“Thank you,” Alkaios sighed in relief at this chance to escape and brushing his fingers over the soft hair of the child in Ioanna’s arms, fled the room.
When he arrived at the boathouse, the mist was thicker than he had ever remembered seeing over the river. If he outstretched his palm, even his divine eyes could not see it. Alkaios knew the way by heart though, and with a flick of his wrist, the wooden tree that had woven itself into a home grew outward until it settled on the shore. Climbing up the ramp, Alkaios peaked his head inside but finding it empty, rounded the house to the dock out back. It stretched over the angry, churning waters of the Styx, and shrouded in fog stood Charon, arms folded across his broad chest.
“How are my wife and daughters?” he asked by way of greeting.
“As well as can be expected,” Alkaios said. “Do you know what happened?”
“Yes.” Charon shifted to face his king. “Ioanna opened her memories so I could witness it. It is how I told her I needed to speak with you.” Graveness filled Charon’s eyes. “I heard Zeus suggest that we may yet have to lock Hades behind that seal. We know not if her madness is cured or if only temporarily suspended; nor do we understand these first gods. Even Hades, with all her might, may not be able to resist their pull, and even if she can, what is to say your son will be able to? The boy still poses a threat. We cannot predict if your child will be born pure or with the delusion of his ancestors. Any blood seal, Olympian or Old One, he could break.”
Alkaios looked at his friend, dumbfounded. These words had gutted him coming from Zeus, but from Charon? They struck deeper, the pain and desperation filling him to overflowing. Alkaios opened his mouth to speak, not knowing what sounds to let fall from his lips.
“I mean not to burden you with what already weighs you down,” Charon said. “I requested your presence to present a solution.” Alkaios’ eyes shot wide as he looked at his friend, but the ferryman only raised a hand in a halting gesture. “First… promise me something?”
“You are my brother. I will grant you whatever you ask for as long as it is within my power to give.”
“No one must know of what I am about to say,” Charon said gravely. “Not Hades and especially not Ioanna. This remains between you and me.”
“Of course, but why?”
“Because,” Charon said, turning to the shrouded water, “what I am about to tell you will most likely result in Zeus ending my life.”
Hades paced on Zeus’ hidden ledge, anxiety coursing through her veins. She begged the universe that she would remain in control of her own mind, but the anxiety over her madness was second only to that caused by waiting. They had formed a plan, and now she must wait. Wait for the Olympians to find a plot of land that suited their needs, to create the blood runes in the dirt that would portal the Old Ones behind the door. The deformed gods were growing restless, clamoring to break down the gates of Hell and take what was hers for themselves. If the Olympians did not hurry, their trap would be too late.
So here, Hades paced. She had fled to this hidden ledge to await the signal, but as time wore on and none came, she would have to return to the mountain, to her ancestors. Being forced to live among them as herself was excruciating. She was no longer blind to their madness, their irreverence for life, and the smell of blood sickened her. Hades’ stomach turned just thinking about it. She longed to wash the days’ old filth from her skin but it would raise an alarm. While in Minotaur’s presence, she remained bloodthirsty and cruel, but the butchery dripping from his horns only served to remind her of the atrocities she had committed. Hatred of herself bubbled within like sulfuric tar, and Hades almost wished for the insanity to relapse so she might forget her sins.
A sudden sound wrenched her from her tormented mind, and Hades jerked to see a black snake slither onto the ledge. Its dark mass slid over the rocks to her ankle, curling itself around the limb. As it rose up her body, it slowed over her stomach as if feeling what lay inside before it continued traversing her torso and coming to a rest across her shoulders. The trap was set. Time to send these demons back whence they came.
XXIX
Alkaios carried a toddler on each hip as he fled the hovel. Their mother ran behind him, struggling to keep in step with his superior speed, a wailing infant clinging to her breast. Her husband and their eldest son brought up the rear, clutching every necessity hastily seized from their home, and the family followed the god at a breathless pace as Alkaios lead them toward the seaside cave. He was not the only Olympian tasked with evacuating the modest fishing village by the sea. Ahead, Hera pulled two young girls by their small hands as their parents dragged goats and all their earthly possessions. To their left, Apollo and Artemis helped a widower and his four sons carry the elderly residents over the field.
