The Chimera

This story is by Mercury Hensley and was part of our 2023 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

The grass rustles in the breeze. The Lion walks across the savannah, head held high. “I am the bravest creature in the world,” he purrs, “I am fiercer than anybody. That so-called King, that Zeus, he claims to be the best. My bravery far surpasses his. I fight my battles. No one protects me.” The Lion stretches, scraping his claws against the dirt. Thunder clouds roll in above him. He doesn’t notice. “That Zeus, I doubt he can fight to save his life!” Lightning hums in the air and dances through the black clouds. The Lion glances upward. Coalescing into a bright sphere in the sky, the lightning intensifies. The wind whips around the Lion. A bolt strikes. Thunder shatters the air. Electricity courses through the Lion’s body as he is thrown backward above the grass. Hitting the ground hard, he rolls to a stop.

Electricity arcing through the curls of his beard, a man stands where the lightning struck. “Get up,” the man says. “Get up and face me.” The Lion stands up, shaking his head. He looks at the man in fear. Zeus speaks again. “Come on! I have come all the way here!”

The Lion is shaking. “M-my lord-,”

“Attack me!” Zeus thunders. He hunkers down into a fighting stance. The Lion can’t move or speak. Zeus roars, then lunges forward at the immobile Lion. He pulls the Lion into a chokehold. “Fight!” Zeus shouts directly into his ear. The Lion cringes at the sound. But fear grips him too tightly.

“Very well then,” Zeus says grimly.

He rips the Lion in two. Blood sprays, viscera falls from the torn ends. Zeus regards the pieces for a moment, before dropping them to the ground. The clouds disperse. Zeus turns away and disappears.

The Lion’s halves drip. Things that should never be seen slide away on rivers of blood, turning dirt to mud beneath the body.

The mud ripples. Slightly at first, but the movement slowly intensifies. The mud is roiling, swirling, lapping against the Lion’s body. The body begins to sink. Before long, it’s completely submerged. The last of the Lion’s long mane disappears below the surface. The mud stops swirling. The grass rustles in the breeze. The Lion is gone.

Wind whistles through the mountain tops. The Goat saunters across rocky paths. “So much for an ‘impossible feat,’ I have climbed to this mountain’s peak! My strength will be envied by all!” the Goat bleats to himself, “I doubt anyone in the world has my strength. Even the gods.” A distant rumble. The Goat doesn’t notice. “I doubt even the god Hephaestus can do as I did.” A larger rumble. “His legs are weak and twisted, held together by braces. He cannot climb and lift as I-,” The Goat stops. The ground is shaking. Rocks bounce up and down. A massive crack splits the earth in two, jagged edges separating as if something is pulling the crevice apart from beneath. A great boulder resting in the Goat’s path breaks in half, pieces falling to either side.

A giant hulk of a man climbs up and out of the crevice. The metal bands on his legs creak. He carries a war hammer on his back. “Tell me, little one,” says Hephaestus, “do you still challenge my strength after we have come face to face? I have split this ‘unclimbable’ mountain in two!” He laughs and pulls the giant hammer up and out of its sheath with one hand. Holding it lazily straight out from his body, he points at the Goat. The Goat looks up, petrified. He can barely speak. “Y-your strength?” The Goat shudders. “Y-you did this?”

“Yes, indeed I did.” says Hephaestus. “Well, I have shown you my strength, but you have not shown yours. Allow me to assist you.” He laughs again, then returns the hammer to its sheath. He grips a piece of the boulder with one hand. Lifting it over the goat’s back, he grins. “Hold this for me.”

Hephaestus drops the boulder. The Goat buckles, crushing weight breaking his back, his ribs, his legs. The boulder flattens the Goat until only his head and neck stick out from beneath the giant rock, eyes rolled back, tongue lolling. “You were right, little one,” Hephaestus chuckles, “your strength is enviable.” He steps back and falls into the crevice, which snaps shut. The pebbles around the Goat’s head vibrate from the force.

