Panic flooding his veins in icy waves, Alkaios’ eyes shot to the battle waging. He could see, even from this distance, that Athena was bathed in carnage, and her arm could barely raise her spear in defense. Artemis had loosed all her arrows save one and was using it as a dagger with little effectiveness. Ares and Zeus stood back to back, their weapons swinging wildly in frenzied attempts to cut through the masses surrounding Poseidon. The god of the seas was vastly outnumbered, fiercely fighting off the onslaught converging on his front only to be carved into bloody ribbons of flesh by the assault at his back. The Olympians were battered and bruised, oppressed on all sides, and it would be a matter of minutes before the first of his kind fell never to rise again. Alkaios was not sure he could redraw the runes in time, but his wife, their dog, and the gods who had once reigned on Mount Olympus were about to sacrifice their lives to buy him time. Alkaios would not let them down, and so with gritted teeth, his nails dug into his wrist and tore. His flesh peeled back, deep crimson flooding the wound and spilling out onto the ground. With haste, Alkaios plunged his fingers into the fountain of his lifeblood and bent to rebuild the first of many destroyed runes.
One look and Kerberos understood Hades’ plan. By attacking him, she was both buying Alkaios time and saving him from Minotaur’s savagery. Kerberos saw in her eyes that this fight between them would not be the same as the last time they had clashed. She meant to put on a show, sparing his life by assaulting him, and roaring with savage blood-thirst, Kerberos thanked his mother by shoving her from his body and vaulting to his paws.
With violent grace, Kerberos whipped his spiked tail at Hades, which her pitchfork blocked with a resounding clang. Not missing a beat, Kerberos lashed out and seizing his mother’s arm in his mouth, yanked. Hades flew sideways, legs ripped savagely from beneath her only for her shoulder to connect with the ground a moment later with bruising force. Agilely, she rolled and thrust her heels against the earth. They launched her upward to a readied stance, and Hades did not have to glance down to know that Kerberos, despite his utter strength, had not pierced her skin. She smiled, lips curved in taunting violence, but the grin was for Minotaur. Her eyes… her eyes were for the god-killer, and they were filled with thanks and encouragement. Kerberos growled his reply and flung himself at his mother, his massive bulk colliding into her with terrifying force.
Athena fared worse than the rest. The Old Ones had identified the Olympians with the greatest combat threat and attacked them first, pounding them with relentless viciousness. Her skin was split open in more places than she could count, and her left eye was so bruised and swollen, she no longer saw out of it. Her breath labored, lungs on fire with the exertion, and she barely possessed the strength to raise her arms, let alone continue to stand. Athena stumbled as waves of deformed gods crashed against her battered body, and despite her stoic and ruthless nature, tears streamed from her single good eye. This was her end, and this time, Athena knew Hades would not save her like on Medusa’s mountain. Their only hope was Hades remaining the traitor in their enemy’s midst. Although, from the looks of it, she had forgotten her true self in her savage struggle to slaughter Kerberos.
A bloodcurdling scream jerked Athena from her mind in time to see the three-eyed goddess fly at her. The force with which the old hag collided into her frame caused a bone in Athena’s forearm to splinter with an audible crack. Eyes blurring with tears, Athena howled and reeled back with such aggression, falling hard on her tailbone. Arm shattered, she dropped her spear, the pain rendering it impossible to grip the weapon, and before she could even consider capturing it with her good hand, the hag had it clutched in her boney fingers. The three-eyed god loosed a screeching war cry as she shoved the spear into the air, the first spoil of battle. The Old Ones joined in her revelry, their voices drowning out all other sounds, and Athena thrashed in terror as four deformed gods bent and hoisted her above their heads.
Their fingers clawed at her flesh. Their hands tugged her body, and Athena realized with terrifying clarity that they intended to rip her apart limb from limb. The scream that escaped her raw throat froze the hearts of her brethren, her panicking terror shards of ice in their veins.
“Athena!” Ares screamed, dread shooting strength into his exhausted legs. He bolted through the throng, leaving Zeus’ flank unprotected as he elbowed his way through the fight toward his partner. What was the god of war without the god of warfare?
