Even if the gods would not vent their anger on innocent mortals,
for humankind to ever again so easily gain the gods' protection and blessings as they almost had—that was now utterly impossible.
Mortals below could not understand the undercurrents raging in the clouds, but the vanishing of blessed clouds and the terrifying crash of thunder were more than enough to make them tremble in fear.
Every divine gaze, in that moment, locked onto Zeus and Prometheus.
His Majesty the God-King normally did not get angry, because almost no being dared to give Him reason.
His Majesty certainly never "held grudges," because any grievance was settled on the spot.
And His Majesty usually did not "lose His temper," but once He truly did…
it was a horror no god dared to imagine.
You could fool ghosts.
But trying to fool the God-King…
that was pure suicide.
The outcome could be worse than death.
The God-King's wrath was the most indescribable and ultimate terror in the cosmos.
There was no second.
Clymene's heart was filled with icy despair; her ice-blue eyes looked pitifully at Zeus, wanting to speak for her son, only to swallow the words back down. She did not dare utter a single extra syllable.
She knew very well that one more word now would only make the punishment harsher.
The very air seemed pressed almost solid by the God-King's invisible pressure.
The gods were still; all sounds fell silent.
All the heavens held their breath, waiting for that final judgment.
Zeus simply watched Prometheus in silence.
He said nothing, did nothing, yet the invisible pressure—heavy as the cosmos—had already bent Prometheus so he could no longer straighten his back.
At some point his immaculate, sturdy divine body had broken out in a cold sweat.
An indescribable dread sank over his entire divinity.
An unprecedented fear wrapped him completely.
For the first time, Prometheus was truly, directly facing the limitless terror of the God-King's majesty.
Yet in that silence wound to the breaking point, at the very instant when all gods thought they were about to witness a storm of thunder…
Zeus suddenly chuckled softly.
He spoke gently: "Prometheus, oh Prometheus, son of Iapetus—My loyal servant, My dear… old comrade-in-arms."
"I truly do not know what I have done, that you should treat Me and the gods so unjustly."
The God-King's lips curved; there was nothing hidden in the mocking smile. "You are so very clever, and so very cunning."
"Look at you—how very brave you are. Your courage is such that even I must praise it."
"Your berserk brother Atlas, your arrogant, reckless brother Menoetius—their 'courage,' in My eyes, is far inferior to yours."
At that, Zeus burst into laughter—then cut it off in an instant.
At the same time, on the altar below, the sacred fire layered on the ash branches suddenly flared high!
The blazing flames seemed to turn into living torrents of fire, leaping straight for the gleaming heap of fatty offerings.
The fat melted quickly in the blaze, soaking into the bones beneath; then those bones crackled and shattered in the flames.
A wisp of blue smoke, signifying "sacrifice," drifted upward on the wind, curling slowly through heaven and earth.
The mortals below, who had fallen into confusion and nameless terror at the changes in heaven and earth—the sudden loss of clouds and omens—now, seeing the offerings ignited and consumed by divine fire, slipped back into calm and joy, knowing nothing.
In their simple understanding: "The gods are here. The God-King, Sovereign of the cosmos, is here. Our merciful creator and teacher is here. What could go wrong?"
"Look, haven't the gods already accepted the offerings?"
"If the gods have taken the offerings, then this rite is complete and perfect! Next, surely the gods will bestow blessings, right?"
They had no idea what was happening in the heavens.
And in the heavens, Zeus gave a quiet, breathy laugh. "I have accepted the mortals' offering."
"From now on, all offerings mortals present to the gods shall be burned in sacred fire, and their pure essence sent into the gods' bosom."
Thus the God-King set the final law of sacrifice.
Originally, had this been a plain and honest plea, then after the rite the gods would not have begrudged returning everything—and granting more besides.
But now, the gods' share would never again return to mortals.
Then His still, golden eyes turned back to Prometheus.
In a voice so calm it terrified the gods, He said slowly:
"Today's rite is now complete."
"Prometheus, you have done very well—very well indeed."
"Earlier, I had not yet truly rewarded you for your merit in creating humankind."
