Fate/Defiance (Revised)
Chapter 3 - Crime and Punishment
The walk to the Acropolis was agony.
Daedalus said nothing. His breath came in shallow, uneven waves—every exhale a whisper of fury attempting to boil its way out from beneath his skin. His son's hand rested lightly on his arm, the only tether between man and mania.
He tried, truly, to contain it. But the resentment had a pulse of its own. It grew, fed, and swelled until its vessel began to slowly burst. Daedalus knew that if he opened his mouth now, the venom would spill out and drown whoever stood nearest.
Yet still, he climbed.
"Make way!" He barked, shoving through the dense Athenian crowd that lined the steep marble steps. People muttered curses, clutching their cloaks as the famed inventor forced a path through, hastily dragging an apologetic Icarus behind him.
The Acropolis gleamed in the noon sun—a rocky outcrop containing a fortress of marble and reverence, the very heart of Athens. From its edge, one could see the sprawl of the city and the sea beyond, glinting like a humble mortal mirror to Olympus itself.
It was here, at the very precipice of human aspirations, that Perdix had chosen to unveil his newest invention.
When they reached the top, Daedalus wasted no time muscling his way to the front of the gathered crowd.
There, in the center of a cleared platform, stood Perdix—his nephew, his former student. The boy beamed with pride, flanked by assistants arranging a long wooden log across two tables.
Perdix's eyes scanned the crowd as they finished preparations, his eyes briefly glancing at Icarus and Daedalus, giving them a subtle smile before looking away and stepping forward.
"Thank you for coming!" Perdix announced over the bustling crowd, his voice clear and confident, "Today, I present to you a creation that will change labor forever!"
Those watching quickly quieted, with only subtle mummers remaining between curious observers.
Perdix gripped a sheet covering a display beside him and, with a flourish, tore it away. Brows quickly raised as the audience gazed at what laid underneath, with faint gasps of excitement escaping during the unveil.
Beneath the cloth gleamed a length of polished metal, thin and with one edge serrated like the spine of a beast. At the metal's separate ends were wooden handles fashioned with leather for a tightened grip.
"Behold—" Perdix said, raising it aloft, hands held over its non-jagged edge for all to see, "—the saw!"
The word hung in the air like a declaration of war, and curiosity blossomed in the trenches of watching minds.
He continued, spinning a tale with the theatrical flair of a born orator, "It was about a week ago, I was out fishing when suddenly, Lord Poseidon had blessed me with a large sea bass! So delicious was this bass—that I had picked it to the bone, and as I had laid its spine down to dispose of… I was hit with an epiphany! It was as if Lady Athena herself had blessed me with her wisdom!"
The audience, although confused from his tale, remained hung at the edge of their seats regardless, "What if…" He paused, gathering suspense for his next words, "I added the features of the fish's spine into a thin sheet of metal, giving it a jagged edge—shaping the steel into teeth, then…"
His words drifted off as he brought the saw's teeth to the large log of wood that laid between the two tables, "…Use it to apply pressure in a back and forth motion, and then…!"
He forced the edges down into the log and began to saw, back and forth. Each stroke rang out crisp and rhythmic—the sound of progress itself.
He demonstrated as he spoke, while rhythmically swaying back and forth against the bark of the log until it slowly grinded all the way through the log, "…A perfect cut!"
When the wood split cleanly in two, the crowd erupted in awe.
"What precision!" Someone whispered.
"No magic… no enchantment," Spoke another, "Any craftsman could use it!"
Excited murmurs quickly broke out throughout the audience, with many exclaiming about the genius of this invention—and they were right. While the saw was indeed simplistic, it was also revolutionary in the fields of carpentry and construction, among others.
To be able to fine tune the edges and cuts of your wood without the rough edges and imperfections belonging to other methods was invaluable. Moreover, it was made without magic, without special enchantments that make it too costly to have any value to the poor—it was a tool for the common man, and an irresistible one at that.
Applause quickly thundered through the air.
"What a genius!" Some could help but blurt.
But not everyone was clapping.
