk. One of her coworkers, who happened to be her husband, tried to shift it enough to free her, but it weighed two tons, and it wouldn’t budge. He had already tied his belt around her lower leg, above the crush point.

They coughed from the bad air. “My wife is stuck. We need a jack.”

Ronan shook his head. “When I lift, you pull.”

“You can’t move it.”

To the man’s astonishment, Ronan slipped the fingers of his right hand beneath the granite slab and lifted it with little effort.

As the man picked up his wife, he asked Ronan, “Who are you?”

“I’m Ronan Stallion,” he said. “Are you okay to carry her out?”

Once he indicated he could, Ronan hurried off to help someone else without waiting for or expecting any thanks.

Meanwhile, in their desperate need to get away from the scene of the explosion, Liam had to contend with drivers speeding and blowing through stop signs and red lights. By the time he reached Fifth Street, the air had cleared, and the panicked drivers took the causeway to leave the island. The farther north he drove, the day seemed less eventful for most everyone on the road and the sidewalks.

He hadn’t eaten breakfast, so as he waited in the drive-through of his favorite smoothie joint for his mixture of yogurt, whey, berries, fruit, and beef liver, he tuned his radio to a local station, and they had stopped playing music to cover the events happening at the scene. As Liam expected, it was the same hotel. The discussion had the inevitable mention of a possible terrorist attack, but they had no evidence for that and admitted as much.

Back out on the road, he continued north. At the Haulover Beach car park, he picked a spot in the mostly empty lot. He used his phone to livestream a local television channel’s coverage of the scene while he waited for over an hour before carrying Ronan’s bag to the rescue station. He rushed through the tunnel when it disrupted his cell connection while watching the livestream on the way.

-------

Trace Hawkins knew that he got his job as the Chief of Operations at the Haulover Rescue Station because people found him attractive. At 32 years of age, with his fit body, dark blond hair (that would lighten from the sun), tan skin, and a classically handsome face, it wouldn’t matter who else wanted the job with equal education and experience, they always seemed to pick him. He considered his striking appearance almost a superpower. It drew people’s attention and seemed to overshadow those around him, and he had never met anyone like himself. Looks alone hadn’t gotten him the job, of course. His curriculum vitae had him perfectly qualified for it, and the fact that he had more than a few brain cells to rub together, natural leadership abilities, and an affable temperament hadn’t hurt any. But for all that Trace had going for him, he had a serious problem. Trace lived in quiet desperation as a gay man trapped in a straight man’s life. He grew up with a check mark beside every box for the common causes of Closet-Life. The top three, close-minded parents, raised in a Pentecostal church, and the prevalence of toxic people in his childhood home and surrounding culture, exampled the worst of them.

On the morning of June 22nd, as always, Trace arose to breakfast with his beautiful wife and 2.3 children in their house tucked away among thousands of other misfortunates who called Miami’s suburban sprawl their home. Due to his circumstance, he experienced the reverse of a common expectation; work became his haven from the daily grind of maintaining some semblance of marital bliss and the responsibilities of fatherhood, both of which he fell into by the social conditioning of his upbringing. So, five days a week, when the time arrived for his morning commute to work, he couldn’t flee from his life there fast enough. He struggled with the need to tell his wife everything, but he lacked the courage.

By 10:45 that morning, Trace and two relief lifeguards, Benny and Alice, stood in the lobby watching the report on a local television channel about an explosion that occurred at 9:28 AM at a hotel to the south. At the beach, the vanishing point on the horizon is about 2.9 miles away, and since the hotel lay at a location three times that distance, they knew nothing of it.

Reporters at the scene spoke of an amazing man, known as Ronan Stallion, who had taken over the rescue operation due to his ability to find and reach many people trapped in pockets of the building that professional rescue workers would likely have missed, or the victim would have died before they could cut through the fallen parts of the building to reach them. One fireman emerging from the hotel with an empty tank on his self-contained breathing apparatus, when asked about Mr. Stallion, stated, “I’ve never seen anyone like him. He needs no mask or fire protection. He walked through fire to rescue someone in a burning room like it was nothing, and when his shirt caught alight, he just tore it off and kept going. He’s lifting things by himself that should be impossible, and he’s done all this without breaking a sweat.”

Liam entered the lobby of the rescue station. Two men and a woman in rescue uniforms faced the wall monitor viewing the same channel he had on his phone.

“I see that you’re watching it too,” he said.

“May I help you?” asked the handsome blond man.

“I hope you will. I’m currently off duty, but I’m Officer Liam Philips of the Key Biscayne police department.” He showed them his identification and pointed to the television screen. “Ronan Stallion is a friend of mine. He will meet me out front when the rescue operation at the hotel has ceased, and he will need to clean up. May he use your facility? We would really appreciate it.”

The blond man said, “I’m Trace Hawkins, chief of operations. If it’s for someone who rescues people, absolutely.”

“Is what they’re saying about him true?” asked the man whose name badge read Benny.

“Yes,” Liam said, knowing full well, how unlikely that sounded.

“How is that possible?” asked the woman named Alice.

“Ronan is unique.” Liam pulled the chunk of bent metal from his pocket and held it up. “This morning, before Ronan got ahold of it, this was a case knife from my kitchen. I’m thinking of making a keychain from it.”

“Holy shit,” said Benny.

Trace examined it. “What did he use to do this?”

“Just his fingers.”

“No way…,” said Alice.

“I couldn’t believe it either,” said Liam, “but there it is.” Trace returned it to him.

They heard the fire chief at the scene tell the reporter that the firefighters had extinguished the fire and were bringing out the last of the survivors, all of whom Ronan found quickly.

They watched closely as Ronan emerged from the building behind everyone else. The bits of soot covering his shirtless upper body only served to highlight his heroic appearance. Unable to get closer, the cameraman zoomed in. It marked the first time the world saw the 27-year-old man known as Ronan Stallion, and it wouldn’t be the last.

The four of them stared at the screen. “Does he have a girlfriend?” Alice asked.

Not wanting to speak for Ronan, Liam said, “Not that I’m aware of.”

After realizing that the professionals had everything well in hand, Ronan sped away from the scene faster than would seem possible to join Liam at Haulover.

“Just give him a few minutes to run up here,” said Liam. “I’ll meet him out front.”

Trace took note of the time and told his coworkers they needed to make a sweep of the park, so they left.

When Liam left the building, Trace joined him.

Ronan arrived wearing singed pants, scorched shoes with disintegrating soles, and a friendly smile. Liam introduced Trace to him.

“Anyone who helps others is a friend of mine,” said Ronan.

Shaking his hand, Trace said, “It took six minutes for you to run roughly ten miles. That’s about a hundred miles an hour.”

“Yeah, I had to slow down because of the traffic and other obstacles.”

“Right…,” said Trace, uncertain what to think, considering the unbelievability of it.

Noting his absence of a shirt, Liam said, “We heard your shirt caught fire.”

Ronan nodded. “And the rest of this is ruined; I don’t know what to do about flammable clothing. Going shirtless into a fire isn’t a problem, but at the very least, I need pants that don’t burn. I wouldn’t want to expose myself.” Ronan noticed Trace’s astonished expression. “Are you okay?”

“For the first time in my life,” said Trace, “the sentence, ‘you beat all I’ve ever seen,’ seems fitting. Are you even human?”

“My speed, strength, and that I don’t burn will become well known. So, for the sake of honesty, I must admit that I am more than human.”

“You look like a superhero. Is that what you are?”

“That’s for others to decide. I can only be who I am.”

“You’re a hero to me,” said Liam, “and I think you’re pretty super.”

Ronan laughed. “Did you get something to eat?”

Liam nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Well, come inside and clean up,” said Trace. “We have a locker room you can use.” They followed Trace into the building.

The locker room had all the necessary amenities, sinks, toilets, lockers, a couple of long benches, and a double shower at the end of the room. Liam handed Ronan his bag, as Trace casually took a bench across from him. He paid no attention to Ronan zipping and unzipping or turning the bag around to pull all manner of things from it. He simply stared and asked questions. Ronan was more than willing to let him ask anything he liked. He saw it as good practice for the inevitable questions that the public-at-large would one day ask.

“So, where are you from?” asked Trace.

“I’m from here…and Greece.” He sat on the bench and removed the remnants of his shoes and socks.

Seeing Ronan’s ruined footwear, he asked, “How can you do those incredible things?”

“It’s all in who I am.”

“And just who are you?”

“It even sounds strange for me to say it, but I am the Centaurian.”

“The Centaurian…,” said Trace.

Ronan stood, unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped his pants. “I’m part centaur.” He pushed down his pants and underwear. He had on full display the Centaurian appendage along with the unusual body hair.

Wide-eyed and unblinking, Trace sat in dead silence for a moment. Ronan stripped down, then took the soap, shampoo, and cloth to the shower to wash. Trace said nothing and just stared as he scrubbed the soot from his skin.

Liam watched Trace. “He’s unimaginably beautiful, isn’t he?”

Mesmerized and unable to look away, Trace nodded. “There’s no way that I’m not gay.”

Liam laughed a little and turned toward Ronan in the shower. “Yeah, it’s pretty affirming, isn’t it?”

“I really need to tell my wife,” Trace said.

“Yikes. I hate to hear that still happens.”

“It does. Ronan wouldn’t happen to be gay, would he? That’s probably too much to hope for.”

“We’ve not discussed it directly, so I’m not sure.”

When Ronan finished, Trace watched his every movement as he picked up the towel near his bag.

“Aren’t centaurs just a myth?” asked Trace.

Ronan stepped right in front of him, his body dripping wet, with the towel over his head, patting his hair dry. “Do I not look part equine to you?”
 

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Chapter 3c

Trace sighed. “Sure, but you have no hooves.”

Ronan stepped back and dried off. “I’m half centaur, and therefore, one-quarter Centaurian equine, but most of what makes me what I am is on the inside. My speed, strength, overall physical size, and the configuration of my body hair are external manifestations of my Centaurian nature. But I have a question for you. Besides Liam, you are the first to know this much about me. Does any of it sound frightening?”

“You’re not as frightening, as you are unbelievable.”

Ronan nodded. “I can understand that. Do you have a quarter you can spare?” Ronan wrapped himself in the towel.

Trace took one from his pocket and dropped it into Ronan’s hand, and he held it up.

“Do you know what I can do with this?”—the man shook his head—“Well, not a lot, a quarter won’t buy much anymore.”

He had Trace laughing.

“However,” Ronan stepped in front of him and began to re-form the quarter into a thin square sheet of metal. He then began to fold it as though it were paper. He folded it this way and that way, and in the end, he opened what he had made. He blew on it a little, cooling it down, and placed a tiny nickel and copper origami boat—slightly larger than a Monopoly piece—into Trace’s hand. He removed the towel and finished drying himself.

“If I hadn’t watched you do that with my own eyes,” said Trace, “I wouldn’t have believed it. Have you any idea the amount of force it takes to manipulate metal like that?”—Trace stared at the tiny boat—“Apart from seeing you naked, this is the most amazing thing I have ever seen.”

“Trace is curious to know if you’re gay,” said Liam. “Since we haven’t had that conversation, I couldn’t say.”

“I’m proud to say that I am gay,” he said.

“Really?” asked Trace sounding surprised.

“Yes, but I don’t consider myself available,”—he made a rapid glance at Liam—“at least, I hope I’m not.”

“That remains undetermined,” said Liam.

“And understandably so,” remarked Ronan in a quiet voice. He donned a similar set of clothing to the one he had ruined. “Well, thank you, Trace, for allowing me to clean up.”

Liam grew curious and asked, “How many people did you find?”

“About three dozen altogether, most of them injured, some just trapped, but a third of them had died in the explosion. There were more that hadn’t survived, but I couldn’t reach them without putting the rescue workers at risk, and I wouldn’t do that.”

Trace nodded. “You did a good thing today.”

“Well…I have made doing good things my mission in life.”

Once Ronan finished dressing, the three of them meandered through the corridor to the lobby, and out to the front of the building. “You are welcome here anytime, Ronan,” said Trace. “I don’t care what you are.” He held his hand out, and Ronan shook it. “I hope I get to hear more about the good you do. You’re a fascinating and unbelievably handsome man, and I’m glad you showed up in my life. It’s solidified my need to get my personal life in order.” He shook Liam’s hand. “I wish you both the best of luck.”

When Trace re-entered the building, Liam asked, “Had you seen any sign of Elias at the hotel?”

“No, but I can still feel his presence out there somewhere. Shall we go to the airport?”

“Aah…hold on.” Liam pulled out his smartphone to begin a search. “On the way here, I heard the words nine-eleven bandied about on the radio. I’m sure other people had the same thought. So, let me check the airport status. And… Yep. Just as I thought. They’ve closed the airport as a just-in-case measure. It says that it may reopen tomorrow. If you want to leave today, we could drive somewhere.”

“This is Miami,” said Ronan staring out at the sea, a ship on the horizon. “We could hop a cargo ship. They often take on passengers. That would be unexpected. It would give me time to think, and for us to get to know one another.”

“That sounds like an amazing idea, but would that be safe?”

“I would make it safe. And it’s not like the captain would insist we ‘heave to’ or anything. We wouldn’t join the crew, just be there.

Heave to?” Liam laughed. “That’s a sailing term. Look, I can take care of myself with the crew; I meant safe because of your distant relations, namely Poseidon. The ocean is his domain, after all. Should we consult you-know-who?”

“Probably, although I dislike interrupting the enjoyment of his Cuban. Dolos…”

Dolos faded into view as he stepped beside Ronan, and his face carried a sullen expression.

“Hello, Dolos,” said Ronan sounding concerned. “Have we taken you away from your Cuban?”

“No. Things are not good right now. I have a profound sadness, and Zeus is furious.”

“At me?”

“No, at Elias. Kakia discovered what had happened with the bellhop named Felix, and she destroyed that beautiful young man with the Chronosian blade, and that upsets me. I feel that I’m at fault because I instigated their liaison last night. Felix was an amazing lover, specially blessed by Eros who truly outdid himself, and I’m heartbroken over it. Anyway, Elias rightly took his anger out on Kakia and stabbed her with the blade.”

“So, that caused the explosion?”

Dolos nodded. “Prometheus and I are upset about the deaths of those innocent people too, but unlike Felix, at least they’re in the underworld now, experiencing whatever they expected when they died.”

“So, where is Felix?” asked Liam.

“He no longer exists. I would love to ask Prometheus to bring him back, but there’s nothing left of him. The blade destroyed him utterly, just as it did with Kakia, but unlike Felix, she deserved it. I always despised her for her callousness.”

“What specifically angered Zeus?” asked Ronan.

“The Chronosian blade was Zeus’s idea—made by Chronos himself; one had never before existed. That it destroyed a goddess has embarrassed Zeus, and when events deviate from the plan, he gets angry.”

“Where’s the blade now?” asked Ronan. “Does Elias still have it, or should I go search the rubble for it?”

Dolos shook his head. “As Sir Isaac Newton realized in his third law, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. You can’t just destroy a goddess without a reaction, so it destroyed the blade at the same time, and at the point where the blade and Kakia intersected there came a hotel-destroying BOOM!

“It threw Elias so far from the building, he landed in the water. He feels terrible about the whole situation; he was crying on the beach after a jogger pulled him to shore. We can hardly blame him for it though; he couldn’t know that would happen.”

“So, does Elias still want to die?” asked Ronan. “Without the blade, he has no means to try and kill me.”

“I can’t tell. I heard him whisper to himself that he needed to find you. I have no idea what his intentions are for when he does. Like with you, he’s immortal, so his thoughts are opaque.”

“The airport is closed due to the explosion,” said Liam. “Ronan has suggested that we take a cargo ship somewhere.”

“At this point, with Zeus having a conniption fit, the sea is safer than the air.”

“What about Poseidon?”

“He refuses to mind Zeus’s business for him; he won’t bother you.”

Liam turned to Ronan. “Okay then, let's try a cargo ship.”

“I can help you with that,” said Dolos. “There are a lot of ships here. What destination had you in mind?”

“I want to go home, at least for a while,” said Ronan.

Taken aback, Dolos raised a brow. “Really… It’s about time one of you Stallions decided to go home. I will get you as close as possible. Let me speak to Prometheus, and I’ll have something by the time you get back to your vehicle.”

-------

William Groß—a German surname similar in sound to Gross meaning Big—had ash-brown hair, a square face, a gym-toned body, and worked as a purser for a container ship called the CS Fritz Himmel for the Reliance Shipping Company out of Hamburg. A purser dealt with all the logistical, financial, legal, and administrative matters for the ship that concerned the crew, the cargo, supplies, and the authorities at their ports of call. And if the ship had any passengers—a rare event for the Fritz Himmel—it would be the task of the steward and the purser to ensure they had everything they needed. So, while William could be a busy man, the bulk of his duties occurred while at port, and he had streamlined his tasks to a level of efficiency that, during the transatlantic crossing, it left little for him to do.

By noon of that day, he had completed his in-port tasks, and the ship had scheduled its departure at 5:00 PM. After lunch, he left the superstructure and took a stroll around the main deck and paused by the aluminum gangway (the staircase used to reach the dock from the main deck of the ship), and below sat an olive-colored Jeep with a woman leaning against the side. When she saw him, she gestured for him to come down, which he did.

