Poseidon's Atlantis Adventure - The Human Hybrid Experiment

Olympians vs Titans

                                   20,000 B.C.

The echoes of a chilling silence filled the air, broken only by the creaking groan of the bronze tombs as they opened. Poseidon’s fluttered open, his imposing stature shivering from the cold that clung to his skin like a second layer. His first breath was sharp and icy, piercing his lungs as if it were his very first taste of life. He was not alone; Hades, Hestia, Demeter, and Hera—all gods and goddesses in their own right—emerged from their own tombs.

“What . . . what has happened to us?” Poseidon gasped, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar to his ears. The uncertainty in this dark, forsaken place gnawed at him. He blinked hard and fought back the threat of danger.

Hades, gaunt and pallid, his black eyes glinting with an unnerving intensity, surveyed their surroundings. His voice was low and somber when he finally spoke. “Tartarus. It seems we have been imprisoned in the depths of the Underworld.”

The stench of sulfur assaulted Poseidon’s nostrils as he passed through the obsidian walls of Tartarus, a realm of eternal torment. Rivers of fire carved twisting channels through the bleak landscape, casting an infernal glow over the jagged rocks. Wails of anguish echoed from the darkness, the grim chorus accompanying Poseidon on his descent.

Wickedness enveloped them, creeping into every crevice, swallowing all warmth and hope. The air was suffocating and smelled of brimstone and decay. Dampness clung to the walls, leaving streaks of moisture that glistened like the tears of forgotten souls. In the depths of Tartarus, time had abandoned them.

Poseidon took a tentative step forward, his fists clenched, his knuckles white. The stone beneath his feet was cold, its rough texture providing little comfort to his battered body. Determination, his muscles tightening, driving him to explore this place of torment despite his trepidation. He refused to let the unknown shackle him and his kin.

“Stay close,” he told the others. “We need to escape this hellish confinement.”

As they ventured deeper into Tartarus, their footsteps echoed. Poseidon’s calm exterior belied his turmoil within. The weight of uncertainty clung to him like shackles, yet he bore it with the stoicism of one who had faced countless storms. Thoughts swirled like a maelstrom. He would face whatever awaited them, for his loyalty to his family was unbreakable.

“Come on,” Poseidon said, his voice shaking with cold and uncertainty. “We need to move.”

He strained to penetrate the inky darkness, searching for any sign of hope. Every shadow seemed to morph into a monstrous figure, ready to pounce. In this realm of torment, he found no solace, only an ever-deepening abyss.

Hera, her regal demeanor momentarily faltering, cast a glance back at the obsidian walls they had passed through, her brow furrowed in contemplation. “This is no ordinary prison,” she mused, her voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

Hades, who walked behind Poseidon with a grim determination, turned to face her. His eyes held a rare glimmer of empathy, softening their usual intensity. “No, it is not,” he admitted. “Someone, or something, has orchestrated this.”

Poseidon faced formidable foes in the past—titans, monsters, and mortals who dared to challenge the might of the gods. But this? This was an enigma beyond his realm of experience. The thought that there might be a force capable of imprisoning them within Tartarus itself sent a sensation that mingled with the icy grip of the Underworld.

Hestia’s eyes brightened, her gaze shifting to the rivers ablaze with intensity, etching their path through the terrain.

Hades spoke with a quiet intensity, his voice carrying a newfound sense of purpose. “If we can manipulate the elements here, we might just shape our own destiny.”

Demeter shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. The massive river of bubbling, hot brimstone goes forever.”

Discouraged by this revelation, Poseidon pressed forward. His steps were now slowed by reality. The darkness still clawed at him. His determination burned brighter, a beacon in the abyss.

With every step they took, they forged a path through the torment, defying the odds and unraveling the mysteries of their prison. Their powers intertwined and their bonds grew stronger, inching them closer to a hidden truth that would reshape their understanding of the world.

“Keep moving,” he urged his siblings, his voice strained but resolute. “This place will not break us.” The echoes of their footsteps now resonated not only with despair, but also with the promise of liberation. In the heart of Tartarus, where despair and hope intertwined, the gods of Olympus embarked on a journey that would challenge their very essence and force them to confront the shadows that lurked within their own hearts.

In the depths of Tartarus, Poseidon led the way, naked and shivering, his mind a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. But with every step, his resolve grew stronger, an unbreakable tether binding him to his family and their shared fate.

“Forward,” he repeated as they plunged deeper into the darkness, the unknown stretching out before them like an insatiable void.

