Gods Reborn: Zeus

 

 

Even Gods can make mistakes, most of all Zeus. However not even the oracles could have foreseen how momentous of a disaster he would make when dealing with those trickster gods, within and beyond his pantheon. Across the world their names echo in legends, Hermes, Anasi, Loki, and so many more.

Zeus hadn’t even dared to note what his transgression was, that’s how little he regarded his folly. Was it a grievance? A failed romancing of the group of tricksters? He’d never know. But the backlash would come for all the gods indiscriminately. No pantheon’s would be safe as revenge would strike like an unyielding sword.

Time gives and time takes. Gods rise and fall as their prominence dwindles as those who revere them diminish. However, gods are never truly gone, their rule may end, but every age brings a new chance for them to step into the world once again. Rebirth. The promise of a new life to experience the world through new eyes. Their divinity hidden under a guise of mortal likeness, as eras shifted. 

Zeus sat on Mt. Olympus, sensing the new age arriving, and with it a new form.  A brilliant shimmering light that would bestow new features. Gods could appear in many forms, but his rebirthed form would set the latest template for him: A new face to woo maidens and bachelors alike. As the all-encompassing wave drew close Zeus spread his arms out, reveling in his own power reveling in his future. The light swallowed him, and the king of gods felt immediately something was wrong with the light of rebirth. He tried to pull away, but it was too late.

Rebirth had begun.

Jolts danced around his fingertips before, mere sparkles, before the powerful showing of a storm danced around him.  Clouds coalesced around him, wind picked up, thunder bellowed, lightning crackled as Zeus attempted to combat his own rebirth. Though gods know better than most, one cannot stop fate. Zeus felt his very being, split into two. A precise copy of the god, not bathed in glowing divinity, stumbled out from his form. The storm did not heed the cries of the Zeus replica; he was but a soul that was hit by the rebirth. Without his divinity to guide the change, his soul was as malleable as clay. Zeus' soul fell from Olympus, dragged to the earth.

Zeus’ divinity on the other hand was unbridled power as the storm raged. Without a soul to structure his form, the trickster’s trap was enacted. Zeus’ hand collapsed in on itself, the winds tore as his body folded. His was forced to his knees, legs weakening, as the storm refused to die. The Almighty Zeus felt it the pressure, the condensing, as his body lost it all: his looks, his muscles, His Divine cock. Flesh gave way to metal as he compacted, continuously decreasing in size; his godly essence, filling up his body, reduced to a surging liquid. The storm Zeus had summoned enshrouded his refined divinity, before it plummeted from the heavens.

 

The god of lighting’s power, nothing more than a beverage.

—

Mr. Bronte was the kind of man who could make people pay attention. Rich voice, dark black skin, toned body. People noticed when he arrived. His son, Miles Bronte? Not so much. People saw the kid as more of a tag-along, can’t get one without seeing the other. It’s not that Miles was disobedient or even unpleasant; he was just there. Often hiding behind his father’s legs even though he was too old for it. Only made possible by Mr. Bronte’s size, providing ample hiding area.

The father never minded, always patient and understanding with Miles, but he saw it too. Miles was often a bit too timid, too passive. When they looked each other in the eyes, Mr. Bronte knew there was a conviction missing in his son’s eyes that rightfully should have been there. The man would never call it out, but he knew it couldn’t go on forever. There was a problem with bullying at school directed towards the smaller Bronte, once they noticed Miles would never fight back.

The trip to the beach was for… well Mr. Bronte wasn’t quite sure. He thought just a nice getaway was what Miles deserved. The two were lounging on their towels, under a parcel, after a swim, cooler at their side.

“You, thirsty?” Mr. Bronte asked, already bringing the cooler between their towels.

Miles was already up on his feet peering in at the collection drinks. He stuck his hand down, pulling out a chilled purple can. A static shock hit his finger, and he dropped it back down. His dad smiled warmly, pulling the drink out and handing it over. He turned the can over in his hands “ZEUS? I don’t remember buying this?”

