Gaia shrieked. Her beautiful trees! Dying. Hamadryads cried in anguish, their tears keeping the pavement moist. Their homes, their spirits uprooted. The grey sky suggested the culprit, like a godly fingerprint on the murder weapon — Zeus.
Why? Why did Zeus do anything? Driven by the organ between his legs. She might have to damage that pride and joy. He wouldn’t be the first god to lose his member.
The devil flashed before her, naked and ready to go.
“This better be good, Gaia —”
Zeus stepped back, his mood dropped. “Whoa. I didn’t do this.”
Zeus pointed to an advertisement billboard: New Hotel. Coming soon.