“Looks like the details are finally in. We now have more information regarding the horrifying tragedy that struck Los Angeles California days ago. If you somehow haven't heard by now, days before, a massive explosion abruptly overtook the California State city and left no trace of a civilization existing prior. Not a single survivor could be found. Experts say the destructive force behind it was at least the equivalent of THREE nuclear bombs, if not more.” The news reporter transitions into the biggest story of the day yet and makes sure to set the tone with a gut-punching opener to every household tuning in.
“Goodness… More powerful than three nukes? Was it one of those superpowered beings?”, Misses Luthur questions from the kitchen as she stirs a large bowl of pancake batter.
“That, or one of those supposed Olympian Gods I've been hearing talk of lately.” Mister Luthur responds, giving a guess of his own in turn as he sits, observing the news with a solemn frown. It's at this time that the 23-year-old in the house known as Tyson Luthur makes his way downstairs, hoping to break his habit of dwelling in sadness and locking himself away inside his own bedroom. However, he's in for a reminder of that dreadful day his biological father confronted him. In fact, the news coverage on the living room TV makes him freeze in his tracks just as he makes it down to the bottom of the stairs.
“We now look toward the satellite recording of what took place after the explosion–” The anchorwoman proceeds and a display of a video feed from an overhead view begins playing. The camera seems to scan the smoldering location that used to be Los Angeles city until it finally catches sight of two individuals. A man in a gaudy robe and gold accessories, and another male dressed in black and vibrant green.
“Though no audio could be picked up, it's just about clear enough to see that this seems to be a violent confrontation, and that one of the parties involved is none other than America's very own Righteous Lad.” The news reporter explains as the video plays. The footage soon displays the man in fanciful clothes tossing the Samaritan away into the shallow pool of lava beneath their feet, the brief moment of secondary contact that follows, and then him taking off into the sky. It's all it takes for Tyson to suddenly drop to his knees and limply lean against the wall beside him as he hangs his head.
“Hm?” Upon hearing a thump and rustling of fabric sliding against a surface, Mister Luthur turns in his seat to look toward the source of the noise.
“What was that?” Misses Luthur questions as she pauses her task and looks to her right.
“Tyson.” Her husband answers. The man of the house rises out of his seat upon drinking in the pitiful sight of the young man sitting on his knees with a doll-like expression on his face. He spares a moment to reach for the remote and switch the TV off with a button, then sets the device back down as he begins approaching Tyson.
“Son, what's gotten into you?” He simply asks. His tone holding genuine curiosity. During, the mother listens intently.
“...My fault. It's my fault…” Tyson murmurs his words. Unable to catch the response, Mister Luthur treads closer and takes a knee in front of the male falling into a mental well of despair.
“What? Can you speak up for me, Tyson? Did something happen?” The father inquires.
“It was my fault.” Tyson repeats himself. This time loud enough to be heard clearly. A look of mild shock appears on the older man's face.
“...What was your fault?” Mister Luthur prods again after a small pause.
“Those people died because of me… I… I killed them.” Tyson utters with a raspy voice, his bright green eyes finally centering upon his redhead of a father. The latter stares in silence and fairly wide eyes, seemingly unsure of what to say. However, Tyson proceeds to speak his thoughts further while his brows furrow with distress.
“That guy… Righteous Lad, is me. And I… I let that happen. It happened… because I didn't keep my mouth shut.”
“Well, I guess I'll firstly start by addressing the elephant in the room. Son? I- WE already knew you were Righteous Lad.” Mister Luthur informs. It's then that Misses Luthur sets her bowl of dough down and walks over to join the two.
“You… You knew? For how long?” Tyson questions.
“Since the beginning.” The mother answers as she comes to stand beside the father.
“We figured you were going to tell us eventually. Though, I did insist that we respect your privacy as a man and trust that you knew what you were doing.” Mister Luthur elaborates.
“But how?” Tyson asks.