Alkaios, satisfied they had escorted the last of the villagers, charged over the land to where Zeus and Poseidon stood guard over the mouth of the cave. Sweat poured over his brow as he placed the toddlers on the ground and ushered them inside the dark, gaping entrance. The toddler’s parents rushed to join their children, and Alkaios turned to watch the slower elders cross the threshold. It was crammed full, bursting at the seams, every inch of space occupied by either man, beast, or supply. This seaside cavern had not been there this morning, but Zeus, Poseidon, and Alkaios had forced the stone to give way, creating a safe haven for the people whose homes were about to be destroyed in a deadly clash between the gods.
“Is that all of them?” Zeus asked, and Alkaios nodded in affirmation. “I hope they witnessed this.”
“She will make sure they did.”
Alkaios stepped from the cave’s mouth, and the rest of the Olympians followed his lead. They had selected this village for a reason. The huts were small, offering no cover. They could not hide, but neither could their enemies, and with the sea at their back, Poseidon would protect their flank. This is where they had chosen to make their stand, the blood runes marked in the dead of night as not to be noticed. The evacuation of the villagers was performed under the full light of day, though. They were part of the bait. The Olympians hoped the Old Ones were watching from atop the mountain and would see their attempt to save those mortals left. They hoped this would enrage the deformed gods into attacking, that their presence would be too much of a temptation. Behind the protection of the Styx, Minotaur would be forced to combat a power birthed into this world by his own brother, but here on earth, the Olympians were nothing more than wounded, helpless prey to be devoured.
Zeus hoisted his thunderbolt into the air. Lighting tore free from the sky and plummeted to meet the metal. Upon impact, he thrust it toward the cave. The flash of light hurtled into the rock, breaking it apart at the crown. Boulders and debris caved in sealing the villagers inside, buried alive.
“If we do not make it out of this,” Zeus said, turning to Aphrodite, “release them so they might flee.” The goddess of beauty nodded and drifted backward, folding herself among the rubble until her form blended in with seamless camouflage. “Although if we do not survive today,” Zeus muttered under his breath, “it would be kinder for them to suffocate within the earth than to perish at the hands of the Old Ones.”
“What do they think they are doing?” the three-eyed goddess asked no one in particular as she peered off of Olympus to the distant sea. She stood directly atop Zeus’ secret ledge, but thank the gods, the clouds shrouded it in mystery. Still, Hades felt anxious at her proximity and forced herself not to even glance down least she was being watched.
“They are attempting to save the mortals of the earth from our sacrificial blades,” Minotaur answered with disgust.
“We should take them now while they present themselves,” the fanged god said, seething with a need for vengeance. Hades flicked her eyes to the monstrous mouth and sighed in relief, thankful he stole the words from her lips. Better the call to attack fall from another’s tongue and not her own, least her eagerness reveal her truth.
“The Underworld does present
difficulty,” Hades offered when Minotaur remained silent. She could not come across impatient, but they had to snap at the bait. “Perhaps he has a point.” She gestured to the fanged god. “Taking them on earth works to our advantage, but I doubt they will remain so unprotected for long. If you wish to take them, command us now before we forfeit the upper hand.”
Minotaur shifted his mass and gazed down at his new Omega. She had proven herself as bloodthirsty as he was. He approved of his brother’s daughter far greater than he did of his brother. Hades was vicious and cruel, bent on domination for her people. He would place her on the throne beside him once his conquest was over, and they would rule in chaos together. The beginning and the end.
Minotaur gave a nod of his horned head, and Hades smiled, wickedness curving her lips in a beautifully dark masterpiece. The gods behind them roared a battle cry that shook the mountain, a death rumble that reached the ears of the Olympians below despite their distance, and the Old Ones dove off Olympus in a wave of chaos, hell-bent on bloodshed.
