Chapter XV

Chapter XV

Fight Night

Hades returned to his chamber, where Persephone slept, and climbed into bed, though he did not sleep, his mind too active from the day’s events. He could not begin to understand what Persephone was going through. Even having experienced varying degrees of loss, there was no comparing grief.

Hearts did not break the same.

They did not heal the same.

They would not beat the same.

She stirred beside him, eyes peeling open with some difficulty before whispering, “Have you slept?”

“Not quite yet,” he said.

She did not respond, but she seemed more awake as she stared at him.

“Will you”—she paused, hesitating—“show me the threads again?”

He did not want to, not really, but it was a part of him he had shared, and it was not so surprising that she had more questions.

He dropped his glamour, and she lifted herself onto her elbow and reached a hand out, flattening her palm against his stomach. Her touch was gentle, her hand cold, but it still managed to make him feel warm and make the threads crisscrossing his skin burn.

“Why do you hide them?” she asked, her voice remained quiet.

“Very few warrant pride,” he replied.

“If you are so ashamed, why make so many bargains?”

“Because I am self-serving. There was a time when I cared nothing about the consequences of trading souls.”

Persephone’s hand curled on his stomach. “They cannot all be bad.”

He wasn’t sure if she said it because she was hopeful he might find a way to save Lexa if worse came to worse or because she wished to see the best in him in this moment.

“There are only those I regret more,” he said. “And those souls belong to children.”

He called up his glamour, and they spoke no more.

* * *

An hour later, Persephone was sound asleep once more. Hades lay awake staring at the ceiling, recalling the vision the eye had shown him. He could still remember it in vivid detail—the crowded square, the guttural sounds of sex, the acidic smell of Dionysus’s magic, and the god himself seated with his lover. Perhaps the worst part was how comfortable she appeared to be as a goddess and a queen. Had the eye been trying to tell him something? Or was it merely fucking with him because it did not trust him?

He turned his head, and as he traced Persephone’s features in the semidarkness, he wondered if she were better off without him.

A pulse of magic drew his attention as Hermes appeared at the end of his bed. He raised a brow.

“You could knock,” he said.

“Courtesy is for mortals,” said Hermes.

“And gods who want to keep their teeth.”

Hermes was not amused, but their banter was overshadowed by how quickly his expression changed to something far too serious for the God of Mischief.

“You’ve been summoned, Hades,” he said.

He did not need to ask who had summoned him. He could guess well enough.

Hera.

“Where?” he asked.

“I cannot tell you that,” Hermes said. “I can only take you there.”

Hades narrowed his eyes as Hermes began to draw a line in the air, summoning a portal.

“No teleportation?” he asked.

“Hera does not allow teleportation into her… realm …without consent, much like you,” Hermes replied just as the portal he had summoned yawned open. It was big enough for Hermes to step through without hassle, but Hades would have to bend.

He sighed, a gnawing anxiety growing in his chest. He leaned over and kissed Persephone softly before rising, summoning his clothes, and stepping through the portal.

He found himself in a room—an office. He recognized where he was only because the wall of windows opposite him overlooked a familiar part of New Athens.

This was the Diadem Hotel, and it was owned by Hera. The goddess herself stood in front of a black-and-gold desk that looked more like an art piece than practical furniture. A set of gold peacock statues flanked it while a three-piece canvas hung behind it, depicting a prowling black panther with emerald eyes.

“Hades,” Hera greeted with a nod. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore a white jumpsuit and tailored jacket. The goddess usually chose gold accessories, and today was no different—a large gold chain hung around her neck, paired with a stack of gold bracelets on her left wrist.

Hades always felt that the goddess’s choice to wear white was symbolic. She was communicating her innocence, in contrast to her husband, who was far from chaste or loyal to her in any regard.

“Hera,” Hades replied.

“I hope I was not interrupting,” she said.

Hades looked around the room. No one was present aside from Hermes.

“Perhaps we should drop false pretenses, Hera,” Hades said. “There is no one present to witness your false courtesy.”

The goddess smiled. “Your next labor begins in an hour,” she said. “Hermes, why don’t you prepare our… guest ?”

Hades’s gaze cut to the god, who was far too nervous not to be guilty of something . Hermes bowed his head. “Of course,” he said, finally meeting Hades’s eyes. “This way, Hades.”

Hades had never felt this kind of tension with Hermes. It was the kind that developed when someone wasn’t being truthful, and it was rapidly morphing into anger. He knew the God of Mischief felt it too, because he moved stiffly before Hades as he called for the elevator in Hera’s office.