He found a voluptuous woman with straight blonde hair in a ponytail had awaited him. Her pale blue, painted-on jeans showed her slender, curvy figure, and the white blouse she wore displayed just enough skin to see its porcelain-like smoothness, but her sensuous lips that held a pleasant smile spoke with the most incredible voice he had ever heard. By her accent, he could tell she was Swedish, and he had never seen anyone who had fit his description of the most beautiful woman he could ever hope to meet than the one who stood before him then.

“Oh,” she said, gazing upon him in interest. “Hello, my name is Emma Nordström, and I wondered if by chance you were heading back to Europe when you left Miami. My two friends and I need a ride, and I hear that a voyage aboard a cargo vessel can be a pleasant, leisurely journey. If you have two cabins available, one for me—as I’m alone—and the other for my two friends, I would be grateful. We can pay you whatever you ask; money isn’t a problem.”

He stood there looking at her dreamily. “I would love to have you…aboard, I mean. I would love to have you aboard. And yes, our next stop is Genoa, Italy. Let me speak to the ship’s first mate, and I will be right back. Don’t go anywhere!” He hurried up the staircase.

Prometheus discovered the Fritz Himmel rarely took on passengers, and they never advertised their four available cabins, so they usually remained unoccupied. In his prescience, he saw William’s stroll as a useful opportunity to get aboard and conveyed the information to Dolos. Dolos then called in a favor from a friend who would drive Liam’s vehicle back to his apartment for them when they eventually abandoned it on the dock.

The purser found the first mate, Paul Hurst, on the bridge in conversation with Captain Stettler about ship matters and took him aside at an opportune moment.

“A woman on the dock has made a request for two cabins and passage to our next port of call for herself and her two friends,” said William.

“Who is it?”

“Someone you will want to see before making a decision.”

Descending the aluminum staircase, Paul then understood what William meant. The woman was beautiful, although he never really found himself attracted to blondes. She stood on the dock by her two male companions, one of whom had considerable height, a lot of muscle, and a familiar face.

“This is Emma Nordström,” said William, “and I’ve yet to meet her friends.”

“This is Liam Phillips,” said Emma, “and Ronan Stallion.”

“Ronan Stallion…,” said Paul. “I thought you looked familiar. I saw you on the internet news. You were at that hotel this morning. We heard the explosion and saw the smoke from here. You saved a lot of lives today. Have you a reason you wish to leave Miami with us? Our journey to Genoa is slow, taking nine days. And as for you Ms. Nordström, we have an amazing chef, but our accommodations aren’t exactly the Ritz Carlton.”

“I expected that,” said Emma, “and I’m tougher than I might seem.” She glanced at William, and he took notice.

“We are in no hurry to get to Europe,” said Liam, “but we do need to go there. May we ride with you? We can pay you whatever you ask.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have three rooms?” asked Paul. “Ours only have double beds.”

Ronan asked Liam, “Would you rather have a room to yourself?”

“If it’s no problem,” Liam said to Paul, “Ronan and I will stay together in one room.”

Paul laughed a little. “We don’t mind.”

He gave them a quote, they accepted the price of the trip, and the captain welcomed them aboard.

William had an instant crush on Emma, and Dolos—disguised as Emma—thought William Groß was dreamy, too dreamy just to walk away from, so Emma accompanied Ronan and Liam to Genoa because why not? Apparently, William usually experienced a great deal of boredom for eight of the nine days across the Atlantic, and on this occasion, he hoped to spend a lot of that time with Emma, and she intended to keep him exceedingly busy.

The hull and the superstructure made up the two basic parts of most container ships. The hull housed the ballast, the tanks for usable freshwater, fuel, lubricant, various storage locations, the engine room, tool room, and other items of utility necessary for the ship. The deck is on the top of the hull and that’s where the crew stacked and stored the cargo containers. The superstructure contained the bridge where navigation took place, the crew and guest quarters, the sickbay, the kitchen, the dining room, meeting rooms, a gym, a seawater pool, and as they stayed on a German ship, it also had a dry sauna.

From their single square porthole, Ronan and Liam could see that their cabin held a double bed. It had lots of storage, a small refrigerator, and a utilitarian bathroom with a sink, commode, and a shower that didn’t require a curtain. They lay back on the bed, their feet still on the floor, and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

“Did you really mean what you said in the locker room earlier about not considering yourself available?” asked Liam.

“Yes,” he said. “Humans can’t know one another without experience because you can’t see one another as you truly are. I heard everything you said to me yesterday, but today, I can see into your heart. You are beautiful, and I could be happy with you. But I know we have some drastic differences. You have a fear of me, but I can’t tell what it’s about. Will you tell me?”

“I have a few things. There’s the whole ‘you could become a god’ aspect of who you are. How will that affect you? And another, if I’m lucky enough to live that long, I will grow old, and one day, I will die. It seems strange that we can’t grow old together, and I would not want to burden you. I guess my fear is that one day you wouldn’t find me so beautiful anymore and you would leave.”

“I understand,” said Ronan.

“However, I know that, at the moment, neither of those things are a problem.”

“Okay, good. I’m not prescient, so I don’t know what the future holds, but neither do you. All we have is right now. Should we worry about things that haven’t happened as if we could know? Will we deny ourselves some happiness today because of what might happen decades from now?”

Liam rolled over and brought his face to Ronan’s. “May I kiss you?” he asked.

“Please do.”

A first kiss is a special and magical thing. It’s thoughts and desires and hopes, all wrapped up and expressed in a passion that inflames the senses and disregards the fears. From the point of that kiss, Liam couldn’t care what the future held, he wanted Ronan just as he was, however that was. And if Ronan wanted him, he was his, willingly ensnared, and not wanting to look back.
 

RHHorst

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Chapter 4a

With the help of the jogger who pulled him from the water, Elias acquired clothing and other items to replace any necessities he had lost in the explosion, including a new smartphone.

Having settled into a small but stylish room on the sixth floor of the Oriental Hotel on Brickell Key, he showered again to remove the saltwater residue from his skin, and the shower’s spray induced disturbing reminders of that morning’s incident that echoed around in his head. The groan of fracturing metal and Felix’s last word haunted his memory, “Elias!”

He had known Felix only a few hours and still, he felt devastated by his destruction. He had sensed something special with him. He wasn’t just a call-boy; he had intelligence. And it hadn’t mattered that his talent lay along sexual lines, he shared with the world his ability to enwrap someone in an ecstasy so profound that the experience would change them. Regardless of what some might say, his considerable talent made the world a better place for many people, and Elias held the privilege of being its last recipient.

His blind desire to end it all had destroyed Felix. Not to forget all the others who died at the hotel, most certainly another lesson in unintended consequences. He knew that woman who called herself Happiness was right though. His actions over the years had killed many people, and it just kept happening, as it had that morning. Regret…regret…a constant companion from then on, he knew. He had become an awful person, even in his own eyes.

Holed up in his hotel room, he ordered the beef tenderloin from room service and avoided the world. With his phone in his hands and his back against the headboard, he read one article after another about the explosion and the astonishing claims made about the man known as Ronan Stallion—who had saved twenty-three people that morning—and about the many others who had either died or were still missing.

When his food arrived at six o’clock that evening, a knock from room service came upon the door, and he answered it. A nude woman pushed the cart into his room. She looked to be in her early thirties, slender with dark wavy hair kept in a classic braid and pinned up.

“I bring what you hunger for,” she said, pushing the cart to the room’s intimate four-chair dining table.

He shut the door behind her. “Madam, what are you doing? Where are your clothes?”

“Come, you should eat while it’s hot.” She laid a plate of beef and asparagus with jasmine rice onto the table and pulled the chair out for him to sit.

“I don’t know who you are but-”

“Sit and eat.” Her voice and stare could have bored a hole through him.

He refrained from further argument, sat, and picked up the fork. She relocated herself in his line of view a few feet from the table.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am Aletheia, the unconcealed, naked truth. Prometheus has asked that I come to you because Kakia, the goddess you met who called herself Happiness, kept the truth from you. Of anyone in the entire universe, I stand before you the one person who can never lie.”

“Prometheus…”

She nodded. “Yes. He wants you to know your true origins and your circumstances.”

“Okay…,” he said with a cautious air. “Your nudity feels awkward. Please, won’t you sit?” He gestured to the seat across from him.

“Thank you, but no,” she said. “The truth stands…always.”

“I see.” Too hungry to argue, he began to eat. “Well, you have my attention.”

“Zeus is using you. He helped to ensuring your birth, causing every hardship you have endured, In a way, Zeus created who you are, and what you have become. But to him, you are a tool and nothing more.”

“Zeus… A tool...” He hadn’t liked the sound of that. “What about Stallion?”

“He is the object to which Zeus would ply you.”

“If I weren’t immortal and hadn’t experienced everything that I had the last day or so, I would think you were insane. So, why would Zeus do such a cruel thing? From what I remember reading, he was supposed to be good.”

She made a decisive shake of her head. “Primitive notions of what it means to be good and propaganda. A proclamation of someone’s goodness has no validity without actions to support it. According to his actions, Zeus is a psychopathic, serial rapist. He is King of the Gods; he does what he wants and has no one to answer to.”

He paused eating and his brows rose in surprise. “Wow.”

She shrugged with indifference. “The truth is sometimes harsh and unpalatable.”

“Will you not anger Zeus by saying these things?” He continued to eat.

“Zeus already hates me, but only because he hates the truth of himself.”

“Well, about Stallion…who is he? What is he? And why is Zeus so interested in him?”

Her face held an affectionate smile to think of him. “Ronan Stallion is part human and part life essence of Chiron the centaur stallion, the two of them bound together by an eternal flame. Ronan is the light, and Zeus stands overshadowed by his own past; the promise of a better ruler than Cronus, his Titan father, died the moment he took the throne. Ronan is something new, and his nature may have made him the most powerful being in existence. Zeus isn’t sure whether to believe that, but still, he fears him more than anything or anyone.”

“So, let me see if I have this right,” said Elias. “Zeus helped caused my birth to use me as a tool. He kept me oblivious about my father, just so I could survive the ages alone, watching the people I love die. All, so I would stop loving, stop connecting with people, get sick of living, and feel a desperate need to kill Ronan, after only one spellbinding conversation with some evil witch named Kakia, calling herself Happiness.”

“That is precisely what happened, and all went according to plan until you destroyed her.”

“Is what she said the truth, about my inability to die, unless the eternal flame is destroyed?”

She tipped her head a little. “That plan had no guarantee of success for you. Zeus wanted information, so your attempt would have gotten him what he wanted regardless of the outcome. However, Prometheus has an alternative that wouldn’t require destroying Ronan.”

“What alternative?”

“The gulf of difference between yourself and those around you makes you alone. How would you like mortality, so that you can have a normal life, open yourself to the world around you again, fall in love one day, have children if you want, and perhaps die of old age?”

Elias dropped his fork, swallowed, and stared at her. “You can do that? I thought that would ask too much.”

“It can be done, but it would require sacrifice.”

“That’s fine,” he said, “whatever I would have to do, I would do it.”

“That’s the problem.” She made a slight shake of her head. “The sacrifice is not yours.”

-------

Due to his size, Ronan walked the hallway of the ship a few steps behind Liam. After having left Miami’s port on Dodge Island at five o’clock, the two had taken an hour to walk the main deck and explore the superstructure, leaving them to conclude that, as far as no-frills travel goes, it would do. The designer had to minimize everything to the essentials and consider whatever may come upon the high seas which resulted in an aesthetic of mere adequacy. The only exception to that rule was the beautiful wood-lined dry sauna which would hold about ten people.

As was tradition, during their welcome aboard, the captain invited them to dine with him at six that evening. The officer’s mess consisted of four round tables with seating for six each. The steward, Garit Bruckhauser, seated them with Captain Stettler and Paul Hurst, the first mate, both of whom wore the casual dress of a long sleeve pullover and jeans.

In a gentlemanly fashion, Ronan pulled out the brown Naugahyde-upholstered wooden chair for Liam and took the seat beside him.

“It reminds me of the dining set in my grandmother’s kitchen,” said Liam.

“Have you toured the ship?” asked the captain.

“Yes,” said Liam. “I think we’ll be comfortable, and we’re looking forward to the sauna this evening. I’ve never had a ship voyage, so out of curiosity, and for my peace of mind, do we carry anything dangerous? And how often do you see inclement weather across the Atlantic?”

“Storms can occur any time of year,” he said, “but it’s not too bad in the warmer months, and according to the shipping report, the weather ahead is relatively calm, so nothing to worry about. As for what we’re carrying, it’s nothing too dangerous really. Currently, we have a ship half full of Hondas, but quite a few other things as well. I wouldn’t concern myself, just sit back and relax.

“I had hoped that the lovely Frau Nordström would grace us with her presence this evening, but the steward says that she and our purser will be—shall we say—busy for the next few days, and they will take all their meals in her cabin.”

“That’s our Emma,” said Ronan. “In her defense, she’s actually choosier than it might seem, but the purser is quite handsome.”

Paul nodded. “He is handsome, but he’s no Gustav Lauterborn.”

“Who is that?” asked Liam.

“He’s our First Engineer. You may have your man named Stallion,” said Paul gesturing to Ronan, “but we have Gustav Lauterborn. He’s quite impressive and always getting erections in the sauna.”

“I see.”

“The purser’s shortcomings probably won’t matter to Emma,” said Ronan. “He has a nice thick head of hair. It wouldn’t surprise me if, by the time we reached Genoa, it was thinner.”

They laughed.

“The two of you will get along well with the crew,” said Paul. “No topic is taboo with us, especially sex. We can get bawdy, and it keeps things lively.”

When it came time to order, the captain and first mate ordered their usual, but Liam ordered the salmon.

When asked what he would like, Ronan said, “Nothing for me, thank you. I’m just here for the company.”

“You won’t be able to get anything from the kitchen later,” said the captain.

“Actually, captain, I don’t eat.”

“You don’t eat?” he asked. “Everyone eats. How can you survive and not eat?”

Ronan shrugged a little. “I just do.”

“Okay…,” the captain said and gave Ronan an odd expression. “All the bridge crew saw the news reports about you, and now you tell us you don’t eat. Are you from another planet?”

“I am Centaurian,” said Ronan. “Half-human, half-centaur. You’ll have yet to have heard of me, but I must start somewhere.”

“It sounds to me like you have a problem,” said the captain.

Liam smiled a rather sardonic smile. “A mental-health problem, right? I recognize the look on your faces. Ronan and I know how mad it all sounds. However, what he said is true. He is half centaur, and he doesn’t eat.”

“No disrespect intended,” said the first mate. “It’s just that the reports about him are too incredible to believe.”

“I understand,” said Ronan with a little smile. “For now, it’s not important. You’re welcome to believe whatever makes you comfortable.”

After dinner, they returned to their cabin. “I don’t want people treating you like you’re delusional.”

“That will happen for a while,” said Ronan, “and we will just have to accept that.”

A knock came upon the door. Emma entered the cabin dressed in a short diaphanous white gown that barely covered anything.

“Hello!” she said.

“Have you had fun with William?” asked Ronan.

Emma whispered, “Oh yes, he has a tongue like you wouldn’t believe, but he does seem to have an enormous ‘little’ problem, and a lifetime of memories of people cruelly teasing him over it, including some members of the crew.”

“Is his problem that significant?” asked Liam.

She continued, “I would tell anyone who would thoughtlessly use the blanket statement, size doesn’t matter, that they have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about. It may not matter to them, but it does matter. Regardless of the person’s intended use, be it for conception or purely for pleasure. As far as feasibility is concerned, if for a human, one like a whale is too big, but one like a gnat is too small, and there is a middle range of sizes that allow it to perform its personally intended function with a descriptor like ‘best’, ‘well’, ‘okay’, or ‘not at all’, then size matters. This poor man has some condition that caused him to have no protruding shaft when erect, and nothing protrudes when flaccid. So, during his sleep tonight, I intend to help him.”

“Wow,” said Liam.

“He’s a good man and not the first that I’ve helped this way.”

“Hey,” said Liam, “if you’re handing-out extra inches, I’ll take a few.”

Emma smiled and patted Liam’s cheek indulgently.

“So, is this what Emma wears to bed?” asked Ronan gesturing to her attire.

“No, it’s what Emma wears for less than two minutes before William takes it off her. Currently, he is showering. He knows I came across the hall to talk and check on you. I have from Prometheus both good news and bad. The good news is that Elias no longer wishes to kill you, but he does want to talk to you and is planning to meet you at the station while boarding the overnight train from Milan to Brindisi. As for the bad news…Zeus is planning something, but we don’t know what. Given that it’s Zeus, it will probably involve lightning.”
 

RHHorst

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Chapter 4b

Gustav Lauterborn, a handsome, dark-haired man in his early thirties with a strong body, big biceps, and spectacular forearms from working with his hands all day, held the position as a well-paid first engineer on the CS Fritz Himmel. He knew all the inner workings of the ship and his superiors thought to tap him for the replacement of the chief engineer when the current chief retired. So, the crew had respect for Gustav’s abilities since he had the responsibility for most of the engineering work aboard the ship and the chief relied on him so heavily.

After a typical hard day's work—when things ran smoothly—the engineer had an excellent dinner with conversations among his crew mates for an hour. This would begin his evening relaxation routine which he typically maintained like clockwork. Every evening, at 7:45, he would shower. At 8:00, he began the first of two 15-minute sauna sessions with a 20-minute break in between. Afterward, he cooled down for 5-minutes, walked back to his cabin, and showered again. He would then sit on his bunk to read for a little while, and just before bed at 9:45, the steward would make his nightly visit to suck his well-admired nine inches, after which he would sleep until morning. Life was good for Gustav, but for all that he had going for him, he wasn’t perfect.