The Olympians heard the thundering of the horde before they saw them. The Old Ones pounded over the earth, shaking it to its core. Alkaios crouched closer to Kerberos. They were hopefully far enough from the small village to be passed unnoticed by the death march. As soon as the final deformed god crossed their blood runes, Alkaios would ignite their power. The Old Ones had to be trapped together at the same moment, and not one by one as they entered the runes’ circle. If there was a single iota of time between the foremost gods’ entrapment and the lasts’, not even Hades could stop their skulls from being crushed beneath that monstrous hammer. No, these monsters had to be captured simultaneously, and the burden of timing weighed on Alkaios’ weaponless shoulders. The dog’s hidden mass lay flat in the tall grass; their last line of defense if all else should fail. No matter who perished or how much hope was slaughtered in the mud, Kerberos was to stand his ground until the end, to hold the ancient gods until Alkaios bound them once again in darkness.
Body tensed for battle, back against a fisherman’s home, Zeus gripped the thunderbolt, extending it slightly, ready to swing at a moment’s notice. His eyes shifted to the shore where his brother stood calf-deep in the waves. Zeus dipped his head, and Poseidon nodded in return before turning to face the never-ending horizon of water. Reaching up, Poseidon slid a hand over the razor tips of his trident, slitting his palm. Blood sprung from the wound, dripping to the cerulean ripples and staining it with blooming petals of red. Instantly the sea lurched, heaving and churning around its god’s ankles, forcing the stained water out where it painted itself into runes. From their power, a wall of water rose high into the sky, impenetrable and solid. No god would be able to penetrate it to flank them, but it also served as a cage. The Olympians could not elude it either. There would be no escape for them once the Old Ones came. They were trapped by a barricade of water at their backs and monsters at their front. And as the thundering of chaos pounded closer, Poseidon hoped they could hold out against the deformed long enough for Alkaios to ignite the portal, otherwise this ocean barrier meant to save them would be their end.
Turning back to Zeus, trident poised to kill, Poseidon watched as the terrifying site of countless gods descended upon them. Flying over the land at a speed not even he could outrun, Poseidon balked as the Old One’s crashed through the rune barrier and destroyed any hopes the Olympians had of victory in one vicious swoop.
Alkaios was hidden in the grass one second and flipping head over heels through the air the next, disoriented as distorted images and sounds accosted him. Just seconds before, Poseidon had raised the sea’s wall barely in time for the Old Ones’ approach, all poised for impact, yet now as his back hit the ground with a painful thud, Alkaios understood their folly. There was no hope against these first gods. The Olympians’ defeat would be swift and merciless.
Head spinning, Alkaios scrambled to his feet as fast as the pain would allow. How the Old Ones had found him, he did not know, and as they charged, he stood no chance of fighting them without a weapon. They bore down on him, a barricade of chiseled flesh. Alkaios would never make it through their onslaught alive to ignite the runes at their flanks.
Suddenly he was hauled off the ground again, body hurtling to the side. He landed harshly, his attacker crashing atop him. Alkaios kicked violently, desperate to free himself from the mad god, but the grunt that rattled his eardrum at his kick was all too familiar.
“Go!” Zeus shoved Alkaios out from under him. “Get to the runes!” And then Zeus was gone, barreling back out into the open. “Olympians!” his voice echoed. “Hold them!” They answered his call with screams, wild like banshees, and brandished weapons. A crack of icy lighting hurtled from the sky and collided with his thunderbolt, igniting the grass just as the colossal bodies clashed.
Alkaios scrambled to his feet. The pit of his stomach knotted in constricting gnarls as he watched the wave of Old Ones crash upon the Olympians like a devastating storm upon the shore. The plan had been to remain hidden, their hope resting on his ability to ignite the portal before any combat was necessary, but their plan had failed. They had found him before they even crossed the runes’ threshold, and with a heavy heart, Alkaios knew what Zeus faced. He was buying Alkaios time to return to the runes, but it meant almost certain death. By giving themselves over to a head-on assault, they were sacrificing themselves to give him precious moments. Alkaios would not let them die in vain, and so he ran, forcing his legs as fast as they could go, silently praying to Hades to keep the fighting from him.
