Relevence.

>"Tch..."
>That being the first thing you heard walking in the door after school, you knew something was up.
>Taking off your shoes, you head into the living room to see what's wrong.
>Inside you found your mom, holding a letter in one hand and gulping down a tallcan of beer in the other.
>Her eyes raising to meet yours as she places her empty in a box stacked atop a great many more boxes filled with empties and takes out another can which she opens with a deft jab of her wolfish claw, she speaks.
>"Kid. Head thing. Now."
>"Aren't I getting a little old for that?"
>"Shaddup."
>Dropping the letter, she sweeps her leg onto the couch and gives you 'The Look'. No room for argument.
>Sighing in resignation and dropping your bag, you walk over and lay down with her; feet on the arm-rest, your back between her legs and your head resting on her tummy.
>Almost immediately her claws, which could easily rip through your skull like a hot knife through butter, began tracing a familiar, soothing pattern across your scalp.
>This is how she used to put you to bed when you were young.
>It was also her go-to method of stress relief.
>And by how she locked her legs over yours, and how she was carresing your scalp, you knew she was pretty pissed.
>"So... what's up, Mom?"
>"Got a letter from the government today, letting me know that I've got diplomatic immunity as a 'Minor Deity'."
>"...Seriously?"
>You probably should've been a bit more surprised at that, but you'd known for a long time now that your mother was a little odd. Even for a monster.
>Still, Mum's a Goddess, you didn't think you'd ever get to say that one out loud.
>It was kinda neat, actually.
>"And this upsets you... why, exactly?"
>She snorts, gulps down her beer, puts it back in the box and gets a fresh one.
>Cracking it open and taking a swig, she answers you.
>"I am FAR from 'Minor'."

>"Err... come again?"
>You give your mom your own version of 'The Look', letting her know that she just might be a little drunk.
>She stares right back at you, something you'd never seen before flashing behind her eyes before she looks up at the ceiling, lost in a memory.
>The claw on your head opens and you feel the soft pad of her paw carressing you instead.
>"'Minor'... was I so irrelevent when I pulled the fated twins out of the river?"
>You want to give her another of your trademarked quips, but stop when you feel something warm and... wrong... growing in your skull.
>"...When I united the tribes and broke the men of the South?"
>It's spreading. First to your chest, then your arms and your legs. You can't move.
>Hell, you can hardly breathe.
>"When I burned the city of Traders to the ground and scorched the very Earth?"
>You... you can see it.
>All of it.
>"When I sundered the cowards on Olympus, when I bent the lands of Ptolemy to my will, when I led my sons into the heart of Iberia, Gaul and Britannia... WAS I NOT RELEVENT?"
>It burns.
>Rage your mortal being was never meant to comprehend courses through you as you see and feel history play out before you.
>Your very blood is on fire.
>It burns.
>It BURNS.
>"...When my sons replaced me with a man they nailed to a cross..."
>And then... nothing.
>Emptyness. Loneliness. Uncertainty.
>Heartbreak.
>Your livingroom melts back into view, and you find yourself face-to-face with the unrelenting, unstoppable warmachine whose past you'd just lived. Trembling, stinking of alcohol and with tears streaming down her face.
>"W... Was I not relevent...?"
>Instinctively your arms wrap aound her as she finally breaks down and sobs, even if your brain was still trying to equate the woman who raised you with everything you now knew.
>Not that it mattered; Nightmare of the Ancient Mediterranean, or your gruff but affectionate mother.
>You were a son of Mars.
>And your mom would always be relevent to you.