"Now, with your labors in bringing this 'covenant of gods and mortals' to consummation, you have earned another great merit."
"It is time you were properly rewarded. Otherwise, would not the gods of the cosmos think Me an unjust king?"
There was no cruelty in the God-King's expression; His tone was even gentler than before.
Yet what He said next was enough to plunge Prometheus into a pit of absolute despair in an instant.
With a soft laugh, He said, "Let Us grant all at once."
"Since you so dearly love humankind, I shall bestow upon you—eternal life in the mortal realm."
"Thus you may always accompany the humans you love. That must surely be what you most desire."
"Oh, and this. Since you love humankind so deeply, how could you bear to let them continue using their already poor and scant food to worship you?"
"Then I shall further bestow upon you this: from this day, no being in the cosmos may worship you."
"You may not raise any temple in the mortal world; you may not set up any image of yourself; you may not use your godly power to shelter any living being."
"No being may place their faith in you, and you may no longer accept any faith."
As the God-King's words fell, the sacrificial fires roaring upon the earth all rose at once!
It was not only the altar's flame.
In that instant, every fire upon the earth—every cave's hearth, every forest's campfire, every flickering blaze mortals kept alive to survive…
whatever their origin…
suddenly shuddered, flared, then, answering the God-King's summons, surged toward the sky, all merging into one vast dragon of fire that boiled into a sea of flame!
The boundless blaze, this titanic burning river that seemed to span heaven and earth, soared to the ninefold sky amid mortals' stunned stares.
The Fire-Goddess Hestia lifted a hand and gathered all that endless flame back into her palm.
Once, at humankind's birth, the sacred fire had been gifted jointly by the warm Hestia and Zeus—the holy flame that could ward off cold, repel evil, dispel gloom, cleanse poison, create, heal, purify, and sanctify…
That warm, burning, brilliant, extraordinary divine fire—so utterly distinct from mortal fire, symbol of Zeus's sanctity and light—
would from this day no longer favor humankind.
Not only that divine, god-given fire; now there was not a single spark left anywhere on the earth.
The mortal realm suddenly grew cold.
Yes, the covenant of gods and mortals had been made.
The rites of sacrifice were fixed.
But the "source of fire" essential for offerings had been entirely severed.
Mortals could no longer present offerings to the gods.
Therefore they could no longer receive the gods' protection.
This was not a matter of the gods breaking faith.
It was humankind (or their representative) who first stained the covenant with deceit and arrogance.
Mortals could no longer offer sacrifices; they could not blame the gods for withholding blessing and shelter.
The God-King had not broken the pact—and never would.
But the covenant of gods and mortals was now a shell, empty in truth.
Prometheus stared blankly at it all; his body lurched; darkness swamped his divinity.
Only now did he truly realize what a horrifying, foolish, colossal error he had made.
"Your Majesty—!"
He had barely begun, meaning to pour out a thousand pleas—to beg, to mend, to confess, to implore—
when, before the words fell, a bolt of lightning carrying boundless majesty ripped across the heavens faster than thought, wrapped in irresistible power of Order, and smashed him straight down into the mortal dust!
Under that invincible thunder he was like a falling star, crashing toward the earth.
The God-King's word was law.
Having said that Prometheus could "forever remain among mortals," then he could never again set foot in heaven.
From this day forth, the gates of Paradise would remain shut to him; the road to any divine realm barred to him forever!
Even the Underworld would refuse him entry for all time!
The divine web of Heavenly Order would deny him its use; the holy aether would no longer tolerate his breath!
He would be trapped eternally in the mortal world, bound to the earth beneath.
His body would never leave this ground again.
Clymene had fainted without a sound into Metis's arms.
In that moment she truly could bear no more.
Her divinity slipped into numbed slumber.
For her, that was almost a blessing.
Her god-life always swung from dizzy heights to crushing falls…
Hard-won moments of sweetness and happiness had only just begun, and her incorrigible son had, yet again, dealt her a ruinous blow.
She even now truly wondered what was wrong with her—why her children were always like this.
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