Chapter XVI

Chapter XVI

The Battle with Heracles

No one cheered, though he had not expected celebration, not to mention most of the people who had occupied the seats of the stadium had fled during the horror that was the hydra.

Indeed, the aftermath was much like the end of a battle when a strange and dreadful silence settled heavily in the air. It was the silence of death, the sound of life stolen from all living things, not just human.

And it was over.

A ringing settled deep in Hades’s ears, and before it could grow worse, he offered Hera a vulgar gesture, then turned to leave the stadium.

Except that as soon as he reached the tunnel, a door slammed down, barring his exit, and a horrible screeching filled the air.

Hades whirled to find that a second gate had opened and released a herd of giant birds. There were easily twenty, all with bronze beaks and deadly metal feathers that gleamed beneath the greenish light, and while they looked like something Hephaestus had created, Hades knew better.

These were Stymphalian birds, creations of Ares, the God of War.

Their beaks, talons, and feathers were deadly weapons and had the ability to pierce armor, which made getting close enough to kill them nearly impossible.

Hades would need a bow in hopes of even wounding one, though that too would prove to be difficult given their feathers were metal.

The birds screeched and charged, a towering stampede of sharp blades heading right for him.

Fuck .

Hades took off at a run once more, though the pain made it hard for him to maintain a steady pace. He gritted his teeth through it as he heard the distinct sound of metal scraping metal, and he knew the birds were airborne. Glancing overhead, he saw that they were circling, vultures ready to pick apart their kill.

Shelter. He had to find some kind of shelter.

Frantic, he glanced around the arena, spotting his shield. He turned toward it, just as a metal feather lodged in the earth in front of him like a spear. A second followed and then a third, barring his path to the shield. He changed course, heading instead for one of the entrances used by the monsters. The threshold over the doors was minuscule, but it would provide enough cover until he decided on a plan of action.

As he veered right, so did the birds and their feather spears, each hitting so close, the air felt like a whip upon their impact. If he slowed down, he would be impaled.

Except that the birds seemed to be aware of Hades’s plans, because in the next second, the small bit of relief he’d hoped to have beneath the awning of the arena was barred from him by a row of sharp metal feathers.

Hades halted in his tracks, anger boiling his blood. He turned, eyes settling on the corpse of the hydra. It was full of poisonous things, including teeth.

Once more, he changed routes while the attacks continued from above. As each feather spear hit the ground, it tore up the earth, sending rocks and dirt into the air, making his course to the hydra more difficult. There was no relief once he arrived either, as the entire creature sat in a pool of its own venomous blood, but Hades was already wounded by the venom, and if he could manage to win this final fight, he could heal himself.

Hades launched himself into the air, landing atop one of the hydra’s heads. As he did, a sharp feather cut through the air, impaling the head. Several followed after that, piercing the deceased monster, making it vibrate with the impact. His anger began to build, his exhaustion a weight, and while magic was forbidden in this duel, he felt himself calling to it, gripping the teeth within the mouths of the hydra. Ripping those sharp, poisonous teeth from their gums, he catapulted them through the air and pelted the birds, filling the air with a cacophony of horrible cries followed by a metallic crash as they fell from the sky, landing haphazardly in the stadium—some in the arena, others in the stands.

In the aftermath, Hades turned, facing the box.

“Hera!” he yelled, infusing it with a hatred beyond anything he’d ever felt before. “End this madness!”

The goddess rose languidly to her feet and stepped to the very edge of her box.

“Do you not wish to wed the young Persephone?”

Hades gritted his teeth, staring at her, so consumed by his rage that he did not even notice how badly the ground beneath his feet, soaked in blood, burned. If it had been anyone else, he would have snapped, demanded that they leave her out of this, but he knew, perhaps better than anyone, that Hera would never cease her pursuit if he did not do as she asked.

She knew where her power lay, and it was in Hades’s heart.

“Am I wrong?” the goddess asked.

Hades knew she sought more than an answer. She sought his vulnerability.

“No,” Hades gritted out. “You are not wrong.”

“And yet you cheat by using your magic,” Hera said, her head tilting to the side.

Hades had no words for the goddess, only feelings, and they were building just as quickly as they had toward the Stymphalian birds. He was angry, and he was tired.