“Son… It's not like you wear a mask with your getup. We can see your face. I'd literally have to be blind not to realize that it's been my son making a name for himself and appearing on the news for the last five years.” Mister Luthur answers.
“A-ah… fair point.” Tyson comments while averting his eyes.
“Now, what's this about those people dying being your fault?” The mother shifts focus onto the far more significant subject at hand. The three move to sit on the living room furniture and Tyson explains to them what transpired six days ago.
“--And then the next thing I knew, I couldn't fly and I was walking through what felt like a volcanic wasteland.” Tyson concludes his explanation of the event to his parents.
“He did all that… because one of his other sons found out about his affair?” The mother questions.
“Pretty much. I guess he didn't…” Tyson pauses as he thinks on his next choice of words. Despite the very undeniable tragedy of millions of lives lost that day, a part of him wanted to avoid assuming the worst.
“Maybe he didn't realize what he was doing. Maybe he struggled with controlling his powers growing up too and didn't have anyone to mentor him.”
“I'd be willing to humor that excuse to a certain degree, IF he wasn't an old man. He's had at least hundreds of years to realize what consequences will follow when giving into his emotions. Even YOU realized that at a much younger age. You grew up all of your life with an unfathomable amount of strength. You kept growing stronger as you grew, and even to this day, your self-control is so great that I literally forget you have powers sometimes.” The father counter argues.
“...So, you think he's just… Evil?” Tyson questions.
“Doesn't matter if he technically is or isn't, quite frankly. The same goes for the other Gods who came to this country. I haven't seen what they've done for myself, but if this Apollo fellow is a prime example of what to expect, then they're all a severe danger to human life. They've all probably grown up with very little discipline in their lives, and constantly receive validation. They're likely nukes with massive egos. They all need to be deported. Heh. If you can even convince walking weapons of mass destruction to leave to begin with…” Mister Luthur explains.
“Surely SOMETHING can be implemented to help them assimilate into modern society. After all, there's many people with powers, including our son, living around the world.” Misses Luthur reasons.
“While that is true, I haven't heard of any Experiment or Power Inheritor having powers that are stronger than three nuclear bombs. Sure, our son survived the explosion and he's still healthy as he was before that ordeal, but everyone else who COULDN'T survive something like that was killed within a snap of a finger. What safety measures can be put in place to defend against that? We can't simply pray and hope that they all conveniently decide to undergo some form of social training to learn restraint and not lash out against another three million of us.” Mister Luthur counters.
“Yeah, I think you're right. But… What should I do?” Tyson inquires.
“...An example must be made. That Apollo fella either has to be buried under a prison for a lifetime, or executed. I'm not going to tell you to go hunt down and kill the guy, but maybe see if you can find some way to dissuade him from ever coming back or ever doing anything like that ever again.” Is the father's honest answer.
“Alexander… It sounds as if you're advising our son to go play 'police’... What good do you think will come of that?” The mother chimes in with a disapproving frown.
“Honey, he already does go out and serves as a sort of ‘civil cop’. Maybe it'd be best to approach the government for a method, but something has to be done. There's no safety in rolling over, belly up. Any of them will just believe they can get away with taking more lives in a similar fashion.” The father shrugs his shoulders with a stoic expression. At this moment, sits with his head hanging. Frowning to himself as he ponders on the best course of action. After a moment, he just barely makes a decision.
“...I'll see what I can do. I'll confront him and see if I can get Captain Righteous’ help coming up with a method for dealing with Olympians.” Tyson informs the two before rising up, bawling his hands into fists as he heads toward the stairs.
“Just… Please, be careful, Tyson,” Misses Luthur pleas.
