They were just kids once. Promakos, the natural, effortlessly stylish. Tantalos, his younger brother... already intense. Obsessed. Even then, crashing his homemade tech, he wasn't thinking about the landing, he was thinking about the gods.
Tantalos: What would you ask the gods? ... If you win the Steez Olympics... What will you ask them?
Promakos just laughed it off, offered to help rebuild the wreck. Tried to get him back on his feet.
Promakos: What are you saying lil bro, get up and try again!
But Tantalos couldn't let go of the 'myth'. Promakos, trying to lighten the mood, probably joked about what he'd ask. It only angered Tantalos.
Tantalos: Be serious, Promakos! ... You’re a joke. I’m not laughing.
Promakos just laughed harder. He didn't understand the weight Tantalos put on it all.
Fast forward twenty years. Steez Olympics final. The roar of the crowd, the announcers losing their minds. Promakos pulling stunts mid-race, joining Motley Crue on stage... classic Promakos. Tantalos, watching from the stands, already modified, already tense.
It was chaos. A photo finish. But the celebration? It was for Promakos. He'd won. Tantalos knew it, rushed down immediately.
Tantalos: You think you won?
Before the official word, the scene cuts.
Enter Friedrich. The admin. Jovial, maybe, but part of the system. He gives Promakos the torch, the routine congrats... and the Helmet.
Friedrich: This helmet once belonged to Zarathor... the first to ascend... confront the gods... the answer lies within...
Zarathor. The first winner, millennia ago. The one who started this whole 'ask the gods' tradition. Tantalos, lurking, asks what Zarathor asked, what happened.
Friedrich: I don’t know. No one does... That’s why this helmet is blessed, cursed or just plain old crap...
Friedrich let Tantalos stay. A mistake.
On the way to the 'Hand of Olympia', Tantalos presses again.
Tantalos: So, what will you ask them? ... Something profound! Something worthy!
Promakos: I can’t tell you that... It is ‘worthy’. You’ll see.
Promakos climbs. Lights the fire. Puts on the helmet. Reads whatever Zarathor left inside.
HE LAUGHED.
Not awe. Not reverence. Laughter. Then he threw the helmet down.
Tantalos: NO! ... What did they say? What could they have possibly said...?
Promakos, descending, calm, maybe even liberated.
Promakos: It doesn’t matter.
Tantalos couldn't comprehend it. Defiance? Mockery?
Tantalos: You mock the gods, brother. You mock me... You’re a joke!
Promakos just grinned back.
And Tantalos snapped. Blade out. A single strike.
Promakos fell. Smiled, maybe? Whispered something lost to the wind, to the static...
Promakos: "..." //AUDIO CORRUPTED or wiped?//
Tantalos stood over the body. Rage. Despair. And fear.
He didn't hesitate long. He cleaned the blade, walked back. Friedrich was waiting.
Friedrich: How did Promakos like the answer?
Tantalos: Promakos... has ascended to the gods.
Friedrich knew better. But before he could object, Tantalos silenced him. Permanently. Fast.
Tantalos: (To the silence) Promakos… has ascended to the gods.
That was the start. The start of the lie, the cover-up, the disappearances of other winners passed off as 'ascensions'. The start of the Tantalos Protocol. All built on his refusal to accept the truth Promakos saw in that helmet.
Zarathor played a joke. Tantalos turned it into a weapon. Remember that.