“Ares!” Came Athena’s strangled plea. “Ares!”
“Athena!” Her name was cut short by a grunt as a tremendous hammer bludgeoned his stomach. The pain flung Ares backward, and vomit spat involuntarily from his mouth as he stumbled. Hades had killed the behemoth who bore this weapon on the mountain, but another had risen to take its place. He was massive, his hulking power raising the hammer again, preparing to deliver its crash into Ares’ skull.
Hades spat a ruby stain onto the ground. Kerberos’ forehead had slammed so aggressively into her mouth that her lip had split, and her teeth bit down on her tongue. Blood flooded her mouth again with its oozing metallic tang, but she did not have time to rid herself of it as Kerberos charged at her. Throwing herself to the side, Hades caught his necks with the pitchfork’s curve, forcing a gurgle to ripple up his throat as he fell. With panicking haste, her eyes flicked to the battle. The Old Ones had Zeus and Poseidon surrounded while others had Athena raised like a trophy above their heads. Any moment someone would die, and it would be on her head. This had been her idea, and if Hades showed her hand, allowed Minotaur to see her true allegiance, they would all be dead. Hiding among her ancestors was their only chance at saving the world from madness. If the Olympians had the upper hand, revealing her loyalty might work in their favor, but now it would only end them. Minotaur would be unforgiving in his vengeance, and with the Olympians so close to death, they would be vanquished before Hades could even touch the horned king.
Hades flicked her eyes to her husband, willing Alkaios to move faster, knowing he could not. The blood runes had to be drawn with perfection and care, and with only him bleeding to repair those her ancestors disrupted, he was fighting a losing battle.
“Enough of this!” Came Minotaur’s bellow, and Hades’ head jerked back to her uncle. His hulk was striding toward the dog, and before she could move, he was behind the god-killer. With a massive hand, Minotaur grabbed Kerberos’ middle neck and hoisted him into the air. A cry of pain escaped the dog’s lips as Minotaur flung him harshly to the dirt, and Hades’ heart constricted in torment. She longed to scream, to fly at Minotaur and skewer him like the animal he was. She wanted to slit him navel to collar and watch his innards litter the grass, and without realizing it, Hades was moving. Her feet carried her toward her ancient ancestor, pitchfork poised for the kill.
Kerberos struggled to stand, and one look at his mother told him all he needed to know. Hades was coming to save him, and he knew it would not end well. Not for any of them, especially for the Olympians who were seconds away from slaughter. With a growl and gnashing of his jaws, he launched himself at Minotaur. The king simply reached his hands out and caught the dog by his rib cage. Kerberos was created to defy this god though, and with a flick of his tail, he slammed its spikes across Minotaur’s face. The king howled in pain, a bloody slash ripped through his eye. He dropped the hellhound as if he were burning coals, and Kerberos lashed out again, this time slashing at the god’s ankles. Blood spurted from Minotaur’s legs as he collapsed, and Kerberos was atop the monster before he even hit the ground. The hound’s massive side mouths dove for the horned god, and with fatal precision, his fangs dug into Minotaur’s shoulders. His teeth cut deep, slicing through the soft flesh until they carved against bone, yet the horned demon did not scream nor cry out. Minotaur only reared his head back and crashed it against the dog’s middle forehead. Kerberos reeled, still clutching the severed muscles in his fangs, mouth filling with foul blood. Minotaur continued unfazed and brought his brutish arms hurtling down on Kerberos’ skull. A
crack shattered the air, and the god-killer fell limp, chest heaving.
Hades stifled a scream and threw her gaze to her husband. Alkaios stared at the panic on her face before looking down. The runes were incomplete. He had but two remaining, but as he glanced up, he knew they had lost; there was no time. Minotaur had pulled his mass to his feet and had a foot raised over Kerberos’ ribcage, preparing to crack it open like a brittle egg. Behind the horned god, the battle faltered. Athena was hoisted above the Old One’s heads as they positioned themselves to rip her limbs from her torso. Ares was moments away from having his head caved in. Hera kicked and wailed on the dirt as three monstrosities pinned her down while a fourth carved etchings into her flesh with a knife. Zeus and Poseidon were surrounded, and for every strike they doled out, they received sevenfold. Artemis screamed as her shoulder was violently dislocated, and Apollo lay unconscious as gods trampled him in their fighting. They were seconds from death, and as Alkaios looked on, he caught his wife’s desperate eyes. Hades shook her head slightly at him, her beautiful, dark blue irises pleading.