Whack! Alkaios rounded the last village hut only to slam headlong into a solid mass. He crashed in a heap of excruciating pain, eyesight blurring from the impact. A massive, unfocused shape bent over and hauled him into the air, hurling him across the field before Alkaios could even register what had happened. His body slammed to the earth for the second time in seconds, and the force jarred his spine with such intensity he felt as if his skeleton had shattered to dust. Groaning in agony, Alkaios flipped onto his stomach, his bones unable to support his weight, and crawled at an agonizingly slow pace in the direction he thought the runes were. He was not sure where they had been bled into the dirt, the searing in his head dimming his sight, but he had to move. His finger clawed the earth, grating his torso over the rough soil. Sharp knives of breath stabbed his ribs as his lung wheezed within his chest, but he barely made it a few feet when an iron hand seized his ankle and yanked. Alkaios flew backward, fingers clinging to the grass for purchase, but it was in vain. He was hoisted into the air and dangled upside down high above the ground. The unbreakable grip choked his skin. The bones in his ankle threatened to shatter like fragile glass as Alkaios swung. The blood rushed to his brain, flushing his cheeks hot, and his skull swelled with exploding pressure. His unfocused eyes watched with hazy clarity as blurred shapes clashed against one another, the Old Ones beating back the Olympians with savage ferocity. Despite Alkaios’ distorted vision, it was clear the Olympians faltered against the imposing show of force. Their strength waned from their inferior bodies; a sight not even Alkaios’ impaired eyesight could deny.
A roar above him snapped Alkaios’ attention from Zeus’ failing defense to the giant who dangled him upside down. The pain in his ankle pulsed excruciatingly from the monster’s grip, and when Alkaios saw the bloodstained horns cast their dark shadows, fear ripped through him in paralyzing waves. Minotaur’s head was plummeting, and despite Alkaios’ savage struggle, the horned god meant to slice him in two with his razor horns. Alkaios pitched wildly, but it was no use. He could not free himself, and this would be his end. The Alpha would rip him into ribboned halves, split skull to thighs.
Suddenly, a brutal roar shattered his fear, and Alkaios plummeted. His neck snapped as his crown connected with the grass, and through tumbling vision, he glimpsed three heads sink their fangs into Minotaur’s torso. The earth shook as the king and dog fell, their bodies a whirlwind of limbs and teeth, spikes and horns. They hit the ground w
ith earthquake force, gouging the dirt as they clashed, but Kerberos deftly rolled off Minotaur before the god’s hulking size crushed him. He landed on massive paws with heavy grace and loosed an ear-shattering growl that reverberated through three angered throats. His knees bent, ready to attack as Minotaur scrambled to his feet, but as the dog flew through the air, intent on ripping flesh from the deformed king’s bones, a dark, beautiful figure crashed into his chest and slammed him earthbound. Hades landed harshly atop her god-killer. A demonic scream howled from her throat, and as the dog’s spikes gouged the soil, she flung her gaze back to the bleeding Minotaur.
“He is mine!” Hades bellowed, voice terrifyingly powerful, and Minotaur settled onto his heels, pleased at the sight.
“Kill him, my child.” Minotaur’s cruelty echoed over the horrific din of battle. “Your father created that beast to defy me. It is fitting that the new Omega destroy him!”
Hades smiled at Minotaur’s words, wicked beauty turning her lips, and Alkaios’ heart lurched at her smile, so ruthless and bloodthirsty as she pinned Kerberos. Had she forgotten herself so quickly? But just as she tore her eyes from the horned king, they flitted across Alkaios’ gaze. It was imperceptible to all but him, for he knew his wife well. In the millisecond that their gazes brushed, Alkaios recognized her plea. Hades was buying him time, distracting Minotaur if only for a few precious seconds. She wanted him to run, to complete the task at hand, and so without wasting a single second, Alkaios vaulted to his feet and bolted through the grass. His dark power snaked around him, and in an instant, he disappeared, appearing by the line of runes a fraction of a moment later. He froze in horror when he saw the dirt. Some runes were whole, but most were broken, the soil beneath the gods’ spilled blood splayed wide.
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