Hephaestus, who would have approved of [the] rudimentary but effective metalworking, returned to the crowded beach carrying a huge axe, double-bladed in the Minoan style.
Prometheus now persuaded Zeus that the only way to alleviate his agony was to take his hands away from his temples, kneel down and have faith. Zeus muttered something about the trouble with being the King of the Gods was that there was no-one higher to pray to, but he dropped obediently to his knees and awaited his fate. Hephaestus spat cheerfully and confidently on his hands, gripped the thick wooden haft and - as the hushed crowd looked on - brought it down in one swift swinging movement clean through the very centre of Zeus' skull, splitting it neatly in two.
There was a terrible silence as everyone stared in stunned horror. The stunned horror turned to wild disbelief and the wild disbelief to bewildered amazement as they now witnessed, rising up from inside Zeus' opened head, the tip of a spear. It was followed by the topmost plumes of a russet crest. The onlookers held their breaths as slowly there arose into view a female figure dressed in full armour. Zeus lowered his head - whether in pain, relief, submission or sheer awe nobody could be certain - and, as if his bowed head had been a ramp or gangway let down for her convenience - the glorious being stepped calmly onto the sand and turned to face him [...]
'Athena!'
'Father!' she said, smiling gently in return.
- Stephen Fry, Mythos, London, 2017, p84-5.
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