Item: Harley’s Pocket Chopper
Type: Magic Item
Durability: 3200/3200
Grade: C Grade
Weight: 14400st.
Description: Crafted by William S. Harley himself, this miniature motorbike can expand to a regular-sized chopper motorcycle or shrink back at a moment’s notice whenever its owner wills it. The full-sized motorbike uses mana as fuel at a rate of 48 miles per 100 MP.
* * *
This was something he’d been gifted a few years back, perhaps decades even, but he hadn’t had the chance to use it yet. Looking at the marvelous piece of metal and freedom, he briefly wondered why it had taken him so long, though he already knew the answer. This was a one-seater bike, which was why it made him think of freedom. But a one-seater vehicle was not something the leader of an alliance of gods could afford to make use of. There were always responsibilities that took precedence over enjoyment.
But this was about to change. The next day would be for him and for future opportunities. He stepped on the bike, cranked the kick-start lever with his foot and made the machine roar for the first time as he channeled some of his MP into it. The machine felt eager to be ridden for hours on end, and that was exactly what Zeus was planning to do.
Wearing his dark sunglasses, and with his long white beard waving behind his black leather vest, he produced a portable speaker out of his inventory as he rode. If he was going to play the part of a mortal, complete with a leather outfit that read “Stormfather” across his back, he could also enjoy some of the music he had liked so much when he last heard it a few decades ago.
Soon, “Born to be wild” blasted from his magical speaker.
Nobody who saw him would know they were looking at Zeus, the ancient Greek god. All they would see was a man in his forties—albeit with bright white hair—having the time of his life on his brand-new motorbike. Perhaps it was bit too loud for residential areas, but he wasn’t doing anyone any harm. It wasn’t like he was still sporting his white Olympian robes or carrying his staff of pure lighting. Just regular old boots, leather clothes, and even a helmet, as if a mere crash would be enough to kill him.
The road was always clear for the god of lightning. It only took a swipe of his finger to send the electric signals that would turn all the traffic lights to green for him. He may have been born before modern man could even speak, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to keep up with developments in the Cosmos. On the contrary, he was fascinated by the ingenuity of mortals, especially those in the Cosmos that had no access to mana or magic items. They had to create everything using the very limited set of rules and materials that their world’s physical laws allowed for. The Dark Energy was much more malleable and, even though magic had much stricter rules, it also allowed for marvelous creations.
After hours of blissful traveling through picturesque Texan valleys, Zeus reached his destination. It was a ranch, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. This whole world was in the middle of nowhere in the terms of cosmic significance as far as Zeus was concerned, which made it all the better for escaping to. The tall main building was covered in metal sheets and a single balcony overlooked a field of some kind, with a tractor parked near its outskirts.
Zeus turned off his motorbike and put it back into his inventory after shrinking it down, and then approached the porch of the house. An old man was sitting in a rocking chair there, with a book in his lap, a toothpick in his mouth, and a cowboy hat on his head. He wasn’t holding any weapons, at least none that were used in the Apocosmos, though he had a holstered firearm on the side of his belt and a shotgun leaning up against the wall next to him. Zeus didn’t know much about Cosmos-invented weapons as they had only minimal effects on denizens of the Apocosmos, but he had heard of their effectiveness in this world.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The old man put down the book he was reading and stood up to welcome the god that had traveled all this way to visit him. The man was wearing leather boots, jeans, and a gray shirt tucked into his bull-buckled belt.
“Mighty fine of you to join us, Mr. Zeus,” the man said in a heavy accent. “Don’t suppose you’re sporting a last name, are you?”
“No last name,” Zeus said with a smile. “Thank you for having me.”
“Of course,” the man said, and offered him a seat. “Name’s Jacob Daniels, sir. You might not find my little place much to your liking. It’s not quite made for a god, much less a king of gods. I’m a man of simple pleasures. I don’t care much about magic and all that Apocosmos stuff, but you’ll always find an ice-cold beer in my refrigerator.”
“That is great to hear,” Zeus said, counting his words while he was still measuring up the man.
“I hope you had a good trip here,” the man continued, taking out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. “It’s been a dry season so far. Good for riding them bikes, but bad for the crops.”
The man offered Zeus a cigarette, which he promptly took and then waited for the old cowboy to light for him. As Zeus inhaled the smoke and the man lit his own, a few clouds slowly started painting the open sky.
“Are you having issues watering your crops?” Zeus asked, finally seeing a problem he might be able to deal with.
“Rains avoid this poor patch of land,” Jacob replied, “and I’m too far off the grid and rivers to bring water here. Sometimes I think it’s a fool’s errand, but it’s honest work.”
“I thought you were an author?” Zeus asked, as more and more clouds began to form in the distance.
“I used to tell stories,” the man agreed, and leaned back on his rocking chair. “But I stopped doing it some years ago. Felt like my tales weren’t made for this day an’ age. It takes a while to craft a good story. People nowadays want it done faster than a speeding bullet.”
“I see what you mean. So you decided to retire here?” Zeus asked, still not letting too many words out as he weighed the old man.
“I thought I would take my time to write one last story before my sunset, while tending to my crops,” the man said, looking at the burning cigarette between his thick fingers. “But the crops aren’t doing well and it looks like your book is my priority right now.”
“I was told that you wanted to do this,” Zeus said, a little confused.
“And I was told that you wanted me specifically,” the man replied. A smile crept onto his face. “He’s always like that, isn’t he?”
“The CEO…” Zeus said, remembering how he’d come to meet this man.
“I owe him a favor,” Jacob explained. “I suppose you owe him a favor as well? Or is he getting a cut out of this?”
“No, he just said you’re the best person for the job.”
“He did?” the man asked, visibly surprised but also clearly pleased to hear that. “Strange that he’s not getting anything out of it himself. But I guess people can change, can’t they?”
“People change all the time,” Zeus agreed. “Do you want to grab your notebook and start, Jacob Daniels?”
“No need for notebooks,” he replied, and took out a small recording device from his pocket. “I want to watch you telling the story. I can hear the words back later. However, I was planning on doing one last run to water a few plants I love dearly first.”
“I think you’re in luck, my friend,” Zeus said, and leaned back on his rocking chair as lightning struck in the distance behind him. “Looks like there’s a whole lot of rain coming, so we can start immediately.”
“As you wish, Mr. Zeus,” The man proceeded to bring a bucket of ice cubes and beers between them before sitting back down and turning on the recording device.
“While driving here,” Zeus began, “I was thinking about what this story is about and how mortals could possibly relate to it. This is a story about a man that never quit, no matter what kind of difficulties life threw at him. Just because the man is a god doesn’t mean that he isn’t like any mortal in some respects. People shouldn’t think he is that different.”
The old man simply nodded in understanding and Zeus took another drag from his cigarette.
“The problems that this man… that I faced,” he continued, “are problems that every man may face in his life. A bad parent. A turbulent love life. The struggle for power. In that sense, all men are gods.”
He paused, holding the cigarette between his lips while taking a beer out of the container. After taking a sip from it, he resumed his train of thought.
“I also considered the best place to start my story. I don’t suppose the life of a god-child earning levels all the way to fifty would be of much interest to anyone. So perhaps I should start a bit later than that.”
Zeus inhaled another lungful of smoke as the raindrops began to fall around them.
“Yes, let’s start there,” he said, after a moment’s consideration. “The day that my father tried to eat his offspring.”