“How do you intend to atone for your error in judgment?” she asked, nonplussed.

Hades would have liked to offer her a final, vulgar gesture before returning to his realm for the night, but there was a future on the line that was not completely his own, and he was not about to let it slip through his fingers. So he answered, slow and deliberate, “However you see fit.”

“I thought so,” she said, smiling, and returned to her iron throne. As she sat, another door opened, revealing a large, muscled man dressed similarly to Hades. He had a head full of golden curls, and while handsome and young, there was something wrong. Hades noted how the veins in his arms and neck bulged, how the whites of his eyes were stained red, how his breathing seemed both labored and angry.

This man was stricken with madness.

Hades was familiar with this magic, a particular favorite of Hera’s. She had used it throughout her existence to make men and women alike murderous, including the one before him.

Heracles, a son of Zeus.

It had been years since Hades had looked on his demigod nephew, and it was clear that whatever Hera had done left him drained of humanity.

There was no difference between him and any other monster.

Heracles left the shelter of the gate, dragging a massive club behind him.

Hades shifted out of the hydra’s blood and reached for his sole weapon, the shield. Still, the warrior advanced on him. Seeming to need no time to consider his opponent, he attacked, lifting the club over his head with both hands. Hades dodged the first blow, which rocked the earth as it hit. The second whipped toward his middle, missing only by an inch as Hades jumped back. The third blow was caught by his shield, and as it hit, Hades pushed against it, sending the club flying.

With the man weaponless, Hades reared back and shoved his shield toward Heracles’s neck. He’d hoped to end this fight as quickly as it had begun, but the man was fast and just as strong as Hades. He caught the adamantine shield just before it could reach him, and suddenly they were locked in a battle of push and pull until the shield itself began to bend.

With a growl, Hades shoved against Heracles and lunged to the side. The demigod stumbled forward, shield in hand, while Hades made a mad dash for the club he had flung across the stadium. A roar left Heracles, who tossed the shield. Hades ducked as it flew overhead, lodging in what remained of the concrete arena wall. Before Hades could reach the club, Heracles dove for him, locking onto his ankle with strong hands. Hades stumbled and rolled just as Heracles jerked him toward his body, rearing back to punch his face, but the god caught his fist, hands shaking as he took on the might of the man’s godlike power.

Hades lifted his knee, catching the demigod in the side. It did little to deter him, however, as he continued to raise his fist. This time, Hades could not stop the blow. A burst of pain seemed to explode from behind his eyes. A second blow brought tears. A third and his nose crunched. Finally, Hades recovered and dodged the fourth attempt, managing to land a harder blow to Heracles’s side, sending him to the ground and giving Hades the upper hand. With their roles reversed, it was Hades’s turn to pummel Heracles.

He got in two blows to the face—one to the eye and one to the mouth that cut the skin on his knuckles to pieces—before he attempted to reach the club again. He barely rose to his feet before he was down once more, his knee hitting the arena floor with a loud quake. He twisted and kicked Heracles in the face, sending him to his back. Hades scrambled once more to reach the club. Gripping it with his bloodied hands, he twisted just in time to be hit with the full force of Heracles’s weight.

They sailed across the arena, Hades landing blow after blow on any part of Heracles’s body that was exposed, until the force of their momentum broke the concrete wall and stadium like glass, stealing his breath.

The two landed in a pile of rubble. Heracles had the high ground and a host of new weapons in the form of large concrete bricks. He reached for one and brought it down on Hades. All he could do to stop the blow was cross his arms over his face. Upon impact, the concrete turned to dust.

Heracles roared and reached for another.

Hades shifted his knees up and pushed against the ground with his feet, sending Heracles toppling into the rubble beside him. He reached for the nearest rock and attacked. Landing on the demigod with the force of his body weight, Hades aimed for the eye.

The strike did not land as Heracles caught Hades’s wrists, and the two struggled. Still, Hades pushed, a horrible growl escaping his mouth, and he felt almost as mad as Heracles, uncaring that he was about to murder this man. He was beyond anything humane, aside from his motivation to get back to the Underworld to find Persephone warming his bed and the hope that in the aftermath of this fight, he’d have a chance at a forever with her.