The First Mate Paul Hurst along with Crewmen Kurtis Eisen and Otto Gleich always took the sauna with Gustav, as did the friendly steward named Garit Bruckhauser who had a crush on him. That evening, however, William and Emma joined them, at her insistence. The sauna had two sets of risers that faced one another. Paul, Gustav, Kurtis, Otto, and Garit sat on one side of the sauna while William and Emma sat on the other, facing them. The two sets of risers had only five feet between them, so one might call the sauna cozy.

Traditionally, everyone would go naked in a German sauna and sit on a towel, ensuring that no part of their body touched the wood beneath them. And while German saunas also had the tradition of treating the space as a non-sexual environment where everyone minded their own business, that part had never quite worked out aboard ship.

Within a minute of the group’s second 15-minute session, William could no longer stand it, he grabbed his towel and fled the sauna, bumping into the towel-wrapped Ronan and Liam about to enter. They heard someone say from within the sauna, “There goes Envy,” whereupon Ronan and Liam found Otto, Kurtis, and Gustav having a laugh at William’s expense as they entered, closing the door behind them to keep in the heat.

Emma rose from the bench, towel in hand, eyes ablaze, staring at those who laughed. “Shame on you,” she said. “The three of you are particularly cruel. If you don’t give William a heartfelt apology by morning for every snide remark you have ever made to him, with a promise to never treat anyone like that again, you will awaken to find yourself missing most of that which you hold so dear.” She turned and smiled at her friends. “Ah, Ronan, just the man.” She spoke confidentially into his ear. “Do me a favor and make sure these men feel as inferior as possible.” She then left to find William.

Liam gestured to the door through which Emma just exited. “Sounds like some of you are in deep shit.”

“It would serve them right,” said Paul. “They never leave William alone. He stopped using the sauna because of it.”

“Nothing will happen,” said Gustav. “Curses are not real.”

“We were all just having a laugh,” said Otto, “that’s all.”

“Really?” said Liam as they climbed to the second level of the empty risers. “I didn’t see William laughing. Did you see William laughing, Ronan?”

“No, I never saw him laugh either.” As Ronan took his place beside Liam, he just stood there for a moment. “I take it,” Ronan said to the men, “that you think that having a smaller penis is amusing.”

“Ja,” Gustav said simply, making a blatant display of his partially erect larger-than-average one.

“Humph,” said Ronan. “I see.” He unwrapped his towel and laid it onto the wood behind him and sat beside Liam allowing his fleshy hose to drape down from the riser between his muscular legs for everyone to see.

They all sat staring in complete disbelief.

Scheisse! (Shit),” said Garit.

Riesenschwänz! (giant cock),” said Otto

Du hast Konkurrenz, Gustav (You have competition, Gustav),” said Paul.

Gustav's brows drew together, he leaned forward and asked, “How big are you?”

“Not sure,” said Ronan, “but I’m much bigger than you. I see a few of you getting an erection. Is this the part where we all get hard and compare ourselves with one another?”

“I have an erection,” Liam said. “Will you have one too, Ronan? I must admit, I am curious.”

Ronan lifted his Centaurian appendage and as he hefted it, it began to harden and lengthen and thicken in his hand. It rose until the head reached his pecs.

Liam stared at it. “You and I will have so much fun with that.” Ronan smiled and gave him a quick kiss.

Most of the others just stared in silence.

Paul asked, “How can you be so big?”

Ronan shrugged a little. “I told you at dinner that I was half centaur. I have something to say to those of you who laughed at William. Emma is many orders of magnitude more than she seems. If you don’t heed her warning—as sure as I’m sitting here before you—you will awaken to something that I doubt you will find so amusing when it’s yours. Now, I just want to sit here and enjoy the heat.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

Afterward, Ronan trailed a few steps behind Liam as they trekked naked up the four floors back to their cabin. He watched Liam’s ass, noting he had worked it hard in the gym to give it an attractive curve, with that firm mildly bouncy quality so evident with every stair step upward.

Upon reaching the cabin, Ronan walked him backward, kissing him into the room. He picked Liam up and tossed him onto the bed. “You want to hear something amazing?” Ronan asked him.

“Sure.”

“My erections work nothing like a regular human’s. I can stay erect for as long as I like—even permanently if I want.”

Liam stared wide-eyed in disbelief at the idea, and it left him to draw one conclusion. “Okay, that settles it,” said Liam, “you really are a god.”

Ronan laughed a little, grabbed Liam’s hands, and held his arms over his head. “Am I?” he asked.

He hovered his bulky musculature over Liam, who could feel the heat from the equine-like penis laying from his scrotum to his sternum. As Ronan studied every feature of his face, Liam stared into his cognac-colored eyes and sighed at the pleasure of his insides melting like butter in the heat of Ronan’s godlike presence.

“You are to me,” he whispered.

Ronan kissed him. Releasing Liam’s hands, he felt Liam’s body and rolled them on the bed until he lay on the bottom. Changing position, Liam lifted Ronan’s cock vertical, pressed its heat to his face, and inhaled the scent. It seemed no different from that of any other man, but holding onto it, it surpassed the ten-inch length of his ex-boyfriend by about six inches, placing its size firmly within the scale of one of the smaller equine breeds, a Shetland pony maybe. As for its circumference, it had a decent thickness but not excessively so, more on par with a slightly thicker-than-average human penis, except at the base which was at the top end of the human scale.

“If you morphed into the bipedal centaur, how would that change you?” he asked.

“I would have hooves, two equine legs, with an ass to support them, along with the accompanying tale. I would grow significantly taller and bigger in general. That cock you’re playing with would probably become even larger and equine in shape. I might even have the ability to pull it back into my body, but I’m not sure.”

“Holy shit… So, you would have like…the size of a quarter horse overall?”

“No, that’s a horse bred for speed, think strength…more like a Shire horse. Although, Chiron was never that big as a full centaur.”

“A Shire is the biggest breed there is!”

Ronan nodded. “Yeah, but don’t worry, I would never ask you to have sex with me like that. Among other issues, it would be dangerous with a cock about two and a half feet long. If morphing ever became an option, chances are, I would only change to fulfill Chiron’s need to be that; if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, of course,” said Liam, “that’s completely understandable. He’s been so human for many thousands of years. I can imagine that he would want to stretch his equine legs fairly regularly.”

He drew Liam’s lips to his and kissed him. “The day you found me, you told me you believed that perhaps you were meant to find me because your situation and mine fit too hand-in-glove. You were right. Prometheus chose you to find me, but whether you remain with me is entirely up to you. I know you like the idea and feel drawn to me, but that’s an enormous life-changing decision. Please, give it a lot of thought. You have known me less than forty-eight hours.”

“I know that you’re right,” he said, “and I do love being a cop, but the pull I feel toward you isn’t easy to resist.”

“I’m sorry for that. All I ask is that you try. You’re on vacation. Take your time.”

He nodded. “There’s time to decide that later. Right now, I want to suck you dry.”

“That’s likely impossible,” said Ronan lying flat again. “Because of my nature, my body continually produces anything it needs on-demand, so theoretically, I could geyser a sustained stream of cum for all eternity.”

“Wow…in that case, I better get started!”

Ronan loved the sensation of Liam sucking and jacking his gigantic cock. And it had been a while for Liam, so he was quite enthusiastic about the opportunity. After twenty minutes, Ronan started to have an orgasm, and Liam intended to take it, but Ronan would shoot more than any other man, and he just kept cumming and cumming, with Liam guzzling shot after shot.

Ronan strained to say, “You probably should stop,” all while his orgasm continued to feed Liam, and he tried to stop it.

After Ronan finally got the flow to stop, having drunk the whole thing with a somewhat full sensation in his belly, Liam pulled the cock from his mouth and smiled. “That was delicious!”

“You were incredible, but you just chugged a Centaurian quantity of cum!”

“So?”

“It’s the equivalent of blowing anywhere from 110 to 130 guys at once. You drank about two measured cups.”

“Holy shit! Well, it won’t kill me.”

“No, it won’t kill you, but you haven’t built up a tolerance for swallowing that much, you might throw up, or else you’ll find yourself on the pot all night, if not both.”

Liam laughed. “I hadn’t realized I was such a piglet. It was so good, though, I couldn’t quit.”

“Well, given how much I cum, I probably need a piglet. You should work up to a full load, but let’s see what this one does to you.”

He shrugged. “I feel fine, and oddly, it didn’t even taste like cum.”

“It would shock me if it had no effect on you. Regardless of the consequences though, I can give you more anytime you want it, and I know you will want it.”

Liam laid on his left side next to Ronan and reached out to grip his penis. “I like it when you’re erect. It makes me want to keep it in my mouth though.” He kissed the end of it.

Ronan slowly jacked Liam’s dick for him. “When you asked for the extra inches, how many times did Emma pat your cheek?”

“Let me think…aah…about five. Why?”

“You’ll probably have five more inches by morning.”

“WHAT?” Liam sat up.

“You had meant it when you asked for them, hadn’t you?”

“Well yeah, but she patted me on the cheek like, ‘In your dreams, buddy.’”

“No, you and I have a unique relationship with Dolos/Emma. She patted you on the cheek like, ‘Here you are, sweetie.’”

“Holy crap! She would just do that?”

“It’s no problem for her. It’s that easy to accomplish, so what’s the big deal?”

“I had no idea,” he said. “She didn’t have to say any magic words, get me to drink some concocted potion or anything.”

“All that is pure Hollywood. She never even had to pat your cheek. How’s your stomach?”

“Still fine.”

“I don’t remember the last time I got to suck dick.” Ronan repositioned himself and took Liam’s seven inches into his mouth where he slurped and moaned and savored the experience for just a couple of minutes.

“I’ve not cum in days,” he said, “and I’m about to.” So, he did, six full shots which he could feel Ronan swallowing. “You drank it?”

Ronan cleaned him up, withdrew it from his mouth and smacked his lips, and said, “Mmm…tasty.”

“I thought you would never eat anything.”

“You’re the exception. I guess I can’t tell anyone that I don’t eat now. I probably should say that I’m on Liam’s South-Beach Cum Diet or something.”

He smiled. “You have my permission,”—he pointed at him—“but make sure they understand it’s completely proprietary. If the cum’s not mine, it ain’t the real one.”

Ronan laid back and laughed. “Could you imagine the captain’s face at dinner this evening if I told him that?”

“Time for Ronan’s evening feeding! —as I stand by the table and whip it out for you.”

“In the right setting, that might be fun.” He thought for a moment. “So, still no problems?”

“Still nothing, and actually I’m feeling really good. Maybe, I’m immune to its effects somehow. Or maybe yours isn’t like regular cum; the taste was sweeter—a little like honey—and the texture, creamier. I loved it; it was delicious.” Liam noticed he had trouble with his eyes. “My eyes are getting blurry; I must need to clean my contacts. I should remove them for sleeping anyway.” He dug into his bag and retrieved his contact lens case and cleaner. He moved to the bathroom, washed his hands, and put lens cleaner into the case. He plucked a lens from each eye, dropping them into their respective sides of the plastic holder. He closed it, dried his hands, and took it back to his bag. “What the fuck!” he exclaimed looking about the room.

“What’s the matter?”

“Everything is clear! Has Emma corrected my eyesight?”

Ronan stood from the bed. “No, she would have said something.”

Liam scrunched his face. “What the-”—he put his hand to his mouth, and he spit something into it—“Oh shit! Is that my fillings? What the hell is happening to me?”

Liam took the cellphone from his bag and rushed into the bathroom to use the mirror. From the flashlight on his mobile, he could see that his teeth were white, straight, and healthier than they’ve ever looked. He showed Ronan their appearance.

“This has to be your cum,” he told him.

“That sounds crazy, but I can’t say that it isn’t.”

“I would suggest we could ask Emma,” Liam said, “but she’s helping William, and I wouldn’t want to distract from that, the poor guy. If this were hurting me, that would be one thing. I guess it can wait until morning.” He took a deep, exhausted breath and yawned. “I’m suddenly feeling tired. Would you hold me while I sleep?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

They left the light from the crack of the bathroom door as the only illumination in the room just in case Liam needed to go but awakened disoriented.

Ronan laid his head on the pillow and Liam laid his head on Ronan, an arm across him and his face laying against the warmth of the fully erect Centaurian appendage. As Liam slept, Ronan called upon Prometheus in his mind and spoke to him the entire evening.

Prometheus admitted that he considered Ronan his son. In his prescience, he had seen his coming thousands of years ago, and he was everything Ronan’s predecessors could never be. They were good men, chosen to carry Chiron into the future…for Ronan. He expressed his pride in seeing him help the people at the hotel that morning. Prometheus knew that Ronan would shine the light from his eternal flame upon everything and everyone he encountered, illuminating the shadows where evil hides and acting as a beacon for the good, letting them know they were not alone, helping those in need.

Ronan asked him about the power he had yet to use. Prometheus told him not to worry about it. That time would come, and when it had, he would use it for the best of reasons, and he would be ready.
 

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Chapter 4c

June 23

During that conversation with Prometheus, time passed far more rapidly on Earth, and it ended with Liam awakening at 5:33 with Gustav knocking on Emma’s cabin door across from theirs.

“Good morning,” said Ronan in the light from the crack of the bathroom door. “How’s the stomach?”

Liam gripped the Centaurian dick that Ronan had left erect all night. “It feels fine.”

“Excellent!” Ronan crawled under the covers and began to suck on Liam. He found pleasure in the taste and the movement of the soft skin over its hardened interior as he pleased Liam, throating his newly enlarged, full foot of cop cock. He savored every moan escaping Liam’s lips as he brought him closer to climax.

Liam pushed back the covers and saw in the shadow from the light of the bathroom door, that his erection had grown to the length of Ronan’s in its flaccid state. As he sucked him, he could feel the draw of his impending orgasm, and at that moment, his mind went blank in the pleasure of blowing his load in Ronan’s welcoming mouth. When it ended Ronan pulled it from his lips, kissed the end, and said, “We will have a lot of fun with your new dick.”

Liam felt its length with his hand. “Yes, we will, but I want breakfast.” He positioned himself to shove the head and several inches of Ronan’s cock into his mouth and began to blow him.

It went on for about ten minutes when Ronan said, “Use more teeth.” When Liam complied, it sent impossibly pleasurable sensations through Ronan’s body, and within a minute… “Get ready, I’m gonna-” And Liam focused on chugging as much of Ronan’s creamy deliciousness as he could get. And rather than trying to control it, Ronan allowed himself to relax, and his orgasm continued for several minutes, but with difficulty, he managed to stop it when he felt Liam was probably full. He squeezed his cock from the bottom to get at the remainder of the liquid, and he let Liam clean him up.

“That was unbelievable,” said Liam, and he kissed Ronan.

Tasting it himself, Ronan broke the kiss. “That’s not cum, Liam. What is that?”

“I don’t know, but I want to gorge myself on it until I explode.” He stuffed Ronan’s cock back into his mouth.

“No no.” He wrested his appendage from Liam’s lips and allowed it to go slack. “You need to lay off the sauce until we speak to Emma. I don’t know what I fed you, but overnight, you seem to have grown an addiction to it. Let’s have a shower and get you some breakfast.”

“I’m not really hungry,” he said.

“Well, I’m not surprised. Perhaps, you’ll want something when we get down there.”

When they went to dress from the clothing in their bags, Liam had a cranberry tank top with a white shirt to wear over it, tan shorts, and slip-on rubber-soled shoes. The bag only offered Ronan an unusually designed, cream-colored, square-necked tank top with midnight-blue reinforcement around the arms and neck. The opaque—relatively thick—strange material accentuated and clung to every curve of Ronan’s upper body—even more so than Lycra would. It had the word “CENTAURIAN” stitched across the light-colored material covering the broadness of his armor-like pecs in blue thread. He had a pair of shorts in the same blue coloring that reached a third of the way to his knees—made of the same material—both fit and styled like compression shorts. For footwear, he had a blue pair of slip-on shoes with rubber soles.

“You make that outfit look sexy,” said Liam.

“You don’t think this is a bit over-the-top?”

“You probably need a long pair of pants for when shorts are inappropriate, but it has a stylish design and looks iconic—I would instantly recognize you—but given your nature, I think you can get away with it. Considering how you got it, I get the feeling that someone has given you this because it suits your needs. It would allow freedom of movement, but I would be willing to bet it’s as tough as you are and doesn’t burn—an attribute you said you needed.”

As they entered the officer’s mess the steward—who took the opportunity to give Ronan a smile and a wink—once again, seated them at the captain’s table with the First Mate Paul Hurst, but also present were Emma and William, who looked quite happy. Ronan pulled out the chair for Liam.

The captain had a broad smile of amusement. “Guten Morgen, Herrs Stallion and Phillips (Good morning, Misters Stallion and Phillips). I hear the rumor mill has much grist to grind this morning, and I have many assurances that the rumors are true, including from Frau Nordström who provided specifics.”

Ronan gazed at Emma as he took his seat. “Thanks.”

“Just boosting your reputation, that’s all.”

“And here we were, impressed over our first engineer,” said the captain.

As the captain continued, Emma gave Liam a strange expression, and she leaned over to speak to him confidentially.

“You are positively glowing this morning,” she said, “and in a way that makes me suspicious.”

His brows rose as he shook his head and whispered, “I assure you, I’m not the least bit pregnant.”