Icarus wasn't even looking at Perdix. His eyes were on his father—the subtle tremor in Daedalus' jaw, the faint twitches erupting on his glazed eyes, and the way his pupils shrank when the word Athena was previously spoken.
The tension in his shoulders wasn't merely anger, it was humiliation—it was rage.
And then came the omen.
A silent flutter.
A sudden shifting shadow stole his attention as he turned to glance towards the source from the corner of his eye, and when his gaze laid upon what it—his blood went cold.
…An owl.
Impossible. At the top of the steep Acropolis, in the bright midday sun?
Impossible.
It perched on the stone railing, golden eyes gleaming with quiet intelligence. The emblem of Athens. The sacred symbol of the goddess of wisdom herself.
No… it was not just a symbol, but a manifestation.
Athena was here. Watching.
His body shuddered.
Icarus would describe himself as a decently sharp person with a good enough head on his shoulders, one with enough self awareness to recognize his own flaws while taking steps to improve upon them.
His sudden reincarnation gave him quite a boost in this regard, as it allowed him to form and diligently maintain positive habits that would benefit him throughout the rest of his—hopefully, long life.
But there was one habit he especially tried to ingrain into himself after entering the world of myth itself—something more important than the usual good hygiene, efficient workout routine, and steady diet.
Paranoia.
It was something he firmly believed would benefit him immensely in his quest for survival—even if it wasn't the most mentally healthy of things.
Especially when he had to force himself to make it habitual.
Urging yourself to constantly glance at your surroundings and burn everyone around you into your mind, and not only their actions, but also the actions they could do.
Their faces, their gait, their equipment, their motives.
Systematically searching every room you walk into for exits and entrances, before deducing possible escape plans. Studying local customs and behaviors to seem perfectly in place—perfectly safe.
Icarus had the self-awareness to know he was weak, with the additional knowledge that he couldn't afford to be.
That's why his pulse thundered in his skull.
She's watching. She's actually watching. Every instinct screamed to bow, to hide, to vanish—anything to avoid notice.
And then Daedalus opened his mouth.
"Perdix!"
His shout cracked through the air like a whip. The crowd fell silent, as all eyes turned to Daedalus.
The owl's neck rotated curiously.
Daedalus didn't notice any of it. His face was too busy contorting into a snarl that could barely be called human, "You thieving little morosoph!"[1]
Icarus' stomach dropped, he knew that tone. He'd heard it many times before—the moment when Daedalus stopped being a man and became a mad caricature.
"U-uncle?!" Perdix stammered, stunned at the sudden interruption.
Heedless of his nephew's bafflement, Daedalus marched forward undaunted. His sheer rage present even in his gait, caused the assistants nearby to nervously back away.
Daedalus seized Perdix by the collar of his chiton, yanking him forward as he screamed into his face. "Everything you make, everything you are—it's because of me!"[2]
"W-what are you talking about?!" Perdix flinched in response, his voice cracking as his uncle tore into him.
"I taught you!" Daedalus snarled, as if offended by Perdix's words, "I forged your hands! Your ideas! Your talent! All of it was stolen from my mind!"
The crowd watched, breathlessly, too shocked to intervene at the sudden drama. Icarus gritted his teeth nervously, afraid to intervene—the person ahead was not his father, but the stranger often lurking behind his eyes.
Who knows what he could—would do?
"Everything you make—everything you do, is because of me!" Daedalus roared, splattering on Perdix's face with spit from his enraged maw.
Meanwhile, something inside Perdix snapped.
Years of fear, resentment, and humiliation bled into anger. He squared his shoulders, frustrated teeth grinding into his lips tightly enough to draw fresh blood.
Perdix snarled as he headbutt Daedalus away from his face, knocking him away as he shouted in defiance, "This was my moment! Not yours! Mine!" The crowd gasped as he threw his display to the floor in a rage, "What do you mean, everything you've taught me?! You threw me out, you arrogant old fool! I learned in spite of you!"
Perdix had enough! His chest heaved as he stood over Daedalus, watching his uncle grovel under him in pain brought an unprecedented euphoria.