“I will, mom.” Within the next 10 minutes, of which seven he spends taking a shower, he prepares to make a trip to the Church of Zeus, where the literal gateway to the realm of the Greek Gods and one of the pathways to Mount Olympus lies. Instead of his Samaritan suit, because he personally feels this isn't much of a heroic deed, he decides to wear an attire consisting of a blue t-shirt, red sporty wristbands, an enchanted pair of black high-top converse shoes given to him by his biological mother on his 18th birthday, and a pair of black jeans with a belt upholding them. However, he at least does also slip on a black track jacket bearing his symbol of a green decal of the US flag. Then, he heads back down stairs to take his leave through the front door.
Just as Tyson descends the steps of his home's porch, someone descends toward the ground at high speed and lands gracefully just as the hero reaches the bottom of the steps. The sudden arrival startles Tyson and makes him pause where he stands. Meanwhile, the kneeling figure, whose arms are spread at a curving angle like the wings of an eagle, rises to stand with not only a warm smile on his face, but with a proper posture.
“Yu Ess…” Tyson utters the young man's name.
“Righteous Lad! Funny meeting you here, my friend. We need to have a talk.” The male informs. He stands at exactly 5’10 foot tall, complexion a medium shade of chocolate, physique lean yet toned beneath his fitting white Samaritan suit, his hair a color of jet black and quite curly, but a detail that stands out the most about him is the curious fact that he keeps his eyes closed most of the time.
“I don't suppose we can chat another time? I've got to take care of a few really important things today and maybe even for the rest of this week.” Tyson suggests, unable to put aside his mission for possible idle chit chat. Then again, Yu Ess isn't exactly known to drop by anyone's home unannounced, especially when it's a matter that doesn't have the government's attention.
“Ooooh, you certainly do, R.L.” Yu Ess responds as his toothy smile dims to a simple grin. Upon his words, the 29 feet long presidential limousine pulls up in front of the house. As if perfectly aware of all of his surroundings despite keeping his eyes shut, Yu Ess moves to stand near it and open the passenger door, turning his head toward Tyson when he does.
“Why don't I give you a ride? We can talk on the way to wherever it is you're off to.” Is the offer given. Tyson slightly frowns a bit with skepticism.
“Where I'm going is way too far.” Tyson informs.
“Nowhere is too far for this magnificent machine. Just tell me where.” Yu Ess assures.
“...The Church of Zeus. In Olympia, Greece…” Tyson tells him.
“Wow… that's pretty far. Very far from home, in fact.” Yu Ess remarks with an expression of surprise upon his face.
“Yeah… it is.”
“But like I said, nowhere is too far. Get in!” Yu Ess insists with enthusiasm and a resurfacing smile.
“I really think it'd be a lot quicker if–”, Tyson tries to place forth yet another argument. However -
“My fellow American… won't you allow me to give you a ride?” - Yu Ess interrupts with a request while seemingly appealing to their common ground of being citizens of the US. It's then that Tyson's brows begin to twitch as his solemn expression softens. Not only that, but the priority within his mind shifts. Suddenly, taking a ride with his loose associate seems far more urgent than confronting his biological father.
“...Sure, man. Anything for you.” Those are the words that leave Tyson's lips after a long pause and just a second before he walks over to enter the vehicle. Yu Ess climbs in after him and shuts the door.
“Just let me type in the coordinates for the driiiveeeer…” Yu Ess reaches up to carefully pull down a compartment in the ceiling to reveal a built-in GPS computer system. He types in the location Righteous Lad gave him moments before, using the computer's small keyboard. Once he's done, he hits enter and shuts the compartment again. Several seconds later, the limo begins moving.
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“There! Now then… Not to use mere rumors against you, but I hear you're responsible for our new undocumented guests. You know, the Olympians. What say you, Righteous Lad?”
“It's… at least fair to say. I didn't tell them to come here, but my stories about my life did make them curious enough to visit. That's what they've told me.” Tyson answers as honestly as he possibly can.