Miles accepted the can back, “Looks awesome!’ He cracked open the lid. As he brought it to his lips there was a distant roar in the distance, both Miles and his father looked to the storm far out across the sea.

–

Zeus could not believe he had been degraded for so long. Years his divinity waited, trapped in the form of a soda can until his soul found him. Fate would of course reunite him, but time dictated when. Countless hands had traded Zeus, as he even sat on a shelf unmoving as customers passed him by. None of them, worthy. When a large black hand rescued him from a corner convenience store shelf.  Zeus was sure the large man was his soul reborn. The muscular frame was everything Zeus could have wanted in a new form. For a long while Zeus believed it. Though he had some critiques. Mr. Bronte’s pecs may have been tight on his shirts, and his body tight in all his clothing, but it could have been tighter. Better yet, the man could have worn less to show himself off more. How could any man or lady resist him, if he did so. How could the man only have one child? He was Zeus' soul; there should have been a litany of them! The man was primed to procreate and was not sharing his seed with any men or women around. Zeus’ descendants should have been strong as ever in this era with Mr. Bronte at the helm. Zeus, however, was disappointed that a shock came when small hands grabbed him on the beach. His soul had been reborn not as the mountain of a man, but his flailing son by comparison.

It must have been another part in the revenge by the tricksters. Mr. Bronte would take Zeus’ divinity out, always impressed by the strange designs, some manner of the spell making the man believe it was always for the first time.  Mr. Bronte would set it on the counter as if he or his son intended to drink it. They never would. Time would pass and they’d forget the can was out. Meanwhile Zeus watched their lives. The once god had to watch his soul meander around in its new body as if it actually was some mortal child. All its power and strength stripped, reducing it to a weak boy. Unbecoming of the soul of Zeus, and the god knew that was exactly what the tricksters wanted him to see. All his bravado, authority, wooing, removed in this new boyhood.

Zeus was patient.

It was not chance but fate itself that dictated the gods’ rebirth. He would be reunited with his soul. That was ensured. However, the tricksters themselves had been the ones that had added a fine print of this punishment. All Zeus’ divinity could do was wait in agony. When the father and son collected him for the day trip Zeus thought it was but another tortuous outing. Miles grabbing Zeus, however, let the god know: it was finally time for his return.

–

Miles took a sip of the drinks, the fizz popped across his tongue, tingling his mouth, as the liquid seemed in a rush to get down his throat. The boy coughed, aggressively, as Mr. Bronte patted and rubbed his son’s back to make it stop.

“You, okay?” Mr. Bronte asked, worried, Miles coughing fit, dying down.

“Yeah, this tastes great, dad!” Miles said excitedly. For a moment Mr. Bronte could have sworn he saw a flash in Miles' eyes. A light ripping across the dark brown irises. He started to lean in closer, but the storm across the water’s edge stole his attention. The thunder out there was loud even far across the horizon. He stared at the calm water near them opposed to the storm out there.

What Mr. Bronte didn’t know was that a storm raged inside Miles as well. From the very moment his boy took a sip, Zeus knew he was home. Zeus’ divinity slid across the tongue, in all its deliciousness, falling into the stomach and dispersing. The divine power immediately sought to flow through the body and intertwine itself back to its soul. Miles hadn’t drunk enough to establish more than a connection, but that was okay. The time was now, and Mr. Bronte’s son was oh so thirsty.

Holding the can up, Miles drank more, his throat gulping it down. Mr. Bronte watched before resting his hand on the can and softly pulling it down. “Slow down, son. It’s not going anywhere. Don’t want you to cough again.”

“Sorry dad, it's just…so good.” Miles was smacking his lips like he couldn’t get enough. His face froze for a moment, before a tiny burp escaped his lips, perfectly timed to the thunder in the distance.

