by Luke Romyn
“I bring aid,” said Heracles, gesturing toward the rift.
As if on cue, the rift shimmered and a figure emerged.
It seemed to Talbot as though time had been reversed and they were back in Hades. Heracles stood beside him and before him was a figure bearing a hideous visage. Flesh hung in strips from a skull more dead than alive. The thin gray cloak the entity wore was not enough to hide the emaciated and rotting corpse beneath.
It was the Ferryman of the river Styx.
Kharon.
CHAPTER 18
“Is this some kind of joke?” snapped Wes. “That fucker ate you! And he tried to kill us; him and his boyfriend, Hades.”
“It was not my lord,” hissed Kharon, his eyes malicious. “It was the Titan named Prometheus. After you both escaped through the rift into Tartarus, I witnessed the image of my master blur and change, re-growing its arm and shifting into the figure of Prometheus. I was unsure of what had actually happened, and before I understood fully and was able to challenge him, he fled. I found my master’s body soon after...what was left of it, anyway.”
“And now they want revenge,” said Heracles. “That’s why Kharon released me.”
“They want revenge?” asked Wes. “Who the hell are they?”
As if in answer, the rift shimmered and row upon row of figures stepped clear. All appeared in various stages of decomposition, each bearing different features, some even appearing to be other than human, walking on four legs or even six. Bestial features all portrayed the same look of malice which the humanoid ones bore. The vengeance glowing in the eyes of the hundreds of figures which poured through the rift was the same, and Talbot instantly knew who they were, or rather what they were.
Keres!
The race of beings which could not be killed – at least not by conventional means. Documented throughout history as spirits craving death, Kharon himself had explained them to be kinds of parasites, albeit ones of incredible power.
Talbot suddenly realized he was holding his breath.
“What do you want?” he gasped, staring at the rotting features of Kharon.
The corpse-skull grinned. “We want to be set loose upon the ones who destroyed our lord, the kin of the one named Prometheus: the Titans.”
“Will you absorb them?” asked Talbot fearfully, remembering the horrific moment when Heracles had been absorbed by the Ferryman.
Kharon shook its head. “Even if we wanted to, we cannot without their consent.”
“Then what will you do?” asked Wes.
“We shall destroy them. Every last one.”
“Sounds good,” said Wes chirpily. “But what happens when you’re done?”
Kharon glared at him, disdain at his tone obvious. “We shall leave. You needn’t fear. This is not our home.”
“Well, that’s good enough for me.” Wes glanced around at the Olympians, staring at the door momentarily as it cracked and buckled under the strain of yet another howling attack from the neades outside. “I think our options are limited at this point anyway. I vote we point these inbred fuckers at the Titans and step out of the way – no offense intended,” he said to Kharon. The Ferryman pointedly ignored his comment.
Zeus wasn’t convinced, but the fate of his race was in the balance and, as Wes had pointed out, his options were severely limited. Finally he nodded.
The Keres poured smoothly out of the rift, across the floor and into the large Council Hall. Several walked like men, some prowled like tigers, others slithered across the floor like giant snakes. Several gasps could be heard from the Olympians huddled in the Hall, but Zeus and Heracles moved out and assured them all was well – they were not the target.
The hundreds of Keres gathered together, facing the damaged doors.
The neades howled again, its terrifying power causing the very foundations of the building to shudder, and finally the doors exploded inwards, sending up a huge plume of dust. The Titans surged forward... only to grind to a halt seconds later as the dust began to clear and they saw what stood before them.
“They’ve got that ‘Oh shit!’ look on their faces,” Wes murmured to Talbot with a chortle.
Talbot stared at the Titans, and despite the excitement pounding through him, he grinned upon seeing that Wes was correct. Within their open-faced helms, the Titans wore uniform expressions of terror.
The Titans at the front tried to retreat from the approaching Keres, but they were too tightly packed. The invaders further back had no idea what was happening and their bloodlust was still heightened, so they continued to press forward, trapping those in the front rows who sought to flee.
The Keres pounced.
They attacked silently, and were all the more terrifying for it. Their rage at having lost their lord to the deceit of the Titans was unleashed in an instant. The front three rows of warriors were simply shredded as the enigmatic race attacked. There was no other word for it; one minute Talbot was watching the Titans trying to retreat from the threat of the Keres, the next they were lying in bloody ribbons upon the ground, their armor proving useless.
Panic spread through the Titans like a tidal wave and within seconds the thousands of warriors who had only a moment ago sought blood were fleeing in blind terror. Wes, Talbot, and most of the Olympians moved outside after the Keres, watching in amazement.