Its doors were gold and opened into a needlessly extravagant lift. The floor was carpeted, thick and plush. The walls were mirrored and framed in gold. There was even a chandelier overhead; the crystals dripping from it touched Hades’s head. He turned once inside, never taking his eyes from Hera as the doors closed, sealing him inside with the God of Trickery.

Now that they were alone, Hades spoke. “Care to tell me what is going on?” he asked.

“I…” Hermes said and cleared his throat. “I can’t.”

“Hmm…so much for being best friends .”

Hermes’s eyes and mouth opened, and Hades did not know if it was from the shock of him using those words or the thought of actually losing his friendship, but after a moment, his gaze narrowed, and his lips pressed thin. Hermes seemed more on edge, and with good reason, because in the next second, Hades had him pressed against the wall by his neck.

The god’s hand clamped down on Hades’s arm and he laughed nervously. “This was far less scary in my dreams.”

“For what am I being made ready?” Hades asked through clenched teeth.

“Fight night,” Hermes said. “You’re going into the ring, Hades.”

Hades released him, and the god fell to the floor. As he rose to his feet again, Hermes pressed his fingers to his neck.

“Definitely thought I’d enjoy choking far more,” Hermes said. “Thanks for ruining a fantasy.”

Hades ignored the god. He was not so surprised that Hera hosted such an event. It was likely she used it to choose heroes and favored mortals.

“Who am I fighting?” Hades asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermes replied.

Hades looked at him, and the god flinched away.

“You’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Hades asked.

Hermes straightened and glared. “You just pinned me against a wall and not in a good way!”

Hades stared, waiting for an answer to his question.

“The competitors are different every week,” Hermes said. “That’s the point. The chosen—that’s you, in case you didn’t know—goes in blind. It’s a test of your ability to improvise and adapt.”

Which probably meant no magic.

They did not speak as the elevator came to a halt, and when the doors opened, it was into a busy concrete tunnel filled with a muted, blue-tinged light. Hades recognized this as one of the underground tunnels below the streets of New Athens. It seemed many used this particular one to reach Hera’s fight night.

The two gods joined the fray. Many continued forward, down a set of stairs to a large open bar, backlit with blue. An oval sunken floor created stadium-style seating where people gathered.

Hermes and Hades did not descend into the throng, however. They took a right, marching down a hall that was just as crowded with people, some bent over the edge of a metal rail overlooking the bar, while others leaned against the opposite wall, preferring the peace and anonymity the darkness offered.

That was where Hades wanted to be, swallowed by shadow. Instead, he walked unglamoured among both mortals and immortals. He could feel their apprehension as much as he could see it—averted eyes and a body that bent away from his presence.

As if either would keep away death.

He could not help thinking of Persephone at this moment. The woman who pressed close to him, who sought his warmth and even his darkness. The woman who traced the threads on his skin with curiosity, not disgust. She was why he was here, he reminded himself. At the end of the day, this was about her—it was about them. It was to save a future that had barely begun and was already under threat by the Goddess of Marriage.

Hades’s fists curled.

If Hera wanted a fight, he’d give her one. He’d make it unforgettable.

The hallway curved and grew wider, branching off. One part twisted on while the other was a straight, short path to a set of black doors carved with images Hades recognized—the Nemean lion, the Erymanthian boar, the Cretan bull. They were animals that had been defeated during Heracles’s labors, and now they decorated the doors in Hera’s underground fighting ring in gold relief.

How fitting.

Hermes pushed open the doors to reveal a surprisingly simple room. The floor was concrete, and to the left was a narrow pool. A row of lions’ heads were affixed to the wall, and from their mouths poured a stream of steaming water. The wall directly in front of him was an altar dedicated to the Goddess of Women. A gold statue made in her likeness was adorned with offerings, likely prayers made by other—what had Hermes called him?— chosen .

Hades would not be leaving an offering.

There was nothing else to the room other than a privacy screen, and Hades turned to look at Hermes.

“Well?” he asked. “What now?”

“You must bathe,” he said.

“Why?” Hades asked tightly.

“Because…the gold won’t stick.”

“The gold?” Hades repeated.

Hermes sighed. “Look, this isn’t ideal, but have I ever led you astray?”

“Yes, Hermes, you have, in fact, led me astray. This is a prime example,” Hades said, gesturing to the room.

“With fashion,” Hermes countered.

Hades glared. He did not want to do this.

Hermes crossed the room to a stack of folded towels and threw one at him.

“Get wet, Daddy Death,” Hermes said.

* * *

Less than fifteen minutes later, Hades stood dressed in a skirt made of leather strips that hung midthigh and nothing more. Normally he would not mind this, but it was the fact that it was for Hera’s pleasure. Not to mention that Hermes had taken entirely too long dusting gold on his skin with the smallest fan brush Hades had ever seen.