Emma laughed. “No really…something is different about you. What is it?”

“We’ve wanted to talk to you. Last night, within minutes after having drunk quite a bit of Ronan’s cum, I no longer needed my contact lenses and the fillings in my teeth fell out.”

With a look of complete perplexity, she thought about it for a second and asked, “What did it taste like?”

“I don’t know, a little sweetish, maybe.”

“It tasted Swedish?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No, it was a bit sweet, a little like honey. It was delicious. I didn’t want to stop chugging it down last night, or this morning when I had more, and I’ve had cups and cups of it, apparently. I don’t even know why we bothered coming to breakfast, I’m not remotely hungry.”

“Have you seen what Ronan’s cum looks like?” she asked.

“Oh no, it all went down the hatch, if you know what I mean.”

Her mouth dropped open, she grabbed the empty Hefeweizen glass from the place setting before her and interrupted the ongoing conversation at the table. “Ronan, excuse me. Is it possible to speak with you, please?”

“Is anything wrong?” he asked.

She glanced at the others at the table, and despite their presence, she decided to press on, regardless. “Well…it’s just that I’ve had an enlightening little conversation with Liam here, and from what I’ve gathered…I suspect that, when you have an orgasm, your cum is actually Ambrosia. If you would, please fill this glass for me, so that I can know for sure.”

The three Germans at their table and all those at nearby tables heard Emma’s statement, and her unusual request causing a momentary shock and silence.

Ronan’s brows drew together, not believing what he was hearing. “WHAT?”

The men let out a peal of laughter which continued for some time.

“Oh, Frau Nordström,” said the captain as they all laughed, “are you not aware that every man’s cum is Ambrosia?”

“Especially if he’s German,” said the first mate. And of course, all the German men there could not help but agree.

The silliness even had Liam and Ronan laughing. The first mate had warned them that they could all get bawdy.

When the laughter died down the captain said, “Herr Stallion, I wish to make you a bet. If you can fulfill Frau Nordström’s request by filling that glass to the top with your ‘Ambrosia’, I will give you all your money back.”

Ronan sat there for a minute. He knew they didn’t need the money, but they had paid eight thousand dollars for the trip. The captain thought he would bet on a sure thing; no man could fill a 16-ounce Hefeweizen glass.

“And if I lose?” asked Ronan.

“If you lose,” said the captain, “you have to admit you’re human, just like everyone else.”

“Okay, but rather than giving back the money, I want your word as the captain of this vessel that you will give the money to a children’s charity—even if it’s just one in Germany. And…you have to start believing me when I tell you something because I won’t lie.”

“It is a deal,” he said, “you have my word. But you must do it right there. No trickery.”

“At the dining table?”

“Ambrosia is the food of the gods,” said the captain. “What more appropriate place is there than the table?”

Ronan gazed upon Emma.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I had no idea it would go this far.”

“Do you seriously think it could be Ambrosia?” he asked her.

She nodded.

“What would that mean?”

“I don’t know, but Liam’s drank quite a lot, so the three of us should discuss the consequences of that.”

Ronan reached out. “Hand me the glass.”

He set the glass before him, and as the men gathered around, he pulled down his shorts to the expected gasps and whispering. He hefted his enormous penis and willed himself erect enough to make it stick straight out and still capable of bending into the glass. He glanced at the captain who, like all those around him stared wide-eyed at the spectacle. Rather than the crowd causing him difficulty, as he thought might occur, their presence helped him along and within five minutes he held the end of his cock over the glass, and he came. Jets of a thick honey-colored liquid filled the glass; it just kept coming, almost pouring out of him. The more the glass contained the more it became obvious that he had filled it with a suspension of metallic gold that glinted in the light of the dining room. As the liquid reached the top, he set the glass onto the table and gave Liam the remainder as he forced himself to stop, after which he allowed himself to go soft, and he pulled up his shorts. Everyone in the room stared in utter silence at the glass. Liam carefully moved it to Emma who knew what it was the moment she saw it.

She nodded. “This is Ambrosia.” She lifted the glass to her lips and took a long drink of it. “And it’s delicious.”

Ronan turned from Emma to the captain.

The captain’s brows had lowered in perplexity, he shook his head a little, and asked, “What are you?”

As he stood beside the table, every eye on him, Ronan held out his hands a little, shrugged, and dropped them to his sides. “I am your friend. I am a friend to you all. That’s the only thing that matters.”

The reaction by the men ranged from amazement and curiosity to wariness and disbelief.

Emma told William that she needed to speak to her friends for a bit, and he said he would busy himself with other things after breakfast. The instant they entered Ronan and Liam’s cabin with the glass of Ambrosia, she started, “I apologize, Ronan, I had no idea that would happen.”

Liam said, “I can’t believe you went along with his bet.”

“It would help people if I agreed to it, and it was a small sacrifice.” He turned to Emma. “What can you tell us about Ambrosia, and what are the consequences of Liam drinking it?”

“As with so much of the knowledge from ages past,” she said, “it gets jumbled, convoluted, embroidered, and embellished over the years to the point where any grain of truth it may have held is often difficult to discern. So, one should not believe—at face value—every story about the gods, or all the ideas held to be true about the world of the divine. There is a story about the origin of Ambrosia involving a wood nymph, but that story is just that—a story. For as much as many would like to deny it, the gods are not all-knowing. If any of us have known of the real origins of Ambrosia they have kept it to themselves. I only know that someone brings it to Olympus, bearers distribute it during feasts, that it’s delicious beyond all else, and it has magical properties. The gods drink it every day mostly because of its taste and preciousness, similarly to the way ancient kings might hoard diamonds because of their beauty and rarity—at least before industrialization. But a king was king before the diamonds, and the gods were gods before Ambrosia. The difference is when a mortal partakes of it, and it only takes once.”

“What has it done to me,” he asked.
 

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Chapter 4d

“You are no longer mortal. Your body has repaired itself, so you no longer need the lenses, and your teeth have renewed themselves, pushing out your fillings. It has restored everything about you; you are now whole.”

“So, I’m invulnerable now like Ronan?”

“No,” said Emma, “Ronan is different. He will have a vulnerability somewhere. I can’t think of anything off the top of my head, but he is probably the least vulnerable immortal to ever exist, but nothing is perfect. As for yourself, you are like the way Chiron was immortal before Prometheus saved him. Heracles accidentally struck him with a poisoned arrow. Chiron would survive it, but because of the poison, he would have lived in agony. So, he gave up his immortality in exchange for setting his cousin Prometheus free from Zeus’s punishment, and that’s how we got here. Would you want to grow old and die?”

Liam flopped down on the bed. “I don’t know. It’s not like the typical human walks around all day thinking of their own mortality. On an average day, we put it out of our minds and live in the illusion that it will never happen, although when pressed, we must admit that it will. Maybe that’s what Elias did in the beginning, just like everyone else. And over time, it became less and less possible to live the illusion when he realized it was true. Can I still pleasure Ronan and drink as much Ambrosia as I want?” He gazed up at Ronan who gave him a little smile.

“It won’t hurt you,” she said.

“Well, that’s something at least,” said Liam.

Ronan hugged Liam from where he sat on the bed.

They suddenly heard a loud but muffled creaking sound, a metallic clatter, and as they rushed to the porthole to see out onto the ship, there came a ship-shaking explosion on the port side. One of the cargo containers collapsed from the weight above it, causing something inside it to ignite and explode, tearing open several of the containers around it. It made them lose their structural integrity, and the resulting fire caused black smoke to billow into the sky from the gaping remains. The captain stopped the ship, a general alarm sounded, and crewmen were rushing to their posts from other cabins on their floor.

As Liam turned to Ronan, he saw that he had already left the room.

Ronan mounted the stairs to reach the bridge. The moment he entered, another smaller explosion happened closer to the top of the container stack.

“That was probably the fumes from the empty petrol tank on one of the Hondas,” said Paul Hurst, the first mate.

Seeing Ronan on his bridge vexed the captain. “You need to leave, Herr Stallion; we have this under control.”

William had searched through the manifest. “It says the containers on that level were packed full of paper.”

“Paper doesn’t explode,” said the captain.

“Misdeclared cargo,” said Paul, “that’s all we need.” He informed the fire crew by radio as they pulled a hose to the area, which, just by its location, would be difficult.

“Let me help you,” Ronan said to the captain. “Would you like me to toss those containers off the ship?”

“We had our fun this morning,” said the captain, “but this is serious, you need to leave.”

“Captain,” he said as he took him by the shoulders. “I can do this. Do you want those containers tossed?”

“The containers carrying Hondas would need moving, and they weigh 4.8 metric tons each. Don’t tell me you can lift that.”

“Actually, I probably can,” he said. “Look, it’s my neck, and I’m willing to stick it out. You have nothing to lose.”

The captain stared at him for a moment when an explosion shook the ship from the same area as the first one.

“If you can do what you say,” said the captain, “if it’s on fire, toss it overboard. If it seems excessively hot, toss it overboard. If it’s just in the way, try to keep it if you can. You may have to disengage the twist-lock connectors at the corners before you can pick anything up.”

“What about the balance from the starboard side?” asked Ronan.

“If it’s a significant problem, we’ll deal with that later.”

“I’m on it.” Ronan left the bridge and hurried down the stairs. He met Emma and Liam on their way to the bridge. He kissed Liam. “Wish me luck!” he said and kept going.

“Good luck!” Liam yelled after him. When they arrived, the bridge crew could do nothing else, except watch the fire destroy the cargo as the crew tried to extinguish it.

Liam asked the captain, “What exploded?”

“Misdeclared cargo. Some companies think they can ship things we normally would reject by declaring them as something else. Misdeclared cargo is the number one cause of fires aboard these ships. Can Herr Stallion do what he says?”

“Ronan never lies, and certainly would never lie about anything as serious as helping people,” he said.

Fire and smoke boiled from the containers of section 10 toward the bow of the ship. They saw Ronan climb atop the containers and head in that direction. With all the smoke it became difficult to see his precise actions, but the container with the Honda that had sat directly above the first explosion needed to go. All those on the bridge watched as a flaming Honda Civic flew a thirty yards out of the smoky mass where Ronan had ejected it off the port side.

“Mein Gott! (My God!)” stated the captain.

The broken container that surrounded it followed, along with everything Ronan could find that had caught fire, including those in the stack next to it. He tossed entire containers the blast had cracked open and left burning. The crewmen with the fire hose put out the remaining fire far easier and cooled down all the containers left in place. Ronan had one container left to toss. It held a Honda Civic and the crack in the side smoked badly. During the explosion, the door on the front of the container had popped out, but he thought little of it. He picked it up to toss it off the ship, and when he gave it the necessary shove, the container flexed, and the door squeezed onto his hand. When the container went flying, its weight caused it to pull Ronan into the water along with it.

Liam and Emma watched horrified as it flew away from the ship with Ronan attached to the doorframe, and when it struck the water, it went under with a rapid kerplunk. Air bubbled from where it landed, but it disappeared, and Ronan vanished right along with it. Crew members rushed to the railing with a lifebuoy, but there was no one to throw it to. He was gone.

“I just realized Ronan’s vulnerability,” said Emma. “He isn’t human, and his body is too dense to swim; he’ll sink like a stone.”

“He doesn’t breathe,” said Liam, “so he can survive this, right?”

“He won’t die,” said Emma, “but he’ll be on the ocean floor.”

The captain turned to them. “I can’t imagine how he could survive, but I should tell you that we’re no longer over the continental shelf.”

“How far down is the bottom from here?” Liam asked.

“About two miles,” said Emma.
 

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Chapter 5a

After making the plunge, Ronan jerked his hand free of the container door. Having left his element, among the broken strings of kelp, and the flotsam he had chucked from the ship’s cargo, he found himself enveloped by a world where sound plays a more important part of life than sight. His ears filled with a cacophony of sounds from the ship, a few creaking groans from the metal containers, the motion of the water around him, and every stroke of his limbs as he struggled to swim to the surface, but his efforts came to nothing; he continued to drop with the shipping container which, with every passing moment, inched its way farther from his reach.

He tried not to panic and worked as fast as he could to find a way to reverse his descent; the greater distance from the surface, the less light he would have to see.

He could alter his trajectory by swimming in any direction but up, so he returned to the twenty-foot container and ripped the doors from it. As the opening faced the surface, he could see the Honda’s position—the front bumper pointed downward—and most of the straps that held it to the bottom of the container had burned to a few threads that would snap when it impacted the ocean floor.

Due to the width of the container, he could barely reach the vehicle’s unburned driver-side rear tire. It still had air but would weigh too much to have sufficient buoyancy. He used its Schrader valve to inhale air from it, thinking to fill the space inside him that he used for speaking, attempting to make himself more buoyant before it was too late, but the external water pressure had already reached the pressure of the air inside the tire—maybe, 33-pounds per square inch—so the negative pressure in the tire drew water inside, rather than allowing air to escape. A few seconds later, the tires tried to implode, but rather than collapsing inward from the vacuum, it broke the seal, and the air he might have used, he lost to the ocean.

He tore open the trunk and scavenged for what he could find. Beneath the floor mat, he found the vehicle’s donut spare tire. He figured it would float, and it had yet to lose its air, so he hurried to remove it from its holder, but before he could, it imploded sending the air inside it bubbling to the surface. He wouldn’t climb farther into the vehicle to reach anything else; even the foam cushions rapidly grew waterlogged.

He thought to use the metal of the car to craft a large set of rudimentary hand-held flippers—at least, that would be something—but his ability to manipulate metal in regular air wouldn’t work in the ocean. The water kept the molecules too cold, and it wouldn’t bend to his will.

The light he used to see in the photic zone transitioned to a darker blue tone, and he knew he had entered the twilight zone of the ocean: less of the spectrum made it that deep. Ronan could not think of anything else he might use, and it became harder to see as he descended. He gazed upward and watched the light from above grow evermore remote along with his hopes of easily reaching the ship.

In that experience of an unwelcome and uncomfortable sense of imposed solitude, he could think only of Liam. He knew him enough to know that he stood at the railing waiting for him, but every second took him farther away, and he couldn’t tolerate the sensation of being torn from him. He realized just how much Liam meant to him. Having been the first person he saw upon awakening, he almost felt as though he had imprinted upon his protector. And in his own unique way, he had, and at a level he couldn’t understand at the time.

He wished he could feel Liam’s presence the way he could Elias. He could still sense the man out in the world and which direction he could find him. As a last resort, while more than seventeen hundred fathoms beneath the surface, he could make a blind trek in Elias’s direction across the ocean floor, and if he hadn’t stumbled along the way into a worse problem than he already had, he would reach dry land…eventually.

Feeling alone and exposed to the openness of his abysmal surroundings, as the minutes ticked past and the light grew dim, he held fast to his metallic companion. As he glanced around, he could barely detect his hand in front of his face, and the evidence that the surface world existed at all had become little more than a memory. He hadn’t known what creatures dwelled at that depth—or how large they could grow—but he would catch from the corner of his eye occasional flashes of a ghostly luminescence from something that lived there.

He closed his eyes and concentrated to speak to Prometheus.

“I’m in trouble,” he told him. “I can think of nothing to use to help me; my resources are limited. Is this when I should use the power? Is that my only option besides walking the ocean floor?”

“You could,” said Prometheus. “But you have the power to help yourself without it. You have had it within you all along.”

“Is this where I close my eyes, click my heels three times and say, ‘There’s no place like ship?’”

Prometheus found the reference amusing. “I’ll give you a hint, my son. Watched or not, a cold pot never boils.”

Ronan opened his eyes, smiled, and shook his head at a solution so simple he couldn’t think of it.

Time passed faster while speaking to Prometheus, and as he continued to drop into the benthic depths, an inky blackness had shrouded Ronan’s vision; he had reached abject darkness. But in the ocean, sound moves five times faster than in the air, and it carries for miles, so when a new noise invaded Ronan’s ears, he listened intently to discern its source. The crew had engaged the ship’s propulsion; the captain wouldn’t believe he could survive and would choose to leave him behind. If he wanted to get back to Liam, he needed to make a rapid ascent. He swam a few yards from the shipping container, called upon the eternal flame within him, and turned up the heat.

-------

When the engines engaged, pushing the ship forward, Liam jerked his head toward the bridge at the top of the superstructure. “What the hell is the captain doing? We’ve waited less than half an hour!”

He felt fine when Ronan helped people at the hotel a few miles away, but the watery divide became more distressing with each passing moment. He, along with Emma and William, had stared out over the ocean at the railing where the container had pulled Ronan overboard. The incident aboard the ship had left the water littered with debris, including a couple of containers with air pockets large enough to keep them afloat for a while.

When it first happened, Emma had spoken with Prometheus about Ronan, but he had nothing to say. Not that Prometheus had no knowledge, but for things to play out as they should, an absence of knowledge often catalyzes much decision-making and change.

William told him, “If you ask Captain Stettler to stop the ship, I know what he will say; we have fallen behind schedule.”

“Is that the sort of consideration Ronan deserves?”

“He will refuse to believe Herr Stallion can survive underwater unaided for this length of time, especially if he has fallen to the bottom.”

Liam asked him, “You believe us, don’t you?”

“After this morning, I will believe anything that Emma tells me, and she has said that I can trust you and Herr Stallion to always speak the truth. So, I believe you.”

“I appreciate that. I know I can speak for Herr Stallion on this, but you’re welcome to call him Ronan, and me, Liam.”

