Promptly I Do Ramble - 3. Gods vs Aliens

The tulips by the front steps struggled bravely, standing as tall as they could beneath the oppressive ash that fell from the sky. The weight of the ash bent them towards the dead grass of a once manicured lawn, now scattered with debris which called the eye away from the proud columns that stood guard in front of a tall door.

A crack ran down the formally white surface of the one closest to Himeros as he stepped over a pile of ash on the steps. His wings fluttered lightly, disturbing the steady fall of the ash from the grey sky. He gripped a bronze door knob and pushed the door. The lock – rusted with age – shattered under his push.

A rich red and gold carpet greeted his boots as he stepped inside, the decadent colour faded with age, but the rich pile untouched, still luscious. It was a simple reminder of the once great days, and their sudden fall. In the chaos this place had never been touched by friend or foe alike. Himeros paused by a dark side table and lifted a faux-bronze statue of Aphrodite and Hermaphroditus, smiling sadly as he read the makers mark. He missed his brother/sister and his mother. Casualties of a raid on Olympus. How They knew that the gods even existed still remained a mystery, but they'd certainly struck early and hard.

So many had fallen. Phobos, Apollo, Hecate. He shook his head, dropping the statue. It clunked heavily, denting the wood. When They came from the skies, no one was prepared. The humans had finally decided They didn't exist, that mankind was alone in the universe, and truly his kind had as well. His kin had retreated to well earned rest after nurturing humans for so many millennia. The powers of the deities were slumbering when They struck.

A creak emanated from a wooden floorboard elsewhere in this colossal tomb of the folly of mankind, and Himeros froze, his wings ceasing their natural flutter. “Who is there?” He called, his hand moving to a bow slung over a shoulder.

“Just me, cousin.” A tall and pale man stepped from around the corner, shadows clinging to him.

“Morpheus, your infernal silence still gives me goosebumps.”

“You are the god of erotic love. You don't get goosebumps.” Morpheus laughed, the noise surprisingly warm.

Himeros smiled mildly and continued to walk. “We're here to find information, not prattle.” He reprimanded softly, though the laughter was pleasant, warmth that almost sparked his soul back into life. The ice firmly regained control soon enough. All his joy was gone. It had been eroded by years of fighting. The last bit of hope had frozen over while standing on the banks of the Styx besides a weeping Persephone, surveying the ruins of Hades.

The god of dreams pushed open the door in front of them and Himeros followed him in, eyes scanning over a gaudily decorated room. More deep pile carpet. Peeling well paper. An expensive desk sat in front of curved windows. Everything as it had been the moment the President fled the oval office. The drapes half drawn, blowing in the breeze through a broken pane of glass. The desk still held a cup of coffee, full of stale liquid, sat besides a puddle of muck. The decomposed remains of a half eaten apple.

A shattered mirror lay on the floor, and the two gods stepped over shards of glass – though it could do them no harm. Each wore thick leather boots, and had skin as hard as iron, under which pumped veins of golden ichor.

Himeros knelt by the desk, his hands feeling for the latch. Morpheus watched, his hand resting on a sword at his waist. The nimble fingers of the deity – once used for pleasure, now for combat – soon found their target. The desk clicked and a hidden draw opened. Morphues smiled behind Himeros as the latter pulled out a pair of ripped jeans. He discarded them on the carpet. It was simply a distraction. Underneath was his goal – a manila envelope. Supposedly, it'd help.

He picked the envelope up carefully, and tucked it underneath his shirt, into his belt. “Let us go.” Himeros spoke with a wrinkled expression, sick already of this place. It was depressing, and disgusting. Once his kind had fostered humanity, but now nothing could be done. The gods fought for their very survival. Those they could save already dwelt, scattered in a thousand divine realms, refugees among the Dryads and Demons and myriad other creatures hiding from They.