Chapter 42: The Petty Primordial Mother(350 P.S Chapter)

"Sigh… my petty and hot-tempered grandma…"

Poseidon muttered as she walked through the deep, pitch-black caverns leading to the Primordial Throne.

Her once-proud expression was now tinged with unease.

Gaia, the Primordial Mother Goddess, was also her grandmother.

Most legends portrayed Gaia as a nurturing, benevolent figure: the Earth Mother who gave birth to the gods, a symbol of tolerance and warmth.

But the truth was far more complicated.

Conflict and chaos had always originated from her. Darkness and disorder were her true essence.

Independent from the rule of Olympus, Gaia stood as a being of supreme status, arguably the very source of the unruly, volatile spirit that defined all of Greek mythology.

She continuously gave birth to life in the depths of darkness. She was capable of immense compassion, loving all beings regardless of status or form, but she also possessed a terrifying cruelty and pettiness.

If one were to rank the most difficult gods to deal with in all of Greece, Gaia would be near the top.

Her temperament was erratic, her moods shifted like storms, completely unpredictable.

Poseidon had upset her during the destruction of the Silver Age humans. She had simply used too much force, and the tremors disturbed her grandmother.

Ever since, the earth had been sending waves of Gaia's displeasure and fury, summoning Poseidon to the subterranean throne hidden deep within the land.

To prevent Gaia from causing an even bigger catastrophe in retaliation, Poseidon had no choice but to come personally.

If she didn't at least show her face, who knew what madness this ancient goddess might unleash?

People often underestimated Gaia's potential for chaos. But truthfully, nearly eighty percent of the monsters in Greek mythology could trace their origins, directly or indirectly, back to her.

Three generations of ruling gods had risen and fallen, and Gaia had played a hand in both the ascents and the downfalls.

She was perhaps the only one who could truly threaten the throne of the gods.

The throne chamber was so shrouded in darkness that even light failed to penetrate.

Within the heavy blackness echoed faint, bone-chilling sounds—labored breathing and flesh slithering against stone.

These were Gaia's creatures, grotesque, formless beasts.

No god or mortal knew how many monsters Gaia had birthed in the dark over countless ages.

Poseidon, however, found herself watching them with genuine curiosity.

"What a shame," she murmured. "Such imaginative designs… yet they're little more than wild beasts."

She loved strange and creative things. If they had intelligence, she might've even kept a few as pets.

But mindless animals? They were less amusing than toys.

"Poseidon!"

A voice filled with discontent boomed from the throne.

In the shadows, only Gaia's bare feet could be seen resting upon the ancient stone steps.

"Please," Poseidon replied with an exaggerated flourish, tapping the sea-crowned diadem atop her head, "call me the Sea King, dear Grandmother."

There was a brief silence from the figure on the throne.

Then, Gaia spoke again.

"Poseidon, do you think that just because you wear the title of Sea King, you are now my equal? That you can challenge me?"

"Oh no, of course not, my dear Grandmother," Poseidon replied with mock sincerity, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Hmph."

Gaia snorted coldly. The darkness churned, lifting a lump of earth and placing it before Poseidon.

"Offer up a portion of your divinity," she said coldly, "and I shall forgive your offense against the land."

In previous chapters, it was explained: for gods, the act of procreation was essentially the fusion of divine essence, aided by fragments of the divine authority of Fertility.

And of all beings in this world, Gaia possessed the greatest share of that power.

She didn't even need to expend her own divinity. She could shape life purely from dirt and will.

But such mundane creatures no longer interested her.

She was fixated on crafting powerful new lifeforms using the divine essence of other gods—hybrids with unusual potential.

And right now, Poseidon, freshly crowned Sea King, had become one of her prime targets.

A little divine essence to placate Gaia's anger, and in exchange, a powerful child?

On paper, it was a profitable deal.

But Poseidon hesitated.

She suddenly remembered something Eros had once said to her.

He prefers things to be… normal, doesn't he?

If she gave birth to a grotesque creature, wouldn't that make her seem abnormal too?

Her hand brushed the tips of her hair, now smoothed back to normal, no longer writhing like sea serpents.

After a moment of silence, Poseidon made her decision.

"I didn't come here to beg for forgiveness," she declared, raising her chin with defiance. "I only came to apologize for being… overly rough."

The smug grin returned to her lips.

"I call you 'Grandmother' and 'Mother Earth' out of respect for your legacy and contributions. Don't let it get to your head, you old hag!"

Silence.

The moment Poseidon finished speaking, the entire throne room went deathly still.

Even the monsters, grinding teeth and lapping blood, froze.

Poseidon instantly knew she'd messed up.

She turned on her heel and bolted, summoning a tidal wave to break through the darkness as she escaped Gaia's throne chamber.

Only after she was gone did the monsters resume their frenzied roars.

But Gaia herself remained still.

She merely raised a hand to calm her children, her voice cold.

"Typhon."

She softly called a name, summoning forth the terrifying Titan with a hundred heads—the King of Monsters.

"It's not yet time for you to awaken," she said slowly, "but Poseidon dared insult me. Go give her a lesson."

A goddess's pride is not so easily dismissed.

Poseidon thought she could outrun Gaia's wrath?

Foolish.

All goddesses hold grudges.

Meanwhile, under the sunlit sea, Eros received some pleasantly surprising news from Athena.

Apparently, Poseidon had recently provoked Gaia, and as a result, she was now too busy to deal with anything else.

No wonder it had been over two weeks and not a single ripple of trouble had come from her.

Truly, a blessing from the heavens.

If he didn't take this opportunity to pull some kind of stunt on Poseidon, he'd be wasting it.

Still, pleasant surprises aside, he wasn't going to let them skip the promised "reward."

Just as Eros was about to open his mouth again, Athena raised her hand, releasing a divine light.

A glowing sigil etched itself onto Eros's wrist.

"If you ever find yourself in danger or trouble," she explained, "this mark will let you call my name."

A classic divine blessing from Athena.

Eros nodded, choosing not to say more.

But seriously… why were all these Greek gods so obsessed with leaving marks on people?

He felt like a piece of high-end merchandise that had just been officially stamped for quality assurance.

"So, what do the two goddesses plan to do next?" he asked, eyes glinting. "If you're free, how about joining me for the gathering at the Silver Whirlpool?"

The squinting goddess behind Athena twitched slightly.

Athena's smile also stiffened.

"No, thank you. I have many duties to attend to. I'm afraid I won't have time for any gatherings."

And just like that, both goddesses turned to light and vanished without a backward glance, ignoring Eros's disappointed calls.

"Tch…"

Eros smacked his lips with regret.

He was hoping to get to know Athena a little better.

But still… who was that girl behind her?

A goddess he didn't recognize…

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