Zeus’ divinity was returning to his soul, overjoyed. Miles had taken in more than enough for the divinity to begin working its magic. The tricksters had downsized and weakened both parts of him but united he could undo it all. A body was nothing but flesh, pure clay to be sculpted and molded, as Zeus established what should have been the true Miles Bronte. Miles Bronte should not have been born in the traditional sense. Zeus should have just become his at his prime on Olympus. Simply having existed in history as Zeus’ form and of Mr. Bronte’s lineage with no proof to ever verify or correct it. The world would have continued turning without a hitch and not noticed.

It started with sheer size. Mr. Bronte noticed it first, after two more burps each louder than the last with the echo of thunder: Miles was bigger. He was proportioned the same, so it was easy to overlook at first glance, but his trunks were tighter and he took up more space on his beach towel.

The tingling on Miles’ tongue migrated all across his body. His skin, his veins, his blood, all electrified. Miles could not sense what was truly happening, but he felt the effects. His trunks were getting less loose on his legs, the gap between the damp fabric and his thigh growing smaller. He stretched his legs out, watching as they jutted from his body, with all the bower of a locomotive, and moved down the length of the towel. The small natural timid hunch in his spine was eradicated as he sat up straighter, and his back met a perfect 90 degrees with new inches. Next his pecs carved themselves from his chest, morphing into two defined shapes that swelled with weight. The space on his back grew wider as his shoulders drifted further apart. Abs rose into place one by one.

There was never enough for the work of wonders when it came to divinity, and Zeus’ was working a miracle. He commanded the body to grow, and it responded properly by utilizing the divinity and power at its disposal. The growth was not complete yet; there was much more divinity for Miles to ingest in the can.

The wind was stronger. Mr. Bronte had lost his words. Miles had gone from simply getting bigger, to being older. He saw firsthand, his boy's body morph into something with more power. Miles' face had lost roundness, in preference of new edges along his jaw. His arms had filled in with muscles around the biceps that flew down into his forearms. Hands and feet, doubled in size, thicker digits, larger palms and soles. Miles’ swim trunks bunched up around his legs, forced down his thighs, no longer able to cover them. The swim wear looked like nothing more than glorified briefs. Miles took another sip from the can. Mr. Bronte heard mumbles around them thinking people were commenting on his son. Miles had gone from boy to teen in a matter of minutes and were still growing. Mr. Bronte took a look expecting to see judging looks but found everyone staring at the darkened sky above.

Zeus had the body, conforming to his will, preparing for his grand reentrance. The world had gone too long without the name of Zeus and needed to be graced with it again. What should have only been an alias of Mile Bronte however had to be reclaimed into the king of gods himself. The body was conquered; the mind was next.

Miles grabbed at his head, drink still in hand. His neurons and synapse were firing like crazy; Lighting was tearing through them foraging new connections, ancient knowledge arising from deep within him. “Ahh!” he grit his teeth as his body pulsed larger. The liquid that passed along his inner throat had deepened his vocal cords while strengthening his neck. He didn’t sound like the same boy who had sat next to his dad minutes ago.

The deep bass, emitting from Miles shocked Mr. Bronte, back to reality. He had no idea what was happening to his son, but the soda can with lightning dancing around it was a start. He reached for it. A Zap of electricity set Mr. Bronte flying back into the sand.

“Dad!” Miles shouted, upon hearing the impact and seeing his dad lying in front of him. He got up rushing to him. No care at all how his shorts dug into his body.

“Everyone, the beach is now closed, the beach is now closed. Evacuate the area immediately.” A voice over a megaphone cried.

There was a storm forming right over the beach, clouds swirling and lighting flashing. Miles didn’t notice it beyond the people yelling and screaming to get past him. He dropped to his knees at this dad’s side, the crowd continuously rushing past him. His dad’s heart was still beating. He didn’t even know why he knew to check. A voice rang in his head. Older, wiser than his own and yet, somehow one that had always been his.

“You can save him. We can save him. I can save him.” The voice boomed in Miles’ head louder than the thunder outside.