“I seeeeee. Quite the darndest thing, huh? And by your admission, you are the most responsible for them being here. With that in mind, regardless of how guilty you do or do not feel, I hope you're aware that these people pose a national threat to the country. These are living beings that can bring an end to all life with the greatest of ease.” Yu Ess explains.
“Yeah… Yeah, I know and you're absolutely right.” Tyson admits as he furrows his brows.
“Now, the government can TRY to put together an elite task force to handle these 'special’ illegals, but knowing what happened to Los Angeles? Hehahaa. I'm disturbed and incredibly nervous about the consequences of turning the country into a warzone. If one of them can erase an entire city on their own… What real hope do we as a nation really have? We've begun looking into finding effective means to defend our home from grim possibilities, but who knows how long it could take before we strike gold? In the meantime, I need YOU to join a specialized team in dealing with them.” Yu Ess shares, still wearing that simple and warm grin as he does.
“I did plan on contacting Captain Righteous to figure out a way to handle them after I return, so I'm already sold on the idea. I'll help in any way I can.” Tyson assures.
“Nice! I had a hunch that I could count on you to see reason.” Yu Ess praises as he flashes his pearly whites. Just then, the presidential limo comes to a gentle stop.
“Oh. Looks like we've made it to your destination.”
“Huh?” A look of confusion takes form upon Tyson's face. In disbelief, he scoots toward a window to peer outside through it. What he sees makes his eyes go wide.
“We… we really are here”. He concedes. Afterwards, he whips his head around toward Yu Ess.
“But how? We weren't going THAT fast at all.”
“Hey, this is the US presidential limousine. It's running on American Ambition to get the job done.” Yu Ess explains matter-of-factly.
“Wha… that doesn't explain how at all.” Tyson remarks.
“What else can I say? There was a destination and it needed to be done… And the president's limo got the job done.” Comes yet another unspecific answer from the other.
“I–... Sure. I guess that's all that really matters. Thanks for the ride.” Tyson gives his gratitude and proceeds to exit the vehicle, stepping out to stand in front of the Church of Zeus. One of few ways to reach Mount Olympus. Or rather, to enter through the dimensional veil that separates the realm of the Olympian Gods from the rest of the world.
“No problem! Take care, okay? Hope to see you back home in a week or under!” And with those parting words, the door shuts and after a short moment, the limo begins to take its leave. Curious, Tyson turns to watch the presidential limo drive off and see just exactly how it covers so much ground so quickly. Or rather, he would've done so, but it's nowhere in sight.
“That's… weird. Does it teleport?” Tyson murmurs the question to himself. Not dwelling on the mystery behind Yu Ess and the President's Limo for too long, he shifts his focus back to his mission. He climbs up the building's stairs and enters through his large redwood doors that creak noisily as he pushes them apart. Inside, he travels down the center and the thin maroon rug that lays atop of the white stone flooring as wooden wide seats neatly fill the spaces to his left and right. He heads beyond the altar and heads through the left wide walkway tunnel that goes on for about 12 feet before a platinum gate obscures the path forward.
Looking through it, one will see a long narrow stone bridge on the other side that just seems to lead to a grassy hill. However, that's merely an illusion put in place by the God Zeus, as told to him by his half brother. Tyson approaches the stainless gate, lowers into a squat as he hooks his fingers underneath and around the golden bar near the spikes of the gates that touch the ground, and lifts with a grunt. The sound of steel whines loudly until there's a ‘'CLICK’ noise when the young man lifts it high above his head. It holds in place long enough for him to walk forward. As he leaves out of the tunnel and steps through a liquidly veil that removes him from the Realm of Mortals and into the Realm of The Gods, the gate slams shut once more. The bridge from before is now a 5 mile long and curving pathway that leads up to the grand city of the Olympian Gods.