“Thank you,” he said. Germans prefer formality when addressing people unless explicitly told otherwise. “And you all may call me William. So, what shall we do about leaving the vicinity? I know the captain; he won’t change his mind.”

“If Ronan manages to reach the surface,” said Emma, “hopefully, he can catch up with us. Alternatively, the land and the ocean floor are connected…” She turned her gaze upon Liam.

“That sounds like a long, lonely walk back to Florida.”

William glanced over the railing and pointed. “Something is happening…”

Off the port side of the ship, a fog-like mist rose from the water, and the ocean began to bubble. Someone on the bridge must have noticed as they had, once again, stopped the ship. Liam, Emma, William, and several crew members ran to the section of railing closest to where the water roiled near the vessel. And as it grew increasingly frenetic, they realized they were witnessing not just air bubbles but water in gaseous form boiling up from the ocean, which, unfortunately, had the effect of cooking several fish that lay floating on the surface. When it reached its peak—looking like a pot of water hot enough to cook pasta—it appeared as though the ocean had rid itself of Ronan’s presence by ejecting his muscular body three feet into the air, and he landed atop one of the floating cargo containers where steam surrounded him. A scorching heat emanated from him. Viewing him through hand-shielded faces and squinted eyes, felt like they stared into a blast furnace, with the extreme temperature distorting his image. They could see he had burned off his clothing when he stood. He moved his feet and bounced the container into the water to wash over the top to keep it from getting too hot, and steam rose from where the brine touched his skin as he began to cool.

“Are you okay?” Liam yelled to him.

Ronan nodded, raised one finger, and then tapped his throat.

“Give him a minute, he can’t talk,” said Emma.

Captain Stettler joined them all at the railing to watch.

Ronan bent down and dipped his hand in the water where it steamed and bubbled. Once it had cooled enough, he held onto the container with it and slid into the water over his head. The ocean continued to boil around him, while he cooled himself as though he were searing hot metal pounded into shape by a blacksmith’s hammer.

Dunking his head to cool himself beneath the surface along the way, he attempted to move the container closer to the gangway staircase built onto the side of the ship; it reached a foot above the waterline to the main deck. Everyone moved closer to the stairs, and by the time Ronan reached it, the water around him had stopped boiling.

Liam descended and met Ronan at the bottom where he had remained submerged hanging onto the metal staircase until he reached a normal temperature. Ronan stared up at him, pleased to linger in Liam’s proximity.

“So,” Liam said with a smile, “you can’t swim.”

Ronan made a few tests of his vocal cords and said, “Not a lick. I have no memories from Chiron of the other Stallions swimming, so perhaps they couldn’t.”

“So, unless we find something to assist you-”

“I’m no better than a sinker in a fisherman’s tackle box.”

Liam laughed. “Do they make water wings for biceps the size of yours?”

“Yeah, that would be cute,” he said. “Let’s just avoid my having to save anyone from drowning.”

“One day, we need to find a way to make you buoyant. It’s a vulnerability we need to eliminate.”

“Agreed,” he said and tipped his head. “One day? That sounds suspiciously like a long-term plan.”

“Yeah. About that. I want you to know that I’ve learned something about myself in the brief time you were gone.”

“I learned something too,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“I’m unsure of the precise cause, but for as much as I have loved working as a police officer on Key Biscayne, I can’t stand being away from you, and I would like to think you need me more than Key Biscayne ever has. Besides, I never went into law enforcement just so I could brag about being a policeman. I wanted to help people, but I can do that more effectively by helping you than I could anywhere as a policeman. So, if you will have me, I know that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Ronan smiled. “Really?”

Liam nodded. “So, what was your revelation?”

“The worst part about falling to the bottom of the ocean was that it took me from you, and until I spoke with Prometheus, I felt powerless to stop it. I don’t quite comprehend the reason either, but I want nothing needlessly keeping me from you; it’s unbearable. So, I do need you, and I want you. I hope it’s okay that I always want us together…except at the bottom of the ocean, of course. You wouldn’t enjoy it; it’s terribly unpleasant down there.”

Liam laughed a little. “Oh, I believe you! Let’s make a pact to stick together as best we can. I think we both know that occasions exist when that will prove impossible, like at the hotel, but…when you fell into the water…” Liam shook his head and stopped himself. He tried not to sound too maudlin, so with levity, he added, “It’s that damn gravity!”

“Oh, I know!” Ronan said, joining in. “How dare it come between us! I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to defy it.”

“Well, that’s nothing less than it deserves.” They smiled for a moment, and Liam took a deep breath and relaxed a bit, and whispered, “It worried me.”

“It worried me too.”

Liam reached out a hand. “Are you ready to come up?”

“I think so.”

As Ronan took his help to mount the staircase, he used one foot to shove the metal container away from the ship.

The moment they could, they wrapped their arms around one another and kissed a proverbial sigh of relief.

By the time they reached the main deck, nearly the entire crew had arrived with Captain Stettler, Emma, and William in front.

“Herr Stallion,” said the captain. “I wish to offer you my sincerest apologies for doubting you. You are a most remarkable man who has proved himself a friend to this entire crew, and we thank you for your assistance.”

“Not a problem, captain, but should we not get going? I believe you have a schedule to keep.”

“Indeed, we do. Everyone, get back to work.” The captain radioed the bridge to get the ship underway.

“Captain,” said Ronan as their group returned to the superstructure, “how is the balance of the cargo load from the starboard side. Is it acceptable?”

“It’s within limits,” he said. “I believe we will be fine. I have a question for you. I have the challenge of explaining to the company what has occurred in the insurance report over the cargo and the damage to the ship. Fortunately, the company equipped this vessel with cameras to record incidents and issues that occur along the journey, so they wouldn’t have to take my word for it, but as a courtesy to you, I wanted to know what name you would like me to give them. At the hotel, they knew you as Ronan Stallion. Would you prefer that?”
 

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Chapter 5b

“That’s considerate of you to ask, captain, thank you. Give them the name Ronan Stallion, the Centaurian. And if anyone asks who that is, just tell them it was a passenger who wanted to be helpful.”

“I will do that,” he said, “and Herr Stallion, welcome back aboard.”

Up the staircase back to their cabin, Ronan walked ahead of Liam who petted the fur-like hair on Ronan’s muscular ass. He said, “Well, so much for those clothes. Why hadn’t your hair burned off?”

“The hair, like the rest of me, doesn’t burn. As for the clothing, no fabric would have survived the amount of heat I had to generate to get to the surface before the ship left, and I had ruined my shoes in the fire before the container pulled me into the water.”

Emma followed behind Liam. “I have someone working on improving your clothing and crafting something for your feet that won’t ruin so easily.”

“Really? Who?” asked Ronan.

“You wouldn’t know him. It’s Rhapso’s youngest son Caleius, an immortal demigod who held an apprenticeship with Hephaestus a thousand years ago. He learned certain metallurgic techniques that he’s utilizing in what I would call his profession, but he insists that it’s just a passionate hobby.”

They paused outside their cabins.

“Well, if he could make something that would suit my needs,” said Ronan, “I would appreciate it. That’s the second pair of shoes I’ve burned up in the last two days.” He turned to William and looked him up and down. “You’re hearing this conversation without a look of bewilderment, so I take it Emma has clued you in on the situation.”

He nodded and smiled. “Ja. She kindly helped me with a problem, and she told me.”

“I see,” said Ronan. “I’m glad she could help you. Emma, may we speak to you, please?”

She had William wait for her in her cabin while they talked in the one occupied by Ronan and Liam.

“How much have you told him? Does he know you’re Dolos?”

“I’m glad you’re asking,” she said. “There’s no sense in confusing him. I told him what I always tell them in these situations—since he enjoys women—I said that I am the goddess Erastís, that I came to help him disguised as the woman of his dreams, and that he should call me Emma. In the past, with men who prefer men, I’ve also played the part of Erastís as a male god.”

Liam’s brows drew together. “Erastís?”

“If my memories from Chiron are correct,” said Ronan, “it’s a name that means Lover.”

“And you can just do that?” Liam asked Emma. “I thought that the gods had realms of influence.”

“We do,” she said, “but you might be surprised at what a trickster god can get away with. I’m not much Dolos anymore, but I have to find ways around my nature. So, while Zeus is the god of the sky, and Hestia’s stuck at home, I can still do a lot, as long as I trick someone in the process.”

“And as a result, William got the help he needed,” said Ronan.

“Speaking of a size increase,” said Liam. “I want to thank you for the five-inch gift. I never believed you would do it, but it’s much appreciated.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. For a human, your penis was perfectly fine as it was”—then she gestured to Ronan—“but you’re with an enormously endowed, gay Centaurian.” She raked her eyes over him thinking for a moment. “Ahh…I wanted to discuss this earlier Liam, but we had the Ambrosia matter to deal with and then the cargo incident, so this is my first opportunity. I have a problem, and I’m hoping you will help me.”

“Sure,” he said. “What is it?”

“After divvying up the inches with you and William, I still have some. So, I would consider it a personal favor if you would take the remainder off my hands; I need somewhere to store them. I know it would hang a burden on you, so if it’s too much, I promise one day to take however many you don’t want and give them to someone else. If you prefer, just think of them as a lease with the option to own.”

He scrunched his face and shook his head a bit in befuddlement. “What are you talking about?”

“I think I understand,” said Ronan who turned to Emma. “We heard Gustav knock on your door this morning. Had any of them apologized?”

“I searched their minds last night,” she said, “Kurtis is mean and rude, but he’s cowardly. Gustav is self-centered and insensitive, but Otto is just a bully. So, I figured—at most—I would have the inches from Otto and Gustav (those inches I had homes for). I expected Kurtis to cave in and apologize, but apparently, he’s more easily led by the others than I realized. So, none capitulated.”

“How many inches from them had you taken?”

Emma smiled and laughed a little. “Between the three of them I took nineteen inches, and I left them just one inch a piece.”

“Are you saying I have five inches of their dicks?” Liam asked.

“No,” said Emma, “you have grown five inches from the energy I transferred from them to you, and William has eight.”

Liam feigned a gasp of shock, and whispered, “Why, Emma Nordström…you’re a peter pirate!” He smiled and laughed.

“Ha Ha Ha, very funny,” she said. “These men need to learn an important lesson. If they’re incapable of empathy, then it’s that speaking is an action and actions have consequences. As a law enforcement officer, I hope to find you sympathetic to my cause. And while they haven’t broken any human laws, they broke mine. In front of me, they were cruel to someone I care about. Besides, I just caused their condition to give them a first-hand experience, and it’s not necessarily permanent; they have an opportunity for redemption. I told them their penis would stop looking like it belonged on a two-year-old when—after three days—they acted like a man and apologized to William for what they’ve said with a promise to never do it again to anyone.”

“Well, law enforcement should never exist to teach lessons, but I am sympathetic,” said Liam, “and I suppose their opportunity for redemption does change things a bit. So, nineteen inches minus five minus eight leaves-”

“Six extraneous inches with nowhere to put them,” she said.

Liam laughed. “And you need a mule to lug around your illicit inches until—at some point—you find them a home, is that it?”

“Minus the inches, you decide to keep,” she said. “I wanted to give you the option.”

Liam looked at Ronan for some input. “It’s your burden to bear,” said Ronan with a shrug, “so the decision is entirely yours, but”—he put his arm around him and whispered to him—“think of the fun we could have with so much cock.”

“I can’t wear the underwear available to me now with the twelve inches I have.”

Emma just gazed upon Liam with a little smile. She beckoned him to come closer, so she could whisper to him. He hesitated but complied, bringing his ear close to her mouth.

She said, “Have you ever had a god beholden to you?”

He drew back a little and looked her in the face as his brows drew together. “Do you mean…?”

She raised an eyebrow, gave him a tiny smile, and nodded. “Anything you want.”

Feeling a tad apprehensive, he thought about it for a moment and came to the compelling conclusion that the benefit outweighed the inconvenience. He gave a slight nod. “Alright. You’ve got a deal.”

“Wonderful!” She caressed his cheek with her hand before he could change his mind. “There you are, thank you, sweetie.”

“So, when their penises grow back, where will you obtain their inches?”

“I have the energy to grow someone’s penis,” she said, “that’s easy. However, if I make one shorter, I’m removing energy from it, and I can’t just hold onto it until I need it; it must go somewhere.”

“Oh…well, that makes sense.”

Emma smiled. “I still marvel over you, modern humans. You’re not scratching your head and looking at me like I’ve spoken a foreign language.”

“Yeah, we’re a little more sophisticated than that.” He pointed to his crotch. “Will this grow as I sleep tonight?”

“Not this time,” she said. “You may not feel it yet, but you’re growing right now. It should only take about fifteen minutes.”

When Emma left, Liam kissed Ronan who then said, “I should shower, I’m sure I taste fishy like the ocean.”

“I think there’s no part of you that isn’t delicious, even now.”

“That’s nice to hear,” he said, “but I would like to get the smell and salt off me anyway. The shower barely fits me, so inviting you to join me would only impede my goal, but will you stay in the bathroom while I clean up? I feel that I need you near me for a bit.”

“Wild gay centaurs couldn’t drag me away.”

As Ronan showered, Liam sat naked on the lid of the commode and watched him, their eyes rarely leaving one another.

“So, what are you thinking?” asked Ronan.

“It should be fairly easy to make you a life jacket that could keep you afloat, right?”

“Actually, no,” he said, “we would have to make something so unwieldy, it would become useless. Humans are easy to float; your body is roughly sixty percent water already, and you all carry some body fat, which is lighter than water. So, you only need to offset your body’s dense matter which is a fraction of your actual weight.” Having finished, when he turned off the water, Liam handed him a towel. “I weigh 275 pounds, but my body uses little water, and I have no body fat. So, if the goal is to float me, think of the weights in the gym you’ve used, and imagine trying to float 275 pounds of that.”

“Oh, shit…that would be a lot of weight. How did you reach the surface?”

“I had to reduce my body’s density by mostly returning to flame to make myself lighter than water.”

“You can do that?”

He nodded. “It sounds scary, doesn’t it? Fortunately, water couldn’t extinguish an eternal flame, and the process wouldn’t hurt me so long as I kept my structure intact. Otherwise, I could re-form, but chances are I wouldn’t look exactly as I do now. I would be a bit different.”

“Like a stunt double?”

Ronan laughed and put his arms around him. “Maybe.”

“So, when you became what you are now, what happened to the human body you had?”

Ronan’s lips pressed into a line. “I wondered how long it would take before you asked me that question. When I tell you, I want you to know that I understand how horrific this sounds, so try not to think about it too much. Chiron is a non-physical essence Prometheus had bound to an eternal flame in the realm of the divine. In this world, it cannot become more than that unless it binds to a human. When the flame and Chiron passed to my former human self, it—for the lack of a better term—burned away my unconscious physical self by replacing it with one that included Chiron, so that—in some form—he could exist physically here. It had an identical appearance to the human I was, and in my dormancy—as the doctor put it—I grew into the person before you from the image I had held in my mind which Chiron had a direct influence over.”

“So, what exactly are you made of?”

“I am sentient eternal-fire incarnated through my own will.”

“You are actually made of fire…”

Ronan nodded. “Eternal fire being whatever I will it to be. Not regular fire, that’s different.”

Liam stood before him, expressionless, taking in all he had heard. “Now, I understand why it worries you that people would fear you. If I hadn’t had the experience of you the last two days, knowing this now, if I got past the part about how unbelievable it is, I think you would terrify me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No no.” Liam hugged Ronan. “You’re fine; you don’t frighten me. Although, if you can will this into existence, I can see why there’s a question about your capabilities, and why Zeus wants to see what you can do. He fears you can remove him from power, doesn’t he?”

“That’s the impression I got. So, has understanding this better changed how you feel about me?”

“No. Knowing this doesn’t change who you are as a person, so you just seem even more like a superhero, and they always have unique origins. I know you shy away from the idea of being a superhero but let me give you some advice. Never deter anyone from viewing you in that light; there are worse things.”

He held Liam to him. “You are my protector, it’s your job to think of these things, so okay. Are you hungry? How about I feed you lunch, and a little later, we mosey down to the dining room to socialize with the others?”

“Shouldn’t I eat regular food at some point?”

“It’s not necessary,” said Ronan. “You’re a human made immortal through Ambrosia, so you could stop eating altogether. You would feel hungry, but it wouldn’t kill you. I can satisfy your hunger with Ambrosia anytime you like. And if you’re worried about losing muscle from not eating proteins, don’t. You are as you are, so that won’t change now. But there’s a benefit to living on Ambrosia that you may like.”

“What might that be?”

“You will never get fat from it, and trips to the bathroom will be a thing of the past.”

“Really?” Liam stood there in shock. His eyes narrowed and he gave Ronan a sidelong gaze. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Ronan laughed a little and nodded. “A preparatory cleanse before sex becomes superfluous.”

“Oh, I’m more than willing to give up human food for spontaneous sex, but I hope your mention of this isn’t strictly for my benefit.”

“Well, no, of course not,” said Ronan with a smile. “I have sexual needs too. So, as far as sex is concerned, if I had a profile on some hookup app, it would probably say something like: ‘Horny horsey needs muscular man to mount. Centaurian seeks enthusiastic equestrian desirous of frequent bouts of bobbing and bouncing on giant johnson.’ And from what you said, you know a thing or two about horses, so you sound perfect to me.”

Liam gave a hearty laugh. “Have you just offered me your giant johnson as the source of both my pleasure and sustenance?”