But, even after Hephaestus has gone, the pebbles still roll. The dirt shifts. It builds up higher, slowly burying the Goat’s head. The mound begins to deflate. Soon, it is completely gone, leaving no trace of the body it covered. Wind whistles through the mountain tops. The Goat is gone.

A cool breeze blows across the field. The Snake slithers along the black soil. “What a clever idea.” she hisses. “I wonder, who could do as I did? I am smarter than anyone. Even cleverer than the goddess Athena! My plan was the height of wisdo-,” she hits something and crumples on impact. The Snake in her self-congratulation, didn’t notice the foot that had stomped down before her. The Snake retreats and coils up in defense, preparing to bite the offending limb, but stops when the face the foot belongs to speaks. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” says the face, a woman, “I didn’t see you there.” Her expression said otherwise. She wore a silver dress and shoulder clasp in the shape of an owl. “I did hear you, however.” the woman continued. “What was it you were saying about Athena?” The Snake is terrified, Athena herself had come down from Olympus to punish her. But she believes herself wise enough to escape unharmed. “Yes, my lady,” says the Snake, bowing low to the ground, “I do believe myself wise, but I have overstepped. Please accept my most humble of apologies, Lady Athena.” The Snake looks up. “But, before you smite me, o’ great goddess, may I explain myself?” Athena raised an eyebrow. “Explain yourself?”

“Yes,” replied the Snake, “for the event I praise myself for was indeed incredible. I escaped certain death!”

“Oh?” says Athena. She smirks slightly. “If death was so certain, it must have been quite the escape!”

“Yes!” the Snake says, thinking herself at an advantage, “I startled a farmer in this very field. He was about to kill me, but I rose up into the air,” the Snake did as she described, “and swayed side to side. Only venomous snakes do this, you see. So, he wouldn’t dare attack me for fear of being bitten. And he didn’t! He left me unharmed!” The Snake stayed upright, displaying her cleverness. “Very clever little one, very clever.” Athena said as she walked a circle around the Snake. Then stopped just behind her. “But not very wise.” Athena stomped her heel down hard on the Snake’s back. The Snake spasms with agony, then falls to the ground. “Not very wise at all,” Athena says. She turns aside to disappear into the field. The Snake lies dead, nearly cut in half.

The soil around her shudders, moving as though small creatures burrow just below the surface. The paths beneath the dirt multiply, churning it into silt. The Snake’s tail drops below the surface. The soil drags the body farther and farther down until even the head disappears beneath the dirt. The soil shifts to cover the tunnel, removing any trace of disturbance. A cool breeze blows across the field. The Snake is gone.

The bodies of the Lion, Goat, and Snake sink down through layers of silt, soil, and stone. Deep inside the earth, in a womb-like cavern, a goddess awaits their arrival. She watched each of them closely, praising their defiance of the gods and pitying their cruel punishments. Now she is bringing all three down into the earth. Into herself.

The bodies of the creatures fall through the cavern ceiling, landing just before the woman. “Rise,” the woman intones, “and strip away impurities.” Raising her arms, the bodies float into the air. “Awaken,” she says, “and become strong.” The eyes of the Lion, Goat, and Snake open. They look around, see each other, and understand. “Join,” says the woman, “and forge yourselves a new body.” The bodies swirl in a whirlwind of energy. The whirlwind churns, shifts, ripples, and roils. The Lion stands tall on his two front legs, mane whipping in the maelstrom. The Goat attaches himself to the Lion, neck joined to neck, strengthening their shared shoulders. Together they form hind legs neither lion nor goat. The Snake fuses herself to the other end of the new monster, becoming a living tail.

The woman looks on with pride. “What,” says Gaia, Mother Earth herself, “is your new purpose?”

“To destroy the gods,” the Chimera says as one, “To destroy them as they destroyed us. Without mercy.”