For a few seconds, the glaring rising sun blinds my eyes, declaring the start of the dawn’s rise over the mountain range I lay upon and I am in bliss, pain-free. Yes, blinding sunlight is a natural occurrence I consider pain free. A sole moment of respite I can embrace. A second later, a shadow is cast over me like a cloud shielding the sun although not nearly as welcome as that natural occurrence. The darkening wingspan rapidly soars closer signalling another day of pain. The familiar screech of my tormentor echoes on the wind, filling me with the usual dread. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut as I have done for centuries and if never forgiven my crime, edging into eternity. Defying Zeus is never rewarded.

My nemesis, Aetos the Caucasian Eagle, the fell spawn of Echidna, swoops. I am pinned further against my prison rock by the gale generated from the whipping of the beast’s all-encompassing golden wings as it slows to descend to administer my continuing punishment. Landing on my upper thigh, large wickedly curving talons half encircle my titan-sized leg, the razor-sharp keratin of each puncturing my skin. This beast then gouges eight deep furrows into my immortal flesh releasing a torrent of blood from each incision while positioning itself comfortably on its flesh roost. I bear this small pain, the stinging, and aches insignificant compared to what is to transpire. I stifle my shudder as best I can, refusing to show this beast my fear.

Despite how familiar I am with this event, my muscles still tense as Aetos launches his beak at my abdomen, his maxilla, and mandible digging past my muscle to reach his prize. I scream. I bellow. I howl. My vocal cords tear themselves apart to accommodate me. Aetos ignores me; after centuries of my torment, my screams are white noise to him. The beast is meticulously pecking through the open wound to consume my liver in tiny morsels. Each minute portion savoured by Aetos, my punishment continuing until dusk – my screams echoing throughout the Caucasian mountain range.

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Aetos consumes my liver with a final peck, in perfect synchronization with the sunset after many centuries of practice. I brace for the beast’s launch; his talons releasing my thighs roughly ripping more furrows into my flesh. Aetos’ task now complete, his wings thumping and whooshing to lift off pin me flat to the rock ensuring one of his wingtips catches me thoroughly in the face. A petty yet unavoidable insult I force myself to endure without the possibility of payback. The talon wounds heal first, a consequence of my immortality and the subsequent pain I can ignore. My liver though is cursed to heal slowly to the silent beat of the night, recovers painfully, each minute portion regrowing until completely restored at dawn. I am awake through it all, the cycle of pain and punishment continuing.

Unknown to my tormentor and its master I harness the pain for another purpose. Each manacle on my wrist and ankle I exert to my purpose, timing the crashing of the manacles with my screams. My howls of pain mask the violence of the unbreakable manacles crushing the basalt rock of the mountain, which is my eternal bed. Hephaestus’ creations, his unbreakable manacles are secure and impervious to my efforts, they are my tool now, and the mountain is the raw material.

Zeus’ punishment of me, excessive and unfair, ‘I am a Titan!’. The humans, my creation from clay, who now worship him and his ill-gotten brood of a family tree and invest them with more unneeded power and undeserved loyalty. Family tree, more like a family weed, the pest on a vine in the wonderful garden of this world. I have conceived a plan and over the centuries I have refined and reviewed, I will have the one opportunity and no more. Zeus has never been generous with foes, I lament my dead kin, my follow Titans.

I remember and collect myself before the dawn, this is a momentary interval, when the pain from healing is ebbing and mercilessly before the arrival of my punisher, Aetos at the dawn of the day. My liver contains my knowledge and my self-being, without it I cannot dream, and I cannot create, now I admit to you the true cruelty of my penance. I remember how I fashioned clay to create man and woman in the image of the Gods and the Goddesses to honour them and they were pleased. I breathed life into the clay creating man and woman who would worship the Gods and the Gods were doubly pleased. When I granted my human creations; skills and abilities from the Olympians to support their survival, as would any benefactor, the Gods, Zeus in particular scorned me.

Misreading and underestimating their fervour toward me, I stole the secret of fire for my creations from the divine workshop of Hephaestus. Now you appreciate why the manacles, which bind me to this mountain are unbreakable and why he willingly created them. The manacles secure me in place to expose my body for Zeus’ minion Aetos, who visits daily to chastise me. The pain disrupts my thoughts, and the loss of my liver shatters my self-being, therefore I needed to train myself over the centuries to react with a simple automatic response. With every scream, I automatically slam the manacles binding each of my limbs against the mountain.

Many centuries pass before I am ready before I accumulate enough crushed basalt stone under each of the manacles from the constant hammering. Basalt is not clay, yet for my plan to succeed, I need to make do.

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Finally, a pre-dawn arrives when I consider I am ready to enact my plan. During the pre-dawn, my pain is uncomfortable although bearable. Uniquely during the pre-dawn, my liver is near whole, allowing my emotions, dreams and creativity to imbue my new creation with a spirit, yes, I am going to create a new human, a stronger human, a resilient human. In the pre-dawn, I hope to acquire the time to create before Aetos, my punisher returns.