“As a rule,” said Ronan backing Liam onto the bed where he hovered over him, “Centaurs would refuse to suffer the ignominy of acting as anyone’s beast of burden, but you, my handsome lap-jockey-cum-dairyman, have my perpetual permission to milk and ride me as much as you like.”
 
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Chapter 5c

Turning onto their sides, Liam and Ronan began that most famous of double-digit positions, the sixty-nine. Liam had never felt anything as incredible as Ronan’s ability to throat all eighteen inches of his cock. He hadn’t realized that Ronan never needing oxygen would come in so handy.

He slurped and slathered Ronan’s Centaurian appendage for about ten minutes, and when Ronan came, he just allowed himself to experience an extended orgasm with Liam chugging every drop of his Ambrosia, and it wouldn’t matter how long Ronan wanted to feed him, he would have taken every drop. However, cognizant of Liam’s limitations, Ronan stopped when it amounted to about a two-liter bottle, which his body would immediately begin absorbing.

For the gods to drink Ambrosia was one thing, but for a human to have unlimited access to the magical liquid was unprecedented, and Liam had greater access than even the gods themselves. On that day, Liam overloading his body with enormous quantities of it had started something, and at first, it had gone unnoticed…

Life aboard the ship for the thirty crewmen had a certain rhythm with three rotating eight-hour shifts, including those who held positions that could not go unmanned during the hours of darkness. The daylight hours had much activity with either the crewmen working on general maintenance, cleaning, or defending the ship by various means from the corrosive sea air, but also, some crewmen relaxed off-the-clock in whatever means they saw fit until their next shift.

For the next three days, Ronan and Liam had taken to getting some sunshine just after lunchtime on the forecastle—the foreword most part of the bow where one would find the mooring station for docking. They also spent time naked in the sauna allowing Liam a non-sexual environment where he could release his—never fully flaccid—18-inch hose. (That’s exactly what it looked and felt like at its softest, a smooth, rubbery hose, five inches in circumference, whose weight kept it from shrinking even half an inch from just below his knees.) Ronan loved it—its length allowed him to suck and fuck Liam simultaneously. So, when they weren’t talking, they also spent many hours in their cabin, pleasuring one another. Liam wanted to take as much of Ronan’s Centaurian appendage as he could, filling his gut with a glut of Ambrosia which his body would absorb, giving Ronan the room he needed to fill him again and again. Every day that passed, as Ronan continued to feed and fill Liam with that magical fluid, he could see Liam growing slightly more muscular and more handsome, but on the evening of the third day—when his body had reached complete saturation—the changes grew more apparent in other ways.

After receiving three massive doses of Ambrosia that evening, Liam lay asleep atop Ronan for several hours, and at three that morning, a knock came upon their cabin door. Liam awakened when Ronan left the bed to answer it, where he found the pajama-wearing first mate, Paul Hurst. Apparently, he had knocked upon Emma’s door as well, as she and William also answered their door.

“We have someone aboard the ship that most likely isn’t a stowaway, and the captain wishes to speak with the three of you on the bridge.”

“Okay,” said Ronan, “we’ll be right there.” He closed the door. “May I turn on the lights?”

“You may as well,” said Liam who moved to the side of the bed.

When the lights came on, as Ronan turned to get some clothing, he glanced at Liam but stopped, walked to him, and tipped his head back to study his appearance. “You might want to look in the bathroom mirror.”

While Ronan tossed yesterday’s clothing into his bag, zipped it closed then unzipped it again, pulling a new suit of clothes from it, Liam rushed to the bathroom.

“Oh my god!” Liam looked closely at himself. His dark-brown hair hadn’t noticeably changed, but his skin had taken on a healthy golden-tan color, and most unusual of all, inundating his body the past few days with the yellow gold of the Ambrosia had turned his blue irises to a bright emerald-green color whose metallic glint looked stunning even in the poor bathroom lighting.

Liam left the bathroom. “Is this permanent?”

Ronan smiled. “The way we Ambrosia bomb your body? Probably.”

“Well, it will just have to be permanent then because I want that to continue, and is it my imagination, or am I slightly bigger than I was?”

“It’s not your imagination,” said Ronan. “I’ve watched you grow evermore handsome and hunky the last three days. That’s why I’ve given you as much Ambrosia as you’ve wanted.”

“Are you okay with this look?” he asked digging into his bag for some clothing.

Ronan kissed him. “I would glow with pride to be seen with you in public. Wait until Emma sees you; we’ve hardly spoken to her the last few days; she’s dead set on providing William every opportunity to use his new toy.”

“So, who is this person on the ship, you think?”

Ronan shrugged and shook his head. “If the captain wants to speak to us, this can’t be good.”

At night, the usual mode for the bridge is to keep the lighting dim. It lessened the window reflections for a better view, but upon their arrival, they found the lights turned up a bit, and the bridge’s usual night crew there, with the captain, first mate, William, and Emma staring out the window.

Emma turned to them when they entered. “We have a problem,” she said. “For as much as the container incident a few days ago caused us some trouble, it was likely a coincidence. It seems Zeus has elicited the assistance of Kratos.”

Liam and Ronan gazed out over the shipping containers illuminated by the ship’s floodlights, and there stood an unmoving, muscular naked man, not much different in appearance than a stone depiction of a bearded Heracles with a wide, rippled torso. He stood staring up at the bridge on top of the superstructure. Due to the distance, it would have been difficult to say between Ronan and Kratos which had the greater size of the two. With Kratos naked, however, one could easily tell which was the Centaurian. Ages ago, people—in what is now Greece—had a preference for a smaller penis; anyone oversized they considered a fool.

“Who is he?” asked Liam.

Ronan said, “He’s the god of strength, and the guy who—at the behest of Zeus—used the chains forged by Hephaestus to bind Prometheus to the rock so an eagle could eat his liver every day.”

“Oh, he’s that guy.”

When Kratos saw Ronan in the window, he yelled with a booming voice, “Centaurian! Fight Me!”

“He’s a lunatic,” said Ronan. “I’m not gonna fight him.”

“I hear you have a fondness for these humans,” yelled Kratos. “Will you fight me, or do I start tearing their weak little hearts from their chests until you do?”

“He’s also known for his needless brutality,” Emma added.

Kratos yelled, “Shall I start with your pathetic protector? He’s human, what possible good is he to you, except to mount his ass like the stupid half-donkey you are?”

“Herr Stallion…,” said Captain Stettler with a look of extreme concern.

“Captain, I’m sorry that my presence has endangered you and your crew. That was never my intention.”

“You are not responsible for his actions,” said the captain. “Obvious to me, you are a peaceful man but one not to be underestimated. What will you do?”

“If you fight him,” said Emma, “he will try to kill you, and he won’t stop until he does.”

“Captain,” said Ronan, “this world has people who refuse to leave someone to their peace, and to get back to that, sometimes you have to do what you have to do.”

“Which shall it be?” yelled Kratos. “I won’t wait long.”

Ronan told the captain, “I need you to stop the ship, and when I get outside, gather everyone aboard—including you, Emma—and get as deeply into the lower part of the ship as you can get yourselves, stay out of the superstructure. You’ll feel the ship bounce in the water. After that, wait 2 minutes, and you can come out.”

“Will you kill him?” asked Liam.

“For the record,” Ronan told him, “I’m not a killer; Kratos is the killer, and I’m just stopping him. I will try to avoid it, but I would never let him carry out his threats against the people I love”—he held Liam’s chin—“most especially you.” Ronan kissed Liam and left.

The captain stopped the ship, and the moment he saw him leave the superstructure on the CCTV camera, he used the intercom to draw everyone to the ground floor, and from there, he intended to take them down into the engine room.

Once the ship stopped, it seemed odd for everything to feel so calm; Ronan couldn’t feel even a hint of wind. When he climbed atop the cargo containers, he moved closer to Kratos who stood almost amidship.

Kratos yelled, “Found the courage to face me, have you? I wondered if you were a coward as well as a stupid half-donkey.”

They were about the same height, but Ronan appeared larger, not that it mattered. Kratos was the god of brute strength, which had to count for something. However, Ronan had more in his arsenal than that.

When Ronan inhaled to speak, he sensed a revolting stench. “Why are you here?”

“Zeus wants to know which of us is the stronger.”

Ronan held his hand to his nose and kept it there. “Well, if Zeus has a nose at all, he will know it was you. I can smell you from here. What the hell is that? Hygieia should host an intervention. Look, no one needs to fight anybody. I just want to be left in peace with my sense of smell intact.”

“Zeus knows you’re plotting to remove him from the throne. We all know it. Even Prometheus knows it; he’s seen it. I will never allow that.”

“I know nothing about it,” said Ronan. “I have better things to do than try dethroning Zeus; my purpose is to help people. So, since I don’t want to fight you, I forfeit. You’re welcome to strut into Olympus knowing that, between the two of us, you smell the stronger.”

“You must find yourself amusing,” said Kratos. “I will enjoy killing you. Afterward, I’ll follow through with the rest of the crew, but not before I start with your pathetic protector.”

“You will never get that chance.” Ronan tipped his head back and yelled to the sky, “Zeus! I know you observe this. You have heard what he has said to me, and because of who he is, I must take him at his word. I am peaceful, and I have no ambitions for Olympus but think carefully on what you start here; my priorities can change, and if they do, you will have changed them. So, given a choice between his death or ours”—Ronan pointed at Kratos—“he dies. If you want to keep your little pet, you need to take him home before I put him down…and for goodness’s sake, give him a bath!”

“He’s not listening to you,” said Kratos.

“That’s because Zeus is sacrificing you to learn what I can do.”

Kratos ran toward Ronan, but Ronan wanted to keep him as far from the superstructure as possible, so he ran toward him even faster, luring him to the middle of the ship.

A god or not, Kratos had many vulnerabilities. He expected to kill Ronan by brute force because he fought his enemies, and with no shields or weapons he wanted to test their strength in some form of hand-to-hand combat.

However, Kratos had never met an enemy who avoided fighting him the way Ronan would. He wanted to get in his punches, to hold Ronan above his head only to slam him down, to dig a hand into his chest, to search for whatever he had for a heart and pluck it out, but Ronan was having none of that; he wouldn’t play his game. Ronan ensured that every attempt by Kratos to hurt him hit nothing but air. He sought only to eliminate a threat to the people he cared about, and that was all.

Dodging a series of punches, Ronan asked him, “Have you ever felt afraid?”

“No,” said Kratos taking a swipe at his opponent.

“Well, no wonder you’re such an efficient killing machine. You may not realize it, but fear is important; it helps everyone stay alive longer.”

Kratos paused his attempts to get at Ronan as he assessed him for a better strategy. “I’m a god, what have I to fear?”

In a deep menacing tone, Ronan said, “Me.”

It took little more than two seconds for Ronan to push Kratos’s hands together grabbing both of his thumbs with one hand in an unbreakable grip. Then, after knocking him face-down off his feet, he grabbed the god’s big toes with the other. As Ronan lifted Kratos from the surface beneath them, he raised him high enough to look him in the face. Ronan sneered at Kratos for forcing him to deal with him, and he continued in the same tone, “and you should be absolutely terrified.”

The way Ronan held Kratos he couldn’t do much but squirm a bit, and with a mighty push-off from the ship, Ronan made a vertical jump as hard as he could. The air rushed past as they rose into the sky, and they just kept rising. He hadn’t a clue how high he could go but even with the lurch of the ship down into the water as it bounced, he had to have made a mile-high leap holding Kratos’s squirming body by his thumbs and toes.

On the way up Ronan prepared himself for what he would do, he felt the pressure of containing the buildup of a massive amount of heat, the likes of which one might only find in a neutron star, and the moment he felt their ascent change to free fall, he released a directed microburst so intense it burned blue-hot and lit the night sky like a flash of lightning that vaporized Kratos, and as with Kakia, his destruction sent out a shockwave into the atmosphere, but this one had no building to destroy.

However, it shoved Ronan’s nearly naked body off course and out from over the ship. As it was, he would fall into the water, and this time, he would have no cargo containers on which to land when he resurfaced. That would cause him to remain separated from Liam for a long time unless he used that untapped power within him, and if he needed the power to keep himself close to the man he loved, then so be it. Prometheus was right, he would use it for the best of reasons. He tore from his body what little remained of his shirt and shorts.

Transforming into Chiron’s idea of how he should appear, felt like a rush of energy, and it happened all at once. In an act of pure creation, he grew and changed from lines of embering on his body that glowed in the night sky like the smoldering edges of burning paper but in reverse. As he bent his knees a little, he felt his feet lengthen as his toes became hooves. The hair from his waist down thickened and turned pure white, as a horse tail with long white hair emerged from the base of his spine. The appearance of his human cock grew more equine to a massive 24-inches of pale horse flesh. His legs thickened and stretched, making him a beautiful 7-feet-tall Centaurian with a god-like power that would both fascinate and frighten. But to stop his fall, he sprouted from his back a powerful set of giant Pegasus-like white wings. He struggled with them for a moment but slowed his descent. In the darkness, he swooped down to only a few yards from the water, rose into the sky, and headed back to the tiny oasis of light floating on the black sea in the distance.

On the return, he recalled the captain saying that the ship had CCTV cameras. He hadn’t yet the courage for the public to see him as the centaur, so he returned his lower body to its usual appearance.

Having used his abilities, he hadn’t felt different. To him, he seemed the same Ronan Stallion, the Centaurian, the one whose mission was to help people. If he was a god, that hadn’t interested him; he only saw a greater capacity to help others with his abilities. He and Liam would have to discover all he could do.

As he approached the ship in the darkness with the illumination from all its floodlights, he could see Liam, Emma, William, and several other crew members looking out from atop the shipping containers for any sign of him.

As he slowed his descent, he flew into view of the people standing on the cargo and the bridge. The light reflecting off his white wings caused him to glow, and not once had it occurred to him how it may have looked to anyone else. He carefully set his bare feet onto the metal surface giving his usual affable smile, and while he noted everyone’s look of awe, his own relief at having gotten back to the ship in one piece made him just chalk their reaction as his simply having returned.

Liam gave him the biggest, brightest smile and rushed to hug him. Thankfully, the short duration of the heat used, and his exposure to so much air had cooled him without the need to dunk himself into water.

When Liam wrapped his arms around him, Ronan asked, “Do I stink?”

“You’re far too angelic to stink, but ahh…you might want to ixnay the ingsway; you are giving people the wrong impression.”

As Ronan eliminated his wings, Liam saw that their disappearance began at the tips with a thin fiery line that burned them away until it reached his back. Emma and William had joined them along with several members of the crew.

“You used your abilities,” said Emma.

“Yes, if I hadn’t, I would have been separated from Liam for an unknown amount of time. We’ve reached the middle of the Atlantic, so when Kratos’s destruction threw me several miles that way”—he pointed—“I could either choose to remain in the pitch blackness of the depths for maybe a month until I walked out of the ocean or…I could just use my abilities and return to Liam’s side where I belonged. I have already experienced a short separation from Liam once, I won’t do that again.”

William had a big smile on his face. “You are one well-hung angel.”

“My favorite kind,” said Emma and put her arm around William.

Ronan gave Liam a look of concern. “I will probably need the wings on occasion.”

“We’ll deal with that later.”

“Why did we need to go down into the ship?” asked William.

“We’ve already seen what the destruction of a god can do at the hotel in Miami. I hadn’t known how far I could jump, so when I vaporized him, I needed all of you as far away from the blast as possible. By the way, Emma, has Kratos always stunk like rotten eggs and horse dung?”

Emma nodded. “Pretty much, yes. He said it was so off-putting that it helped him win against his opponents.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gone now, so a fat lot of help that was. How do you think Zeus will react to that?”

“I’m unsure,” she said. “You may want to ask Prometheus.”

“Well, after something Kratos told me tonight, Prometheus and I need to have a talk.”
 
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Chapter 6a

Released by the gods from its disconcerting doldrum, the wind continued its characteristic oceanic breeze, and when the captain gave the order for the ship to return to cruising speed, it rode the swells of the relatively calm waters at a fuel-saving twenty-two knots.

Since the entire incident with Kratos took less than sixty minutes, it left a few hours before the next work shift. Those who had awakened from their slumber tried to rest a little longer before morning, hoping they had seen the last of the overnight events.

As Emma, William, and Ronan, mounted the staircase, Liam, who trailed behind them, noticed a change on Ronan’s back and seemed alarmed by it. “Ah, Ronan…were you aware you have a new tattoo?” Liam tapped its location in the center of his back just below the one that read STALLION.

“I do? What is it?”

“It’s some kind of symbol about three inches tall and a bit less in width.”

Emma and William paused on the next floor before continuing upward, so she could have a look.

“It’s your mark,” she said. “I meant to tell you about it, but I hadn’t realized you would use your powers so soon.”

“I have my phone,” said William pulling it from his pocket. “I’ll take a photo and show you.”

“What does it mean?” asked Liam.

Emma traced it with her finger. “It’s the astrological symbol for Chiron fused to a backward ‘R’ for Ronan,” she said. “It marks upon his skin a visible sign of the permanent connection of Chiron to his former self. So, he could use it as a symbol for the name Ronan Stallion or for the Centaurian. William, dear, please send me a copy of that. I’ll send it to Caleius for inclusion on Ronan’s future clothing.”

“It is an attractive design,” said Ronan studying the image on the screen, “but I happen to know that someone invented this astrological symbol for Chiron in the twentieth century for a newly discovered orbiting body.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s just symbolic. If people refused to use a symbol due to its recent invention, no symbol would ever become old.”