[ Front Pathway to Mount Olympus ]
[The Rear Side & Edge of Mount Olympus]
[ West Side of Mount Olympus ]
With a scowl of determination, Tyson bawls his hands into fists and takes off into a mad dash. Though he no longer possesses the ability to fly, nor his other gifts from the Sun, he's still quite nimble on his feet and capable of traveling up to 101mph. An incredible display of speed that gets him to the first step of the stairs leading up to the fort-like structure, that serves the purpose of obscuring access to the city, in under 25 seconds. He ascends those stone stairs and passes through the open pathway into the city. Once within the pedestrian region where not-so-famous deities reside in large & nice homes, he travels along the dirt zigzagging path that leads up to the largest structure in town. A fanciful decagon-shaped building that serves as a museum of sorts for Olympus’ history and origins. However, Tyson circles around the 80-feet tall obstacle instead of going through to reach a region further in the city. Once there, he brings himself to a skidding halt. From running, the young man proceeds to walk through the marvelous city instead to avoid possibly being a nuisance. Marble flooring lays beneath his feet and throughout the depths of Olympus, providing the faint sound of his sneakers thumping upon its surface with every anxious step he takes. Ahead stands a fanciful water fountain that's 20x20 in yards with a 25-feet tall statue of Zeus standing at the center of it. The stone model stands proudly in a toga with its right arm across its middle and left extending diagonally up with its palm out, though instead of begging, it allows an endless flow of neatly spilling water to descend from its open hand like silky curtains and into the shallow stone bowl of aqua beneath its pedestal. Coincidentally, it's just when he begins looking around with keen eyes does he see the man he's looking for coming out of a building down the left 'road’, conversing with three other men while doing so.
“Hey… HEY!” Tyson calls out as he walks as quickly as he can to close the distance between himself and his biological father. His voice fails to intervene until the third time he makes an effort.
“Apollo!” The uttering of that name draws the attention of all four men, and while three of them stare with aloof looks and mild curiosity, the respective owner of the name practically glares at whom he comes to lay eyes upon yet again.
“YOU? Be gone, pest. I've had enough of thou for the rest of my lifetime.” The Sun Deity dismisses firmly and turns his back to his bastard son to continue on his way. His companions - or rather, his relatives - find themselves struck with a contagious case of ever-growing interest in the mystery between Apollo and the young man. There's Hades, the uncle of the Sun God, who stands at the height of 6’8 with long hair of brilliant white, skin a palish gray, soft illuminating amethyst eyes, a lean physique, gold jewelry adorning his arms & neck, a black toga on his upper body, fitting leather pants on his legs, and boot-like sandals on his feet.
image [https://files.catbox.moe/madjwh.png]
Hercules, Apollo's half brother, the strongest man alive who stands at 6’7, skin of olive, hair short & black, a thick beard on his face, muscular in stature, eyes a neon shade of orangey-yellow color, a black toga of his own, steel bracers on his forearms, and black wool pants tucked into a pair of knee-high spartan boots.
image [https://files.catbox.moe/ln6ed4.png]
And lastly, there's Hermes. The messenger of the Olympian Gods, the fastest man alive, and a son of Zues who stands at 6’3 in height, possesses a head of short blonde hair, the fairest skin of the bunch, eyes of a brilliant blue shade, a lean frame, a white sleeveless top with a cape flowing behind it, snug britches on his legs, leather bracers on his wrists, and boots each with a set of small platinum wings on them.
“The foreigner from before? Pray, brother… Why does this young fellow seem to always return to your kin upon his visits?” Hercules questions while stroking at his chin beneath his thick beard.
“I haven't the slightest clue…” Apollo promptly responds without stopping in his tracks.
“Ah, and you aren't curious as to why, dear brother?” Hermes teasingly questions, arching a brow and grinning toward his older sibling. It's then that Tyson comes passing the three Olympians and quickly catches up to Apollo, trailing behind the dismissive deity.
“I need to talk to you. Will you just stop for a moment?” The American Samaritan requests of Apollo.
“No. Begone, peasant… Olympus is no place for the likes of you.” The older deity responds firmly as he hustles with faster steps.
