Gwen was falling. It wasn’t a stumble or a slip; it was a deliberate surrender. He sank into a bottomless abyss, where light was refracted and darkness wasn’t an absence, but a solid, heavy presence. He landed on a solitary, jagged peak, so high that the stars above had long since died. Beneath his feet, the ground was a slab of black obsidian glass , reflecting only absolute solitude. Then came the roar. It wasn't a sound, but a shockwave of antiquity , vibrating through his joints and ribs. Before Gwen, space tore open. A colossal Griffin descended. It was the color of oxidized bronze and lightning. Its eyes were two chips of glacial emerald, and its wings, when folded, cast a shadow over Gwen’s entire meager world. This was the King of the Griffins , and Gwen knew the King saw straight through his skin, directly into his Sherwin soul. The King lowered its head, a slow movement that carried the weight of millennia. “O descendant of Sherwin ,” its voice was a torrent of ...
IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR HERACLES, THE GOD OF POWER IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY AS YOU KNOW IT, THIS IS NOT THE PLACE YOU SHOULD GO.