A forever Heracles stood in the way of.

Hades’s arms shook, but he felt Heracles’s hold slipping, and then it was done. His grip crumbled, and the rock smashed into the demigod’s face. And then Hades did it again.

And again.

And again.

And again until his nephew’s features were nothing but bloody pulp, and when he felt as though he had released all his aggression, he tossed the rock aside and rose to his feet, stumbling out of the mess they had made and back into the arena. Once inside, he looked up to Hera again. He could not quite place her expression, but he thought he detected a modicum of shock, though it was washed out by her overpowering anger, present in the set of her jaw.

She nodded toward Hades and said “I’ll be in touch” before vanishing, taking Theseus with her.

It was only after she left that Hades let himself stumble and then fall to the ground.

* * *

Hades came to consciousness, though he had yet to open his eyes. He took a moment to assess his body, recalling how his feet and skin had burned, how his face had ached and his knees had throbbed before everything had gone dark, but there was no pain, only a deep, hollow feeling—a complete and utter numbness that accompanied the horror of what he’d done.

The hydra, the Stymphalian birds.

But the worst was Heracles.

“He should be waking up now,” a voice said.

“Are you sure? He still looks green.” Hades recognized Hermes’s voice.

“I think that is the light,” the voice replied, still warm despite Hermes’s questioning.

Hades blinked open his eyes to find a young god staring down at him. He had wide, brown eyes, a mop of brown hair, and a matching beard.

Hades knew him.

“Paean,” he said.

The god offered a kind, genuine smile. “It is good to see you awake, Lord Hades.”

Paean was a minor god, but his role among the Olympians was great, as he was their healer on the rare occasion a god could be wounded.

Hades rose into a sitting position, body stiff and head spinning.

Paean pushed a mug into his hands. “Drink,” he said. “It is nectar.”

Hades took the mug and sipped the honeyed liquid as he took in his surroundings. He was in a small room with a single cot and a lamp. Paean occupied the only chair in the room but quickly vacated it, speaking as he rose.

“You are fully healed, my lord. You may leave whenever you wish.”

“Thank you, Paean,” Hades said softly.

The healer offered a gentle smile and a nod before leaving the room, then Hades’s eyes shifted to Hermes, who looked very pale and very awkward pressed against the wall of the small room.

“Well, I must say,” Hermes said nervously, “that was the most dramatic fight night I have been to in a long while, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hades just stared.

“I mean, of course you couldn’t agree. You’ve never been,” Hermes continued, wringing his hands. “Let me tell you, though. I have never seen one so…bloody. Leave it to you to set a record.”

Hades did not wish to set records, and the comment only made him feel disgusted. A sickening twist tore at his stomach. He averted his eyes, ignoring Hermes’s incessant talking in favor of the greater conversation at hand.

“Theseus was with Hera,” Hades said, frowning as he recalled how they’d sat together in Hera’s box and conversed as if they were old allies. “Did you know?”

The God of Mischief looked affronted that Hades would ask such a question. “This was the first time I saw him here.”

“And how often are you here?” Hades countered.

Hermes seemed to shrink in on himself, as if realizing why Hades might not trust him in this moment when he admitted, “Every week.”

“Hmm.”

Hades had long suspected Theseus of plotting to overthrow the Olympians. Given the reason for his trials, he could not help wondering if perhaps Hera had formed some kind of alliance with the leader of Triad.

But why be so blatant about their partnership?

“What?” Hermes asked.

Hades looked at the god, arching a brow.

“What does ‘hmm’ mean? You do it all the time.”

Hades blinked, and Hermes continued. “Does it mean you don’t believe me? Or are you disappointed in me? Is it both?”

“It means I am thinking,” Hades said, though he’d have liked to not answer at all and let the god suffer, especially after the day he’d had.

“Oh,” Hermes said, and there was a beat of silence before he replied, “Well, in that case, please continue.”

But Hades rose fully to his feet, downing the rest of the nectar Paean had given him. Once he was finished, he pushed the cup into Hermes’s hands and said, “Perhaps you would not be so defensive if you did not feel so guilty.”

To that, Hermes had nothing to say, so Hades vanished.