“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” he asked her.

“Prometheus and the first Stallion decided long ago that using the power would result in a mark, but nothing distasteful, of course. Since I stay au courant [conversant] with life on Earth, it’s appearance he left to me. I showed Henri the concept decades ago. It’s location is Chiron’s doing from your dormancy period. I put a lot of thought into it and considered assorted designs over the years, but I settled on this one due to the name of the orbiting body, and just as with you, it has a hybrid nature. Do you disapprove?”

Ronan shook his head. “I like it; it makes a great tattoo. While you’re at it, let Caleius know that I prefer my Centaurian shirts have short sleeves—it appears a tad less casual—and I need my back unobstructed for my wings.” He gazed upon Liam. “Regardless of my angelic appearance, I will use those when necessary.”

“I can’t say I blame you,” he said. “They’re too awesome to forgo. But now that you’ve used your power, why don’t you just manifest your own clothing from now on?”

“I’m sure I could, but I’m not a designer. I would need a pattern to copy.”

When Liam noticed Emma studying his eyes, he opened them wide to give her a better view.

“You must be absorbing Ambrosia in quantities that no one ever has,” she said. “The gods are lucky to get a few glasses on Olympus. So, if you made a guess, how much do you think you’re getting?”

Liam shrugged a little. “Two liters, maybe.”

“Every day?” asked Emma.

“No, every time. So, six or seven liters a day, probably.”

She gasped. “Oh, sweetie, I don’t know what that will do to you.”

“That’s a lot of anything to put into your body,” said William.

“It won’t kill him,” said Ronan.

“Well…no, it won’t do that,” she admitted.

“So far,” said Liam, “it seems to make me leaner, more muscular, tan, and green-eyed.” He shrugged. “Let’s see what else it will do.”

“Very well,” she said, “that’s up to you, but just know you’ve entered unknown territory.”

They parted ways, and upon entry of their cabin, Ronan headed straight to the sink, not that he had an overly fastidious nature, but he had touched that foul-smelling god and wanted to remove any residue. As he stood there washing his hands of Kratos, he gazed into the mirror at himself and asked how he felt about having—in all honesty—executed him. He questioned whether he had made the right choice, but he hoped that having the knowledge of his ability to destroy a god would deter Zeus from further action, but he wasn’t the sort to give up, and Ronan had a much greater vulnerability than his lack of buoyancy.

Liam had removed his clothing and kissed him the moment he emerged from the bathroom. Ronan held him in his arms, appreciating his ability to save himself from a long sojourn away from Liam at the bottom of the ocean.

Straddling Ronan’s body on the bed, the head of Liam’s penis lay on Ronan’s lips. He kissed it repeatedly. Liam bent down kissing Ronan who moved back and forth between kissing Liam’s lips and the head of his dick.

“I like you this big,” said Ronan.

“If it were up to you, you’d have me leaving three trails in the sand, wouldn’t you?”

Ronan’s brows rose in interest. “At least three!”

“Oh, at least!” Liam laughed. “And preferably more, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Ronan smiled, pulled Liam’s face to his, and kissed him. “You never have to say it back to me, but I meant what I said to you earlier on the bridge. I do love you.”

“I know. Would you really not want to hear me say it back?”

“A lot of people feel an obligation to say it in return when told they’re loved. I know you prefer to avoid mushiness, so you never have to say it. To me, your actions practically yell it from the mountaintops.”

Liam kissed him for several minutes and felt the heat on his back from Ronan’s erect Centaurian appendage. Once they had begun having regular sex, it always leaked a stream of slippery precum when erect, making entry into Liam’s body smooth and pleasurable.

They moved to Ronan’s favorite position with Liam lying on his back, Ronan deep inside him, and Liam’s cock in his mouth. He rubbed the head on Liam’s hole, which had become nothing more than a port of entry to give Liam orgasms and fill him with Ambrosia.

The soft-coated steel bar of Ronan’s cock began its long slide into Liam’s interior world, a place to bond in waves of mutual pleasure. He fucked inch after inch deep inside Liam, giving him exactly what he needed, that stretched and full sensation.

Liam ran his hands over Ronan’s impossibly muscular body, and he marveled over how it flexed as he thrust into him. He knew, if he wanted, Ronan could fuck him continually for a hundred years—one orgasm after another—and not make a dent on the sustained pleasure his body was capable of supplying. In all the universe, no one else like Ronan existed and his love came with a privilege that only he would ever know.

One inch. They had reached that last inch his body had trouble accepting, defying his wishes with its stubborn refusal to allow entry. Ronan never complained, but Liam wanted it all, so he could get that rough pelvis-to-ass banging he so often needed. The continuous pistoning, the thrust and pull of cock went on for fifteen minutes. Ronan lifted Liam’s long pole and bent to stuff the head into his mouth. Liam’s would need to be even longer if Ronan were to perform that maneuver with greater ease, but the simultaneous suck and fuck had him on the verge of orgasm. He jacked his monstrosity into his lover’s mouth and when he came, Ronan began to fill him. He allowed himself to savor the pleasurable waves of paroxysmal spasms that accompanied every jet of Ambrosia filling Liam’s body. It went on and on, and Liam loved to watch him, knowing he helped make it happen, and he could feel every surge of the magical liquid like the mild quake of a gasoline pump, filling Liam’s tank with Ronan’s nozzle deep inside him.

Lost in the sensation, Ronan kept slowly fucking a few inches in and out of Liam as he filled him, and when their usual stopping point—the fifteen-minute mark—came and went, it continued. Curious to know how long an orgasm Ronan could sustain, and how much Ambrosia he could hold, Liam allowed it. He had already reached the point of saturation and adding more had begun to supersaturate every cell in his body. When the twenty-minute mark came, and his belly felt like a balloon, he began to feel strange.

“Ronan,” he said placing his hand on Ronan’s chest, “you need to stop.”

His eyes opened. “Okay.” He laid his hand on Liam’s belly. “Wow. How do you feel?”

“As content as a kitten with a belly full of cream. Don’t pull out. May I sleep on you a bit before morning?”

“Of course.” He pulled Liam to him and kissed him. He held him in place as he laid upon the bed with his sleepy man atop him impaled on his long nozzle.

As Liam slept, Ronan thought about what had happened with Kratos. As per his information, if Prometheus foresaw him dethroning Zeus and had kept vital information from him—or whatever may be the case—if necessary, he knew he would forgive him anything for bringing Liam into his life. There were things beyond price, especially the love of a good man.

In the darkness, Ronan concentrated and sensed the swirling imagery that accompanied his connection to Prometheus. The minutes slipped away, but he never had to ask his question, and he barely had time for an answer; morning would soon arrive.

“I know what you will ask, my son,” he told Ronan. “The answer is not a simple yes or no. Have I seen you dethrone Zeus? The answer is yes, but I have told no one of this. What you have experienced, is someone manipulating both you and the future by lying in the present. Their lie has created a chain reaction that will result in Zeus’s removal from the throne because he will give you no real choice but to remove him. I’m uncertain who has started this lie but know this, having told it doesn’t necessarily make them your enemy. There are mitigating circumstances.”

A knock came upon their cabin door which disrupted Ronan’s conversation with Prometheus. The captain had requested that his three passengers join him and the first mate in the meeting room just before breakfast.

Liam led the way, and with his body having absorbed the Ambrosia, he appeared slightly taller and more muscular than before. Emma followed him, then William and Ronan came last, dressed in shorts and a tank top identical to the ones he wore the previous day, with CENTAURIAN stitched across the chest.

They found the meeting room, a bland space located on the third floor with a table at the far end with several chairs surrounding it. Apart from that, the room contained a lot of empty space for the many folded chairs held in a rack against the back wall for the crew to use in a congregational fashion.

At the table sat their hosts with a laptop. Their expressionless faces foretold the serious nature of the gathering, although the specifics remained unclear as the passengers and William seated themselves.

“We have a question,” said the captain. “As you know, the company equipped the ship with several CCTV cameras, and it caught on camera the altercation between Herr Stallion and Kratos. So, we have something for you to see.”

“The ship’s computer stores the video feeds and uploads them via our satellite link to the company’s server,” said Paul. “I transferred this to the laptop after I saw it.” He played the file for them, which included an audio track.

The video began just before Kratos arrived, and when he did, he walked forward, fading into existence where he stood waiting. It recorded the words he yelled to the bridge, Ronan joining him atop the containers, and everything said between them. Then Ronan, with his face to the sky, shouted to Zeus, but the moment the two men ran toward one another, three men faded into view at the lower end of the image and watched the scene with great interest.

Liam leaned in for a closer look. The video cut to a different camera angle with a closer shot of the men as they stood near the superstructure. “Is that who I think that is?”

Paul touched the space bar on the laptop to pause the video with the image of the men.

“That is our question,” said the captain.

The three of them had perfectly built, muscular bodies—as befitting gods—dark hair with a beard, and none of them looked older than thirty-five years old. One stood naked holding a trident; one wore only a pair of what looked like black jeans and held a bident; the third one wore a pair of white pull-on linen pants carrying a single-pointed staff.

Emma nodded. “They are exactly who you think they are.”

“Kratos had me so busy,” said Ronan, “I hadn’t noticed them.”

“Let’s see the rest,” said Liam.

Paul increased the volume of the laptop and continued the video. Ronan dodged all that Kratos gave him, and they spoke only a moment. Rapidly, Ronan had Kratos immobilized and jumped with him into the sky. On the camera with the better view, the three men watched with their heads tipped back, and a few moments later, a bright blue flash lit the sky and illuminated the ship and the water around them.

The three men began speaking a language only Emma and Ronan could understand, so Emma translated for them.

Poseidon turned to Zeus. “What am I supposed to see, brother?”

“That abomination can destroy a god,” said Zeus.

Hades shrugged. “So what. Good for him.”

“That abomination, as you call him,” said Poseidon, “is our brother.”

“He’s no brother of mine,” said Zeus.

“He is half Chiron,” said Hades, “so he’s our brother whether you like it or not.”

“He tricked me into setting Prometheus free. Chiron is supposed to be dead.”

“You called me away from my millennium marathon of coitus with Persephone for some vendetta, is that it?”
 
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Chapter 6b

“You saw how dangerous he is,” said Zeus. “He will dethrone me; the word is that Prometheus has seen it.”

“Prometheus has remained in hiding since he created the first Stallion,” said Poseidon. “He knew you would punish him after saving Chiron. So, you don’t know the source of that rumor.”

“I only saw that foolish prick, Kratos,” said Hades, “pick a fight with the most powerful kid on the playground—who was just minding his own damn business, might I add—and he paid for it with his life. Those who poke their finger into the eye of a scorpion should expect to get stung. I don’t blame the Centaurian for his actions (I wouldn’t put up with Kratos’s behavior either), but since you instigated it, Zeus, I do blame you. This is the second one of us you’ve destroyed in your feeble attempt to kill the Centaurian. He made his point clearly; if you leave him alone, he will leave you alone, a sentiment upon which I wholeheartedly subscribe.” Hades shook his head emphatically. “I will not help you with a problem of your own making.” He stepped away and faded into nothingness.

“Nor will I,” said Poseidon. “Hades is correct, entirely, and I have been approached twice; the others have concerns over your growing paranoia. Perhaps, it’s time you retired.”

“I will not,” said Zeus, incensed over the idea.

“Over the ages,” said Poseidon, “none of the Stallions have ever shown malice. Generally, we have left them alone, and they have left us alone. Incidentally, why did you meddle to ensure Elias’s birth?”

“I wanted future leverage,” said Zeus, “in case it proved necessary.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Poseidon rolled his eyes a little. “I suppose, I should expect nothing better of you, but the Centaurian has more power than you’ve realized—likely greater than your own. If you push him, he has the power and the will to defend both himself and others, but he doesn’t want your throne.”

“No, he doesn’t want it; I think Prometheus does, and he will use the Centaurian to get it.”

“If he should dethrone you, I can only hope he will show you more mercy than he just showed to Kratos. Let it go, brother.” Poseidon heard the people leaving the superstructure, saying no more, he stepped away and vanished. Likewise, Zeus walked forward and disappeared as well.

When Paul paused the video, Liam turned to Ronan. “Why is Zeus so down on you?”

“Zeus never liked Chiron.”

“Really?” asked Emma. “I never knew that.”

“The evidence had lain before everyone to see. Chiron was immortal, so when Heracles accidentally struck him with the poison arrow, rather than dying, he would have lived a life of suffering, so he asked Zeus to trade his immortality in exchange for letting Prometheus go. Zeus should have released Prometheus long before then, but he never would, so this begs the question, why would Zeus consider Chiron giving up his immortality a sufficient price for letting Prometheus go? What sort of trade is that? Had no one ever asked that question?”

Emma thought about it for a moment and shook her head. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but…now that you mention it.”

Ronan continued, “Chiron was viewed mostly as a teacher, a tutor, and a healer. And while the gods could appreciate his abilities along those lines, Zeus never considered him his half-brother, and although Chiron was a demigod, no one treated him as such. He was an outlier, an oddity. Chiron knew how Zeus felt, but others felt kindlier toward him, and he was useful, so Zeus tolerated his existence.

“If Zeus had denied Chiron’s request, no matter how agonizing, he would have remained. But Chiron never liked the way Zeus continually punished Prometheus, so he offered to give Zeus what he really wanted—Chiron’s absence—in exchange for letting Prometheus go. Zeus agreed to his proposal, putting on a show of taking pity on Chiron for his suffering, and as a consolation, he gave Chiron a celestial equivalent to a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame with the constellation Centaurus. Some people like to say that Zeus placed them among the stars, but they’re not actually there, are they? It’s just representative. To my mind, it’s no better than some company giving a retiring employee their name on the company plaque—which hangs on the wall of some obscure hallway—and a gold watch before shoving them out the door.”

Emma laughed to herself and placed her hand on Ronan’s. “That sounds like your humanity giving Chiron the voice he apparently couldn’t find at the time. I’m so pleased that he lives on within you. I had no idea about any of that.”

“Herr Stallion,” said the captain, “as the one ultimately responsible for this vessel and crew, I must ask. Has not the video indicated that we are in danger?”

“That’s a probability,” said Ronan. “I offer you my apologies, captain. Would you prefer that we left the ship?”

“Wouldn’t that leave us vulnerable?” he asked.

Ronan closed his eyes and tipped his head. “Maybe, but we must leave when we reach Genoa.”

“Might Zeus sink the ship before we get there?” asked William.

“Don’t give him any ideas,” said Paul.

“Guaranteed, he has already thought of it,” said Emma, “and he might try.”

“What would that get him?” asked Liam.

“Apart from making me furious?” asked Ronan. “I don’t know.” He turned to Emma. “Have you the ability to transport anyone?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have that kind of power. I can move myself and relatively small inanimate objects, but not anything as complex as a person and nothing large. You probably can, however. That, and a lot more.”

“I have little doubt that I can play the piano,” said Ronan, “but that wouldn’t mean that I know how.”

“How did you know how to use the eternal flame to destroy Kratos?” asked Liam.

“The same way you know how to digest food.”

“I don’t know how to digest food; it’s just something my body does.”

“Exactly. I’ve only used my mostly internalized abilities, those aren’t much different than taking an intentional breath or flexing a muscle but manifesting something external from myself or instantaneously transporting something from one place to another, especially over a great distance, is something else entirely. I feel the power within me to do that and more, but I don’t know how it works.”

“It’s not much different,” said Emma. “I could probably guide you a bit on how to teleport. I wish I could show you how to manifest externally, but I wouldn’t know where to begin. It’s something you will have to figure out on your own. I will say this, however, once you’ve done one thing, you’ll quickly get the idea of how it works, and the rest will come naturally.”

“That’s good to know.” Ronan turned to the captain. “If Zeus should try to sink the ship, at the moment, I don’t know what I can do to stop him.”

He remembered what Prometheus told him and a thought occurred to him. He rewatched the video of the brothers, and although difficult to discern with clarity, he observed them closely. Zeus and Hades never turned fully toward the CCTV camera on the wall, but at one point, Poseidon looked directly into its lens, and he seemed undeterred. “Perhaps, it’s time you retired,” he had said to Zeus.

“There’s someone I need to speak to,” said Ronan.

“Who?” asked Liam.

“I don’t want to say just yet.”

“Should I come with you?” he asked.

“I wish you could, but I think him more prone to show himself and speak candidly if I were alone.”

-------

Poseidon, the god of the oceans and seas, earth-shaker, storm-maker, horse-pater, and middle brother to the major Olympians was not the god he used to be, but few of them were anymore. Humanity’s abandonment of them proved the best thing that could have happened to both humankind and the gods. The gods, like the attention whores they were, had convinced humanity that it needed them, but that could never have been true, any more than a slave could really need their master, when the master, apparently, could do nothing for themselves. Masters and gods become spoiled at great cost to the ones spoiling them—whether that spoilage occurs by force or by choice. Humanity lavished the gods with the attention they craved—and felt entitled to receive—in the form of worship, sacrifices, and adoration. The supplication of the masses teeming with valid needs, however, the gods would fulfill on divine whims at no greater frequency than coincidence. One only puts up with negative returns on earnest efforts for so long before the inevitable questioning begins, followed by a well-deserved desertion.

