This is a novel planked in a universe that occupied our orbital space before it painted its own doom. The murder of the king/president of that world triggers a chain of events that unfold, to arc the doom hammer. The saga of a disgusted detective for whom the wheels turn to make him a man destined to garb the clothes of a .......... Read more to know more.


13. A folly, A plan, A folly


Zeus slithered to the end of the bunker, his vision tampered to the banks of the same. His eyes a prolific gun of water as was his whole body. As Zeus was about to curl into the voluminous wraps of water, they too mouthed their hostility towards him by dressing themselves in fire. That’s when Zeus realized that he was living a dying flesh. He back away from the contradictory waters and got onto his feet, balancing on the balls of his toe, Zeus X-rayed the fire shrouded place.

 As the rain had stopped by now, Zeus was trapped in a solitary island of fire, and the ocean of water around this island was sublimely useless to him. He laughed at his sarcastic thoughts, his mind was inciting such thoughts to drive him to create his own avenues for escape, he could feel their beat. Zeus felt an absurd calmness hugging him, his heartbeat stopped fluttering and he started concentrating all his desires towards the other end of the island. He scrutinized, the water was draped in oil, hence the fire had caught on. The bunker’s cylinder had mysteriously exploded, now it was writhing with fire.

His space of movement was a wicked two feet; he could not hope to jump the ever expanding oil fire. The security’s dress was on the verge of charring, he extricated the dress from the guard and upon walloping it on the ground, the fire on the dress flailed and fled, they were now wearable. In that small space allotted to his life were splayed three things; an ammunition crate, a first aid kit creaming it and the dress which he had confiscated.

He reckoned the crates were placed so far in the bunker in order to replenish weapons in dire times, when the parades of clowns guarding the spire were losing. Topping it was the first aid kit; Zeus reckoned that it belied Hades’s calm as consternations, but to whom? Who did Hades expect? Sure he didn’t care a pint for his soldiers, why would he, he was going to ravage the world. A psychotic lust machine won’t for sure care, mystified by the enigma, Zeus constructed a plan to save his hide. He bricked his plan mainly from the serendipity that God may bestow him with, he had lost all hopes in life, he was going to die. He didn’t have any plan to escape after he let resume the world its work. He didn’t know what he would do or how he would die, but from the sand and silt he was gluing the plan, it was eminent that he was conceiving his fate in scoops.

Zeus rummaged the crate and found the weapon that was a chameleon of elements, it would perceive to defeat the opponent navigated against by camouflaging into the element injected. That was, the weapon could be infested with any element and it would burst forth antagonizing the element by pinioning the element into the part concerned. The weapon was not a top class war gadget, but it was to give a second’s reprieve in times of acute shortage.

Complimenting the weapon were also three balloons of air, they were festooned with it to the brim. Zeus emptied air unto the propeller and capped it. Zeus rusticated two waist length rifles from the school of rampage products. He switched clothes and pushed the crate into the ring of fire. He secured the chameleon into his calf by welding together bandages from the first aid kit. The propeller being double holed meaning it could liberate both sides unless deemed otherwise made it an angel in disguise for Zeus. He let fizz the propeller and jumped aboard the crate, his hands suspending the two rifles.

Once aboard Zeus swirled and soaked the rifles in the acid waters and started rowing. The thickness of the oil outweighed the density of the crate. With his nemesis, the oil, paving the movement of the crate, Zeus made good ground. The moment he felt that the air infused was diminishing, Zeus ended his circle of thoughts by initiating the last phase of his plans. He leapt, and to his surprise, he found himself wading in nerve-soothing waters.

Neglecting, his mission to this far side of the world, Zeus risked a few seconds of blossoming happiness, maybe the last in his life, but Zeus in his naked bask was not in acquaintance with the thoughts that his doom might be spelt any moment. He was coveting the seas, their liquid structure; he was trying to fuse with their beings, which he failed miserably.

Zeus’s new found weapon against admonition vaporized the moment his eyes graced upon the boat. All the searing heat once steaming his brain returned, and in his striped anger, he might have corroded precautions had he let loose his instincts. Zeus somehow managed to prevail within the bodies of sanity, and dipped his head into the water.

Still robbing his flesh off its individuality was the gun glued to his calf. He untied the strings and soaked the propeller in water. He took a spiked pebble from the seabed and bloodied his forearms. Having tinged the water with his blood, Zeus let roar the water. The boatmen noticed the distinguishable uproar of water and came to the rescue of a bottom naked Zeus.


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