“What are you doing?” Hades asked, itching to cross his arms over his chest.

“Highlighting,” Hermes replied.

“Why?” Hades gritted out.

“To draw attention to your… assets .”

Hades looked down, noting he was almost covered in the gold dust. Hermes, who was bent eye level with his abs, looked up and grinned. Whatever he saw in Hades’s gaze made him hesitate.

“I think I’m done,” he said, clearing his throat and straightening.

Hades glowered. “I don’t see why I have to wear this.”

“Clothing is optional,” Hermes replied. “In fact, the preference is to fight naked.”

“I meant the gold dust, Hermes.”

“Oh,” he said. “It’s fashion.”

Hades raised a brow at that comment. “I’m sure it will look marvelous with the blood of my enemies.”

“Let’s hope it is their blood and not yours,” said Hermes, returning the jar and brush to the altar where he had retrieved them earlier.

Hades tilted his head to the side. “Are you suggesting I will lose?”

Hermes’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. It’s just—”

Hades crossed his arms over his chest at the god’s hesitation.

“Don’t do that! You’re ruining my work!”

“Then don’t lie to me,” Hades replied.

Hermes sighed, and his whole body seemed to slump. He scrubbed his face as he spoke. “It’s not that I don’t think you can win,” he admitted. “It’s just the thought of what you might be up against.”

“And what might I be up against?”

“Your own demons, Hades,” Hermes said.

It was the first time Hades had considered what being in this ring might mean for him mentally, and it hit harder when Hermes nodded toward the wall where an array of weapons hung.

“You only get one,” he said. “Choose wisely.”

Hades stared at them for a long time, unable to bring himself closer. There were swords and sickles, shields and axes.

Taking a weapon in hand would only remind him of the weight of others, ones he had used in battle after battle. With that thought came others, memories tinged with sounds and smells. He let them move through his mind—screams of terror and groans of death, the smell of blood, metal, and sweat.

There was a part of him that wished Hermes had not said anything at all, had not drawn his mind to think of those times, yet he was better off preparing for it if he was to face any opponent.

With the echoes of past battles roaring through his mind, he reached and retrieved a shield from the wall. It carried a symbol of Hera, a panther, and as much as he hated to wield it, the shield itself was an invaluable weapon. It was fashioned from adamant, an unbreakable metal that could injure a god. Its edges were sharp and it was heavy, a weight that seemed to increase the longer he held it and turned it over in his hand. After a few moments, he turned and found Hermes staring, looking very much stricken.

“It’s time,” he said.

Hades said nothing. There was a part of him that could not believe he was even entertaining this. He felt like a puppet Hera had dressed and attached to strings, a vessel for enjoyment rather than an age-old god.

Still, he followed, strung along by the hope that if he did as he was instructed, his future with Persephone would be secured.

Hermes led him from the room, down the rounded corridor where it branched once more, down another concrete tunnel. Ahead, he could see light, but it was unnatural, tinged with green, and as he neared it, his body grew tense, his anxiety deepening.

What would he face in this ring?

When he came to the end, where the shadow met the light, he paused. The tunnel led to an oval stadium with seats that sloped gently upward. They were full, and the crowd was already hyped—laughing and shouting, cheering and howling. Their excitement to see blood burrowed into his ears, twined into his mind. He gritted his teeth against it, hating it.

There was a second level, a fenced-in balcony where spectators stood, their fingers looped through metal wire, and while curious, they were far more subdued.

There was no announcement, no introduction as Hermes motioned for Hades to step into the ring. As he took one step, then another, the cheering that had inspired such frustration in him died—no one had expected to see the God of the Dead.

Hades’s grip tightened on the shield he had chosen as a weapon as he scanned the crowd. His eyes followed a ring of fire-lit pyres before settling on Hera, whose box was built into the second floor. The goddess herself sat on an iron throne. She had changed and now wore all black, trading most of her jewelry for a single diadem of gold coins that glimmered across her forehead.

Even from here, she looked cold, carved from solid marble.

Then his eyes shifted to someone he had not expected to see.

Theseus.

Theseus, demigod, son of Poseidon, sat beside Hera. There was no mistaking his nephew’s aquamarine eyes or the arrogant air with which he held himself. There was a part of him that was not so surprised to see the two together, given that Hera wished to overthrow Zeus. Hades had suspected for a long time that it was Theseus’s wish—and the wish of Triad, a terrorist group that had organized against the Olympians—to end the reign of the gods.

How long, Hades wondered, had his partnership with Hera existed?

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice—Hermes’s voice—as he announced Hades and his opponent.