Most of the gods found their abandonment a humiliating and humbling experience. Their golden age had come and gone, and with it, their perceived importance, along with all that lovely attention used to bolster their massive egos. In its absence, some of them became more introspective and searched for a way to find some purpose for their existence. Others—usually lesser gods—lived in denial that anything had changed or had the grace to diminish in a divine melancholia from which they seldom ever resurfaced, if at all.

Ronan could see the first traces of the sun peaking above the horizon as he made his way toward the forecastle to call to Poseidon. Upon reaching the forwardmost point of the ship in silence, he found Poseidon leaning naked against the foremast enjoying the sunrise with his eyes closed. Within reach, his glowing golden trident defied gravity in its unsupported vertical position upon the deck.

Ronan hadn’t immediately made his presence known; he simply studied Poseidon’s hairy and tan body for a moment. Droplets of water traced the lines of his impressive musculature. It visibly dripped from his hair, short beard, elbows, and generously sized genitals as it puddled around his feet, discoloring the metal deck plating beneath him. He had run his fingers through his tousled heartthrob hairstyle to keep it from his face and crossed his arms. His overall appearance characterized a modern notion of masculine handsomeness, rivaled only by Ronan himself. He sensed Poseidon’s mystique and could understand why he had had so many lovers of both sexes.

He opened his eyes and turned his head to gaze upon Ronan. “Have I met with your approval?”

“You are far more handsome and different than I had imagined, you have body hair, and your penis is certainly larger than I expected; so much classical art tends to depict your body as hairless, and when they bother to show your penis at all, it tends toward the diminutive. You don’t mind that I took a moment to admire you?”

“I’ve always been this size. The minuscule genitals in artworks are nothing more than popular sculptors and painters placating some ridiculous cultural notion of intellectualism, and when they have me draped in cloth, it’s to avoid encouraging pruriency among the viewing public.”

“If they ever depicted you as you actually are,” said Ronan, “they would have plenty of pruriency among the viewing public. I found myself with a few prurient thoughts myself.”

Poseidon smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot to me coming from you. You’ll find that I am always naked. For the god of the ocean to wear clothing makes about as much sense as a man wearing an overcoat in the shower. I will admit, though, the body hair is new, it seems you’ve started a trend among the gods. So, I don’t mind that you admired me; it only seems fair; I’ve admired you since you met Henri Estalon, but I must say, you have excellent taste in your appearance; I much prefer you this way. Although, you look even better without the clothes.”

“Knowing your blatant disregard for keeping a familial distance,” said Ronan, “I figured being one-quarter your brother wouldn’t stop any flirtations, but I must ask, ‘Aren’t I a little old for you?’”

“Damn those ancient Hellenes and their proclivities. They merely ascribed to the gods what they would have done, but I assure you, speaking for myself, all my lovers were adults. Granted, one might even view a twenty-year-old as a child compared to someone thousands of years old, but still, the authorities of this age would consider them legal adults today; so, no, you’re not too old. As for the rest of you, the eternal flame has you far removed from your biological origins, and mentally you’re three-quarters not my brother. Besides, I have an appreciation for horses. I’ve been a stallion many times, and sired several equine children, two of whom were particularly famous.”

“That all sounds strange to me.”

He shrugged a little. “Meh…the life of a god.” He held out his hand to shake. “I believe you have the custom for this form of greeting.”

Ronan stepped up and shook his hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” said Poseidon.

“And not merely spy on me?”

“I spied in the most appreciative and respectful way possible.”

“Oh, then you left when Liam and I had sex.”

“Well, no, of course not.”

Ronan’s brows rose in surprise. “Would you watch and masturbate like some peeping tom?”

“Oh, don’t make it sound so sordid.”

“So, you did masturbate while we had sex? How is that respectful?”

“It’s of the highest respect. One, I had never before had the compulsion, and two, I’m a god; what greater compliments do you need?”

Ronan thought about it for a moment and realized they came from entirely two different perspectives and decided not to press the point. “Oh, well, in that case, thank you for bestowing the honor upon us.”

“It was entirely my pleasure,” he said.

“Yes, I dare say it was,” said Ronan.

“I believe we have something to discuss,” said Poseidon, “shall we get on with it?”

“Would we not attract the attention of our paranoia-prone brother?”

Poseidon pointed to his trident. “I have us isolated from the outside world. We are neither seen nor overheard.”

“So, you can do that. As I suspected, you wanted the CCTV camera to see the three of you.”

He nodded. “You needed to see it firsthand. I even stopped the wind around the ship to improve the sound quality. I hoped you would want to speak to me.”

“But why now? Why not just come to me from the start?”

“I hadn’t wanted to interfere with you and Liam; you need one another. This little experiment of Prometheus has proven pure genius, but it has succeeded because I helped you; I helped all the Stallions over the years, especially during their crucial transition period; you’re rather vulnerable just then. I’ve held everyone at bay who might have caused any of you harm, and as for you, I paved the way from the island where Liam found you, to the hospital, and all the way into his apartment. I ensured he would have as little difficulty as possible. I have done all this because the gods are people too, and as someone who has vowed to help others, we need you.”
 
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Chapter 6c

“You started the rumor because you want me to dethrone Zeus.”

“No, Athena started the rumor,” he said, “but we don’t want you to dethrone Zeus, we need you to, and as the saying goes, ‘I ain’t too proud to beg,’ if you should insist.”

“You, Poseidon, would beg. You really are desperate. Has Zeus gotten that bad?”

He took a deep breath and gave an awkward little laugh. “Firstly, I want you to know that I loathe speaking ill of our brother; I honestly wish I had no call to. Many of us were wilder in our younger years, doing terrible things we shouldn’t have, but the passage of time has tempered us—the changes on Earth have affected the gods too—but while many of us have matured to varying degrees, for some, maturity isn’t enough. Based on a fully developed concept of evil, some gods are evil by their nature, and some, like Zeus, come to be that way. You haven’t access to all of Chiron’s memories, have you?”

“No, I think a lot is missing.”

“Zeus is the reason we won the Titanomachy, the war against the Titans. He saved us from the belly of our beast of a father, he led the rebellion, and then came ten years of war. The written descriptions of the war, as bad as they sound, invariably gloss over its true horrors. When humans wage war, it results in deaths, and as such, it deprives the enemy of soldiers. The war of the gods included many mortal beings that fought alongside the gods of their loyalty. Their enemies had slain most of the mortals on both sides, but since gods don’t die, and none could destroy us, how could the gods wage war against one another? We get creative. To make someone give up, pain, torture, and confinement are pretty much our only options, and Zeus proved himself rather clever at it. Some of his punishments since the war reflect what he had learned. He had Prometheus chained to a rock, where he endured a never-ending cycle of an eagle tearing open his body to eat his liver every day, only for it to grow back every night. The war taught him that cruelty and malevolence would get him what he wants, and it desensitized him to the suffering of others. As a result, Zeus is not good, so he is not a good king, never was, and never will be. He is a malignant tyrant, and his occasional displays of compassion and mercy are nothing more than an attractive veneer intended to impress.”

“Couldn’t all of you ban together and remove him?”

“Apparently, you don’t remember, but ages ago, Hera, Athena, and Apollo sought my help to end Zeus’s tyranny. At first, I refused them, but they convinced me to go along with it. However, it would never have succeeded.

“What happened?”

“Zeus overpowered us. As punishment for our attempt to overthrow him, Zeus tortured Hera. He used golden chains to hang her by her hands from the sky with anvils attached to her feet and forced her to stare into the abyss; it almost drove her mad. As his favorite child, he never punished Athena, but—for a while—he stripped Apollo and me of our powers and sent us to serve that con man, King Laomedon for wages. He tricked me into building the walls of Troy by refusing payment.”

“So, a scoundrel of the first water.”

“A multifaceted and highly polished scoundrel. I learned he did that frequently and once too often. After all that work, I was so angry with the king, I sicced a sea monster on him, which of course, would have destroyed the city and the creature would have eaten all who crossed his path. Some fake oracle told them they could appease the monster only by the king sacrificing his daughter to it. They often believed such nonsense back then, and it wasn’t true. She would just be the appetizer for the meal to come. Heracles, who happened to be in the vicinity, offered to kill the beast for a price and save the princess. Laomedon agreed to the price, and Heracles killed it, but the king reneged on that deal too. Afterward, Heracles, with a squadron of warriors, promptly killed him for it.”

“Well, if Zeus can take away your powers,” said Ronan, “what makes you think I can dethrone him then?”

He stood straight and made a sexy rake of his fingers through his drying hair. “What I will tell you, you must keep to yourself.”

“Okay,” he said, “you have my word.”

“Do you know what an eternal flame actually is?” asked Poseidon.

Ronan shrugged a little. “Enchanted fire?”

“Not even close.” He shook his head. “Energy is neither created nor destroyed, so even an eternal flame must have a continuous source. The flame is a remnant from the formation of our universe. It’s a tiny permanent leak from the failed universe adjacent to ours which is the initial source for all the energy that created this one. Those leaks formed at the birth of Chaos when our universe began.

“The neighboring universe is filled with nothing but a nearly inexhaustible amount of creative energy that—for some reason—never expanded, but when it leaks into the space of this already formed universe, it appears intensely bright and produces heat, so we perceive it as a kind of fire, but it’s just pure creative energy with nothing to do.”

“And I can tap into that leak.”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s inside of you. It constantly creates what you are through your will. It’s why you’re entirely self-sustaining. However, there’s more to it than that.”

“And that is…”

“On our own, none of the gods were ever fully immortal. That was a presumption from our having an extremely long lifespan.”

“How can that be?”

“Because, at birth, our parents imbued us with a finite amount of that same creative energy, and over our considerable lifetimes, we deplete it. I couldn’t say how long we would live with no external input—it could be a billion years. However, Ambrosia is a transmuted form of that same creative energy. We all drink Ambrosia, so we keep adding energy to our reserves, extending our lives and our ability to maintain our powers at their peak level.”

“I see. Speaking of that, why do I have Ambrosia for cum? Surely, that’s not where Ambrosia comes from. Where the other Stallions just the same?”

“I have no knowledge of Ambrosia’s origins. I have come to think that we might find a hint in the fountain of youth story. But you must remember that Henri had a son, so he couldn’t have produced Ambrosia. I suspect that Zeus had less to do with the creation of Elias than it sounds or as much as he prefers to take credit. Zeus often takes full or partial credit for things in which he was not involved. He likes to claim credit for instigating the creation of humanity, but regardless of the stories told about it, he had nothing to do with it. He saw Prometheus’ genius and wanted a share of the accolades. And as Aletheia is the personification of truth, Zeus likes to claim her as his daughter, but she isn’t. I could go on and on about that topic. On Henri’s own—with just any woman—he could never have had a child. So, what I think Zeus did was bring Henri’s ideal woman into his path and he into hers. It occurred the way Prometheus brought you and Liam together. I think both you and Henri gave the one you love—and to whom you have a special connection—exactly what they wanted. Henri’s wife wanted to have his child so badly, I think maybe he subconsciously manifested what he needed to make that happen.”

Ronan remembered. “Liam expressed a concern about growing old, burdening me, and a fear that I would leave him if he wasn’t handsome anymore.”

“So, you subconsciously manifested Ambrosia to solve the problem,” said Poseidon.

“If it is the same energy that gives the gods their power, then that would mean-”

“Your Ambrosia has charged Liam with so much creative energy that, if things continue—at some point—he could achieve godhood.”

“Okay,” said Ronan, “that I will need to discuss with Liam.”

Poseidon nodded. “Agreed.”

“So, how do you know all this?”

“Athena, the goddess of wisdom and knowledge, would only discuss her dangerous insights with a rare few and in secret. We have discussed various points on the nature of our power and how it relates to you. Here’s why you can dethrone Zeus. You are the creative energy in its purest form, and through the leak, you receive a continuous supply of it. A god’s power emanates from the same energy but it’s several steps removed in purity from yours, we can hold less of it than you, and we can deplete ours.”

“But I don’t know how to wield it,” said Ronan.

“Like all the rest of us, you can learn, and it’s deceptively simple. I suspect you would find little impossible for you; the problem would come from your inability to effectively utilize your imagination and see beyond your perceived limitations.”

“So, imagination is important?”

“It’s all-important. You cannot manifest what you cannot conceive.”

“I see. So, why hasn’t Zeus tried to take away my power as he did yours?”

“I suspect he tried that first, and his failure has caused him to fear you, and the ease in which you destroyed Kratos has him worried. He was the strongest, and not even Zeus can generate the heat necessary to vaporize a god and convert their energy. A god’s destruction results in an instantaneous conversion of all their energy into an unstable form which is the source of the explosion, or so Athena says. The more powerful the god, the larger the explosion. Destroying Kratos required power beyond the ability of any god that I know. I couldn’t speak to how far your abilities go. None of us are truly omnipotent, but you may be the closest to reach it.”

“The idea of having that kind of power scares me,” said Ronan.

“Good,” said Poseidon. “It would worry me if it didn’t, but you asked me if Zeus had gotten that bad. You’ve no need to take my word for it. Unlike with Zeus, you’re welcome to question my veracity anytime you like. That’s something I’ve learned from Aletheia. If I’m honest, the truth will stand on its own. So, believe your own eyes. Zeus refused to stop you from destroying Kratos just to see if you could. He threw his life away, so yes, he is that bad.”

“I destroyed him without remorse,” said Ronan, “so what does that make me?”

“Kratos was a rabid tiger and the strong arm of Zeus’s tyranny. You gave both Zeus and him an opportunity. You even told them what you would do if they wouldn’t back off. Those are not the actions of someone who is without kindness, understanding, patience, or control. You destroyed him to protect people. You did what you did because you care about others, but Zeus and Kratos did what they did because they only care about themselves, and therein lies the difference. You question yourself, Ronan, because you are good; the people who aren’t, wouldn’t bother.”

Ronan thought about that for a moment. “He never even called out to Zeus.”

“Kratos would have viewed that as weakness,” said Poseidon. “He swore long ago that, if necessary, he would die in Zeus’s service, but in full disclosure, he only swore that because Zeus insisted.”

“That’s terrible,” said Ronan. “I couldn’t imagine myself wanting anyone to do such a thing.”

“I know you don’t want the throne,” he said, “but you would make a wonderful king.”

“Speaking of that, if Zeus is deposed, who would take the throne?”

“If you dethroned him, then it would be you, but your power would be so immense that you would have the authority to appoint a ruler if you chose. I just ask that you not appoint me. I don’t want it.”

“Can I count on you?” he asked Poseidon.

“Once you have deposed Zeus, you will have my full and open support. Until then, I will help you as best I can, but I cannot allow Zeus to see me openly helping you. I hate to think what he would do to me if he knew.”

“In whatever way you can help without jeopardizing your own welfare is all I would ever ask. Who can I trust?”

“You can trust Prometheus, Dolos, Athena, Aletheia, and me. Other than we few, I couldn’t say. This isn’t a topic open for discussion among the gods; we have no intellectual freedom. To act as if we do would make us the target of Zeus’s cruelty.”

“Olympus sounds like hell.”

“Under a powerful malevolent tyrant, Olympus is a beautiful hell.”

“What would the gods prefer?”

“We must have a strong ruler, someone to answer to. The problem with Zeus is not that he’s a powerful monarch who punishes unruly behavior. We need a powerful ruler willing to punish. The problem is that, among all the gods, he’s the one with no form of oversight. He has no one to answer to, and that has turned him into a biased, capricious, unreasonable, and malevolent tyrant who wields his power unevenly, unjustly, and with cruelty. Those are the things that no one wants.”

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s take this one thing at a time for now. Do you think Zeus will try to sink the ship?”

“Kratos pointed out your fondness for the humans. I suspect he knew that from Zeus. He attempted to use it to get to you, Zeus may try that too, except with deadlier consequences. He could try to sink the ship and far-”—he tipped his head, listening for a moment—“Do you hear that?”

“Vaguely.”

“Zeus is also likely to send someone else after you. There are gods more dangerous than Kratos, and one is coming. I must go.” He grabbed his trident and vanished as he hurried away.

At first, it started with a simple rhythmic beat of the air. Whoosh... Whoosh... Whoosh... With time, it gained volume, but Ronan couldn’t discern its direction. With room to maneuver on the forecastle, he jumped atop the shipping containers behind him. He wheeled around, listening. The sound came from the direction of the sun. The moment Ronan saw the dark-winged figure, he removed his shirt and manifested his giant white wings. He glanced atop the superstructure to the ship’s bridge. He knew they watched, but the exterior had too much light to see anyone inside.

When the winged god landed forty feet from him, Chiron’s memories helped to recognize the being as Thanatos, the personification of death. The ageless and eternal entity rarely showed himself bodily. He appeared as a young man, perhaps eighteen years old at most, with a thick mop of dark hair atop his head. He stood naked with his head held high, his wings extended, and his lithe hairless body in a guarded stance, his hands on his hips.

“Hello, Centaurian,” he said.

“Hello, Death. Taken a holiday, have you? Or like Kratos, has Zeus sent you?”

“He asked me to look you over. He even asked me to take you if I could, but I don’t do those sorts of requests; I am Death. I have no loyalties, not even to Zeus. However, since I wanted to meet you anyway, I told him I would come and do what I could.”

“…making no promises,” said Ronan, “that’s smart. If you just want to meet me, why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee and some apple cinnamon strudel?”

“Are you actually inviting Death to dine with you?”

“Well,” said Ronan, “I don’t eat regular food, so you would dine while I kept you company.”

“It’s not that sort of visit.”