Chapter I: Hades

CHAPTER I

HADES

Hades stood a few feet from a burning farmhouse.

All that remained was the frame, a faint outline of what the house once was, and yet the flames still raged, filling the night with smoke and ash. At his feet was the corpse of an old man, the farmer who had lived within, his back full of bullet holes. Nearby, his soul drifted, unaware that it had departed his physical body, executing what Hades could only assume was his nighttime routine. That was usual for any mortal who experienced sudden death.

The old man had not seen this coming.

Not that he should have. The only thing this farmer was guilty of was seeing the ophiotaurus, a half-bull, half-serpent monster that was also a prophesied god killer. Someone had caught wind and visited the farmer to learn more under the guise of authority, and once they had what they wanted, they killed him.

Hades felt Thanatos’s magic flare as he manifested beside him, a slice of shadow that blended in with the night. Even his pale hair and face caught the reflection of the flame.

Neither of them spoke—there was no need. Nothing could be done beyond guiding the farmer’s soul to the Underworld. Once he was settled in Asphodel, it was possible he might be able to give them information on who had murdered him, but Hades worried it would be too late. By then, there would be more sightings of the ophiotaurus, and whoever was after it would continue to leave a trail of bodies behind until they caught up with the monster.

“I mourn deaths like these the most,” said the God of Death.

“Murders?” Hades asked.

“He did not have long left on this earth, and yet his life was taken anyway.”

Hades said nothing, but he agreed.

This farmer’s death was not necessary. The only useful information he might offer was confirmation that the ophiotaurus lived, but there were other ways to validate that rumor, and they did not involve killing.

Hades would find whoever had done this, and their punishment would be swift and fitting.

His eyes shifted from the fire to the farmer’s soul, which was now frantically trying to enter the burning barn, likely attempting to reach the animals within, but they were already gone.

“Give him peace,” Hades said.

At this point in his long life, he did not often feel sympathy for the dead, but in these moments, when the cruelty of humanity was most evident, the burden of granting relief weighed heavily.

Thanatos nodded, stretching his wings as he made his way toward the soul.

Hades left the scene, wandering into the vast field beyond the farmer’s home, far from the glow of the fire.

Overhead, the stars glimmered so bright, they cast shadows, his the greatest among snow-dusted blades of grass. It was freezing, though it was summer—an untimely gift from Demeter, the Goddess of Harvest.

There were no coincidences.

On the night he had officially proposed to Persephone and she accepted, the storm had begun. It was Demeter’s declaration of war and the weapon she would use to tear them apart. It seemed insignificant, just a few frozen drops, but it was just the start of something worse to come.

People would die. It was a matter of time.

And when that happened, would Persephone fight for their love, or would she give in to her mother to save the world?

He hated that he believed the latter.

He realized it was a horrible position, an impossible one. If Demeter truly loved her daughter, she would never have given her the ultimatum.

Hades considered these things as he searched the sky, eyes connecting stars. Among the sketches they made, he noted Cetus, the sea monster slain by Heracles; Auriga, the Greek hero raised by Athena; Aries, the golden ram whose fleece could cure any living thing; and Orion, the hunter who dared to cross Gaia, but Taurus, the constellation set at their center on the ophiotaurus’s death during the Titanomachy, was gone.

It was the evidence Hades had been looking for. What Ilias had said was true—the monster had been resurrected. Not that he hadn’t believed him, but rumors did not make something true.

“Fucking Fates,” he growled, and he was right to curse them. Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos had orchestrated this resurrection, though he knew it had only come about because he had killed Briareus, one of the Hecatoncheires, the hundred-handed giants who had aided the Olympians during the Titanomachy. Hera, the Goddess of Marriage, had seen an opportunity for revenge against the giant who had helped Zeus escape his bindings when she, Apollo, and Athena attempted to overthrow him.

“A soul for a soul,” the Fates had said.

He felt a pang in his chest, remembering how Briareus had died. There had been no grief, no begging or anger, only peaceful acceptance. Perhaps that was the worst part, the trust the giant had placed in him, that it had been his time to go and not that his death had been ordered by another god.

And even as Hades had taken Briareus’s hand and drew his soul from his body, like a slice of shadow shaken from the darkness, he had known the consequences would be far reaching, beyond even what the Fates could weave, because once Zeus and Briareus’s brothers, Gyges and Cottus, discovered what he had done, he would no longer have their support or allegiance. Not that he believed either brother would choose him over Zeus. He was not the one who had rescued them from the darkness of Tartarus. Still, they had been allies to the Olympians in the war against the Titans, helping drive the elder gods into the depths of Tartarus. It meant that if Hades found himself in opposition to Zeus, as he was certain to, especially given his engagement to Persephone, he would not have the help of the two remaining giants when things came to a head, and he could not blame them.