I begin, burying each hand and each foot into the centuries of accumulated powdered basalt. Calling upon my titanic will, I draw the grains in four dry flowing streams to my abdomen stacking the precious substance, building and melding grain upon grain upon me. The clay image of my previous creation resides within me, and I repurpose the design to account for my incomplete liver and the distraction of the healing pain still assaulting my body. I create a female, from her others will procreate and bloom.

She falls upon me. My creation is basalt, shiny, and glass-like, her weight crushing as I lose a breath from my lungs. A shadow casts across me and it signals Aetos’ return, although joyfully too late. He grasps my thigh like previously while his wings buffet me. He is screaming, my creation has fallen across my liver, the basalt deflecting his attempts and frustrating him. Aetos then tries to grasp my creation in its claws and lift it away. My knees clasp together striving to keep my creation in place. Unable to lift it away, denied access to deal its punishment on me, I laugh at the thrashing and frustrated bird dancing around me or hopping upon my creation. The eagle’s additional weight punishing and crushing, to draw breath, a struggle yet I fight to ensure my mocking laughter continues.

I tauntingly laugh as I observe the bird trying again to clasp the legs of my creation, to drag her wonderfully formed ebony body away from me. My tormentor is too weak, as I deliberately and enthusiastically position my body and legs to hinder the beast further frustrating it. Ordinarily, as a Titan by definition, my body would lie across the entire Caucasus Mountains; Zeus as King of the Gods humbled me further, reducing my height to a pitiful six metres to equal the wingspan of Aetos the Caucasian Eagle. He didn’t remove my strength or my weight, both of which I leverage to thwart Aetos.

Aetos screeches and screams its frustration at me, jabbing its beak at my face. Its beak is adjacent to my right eye and I fear losing it, although I realise the orb will regenerate, the threat of loss still assaults me, reinforced by the carrion breath of the beast as it reaches deep when screeching to expel its pent up frustration. I laugh, hundreds of years I suffered waiting for this moment. The beast’s wing buffet wakes me from my revelry and reminds me I must act. The sun’s morning rays blind me and I realise Zeus’ agent flies to its master to complain.

I examine my creation.

Character Sheet:

Name: None Spirit: Empty

Culture: Greek Mythos Body: Basalt

Race: Unnamed Soul: Broken

My creation is not alive, no spirit exists within. Polished basalt surface, solid basalt interior, a human statue of a perfect female in appearance, and proportion. How did I fail? Perhaps my liver is still not fully healed, not complete in the pre-dawn and therefore unable to complete my creation with the gift of life.

A new bright and brilliant day is upon me, with no tormentor my liver and body are Titan pristine. I gaze upon the glossy black finished face of my creation. I draw spirit from my complete liver and breathe life into my creation and observe.

The polished basalt gives and flows, the statue upon me softens minutely. Limbs stretch and test themselves discovering effort and purpose although mechanically with jarring movements uncoordinated. Her movements are ignorant of me as they punch and jab into my flesh and the pain they cause. The pain is nothing to me as my joy ignores everything during my celebration. My eyes meet her golden orbs. The small amount of gold I found while crushing basalt I gathered specifically to decorate her eyes. Our eyes lock, she is unnerved, awakened to new life, innocent and unworldly. She is an empty vessel, with no knowledge, no skills, no talents, and no purpose.

I stare into her being using her eyes as a gateway, checking, to assure myself her spirit is complete.

Character Sheet:

Name: None Spirit: Human

Culture: Greek Mythos Body: Living Basalt

Race: Human Superior Soul: Broken, Empty

Hominine Essence: L10 Sentient Dominate: 10%

She attempts to rise, and I turn my head side to side hoping she stays. I don’t assume she understands, although she pauses confused, remarkably her black stone skin wrinkles slightly on her forehead. I am amazed the powdered basalt my current creation consists of, proves malleable for facial expression. I wasn’t sure, I hoped, of course, and the confirmation on display before my eyes warms my heart with joy to bursting! My first creations were formed from clay, clay is a material more suitable for accepting the breath of life, which is why I utilised it. Clay grants supple skin enabling the facial expression and body language movements required by civilisation and civilised people.

I stare deeper into her being now using her eyes as a gateway, checking, and searching for her soul.

Her soul exists; although damaged or incomplete, I cannot determine. I weep and her eyes open wider, startled perhaps from witnessing tears for the first time in her existence. Her soul is a glimmer, I worry not enough. She is not human, and she is not a monster. With this trifle of soul available, she could exist as an animal, perhaps a pet like a cat or a dog, then again perhaps what exists within her is insufficient and her soul is equivalent to that of a plant. No time to weep, as I am certain my punisher, the beast Aetos is now protesting and complaining to Zeus.

I must complete the Soul Container of my creation and then fill it with Humanity and Civilisation before his arrival prevents the second greatest creation of my life, from being completed.