“It's important, okay? I didn't come to ask for your forgiveness or to stay in this city. I came to confront YOU.” Tyson informs.
“I have nothing to say to thou. Remove yourself from this holy city and never return again, boy.” Apollo asserts stubbornly, quickly chipping away at Tyson's patience tremendously. The 23-year-old stops in his tracks finally and makes his hands into fists.
“I'm not going anywhere until you answer for the lives you callously took in Los Angeles city! Turn and face me like a man. You don't get to walk away from every bad decision in your life and pretend it'll just up and disappear one day.” Tyson lectures with his frustration bleeding through his tone. It's such words that makes Apollo stop in place, as well. The Sun God turns his head to glare over his shoulder at the samaritan.
“Who do you think you are…?” A rhetorical question spills from Apollo's lips before he fully turns in place to not only face Tyson, but also approach the young man. Heat begins emitting from his mere presence as his anger accumulates. During, his siblings aren't too far behind as they watch the display - not just them, but also other divine Gods & Goddesses of Olympus in the area.
“I am the son of Zues! God & Lord of the sun that brings light to your days! And a Prince of Olympus City! Who are YOU to command me, lowly vermin!?” Apollo barks as his golden eyes grow brighter and fume with threatening burning fury, now towering over the 5’11 hero.
The Sun God himself stands at the height of 6’5 with a warm ivory complexion and his hair long enough to reach the center of his back within its slick back fashion while possessing a medium brown color for the most part & caramel highlights that run streaks through his kempt mane. His physique is lean under the quality brown robe with actual gold fragments highlighting its collar and the edge of its sleeves, that he wears over a black & brown tunic shirt, and on his legs he wears fairly loose black wool pants that tuck into a pair of brown spartan boots.
image [https://files.catbox.moe/brswzx.png]
“...A murderer is what you are. Those people didn't deserve to die. I don't care how angry you were and are, the innocent lives you took that day had nothing to do with what should've been kept between the two of us.” Tyson stands his ground and meets Apollo's fuming glare with a solemn frown of his own. It's a retort that makes Apollo arch a brow in confusion until it finally clicks within his thoughts.
“...You refer to the mortals?” Apollo questions.
“YES. The HUMAN BEINGS that you wiped out across the entire city in your fit of rage…” Tyson answers.
“And you feel I should care? Don't be ridiculous, boy… They'll regrow in numbers in due time. They served no greater purpose in their lives, nothing of significance was lost.” The Sun God asserts.
“That wasn't for you to decide! Children, women, and hard working fathers… Gone in a blink of an eye! You had no right to steal their futures or to bring ruin to the city. What you did was pure evil and unforgivable.” Tyson retorts.
“You have no one but yourself to blame! Thou shall not receive an apology from me this day, or the next day, or the 50th day after the previous. You wasted your time coming here.” Apollo informs while raising his nose at the hero. A moment of silence creeps in as the two stare daggers at each other.
“Perhaps I'm mistaken, but something tells me that stranger is no mere foreigner…” Hades comments from where he stands while adopting a contemplative frown and crossing his arms.
“Yes, and it's a notion that I too share, Hades.” Hermes responds to his uncle's theory.
“Hmph. Apollo seems to be short on luck and pleasant days this fall.” Hercules adds while grinning, taking amusement in his brother's displeasure. Then finally, that silent staring competition between the two comes to an end.
“...Then swear to me that you will NEVER return to America. Do that and I'll be on my way.” Tyson proposes to the Sun deity.
“I will swear no such thing, especially to a miserable pest like you. Leave or don't… but I am certainly done with YOU.” Apollo responds before turning to walk away. A sense of defeat creeps into Tyson's mind at that moment. What more can he possibly do? He inhales, then exhales in sadness. Though, he thinks back to the conversation with his parents, and then the exact words his father said: “We can't simply pray and hope that they all conveniently decide to undergo some form of social training to learn restraint and not lash out against another three million of us”.