No more was he humiliated, no more was he scorned, no more was he suppressed—by his own family no less! No, he'd proved his uncle wrong!
He had surpassed Daedalus, and no one could take that away from him!
His face contorted into a wicked smirk at the realization, before he glared down at his embittered, jealous relative, "You're jealous, Uncle. That's what this is. You're angry because I did what you couldn't. Because I surpassed you."
Daedalus froze at the taunt. The silence between them trembled like a taut string.
He turned, addressing the crowd with a performer's flourish. "Because I, Perdix, am now the greatest craftsman in all of Athens—!"
Then the string was cut.
"—What did you just say?" Daedalus whispered hoarsely, but the sheer vitriol in his words still overwhelmed the crowd, silencing the surroundings.
The air had gone deathly still. The sudden drama had taken a much more serious edge, causing the crowd to nervously glance at one another.
Without warning, Daedalus lunged. The two crashed to the ground, and the sound of flesh meeting stone echoed across the plateau. A wet crack followed—the unmistakable break of bone.
"Ack—!" Perdix screeched out in pain.
"Jealous?! Me—Jealous?!" Daedalus roared, his voice unrecognizable, "You're nothing! Less than nothing! You're not worth the filth on my shoes—you fucking katōmóchanos"[3]
Daedalus straddled on top of Perdix before rearing his arm back for a strong right hook straight into his face. The crowd gasped when they heard the crunch of Perdix's nose as he cried out in further pain.
"Nothing! You are nothing!"
Daedalus then dragged the delirious Perdix to his feet, before—under everyone's astonished looks, took a step towards the Acropolis' cliff.
"H-He's gonna kill him!" Someone shouted in disbelief.
Perdix started to desperately claw at his uncle's side, pleading for mercy as his addled sense slowly came back to him, "M-Mercy, uncle—Mercy!"
Daedalus spat in his face and continued his march. The audience parted, paralyzed between both horror and fascination.
"Father!" Icarus shouted, forcing his way through the masses. "Father, stop!" He didn't want his family to hurt each other… but he could see how things were headed.
"I-Icaruuus?" Perdix mumbled, clarity filling him with renewed hope, "Help! Stop him, please!"
Daedalus didn't even register them. His eyes were wild, unfocused. He muttered under his breath—fragments of rage and wounded pride. "Mine… mine… my glory…"
Icarus reached them just as Perdix was dangled over the edge, clutching at Daedalus' wrists. "He's your blood!" Icarus pleaded, "Please! He's family!"
Daedalus finally acknowledged them, as he turned, sneering. "Family?" His voice dripped with venom. "What is family to a man denied his legacy?"
He struck Icarus aside—a sharp, brutal motion—and the boy hit the ground, air torn from his lungs.
Through blurred vision, Icarus made eye contact with Perdix. He watched the trail of emotions etched on his teary face—fear, terror… regret.
He was just a boy.
Then, without a word, Daedalus let go.
Perdix's scream echoed as he fell—quickly swallowed by the wind, lost to the city below.
The owl screeched once and took flight, vanishing below the cliff.
Silence followed.
Daedalus stood at the edge, chest heaving, eyes unfocused. For the first time in Icarus' life, he looked… afraid. As if realizing what his hands had done only after they'd acted.
Icarus wanted to run to him, to say something—anything—but no words came. He could only watch, trembling and in disbelief, as the crowd began to murmur and recoil in disgust.
He couldn't blame them, he felt much the same.
And high above them all, somewhere unseen, the gods watched too.
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Author's Notes
Woah, things are starting to pick up! Please leave some feedback, I would greatly appreciate it as that is my main motivation!
Hope you enjoyed it regardless.
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Glossary
[1] Morosoph
Ancient Greek term meaning, "A philosophical, or learned fool." From Greek mōrospohos, mōros (dull, stupid) and sophos (wise).
[2] Chiton
A form of tunic that fastens at the shoulder, often worn by men and women of Ancient Greece and Rome.
[3] Katōmóchanos
Ancient Greek phrase meaning, "a person who has been fucked in the ass so many times that their asshole gapes all the way to their shoulders."