This is classic Proteus, ever-changing, ever-elusive. Had I been human, no doubt my hand would be squishy and wet itself. I feel a squishy wet sensation before it suddenly expands outward, growing harder as it does so, before a fully grown Rhino bursts from my grip. I lunge forward like a gale force, and I grab that transfigured troglodyte in my fist. He forgets who he’s dealing with, a war god, specifically one who favoured speed over strength more often than not. He almost immediately tries to make a run for it, changing into the form of a fly in one swift motion. Maybe it was the look in my eyes as I said this, but for some reason, he switched from tired frustration to flight or fight. “Good for you, Starkist.” I smirk, my eyes burning gold. He looks at me with a resigned defeat in his eyes. He looks like something between an old walrus and a vivisected creature of the black lagoon by way of old baby Benjamin Button. ![]() “Leave me alone.” I hear the gargled moan before I see him, but soon enough, his putrid bloated form flops into view. The smell that hits me as I enter the cave is that of a fish market after hours, which only serves to remind me that he’ll smell all the worse as we inevitably grapple. Because sometimes you just need to beat the living shit out of something. This is just going to be, sorry Audrey, the best therapy I need right now. Very famously, Proteus is a bit of a pushover. I’m in my NB form, wearing just a small tight black top somewhere between a sports bra and a crop top, black leather fingerless gloves, black bike shorts, and chunky black wedge sneakers. All that did was lead to a neverending parade of demigods and worse, all too mortal heroes beating the truth out of him. His whole life, he’s avoided others in order to have some peace. He was incapable of lying or not answering. He not only knew a person’s destiny but also their entire life and could tell you anything you wanted to know. The elusive god kept to himself, slinking in the shadows because Proteus was born with the particular gift of truth. I suppose I should ask Uncle PoPo…ask Poseidon sometime, he’d know. Now that it had been forgotten and replaced, he instead hid in caverns nearby. This lost island had been the home of a particular god who had, as of yet, ignored Zeus’s summons. The Ras el-Tin quarter of Alexandria, which in ancient times had been the site of the Island of Pharos, had long since slipped beneath the waves. It is time to find the answer to that question. ![]() This could destroy every bond I’ve fought tooth and nail to establish. Eros and Clio don’t even really know the real me, either. It won’t just affect me, and it means that all this time, Atë has been…my child. Suppose I am the Primordial Eris, if there was only one Eris all along. If it’s true, that is, which I’m still not entirely sure it is. Whoever did this to me did it to them, too. I need to know what’s going on before I dump this all on them. I’ve been a bit of a bad friend, probably an understatement, but ever since we woke up in that warehouse and I had that first strange memory, I’d been avoiding them. Eros is calling me again, and Atë or Clio would be next. My phone rings with the silken tones of Connie Francis singing “Stupid Cupid”.
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