Hades had repaid their loyalty with an execution.

---

The God of the Dead left the field, manifesting in his office at Nevernight. As soon as he appeared, silence descended, thick and heavy. He looked at those gathered—Ilias, Zofie, Dionysus, and…Hermes.

Hades’s eyes dropped to the God of Mischief who was reclined in his chair, feet propped on his desk. Their eyes met, and a sheepish smile broke out across his golden face. Hades scowled, showing his teeth, and sent the god scrambling to his feet.

“I was just keeping it warm,” Hermes defended.

Hades glared and took his seat. It was indeed warm, which only made him stare harder at the god.

“Nothing but the best for the King of the Dead,” Hermes added with a cheerful grin as he moved to sit on the edge of Hades’s obsidian desk.

“If so much as one of your ass cheeks touches this desk, Hermes, I will turn it to lava.”

“It’s not as if they’re bare,” Hermes argued.

Hades gave the god a withering look.

“You know what? The couch is far more comfortable anyway,” Hermes said, perching on the armrest.

Hades turned his attention to those gathered, in particular Dionysus. He hung back, not quite part of the group—likely because he did not wish to be. He was dressed far more casually than usual, in dark trousers and a beige sweater. His thick braids were tied back, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He looked frustrated, and if Hades had to guess, it had little to do with his summons to Nevernight and everything to do with the mortal detective Dionysus was harboring at his club, Ariadne Alexiou.

Hades was surprised he had come, though it likely only had to do with his curiosity. Dionysus had a strained relationship with the Olympians, mostly due to Hera’s hatred of him, which was why he had finally decided to take a side. But Hades was not stupid. He knew that did not mean Dionysus was loyal to him. It only meant that the God of Madness was loyal to himself.

“The ophiotaurus has been resurrected,” Hades said. “Its constellation is no longer in the sky.”

There was a certain amount of dread that came with saying the words aloud that Hades had not expected to feel, but he was responsible for this, which meant he was also responsible for the fallout if the creature fell into the wrong hands.

“Ilias,” Hades said, meeting the satyr’s gaze. He stood beside Zofie, hair as curly as the horns jutting from his head. “Tell us what you have learned about the monster.”

“So far, there has only been one sighting. A farmer outside Thebes claimed he heard a strange bellow in the middle of the night. He thought one of his cows had been injured, but when he went to investigate, he found a half-bull, half-serpent creature coiled around it. Once it had spotted him, it slithered away into the grass.” Ilias paused and glanced at everyone gathered. “The cow did not make it.”

There was a beat of silence as Hades added, “Neither did the farmer.”

Ilias’s jaw tightened.

“He was perfectly well yesterday.”

“And today he is dead,” Hades said. “Full of bullets.”

“So someone other than us wants the creature,” said Dionysus. “Not surprising, but who?”

“Isn’t that the question of the hour.”

Hades stared hard at the God of the Vine, not that he suspected Dionysus had anything to do with the farmer’s death. He was, however, aware that he enjoyed collecting monsters as much as Poseidon. It was one reason he preferred keeping the god close, even with their new and fragile alliance.

Dionysus narrowed his eyes. “How did the creature come to be resurrected, Hades?”

The God of the Dead did not like the accusation in his voice, but Hades was not Dionysus, and he would not hide from his responsibility.

“Because I killed an immortal.”

Dionysus’s harsh features softened, but not out of sympathy.

It was shock.

“This is the work of the Fates,” Hades said.

“So you summoned us to handle the aftermath of your actions,” Dionysus said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Typical.”

“Do not act so superior, Dionysus,” Hades said. “I know how you like monsters.”

He could have attempted to explain himself. He knew the god hated Hera, and one mention of how she’d had a hand in all this would quell Dionysus’s judgment, but in truth, he did not feel like it mattered. Either way, Dionysus wanted to be here, and he would want the ophiotaurus in his possession, which meant he would search for it, even if he chose not to help Hades directly.

“If this is the work of the Fates,” said Zofie, “can you not just ask them what they have woven?”

“The Fates are gods just as I am,” said Hades. “They are no more likely to tell me their plans than I am to admit mine.”

“But they are the Fates. Are they not already aware?”

Hades did not respond. There were times when he appreciated Zofie’s naivete. Tonight, it was frustrating.

It was difficult to pin down how the Fates operated. Much of their decision-making was based on their mood, as with most gods. It was possible they had only orchestrated the resurrection of the ophiotaurus to fuck with him, but it was also possible they wanted to see an end to the Olympians; Hades could not say which or even if they had chosen. He only knew one thing to be true—fate could not be avoided, just prolonged.

“Whatever their plan, we must have one too,” he said.

“I do not understand,” said Zofie. “The Fates have already chosen an end. For what do we plan?”

“We plan to win,” said Hades.

