The first three chapters are going to be fairly short as im setting up the plot and shit

If it wasn't the parties driving me insane, it was the courters.

I glared through my wine glass rim at Zeus. The bastard. For three weeks the gods have been celebrating the end of the war.

As thanks for my help in ending the damned thing, Zeus offered me a wife, when I very venomously declined, he sent women anyway.

For weeks I had declined any and all women who just only wanted to jump my bones, or organ.

But this, this was even worse. Hundreds of men and women filled the room. All competing for me. After spending eight years at war you don't really develop any ego, egos simply don't matter when you have thousands of fiery arrows of death headed in your direction. If I was my father this whole party would be the equivalent of Elysium. But I wasn't my father, and this was just plain humiliating.

To my left, Hera snorted.

"Shut up," I muttered. Two weeks ago Hera and I had bonded over our mutual hate for the king of the gods. Me for using me as an excuse just to throw millions of dollars away in wine and women, her for making her marry him.

"You look so unpleased. No wonder he just brings more,"

I scoffed. "Your husband thinks men and women and sex fixes everything."

Her only response was handing me another glass as she drowned her own. The laugh of Zeus filled the room, blocking out the familiar tune of Apollo and Poseidon arguing. Her fist clenched, cracking the empty wine glass. "Gods," another glass, "look at him. The bastard is going through them like Persephone goes through pomegranates on a mid-summer evening." Together we watched as Zeus left the party, a gigging girl on each arm. They were clearly wasted to do this in front of us, or dumb enough to think Zeus can stop Hera's wrath.

I gave Hera a side look as she glared at the closing curtains. We stood side by side in silence waiting for the bastard.

Thirty minutes of quiet later said basted waltzed back into the party, empty handed, I winced as he walked right by us, towards a group of demigods.

I placed my glass on the table with a sigh. "I'll go tell the servants to expand the ranch, again." Ignoring the crack of knuckles and a smile with a little too much teeth, I turned towards the exit.

I slid past groups of drunk and tipsy gods and demigods. Scowling at the ones who were handsy and snarling at the ones who were more than that. My bare feet were cold on the marble as I slid past another group to the door. I side eyed the west corner of the room, a makeshift sleep area for the mortals in the room.

The door out was big and heavy. Made from marble and white gold. One door was the size of a football field, curving to a point at the top. Delicate designs of the war covered both sides. At the top was Zeus, below were the rest of his siblings, then the main twelve. Minor gods were drawn smaller, with more clothes and expressions of grief and fear. At the bottom were mortals, small, insignificant, added like a last minute thought. There were no faces, except one. Because there I was, painted in gold and lapis and obsidian. There I was, an expression of ego and confidence as I whipped the men below me.

Bile rose. Forcing an expression of nonchalance as I walked through what may have been the closest thing to the doors of Hell as I'd ever be.

The servants were there, probably expecting another round. The bile was still there as I walked to them. Many –if not all- were the mothers, sisters, daughters, and wives to Zeus's soldiers. Ones I killed, by the mixes of fear and terror and grief.

I wish it was cold. Bone chilling, so that I could blame the shaking of my chin on the freeze. But this was Olympus, the closest thing to heaven these gods had. Snowing here was in the past. Done long before the war began.

Women of war had always been terrifying. They lacked mercy and had zero problems with cutting off heads of men. Wives were just as blood chilling.

Olympus was the closest thing to heaven these gods had. This was the closest thing to hell to me.