Then the memory of that dreadful day plays within his mind. Anger builds and pushes back against the feeling of uselessness threatening to devour him again. Accepting this wouldn't solve anything. An example has to be made, a point needs to be realized. With that in mind, Tyson tightens his fists and pursues Apollo.
“HEY, I'M NOT THROUGH WITH YOU YET!” Tyson shouts to grab the other's attention. An effort that proves successful.
“Tch! You're wasting your–” KROOOOM!!! The moment the Sun God stops in place and turns his head, an incoming lunging fist meets his cheek with tremendous force that sends Apollo rocketing away into the distance, much to the shock of the Olympian Gods laying witness to it. The blow is so mighty, that the sun deity smashes through a tall statue in the midst of his involuntary projection before colliding and breaking in half one of many pillars of a building that stops his momentum, leading to him collapsing face-down on the floor. As Apollo grunts with gritting teeth and pushes himself up into a kneeling posture, a fairly heavy thump of footwear landing nearby draws his attention. Who he sees approaching from 25-feet away is none other than his assaulter, Tyson, and immediately he snares with sheer anger.
“You… YOU!? You would DARE!...” The deity pauses mid-question until he rises up to his feet, eyes giving off a blazing glow that resembles the sun's radiance.
“Strike ME!?” He barks at the American.
“You're darn right I would. If you won't listen to reason, then I'LL JUST BEAT SOME SENSE INTO THAT THICK HEAD OF YOURS! YOU DON'T JUST GET TO HAVE YOUR WAY WHILE TRAMPLING OVER OTHERS WITH YOUR CLUMSY DECISIONS!!!” Righteous Lad shouts at the top of his lungs with clenching fists that tremble within his own climbing rage. In the next instant, he kicks off from walking to charge Apollo down at full speed.
“YOU INSOLENT BRAT!!” Apollo shouts in turn and simultaneously shoots off dual blasts of solar lasers thick as baseball bats from his fuming eyes, swiftly meeting his mark and sending the young man soaring back and down the long path behind him.
“Guuh!?” Tyson's eyes widen the moment those intensely hot laser-beams meet the center of his chest and push him away until his back collides into a building. Grimacing, he instinctively reaches to palm a hand over his chest. He sucks in a sharp breath of air when his palm meets the startlingly scorching hot hole in his shirt and the flesh behind it - a sensation he doesn't recall feeling since his days in grade school.
“Did that actually burn me!?” He asks in disbelief. A question he doesn't have time to ponder on; when he looks forward again, Apollo is in the midst of flying at him at high speed. It's a tackle he's not quick enough to dodge and one that rams him right through that building and out of it on the opposite side, continuing on until the calves of the sculpture of Zues stops any further advancement.
“You've had far too many chances, boy! Today I rid myself of you!” Apollo claims while pinning Righteous Lad in place by pressing his left forearm across the hero's throat. Yet again, the Sun God's eyes illuminate sunlight to prepare another discharge of solar vision.
“K-kah… Nn-not…. Today…!” Righteous Lad barely gets out with his windpipe bearing the pressure of Apollo's aggression, though he's swift & limber enough to bend his knees, lifting them up to his stomach before shove-kicking his adversary away. The separation allows him to land on his feet and disrupt Apollo's attack. Just briefly though. The Sun God flies back through the hole in the building and takes a swing at the hero with a diagonal hook - an attempt Righteous Lad manages to sway and step out of the way of, leading to Apollo smashing fragments off the legs of the statue instead. Quick to retaliate before the other recovers, Righteous Lad slams a thrusting kick into the Olympian's side and sends him thrashing into a building 20-yards away. The young man steps down from the pedestal the statue stands on and waddles his way through the knee-deep fountain of water to reach his adversary.
The whole time, the other deities continuously gather around to observe the bout between the two men while murmuring amongst themselves. No cheers, no utterance of disapproval, just a mixture of mild amusement and curiosity.