“Welcome to fight night,” he sang. “In the ring, we have a very special guest. The one and only Rich One, Receiver of Many, the Unseen One, Lord of the Underworld, God of the Dead, Hades!”

With each name, Hades’s jaw grew more taut.

Hermes did not even manage to announce his opponent when a set of stone doors opposite the ring burst open as two heads emerged. They were snakelike with pointed noses and mouths. Webbed scales fanned out from the backs of their heads and down their backs. A large, clawed foot shook the ground as the creature squeezed its way out of containment, followed by another two heads.

Something sour gathered in the back of Hades’s throat. He knew this creature, knew that there were three more heads attached to its body that had yet to emerge from the darkness of the arena.

It was a hydra. A seven-headed creature that was impossible to defeat. Even if he managed to decapitate one of its heads, another two would grow back in its place. Not to mention its venom, the tar-like saliva that dripped from its mouth even now, was deadly.

The creature bellowed and screamed, and as it moved into the arena, it shook its heads, slinging its deadly venom carelessly about. Horrified screams erupted as onlookers were hit with acid.

Hera and Theseus watched on, unfazed.

Hades bolted. Perhaps the only thing on his side was speed, because even hydra venom could be deadly to gods if they sustained enough injuries. Unfortunately, the hydra’s heads were just as fast, and their long necks meant its bulbous body did not have to move far to reach its victims.

The ground shook as one of its heads slammed down an inch from Hades’s ankles. He turned and lunged into the air, slamming his shield down on the creature’s head. It remained limp, disoriented, but the other six heads hissed and attacked.

Hades rolled away and covered himself with his shield as each of the hydra’s heads rammed against the metal. Soon, the shield was covered with a mix of black venom and saliva that dripped thickly off the edges and onto the ground at his feet. Hades gritted his teeth against the might of the monster. He knew that eventually he would have to move, but he needed a plan, a way to ensure the heads could not grow back. His eyes caught on one of the lit torches around the stadium.

Fire.

He could use fire.

But first, he had to get out from under this attack.

He bent his knees and hurled the shield into the air with all his might. It flipped as if it were light as a coin, distracting the hydra’s heads as he bolted for the first torch, his bare feet burning as he stepped in the hydra’s venom.

The monster was not deceived long, his heavy footfalls giving his retreat away, and soon the heads slithered after him. Some nipped at his feet while others went for his head. It was a constant game of jumping and dodging, and by the time he reached the edge of the stadium, his body was fatigued, the soles of his feet on fire.

Overhead, the torches burned, a beacon that signaled an escape. Hades turned, back against the wall, and as the venomous heads raced toward him, he jumped. The heads struck, one right after the other, and he used them almost like stepping stones, diving for the torch when it was within reach. But as he grabbed it, it snapped in half, burdened by his momentum, and he continued falling to the ground, the hydra’s heads chasing after him, open-mouthed, a rain of venom pouring down around him, touching his body like drops of drizzle, burning his skin.

He couldn’t let the hydra catch him on the ground. So he hurled the torch at one of the open mouths, and as it hit, it burst into flames.

The creature bellowed and all its heads flailed. The crowd screamed, and Hades knew that those who had remained after the hydra’s first attack were probably wishing they had left.

With the hydra distracted, Hades rushed for his shield, which lay discarded across the arena. Scooping it up, he then ran for another torch. This time, he managed to top the wall, which was wide enough for him to run atop. He snapped the torch from its place and ran for the next, tossing them to the ground below.

When he came to the final one, the hydra had recovered, and as it charged for him, he waited until the last second to jump from the wall. As its heads collided with the wall, Hades bore down on one of the necks with his shield. The impact was jarring, but the shield cut into the creature’s flesh enough for Hades to shove a lit torch inside. A second head was on fire, but this time as the monster reacted, it jerked, sending Hades flying across the arena.

He hit the wall, but he landed on his sore feet, legs shaking from the pain.

He watched as the hydra worked to put out the fire burning through one of its necks. A few of the heads screamed at it, but the venom only seemed to make it worse while others tried to beat at the flames with their heads. His gaze turned toward the box where Hera sat with Theseus. Neither was paying attention, each consumed in conversation with the other, and there was something about that sight that made Hades rage.

He was finished with this.

He turned toward the hydra, took up his shield, but instead of using it to defend, he used it like a disc, heaving it through the air. It tore through the hydra, and as it did, the head that had been on fire dropped into the puddle of blood and venom left behind. The entire carcass erupted in fire, filling the arena with the smell of burning flesh. The remaining heads whipped back and forth, and as each one fell to the ground, it shook, their screams growing hoarse until, eventually, all was quiet save for the sound of crackling fire.

The hydra was now a resident of the Underworld.