“How?” Miles asked the howling winds.

“Drink. Unite us. Become yourself again.”

Miles realized he hadn't even dropped the drink to check on his dad. Despite the absurdity of it, Miles knew the voice was right, a part of him was contained there. That's why it was so pleasurable to get it back. He swallowed down the last of the drink and unleashed a belch that made the waves quake. Clouds descended on him and his father, a tornado spinning in place as their forms were hidden.

The mind had submitted and the divinity shuddered. Body and mind in communication. Time to rejoin the soul. What Zeus had waited for: the final frontier. Zeus found every aspect of Miles soul, but he did not warp or enhance as he had with the body and mind. No, Zeus restored his soul to its former glory watching Miles grow back into the Zeus he always was. At some point the divinity didn’t feed itself, it was being siphoned as Miles devoured his own power.

On the beach wind swirled around, as no one dared to look behind them. Lighting crashed on the sand leaving glass shards behind where it hit. In the eye of the storm, the Zeus can vanished, dispersing into unleashed power that jumped back into Miles. Knelt beside his father, Miles' body grew as it became the proper reincarnation of Zeus. Electricity stuck in Mr. Bronte’s body was slurped into Miles wanting muscles. Miles' chest became titanic, pecs swollen, nipples dark and pointed, as his arms bulked with brawn beyond that of Olympic athletes. His body was the true Olympic standard and nowhere was that more evident than his huge thighs harder than steel. The tiny trunks he had on finally surrendered as his ass emerged onto the seen each glute perfection. Miles’ cock dropped out, as his balls filled with Zeus’–his own– divine seed, ripening his sack even further, as his already enlarged cock, gained extra inches, accepting its place as a holy weapon. A black beard grew along Miles' jaw as his features got more defined. Ink took over one of Miles arms as tattoos came into place, giving this new Zeusian identity added life. Lastly, dark curls spilled over his head as the storm collapsed in on him. The dark clouds turned white, and circled around his skin, until it was fabric, a pristine toga. The lightning froze around his head, turned into gold; a glinting stephanos. Sparks stopped at his ear and shined like diamonds. The wind died. The skies were clear. No storm in sight.

Mr. Bronte woke up to a man, who bore a strong resemblance to his son.

“Oh yeah, Zeus is back in charge!” He flexed his body, pressing and feeling the hard muscle.

“Miles?” Mr. Bronte asked.

The god looked over to the man that had helped his soul be reborn. On second thought, it now made sense that Mr. Bronte would be the herald of Zeus’ next coming. A prelude of the potential Zeus could unleash from within himself.

“Zeus, actually. You know the Greek king of gods. Lord of lighting.” The new man smiled, flashing his white perfect teeth. Then he began to walk away, no other words on his mind.

“Wait, what happened to Miles?” Mr. Bronte asked.

Zeus stopped walking, and turned back, “You should understand, Mr. Bronte,” The god placed one of his hands on the man that swallowed Mr. Bronte’s shoulder. “Your son, ‘Miles’ was nothing more than the annoying work of some trickster gods to depower and humble my soul. There never was a Miles just a ZEUS who had been enchanted to believe so.”

“That’s not true!” Mr. Bronte talked back to the god. “I was there when I made him, when my wife gave birth. Every sick day and diaper.”

Zeus scratched his head, “Well, yeah that’s what happens when they make my soul inhabit an actual body for reincarnation.”

“Can’t you bring him back?”

Zeus laughed, lighting in his eyes, “Do you really think I could bring you son back from THIS!” He flexed his powerful muscles showing off every inch. Humongous didn't even begin to cover it. It was simply impossible for Zeus to fit into who Miles had been. “However,” Zeus stuck another pose for Mr. Bronte, “If it's a son you want. As repayment for my return, I could help you with that.” The gods' eyes landed on the bulge pointed towards him. Perhaps Mr. Bronte was the herald of Zeus’ next ‘cumming’ in more ways than one. Time for Zeus to start propagating once again.