Alkaios nodded, his eyes trying to convey his apology and his love for her. Hades understood. A flash of the same flitted through her features, and then Alkaios stood to his full height. His arms rose from his sides, fingers still dripping with blood, and from them smoke erupted. Like ink diving into water, the black tentacles shot over the field with urgent panic. Their tendrils wrapped suffocatingly around the suffering gods, and with a snap of his almighty fingers, Alkaios dragged Kerberos and the host of Olympians back to Hell, robbing the victorious Old Ones of their kills.
XXX
Hades skidded to a sudden halt, heels gouging the dirt as her body jolted still. Her eyes were wide with panic, her breathing manic, yet she forced herself to stop dead in her tracks least someone see her intended treachery. Hades had been seconds away from assaulting Minotaur, a sin they would have crucified her for if any had seen. Thankfully, the Old Ones had been too preoccupied with the destruction of the Olympians.
Minotaur brought his heel down with earth-shattering force, and Hades flinched at the power. If Alkaios had been but seconds later, Kerberos’ ribcage would have been nothing but a tangled web of fragmented bone and blood.
“Cowards!” Minotaur whirled on Hades, who barely had enough time to rearrange her distraught features into those of rage and malice. “They hide behind the walls of my brother’s infernal creation.”
“It is no matter,” Hades said coldly with all the disdain she could muster, the bile at her own words threatening to spill past her lips. “We will take the Underworld, and then they will have nowhere left to cower. The ancient sands of the Styx will never be washed clean of their blood.”
“You will make sure of that,” Minotaur said, taking Hades’ chin in his filth-stained fingers and tilting it up at a craning angle to meet his towering gaze. Her skin crawled at the contact, but her face betrayed nothing, a perfect picture of a loyal servant so blessed to be caressed. “You have the power of the Omega, and you must control your realm. When we take the Underworld, you will bind them within your father’s domain. There can be no escape for them.”
“It will be as you command,” Hades said with a reverent lowering of her eyes, all the while panic swarming her veins. Her flesh recoiled where he clutched her chin, yet she held still, refusing to be the one to break the contact.
“Good, my child.” Minotaur’s fingers pried from her jaw, and Hades’ head fell back to its normal stance. “You are a treasure to your race, unlike your father.” Brushing past her, Minotaur descended upon his brethren. “Now where are these villagers?” he asked. “Find them for me and slaughter them. There is a price that must be paid when you align yourself with the wrong gods.”
The Old Ones let loose a collective roar that struck fear in the hearts of all for miles around. Eager for bloodshed, they charged the cave where the mortals hid as vulnerable offerings, where their fate had been sealed along with their bodies. If the deformed could not have the Olympians, they would settle for human blood.
Hades twitched, desperate to stop them. She could not bear any more butchery, not now that she was awake and aware of the sins they committed, but as Minotaur’s eyes bore into her, she swallowed the rage and desperation and stood stone still in defiance. She was still trusted, the last chance they had at collapsing the reign of madness, and Hades refused to tip the scales against herself with a revealing slip of emotions. So she remained motionless and harsh, ears ringing with every death scream as the Old Ones slaughtered the innocent. Hades forced herself to watch and listen, to witness their sacrifices, to see them through to their ends. Their prayers crashed like waves upon her mind, praying for Hades to deliver them. Earth had not forgotten those bloody days in which the god of the Underworld had loosed Hell’s monsters, making it known only the god of death could save them. Hades knew that they meant the pleas to fall on her husband, but that did not matter. Alkaios was god in name and king alongside her, but she was the true Hades. It was her name they screamed, and although she hovered feet from their begging lips, she was helpless to rescue them. Hades witnessed them die, her only consultation that they would pass on to the eternal fields of Elysium. Not that Elysium would be safe for much longer. Not a single pure would be left if she allowed Minotaur to cross the poison river.