It was all they could do—and hope that if the Fates had not given him or the Olympians their favor, they could be swayed, but that would never happen without action. He knew better than anyone that the three sisters took joy in watching the gods play into their hands, especially under the weight of suffering.

There was a beat of silence, and then Dionysus spoke. “What is the prophecy that makes this creature so dangerous?”

He would not know, given he had been born after the Titanomachy.

“Whoever burns its entrails will obtain the power to defeat the gods,” said Hermes.

“Are you certain that’s the prophecy?” asked Dionysus, raising a dark brow.

“Maybe it’s just one god?” Hermes wondered aloud and then shrugged. “I might have gotten a word or two wrong.”

“A word or two?”

“It isn’t as if it hasn’t been four thousand years,” Hermes said defensively. “You try remembering something after that long.”

“You seem to have no issue recalling grudges from that long ago.”

“I suddenly regret helping Zeus save your life,” said Hermes.

Sometimes Hades forgot the two had a history, though it was minor. Hermes had helped save Dionysus after he was born by taking him to be raised by the Nysiads, ocean nymphs who lived on Mount Nysa.

“Perhaps it would have been better for everyone if you had not,” said Dionysus.

The God of Mischief blanched at his words, and before a strained silence could descend, Hades spoke. “It’s a prophecy, Hermes. A word or two can change the entire meaning.”

Hermes threw his arms in the air. “Well, I never claimed to be an oracle.”

“Then we will have to ask one,” Hades said.

Perhaps the prophecy had changed. Maybe there was no prophecy at all. Just as that thought rolled through his mind, he knew it was too much to hope for. The Fates would not bring the creature back if they didn’t want it to challenge the gods.

“And we must find the ophiotaurus before anyone else.”

“Who are we racing?” asked Dionysus.

“My money’s on Poseidon and his offspring,” said Hermes. “That fucker is always looking for power.”

Hermes hit on something Hades had also been thinking. The ophiotaurus could live on land, but it also thrived in water. Poseidon would jump at any chance to overthrow Zeus, but so would Theseus and Hera. Hades already knew the demigod and the Goddess of Marriage were working together, though he also suspected the God of the Sea fed Theseus’s desire to overthrow the Olympians. Whether he actually believed his son was capable was another matter.

Sometimes, Hades wondered who was orchestrating the game and who was just playing it, but he knew one thing: if he could become the mastermind, he would.

“We cannot let it take refuge in the sea,” Hades said.

It would be in his brother’s territory and virtually unreachable. Even if Hades were to offer a bargain, Poseidon would not give up such a weapon.

“Then we are wasting precious time talking when we should be hunting,” said Dionysus.

“The issue, Dionysus, is where to begin,” said Hades, looking at the god. “Unless you have information the rest of us do not.”

Dionysus did not speak.

“We must be careful in our inquiries,” said Ilias. “Word has already spread among the market. Everyone within those channels will expect your involvement.”

And they were right to, though Hades knew that would not be a deterrent. In the seedy world of the black market, few feared his wrath, though he hardly saw that as an insult. It was hard to fear death when faced with it every day. Still, it meant that he would be locked in a competition to locate perhaps one of the greatest weapons ever created against the gods.

“Then perhaps my maenads should make the inquiries,” Dionysus suggested, but Hades ignored him and looked at Ilias.

“Put Ptolemeos on the case, but watch him. I trust no one in this matter.”

“Even me, apparently,” Dionysus said.

Hades returned his gaze to the God of Wine. “Let’s not pretend you haven’t already sent your assassins to scout. You don’t wait for permission; you take it.”

Dionysus pursed his lips and looked away. Hades could not tell if he was amused or annoyed.

“And what is to be done with it when it is found?” asked Zofie. “Will you kill it?”

Hades did not respond because he did not know the answer to her question. He supposed it depended on what the oracle had to say about the creature’s powers, though he doubted anyone else searching for the ophiotaurus would think twice about whether the prophecy still rang true.

That creature had a bounty on its head and a ticking clock on its heart.

“You’re all dismissed,” Hades said.

He was ready to be back in the Underworld with Persephone. It was where he should have been this entire night, curled around her warm body in the aftermath of their lovemaking. It made him irate that he had not been able to remain at her side. Even on the night of their engagement, he had been away while she slept, gathering intel on the ophiotaurus and attempting to discover where Demeter had taken refuge.

He tried not to think of this as an omen for what was to come, but he knew a battle lay ahead. He had always known it would not be easy to make Persephone his wife, given that her mother was one of his most vocal critics. And while the snow swirling outside in the middle of summer concerned him, he was more worried about Zeus.

His brother liked control, especially where other gods were concerned, and that included a say in who they married.

Hades clenched his fist at the thought.

He would marry Persephone no matter the consequences, because in the end, a life without her was not a life at all.