“Watch your step,” he warned as they navigated a treacherous stretch of rocky ground. “We don’t know what lies beneath the surface.”

“Or above it,” Hestia whispered, her gaze fixed on the shadows that seemed to dance and shift around them. The air crackled with tension as they pressed onward, Poseidon leading them deeper into the realm of torment and despair.

“By the gods, what is this place?” Demeter murmured, her voice barely audible.

“An abomination,” Poseidon answered, the words like a curse on his lips. “But we will escape its clutches. We must.” His voice rising above the oppressive silence, he continued, “Courage, my siblings. We are the gods of Olympus, and mere shadows and darkness will not defeat us.”  His bold words seemed to galvanize his siblings, their steps growing surer as they followed him through Tartarus.

The air in Tartarus hung heavy with the smell of dead bodies decaying. Each breath of sulfur and brimstone Poseidon took burned his lungs like a thousand fiery daggers. The sound of dripping water echoed through the cavernous expanse, punctuating the suffocating silence that enveloped them.

Poseidon tried to ignore the shivers that racked his body. He scanned the shadows, searching for any signs of escape or hope. He could feel the dampness seeping into his bones, but he fought back the urge to collapse from exhaustion, knowing that giving in would mean certain death for him and his siblings.

“Strange,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. “These walls . . . they seem to be alive.”

Indeed, the walls seemed to pulse beneath his fingers, their cold and slimy surfaces whispering ancient secrets as they writhed and contorted. The sensation both fascinated and repulsed Poseidon, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it for long. They had to break free from this confinement.

“Stick together,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “And keep your wits about you. Tartarus is an ever-changing labyrinth, and we must be resourceful if we are to survive its treachery.”

Poseidon’s instincts guided him through the oppressive darkness. Now and then, he listened intently for any clues that might help them find their way—the faintest rustle of movement, the distant echo of tortured souls, the subtle vibrations of the ground beneath their feet.

“Something isn’t right,” Hestia whispered over the relentless drip-drip-drip of water. “I can feel a presence . . . ancient and powerful.”

“Whatever it is, we must be prepared to face it,” Poseidon replied, his tone grim but resolute. “We are not alone in this place, and our journey through Tartarus will be fraught with peril.”

But even as he spoke these words, a deep sense of curiosity stirred within him, an insatiable desire to uncover the mysteries that lay hidden within the depths of Tartarus. He knew they were walking a dangerous path, but the unknown beckoned him like a siren’s call, offering secrets and knowledge that he could scarcely imagine.

“Stay vigilant,” he told himself, shaking off the allure of the darkness. “This is no place for idle curiosity.”

They reached a source of light—a cluster of luminescent fungi clinging stubbornly to the damp stone walls. Poseidon knelt, examining the strange growths with great interest. “Curious,” he mused, his fingertips brushing against the cool, slimy surface of the fungi. This is a completely new life form for me.

“Let us continue,” he urged, rising to his feet and leading the way once more. Their journey took them through a labyrinth of twisting passageways and cavernous chambers, each one more foreboding than the last. Despite the ever-present darkness and the oppressive atmosphere, Poseidon’s determination never wavered.

“Forward,” he commanded, his voice resonating with the authority of the seas themselves. “Together, we shall rise from the depths of Tartarus and return to the world above.”

“Agreed,” Hades murmured, his gaze lingering on the shifting shadows as if trying to divine what horrors might lie within.

Poseidon nodded, his heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat heralding an impending storm. He knew that each step they took deeper into Tartarus brought them closer to potential danger, but he also understood that turning back was not an option. Abandoning their quest was not an option after coming this far.

As they advanced cautiously, the air grew frigid, Poseidon felt a chill. His breath came in white clouds of frosty mist as he fought to suppress the shivers that racked his body. He clenched his fists and steeled himself, refusing to show any sign of discomfort before his brothers.

“Listen!” Hades hissed sharply, his eyes widening with apprehension.

In the silence, Poseidon could barely make out a distant clang, like metal scraping against stone. An invisible hand seemed to seize his heart, its icy grip sending a shudder through him.

They hastened onward, the ominous sound growing louder until it echoed off the walls of a massive chamber. Ancient runes glowed like spiritual fire, reverberating with an eerie energy.

At its center lay three Hecatoncheires—Cottus, Brierius, and Gyges—as well as three cyclopes, Brontes, Steropes, and Arges, who slumbered heavily in the oppressive atmosphere.

Poseidon whispered urgently, “Let’s move carefully; we don’t want to wake them.”