The villagers were dead in a matter of minutes. Not even the young spared. The rage at being robbed of their divine victims spurred the Old Ones into a frenzy. They did not take their time, savagely cutting down all who had breath to give. Hades was grateful the mortals were not tortured, their ends thankfully swift, but as the breeze carried the scent of their blood, her stomach lurched, threatening to heave itself onto the grass. Hades clamped her full lips shut, desperate not to vomit, but just the slight shudder was all Minotaur required to pull his attention from the bloodbath. He looked at Hades long and hard, his nose sniffing the surrounding air. Hades froze, and fear rippled through her veins like razor shards of ice. She held her breath and commanded herself to remain motionless as his gaze lingered on her abdomen. She was barely showing, and the dress bloomed around her waist to hide the life inside, but Hades knew Minotaur need not see to understand.
Long seconds passed, and Hades felt the prick of tears sting her eyes. He had found out, smelled the half-breed growing within her womb. He may not kill her, but Minotaur would rip Alkaios’ offspring from her body while the child was still infinitely small. Hades longed to place a protective hand over her belly, a warning to Minotaur not to take her son, yet after a moment, the horned king simply raised his eyes to her face and grunted.
“I grow tired of this.” Minotaur turned his back on the slain. “Come, my child.” He extended a bulging bicep, and demanding her hand not to shake, Hades slid a small palm around his blood-soaked arm. Together they vanished from earth, leaving the rest of the deformed gods to revel in their recent kills.
Hades scrambled over the edge, hardly able to flee fast enough. Dirt and rocks showered down about her head as she fell more than climbed down the mountain face to Zeus’ hidden ledge. She could barely breathe, the panic and terror clogging her throat. She could not disappear soon enough, careless in her descent until her feet crashed against a solid foothold.
Concealed by smoke and fog, Hades’ breaths came out in ragged gasps, soft cries escaping her lips. Tears pricked her eyes as she blindly rushed to the end of the ledge and thrust her face over the edge, the contents of her stomach threatening to heave up from her throat and down to earth. Hades felt uncontrollable sorrow and terror, and it had been all she could do to keep her emotions in check. The Old Ones had returned to the mountain where they feasted on the village’s stolen harvest, and worse, the villagers’ roasted flesh. The scent had turned her stomach so violently that Hades had paled with nausea, and as the night wore on and the more intoxicated the gods became, the more she struggled to blend into the background. Her place of honor was beside Minotaur’s seat, and every time a tr
ay of meat passed her, and she did not partake, the more their eyes had appraised her with wariness.
It had taken all the strength within her to remain next to the horned king, but as soon as the last of them had drifted into a drunken slumber, Hades had flung herself from the room, gasping for what little fresh air remained on the charred mountain. Here on Zeus’ hidden refuge, all the fear, sorrow, and horror rushed out in waves. She sobbed, choking. Her breathing irregular, body shaking. With careful tenderness, Hades laced a hand over her small womb to convince herself the child was still there, still alive.
A slight movement caught her attention, and as fast as she had plummeted to this ledge, Hades was at the ready. Pitchfork aimed for death.
“Hades!” A strong and familiar voice broke through the ashen clouds.
“Zeus?” Hades cried out as the hulking god emerged from the shadows with hands raised in surrender. For a split second, she chided herself for being so reckless. If this had been an Old One, lurking in wait on her small slice of sanctuary on this mountain, she could very well have been brought to a swift end. Her panic only lasted a moment before an overwhelming sense of crippling relief replaced it, and without thinking, as if a hidden impulse and old memories took over, Hades launched herself at Zeus. The pitchfork hit the ground with a soft thud an instant before she collided with his solid frame. Tears burst from her eyes in an uncontrollable torrent, and she clung to his familiar figure with an iron grip.
“I got you,” Zeus soothed, enveloping Hades in his powerful embrace and letting his warmth seep into her cold skin. He held her close as she cried, running a large palm over her matted, dark hair. It was a long while before Hades’ sobs slowed and her breathing returned to normal, and when she finally stopped hyperventilating, Zeus released her. Backing away from the king of Olympus, Hades wiped her eyes, desperate to remove the tears and mucus from her red and puffy face.
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