SPLASH!
Apollo, quick as sunlight itself, finally makes use of his blitzing speed to close the gap between himself and the American hero before the latter realizes what's going, ascends into the air with a hand around the young man's throat, and descends down to slam his bastard son into the fountains water. In utter rage, Apollo mounts a knee atop of Righteous Lad's torso while using both hands to both strangle and keep the hero's head under the water.
“I've got you now, you good-for-nothing nuisance!” Apollo hisses through his gritting teeth as the other struggles underneath him. The Samaritan kicks and splashes while also trying to pry the set of hands off his throat. When that bears no fruit, Tyson reaches up with the intent of shoving the other off of him, but discovers that there's just too much room between his hands and Apollo's torso to push effectively. Though, there's still one last option in the hero's utility. Something he's been actively avoiding using for years.
Righteous Lad's left hand extends and aims its respective palm at the Sun God's face, then he unleashes his secondary power. FWOOOOOSSSSSSHHHHHH!!!
A blast of green fire discharges from the hero's hand like a flamethrower and assaults Apollo's face relentlessly.
“G-G-GUH!! COOOLLD!!!” Apollo bellows as he turns his head and tightly shuts his eyes as the mystical flame engulfs the upper half of his body and entire head within its deathly chilling caress. However, their squabble finally comes to an end at the sudden crackle of thunder that hits the ground nearby.
The display gives off light that briefly blinds everyone in the immediate area before a deep and commanding voice makes itself heard.
“What in Tartarus is going on here!?” In the next moment, the spectators see none other than Zeus holding Apollo by the arm with his right hand and holding the American Hero up by the back of his shirt and jacket upon separating them.
“This… nuisance of a BOY assaulted me!” Apollo exclaims.
“You attacked me and MURDERED hundreds of thousands of innocent people first!” Righteous Lad barks in turn.
“You incited my wrath!” Apollo shouts a retort.
“Enough!” Zeus commands before dropping the foreigner upon the ground and roughly dragging his son around to stand in front of him before letting go.
“Now then… Who exactly is this young man, son?” He questions while setting his solemn sights upon the hero who's rising up to stand on his feet again. When Righteous Lad finally does and gets a look at the newcomer, he sees that it's an imposing old man who stands at the height of 7’0, head of long raven hair with streaks of white running through it, a thick black beard on his face, a strong physique adorn by a white toga, gold bands on his biceps, gold bracers on his forearms, and sandal-bootz on his feet. Though what stands out the most about him is his eerie eyes. What should be the whites of his eyeballs are instead black while his pupils are white in color, giving him a sinister air of evilness.
image [https://files.catbox.moe/21dqlv.png]
“Noone worth your attention, father. He's just a pest who refuses to leave me be!” Apollo answers.
“Oh?” The King of Gods arches a brow as gray clouds quickly gather overhead and block out the sun, bringing forth a spreading darkness across the city. It's then that Zeus’ scrutinizing eyes shift toward the american.
“And what say you, boy? Why do you intentionally upset my son as you do?” Zeus questions with a belying calmness. Quite uncomfortable under the old man's gaze, the hero's brows furrow with uncertainty.
“I… I'm… I came to confront him for the lives he took within the United States- UHK!?” Tyson explains, though it doesn't appear to be an answer that dissuades Zeus from grabbing and lifting him by the shirt into the air. Instinctively, Tyson reaches to grip at Zeus’ forearm.
“And thou came seeking vengeance, have thee? No harm will come to my children if I have anything to say about it… Truth be told, I'm surprised you were able to put up a fight against an Olympian God. Just who exactly are you?” Zeus prods. The crackle of lightning dancing in the charcoal sea of clouds follows. Tyson inhales a deep breath, then exhales.
“...I'm his son.” The hero answers. It's one that makes the old man's eyes widen with shock.