Heracles, Ancient Hero of Greek Myth

Long had it been since Heracles could say he had last known peace.

After his ascension to the afterlife by burning upon his funeral pyre to escape the agony of the Hydra's poisonous blood coursing through his flesh, he'd been a patron god of pankration, gymnasiums and of heroes. His fame was such that his myth had been adopted by Romans and by Egyptians alike even after his ****. That had been a great boon for his exploration of the world and allowed him to make new friends as well as lovers: male and female alike.

A smile always crossed his face whenever he remembered the feisty Bast and motherly Hathor and how they had competed for his attention when he took the time to see them.

But now, here at the end of all things, the accumulated evil the numerous pantheons of gods had inflicted upon mankind had returned to them many fold. He had been **** to watch as they either fell pray to the darkness or to the arms of oblivion. It went against every instinct that told him to fight to the bitter end, those same instincts that had made the spartans who claimed descent from him and the romans who had believed they possessed his favor to conquer much of the known world so great.

But only a fool could not recognize when he was outmatched: when the time had come for him to retreat so that he might lick his wound before returning to the fray.

And so he had cast his faith to the ancient magic as the sisters of fate at last shorn him free of their threads. His fate was now his own to make in this new world for better and for worse.

As he awoke to the sound of crashing waves and gently crying gulls, he felt the sensation of coarse sand on the bare skin of his back. He was naked as the day he'd been born. No Nemean Lion's hide to armor him. No great club to pound his enemies into submission. Only himself.

'Perhaps this challenge shall show me the limits of my power.' He thought with some hope. As he stood, he looked toward one of the nearby trees to figure out what had changed about him in the transition between worlds. Judging from the tree and how he stood in comparison to it, Heracles figured he was in the area of ten feet tall. He wondered if the two foot loss in height translated to loss in musculature or...

He glanced down at his secondary but no less mighty club.

'Not quite as big as it was, but I can work with this.' He thought to himself as he absently scratched his pitch black beard. Suddenly, he heard movement from the tree line. He subtely shifted his position so that he could be ready to receive a possible enemy, his blood already pumping in anticipation of a good scrap.