The Keres were merciless. They hunted with brutal efficiency and vicious speed as they chased the fleeing Titans through the city streets of Mount Olympus.
“You guys are gonna have one hell of a mess to clean up after all this,” murmured Wes to Zeus, who merely glanced at him oddly. Wes chuckled and turned back to watch the chase.
The hunt was spectacularly effective, and within an hour the Titans were either dead or fleeing across the field toward the rift. The Keres pursued them without mercy, tracking them down wherever they hid and shredding them pitilessly. The ones who had scrambled through the gap in the broken Olympian wall did not escape for long either. The Keres pursued them across the battlefield, cutting them down where they caught them, chasing the disheveled army all the way to the rift, even following them through it.
The Olympians watched in silent awe, unable to believe they were still alive. The entire populace of Mount Olympus, along with Talbot and Wes, had moved to the shattered wall and were now standing, amazed they’d somehow survived when all had seemed lost.
Moments after the last of the Keres had disappeared through the enormous rift, it seemed to swell slightly. A noise like a deep gasp flowed out across the plain, before it snapped shut with a huge thunderclap, causing several people to jump and a couple to shriek in shock.
Wes turned to Talbot, Heracles and Zeus and smiled amazedly. “How the hell did we live through that?” he asked incredulously. Talbot grinned in return and went to reply when something golden flashed from the corner of his eye.
The metallic flash shot across through the air, heading directly for Zeus. Heracles’s arm shot out like lightning, snatching the shining blur, preventing it from hitting the leader of the Olympians in the head. A shrieking squawk elicited from Prometheus’s bronze eagle, writhing and desperately seeking escape from Heracles’s vice-like grip. The huge Olympian grabbed it with his other hand and tore the eagle in two, wrenching it apart with the sound of a tin can peeling open echoing through the air. He contemptuously threw both pieces of the destroyed eagle to the ground.
Theatrically slow clapping sounded across the open plain, and from the shadows of one of the side-streets stepped Prometheus. He was fully garbed in the Titan armor – jet-black metallic chest plate and shoulder guards linked with full chainmail armor covering the rest of his body. An open-faced helm sat atop his head.
“So, the mighty Heracles has returned,” snarled Prometheus scornfully. Wes drew his sword, but Heracles placed an arm in front of him, barring him from attacking.
“This fight is mine,” the Olympian said softly, drawing his own sword.
“How do you plan on killin
g me, Heracles?” mocked Prometheus. “Even the mighty Keres were unable to completely kill me only moments ago; do you think to do better than they did?”
“You talk too much,” growled Heracles.
Prometheus chuckled and drew his own sword, a five-foot blade as black as his armor. Whereas Heracles’s blade glittered with power, Prometheus’s sword seemed to suck the light from the very air around it.
“I have longed for the day when I could cut you to pieces, you arrogant peacock,” growled Prometheus.
“Your yapping is like that of an annoying puppy,” returned Heracles, “but I find it much less threatening.”
The Olympians spread out, away from the two combatants, several now holding burning torches as the red sun slowly set. Soon a ring was formed, flickering shadows cast as the two warriors circled.
The combatants sized each other up as they moved. Heracles was by far the bulkier of the two, muscles bulging from his hulking frame, and he looked every inch the hero from legend. Prometheus was more slender and athletic; his movements smooth and sure whereas Heracles was like a solid wall in comparison, unyielding and immovable.
The Titan towered over the Olympian warrior. At around fourteen-feet-tall, Prometheus dwarfed Heracles, who stood slightly less than seven-feet. As massive as Heracles was in human proportions, he suddenly appeared stunted and miniscule opposite the lanky Titan wielding the dark-bladed sword.
Added to this was the fact that Prometheus was virtually invulnerable.
The Titan grinned maliciously, confident in his strength. Heracles merely snarled silently.
Both warriors shot forward simultaneously, their swords clashing together and flaring in the growing dusk. The Titan’s sword seemed almost contradictory of Heracles’s glowing one, and when the two powers collided, an ominous boom resounded. Again and again the two warriors came together, their weapons blurring and crashing against each other faster than most of the observers could keep track of. Wes, however, was staring intently at the fight, following the flow and every nuance of the exchange.
“Now,” Wes muttered softly to himself.
Instantly, Heracles spun on his heel, the Olympian sword leaving a glittering arc as he parried Prometheus’s overhand strike and whipped in a complete circle, slashing through the neck of the Titan as he stumbled past. There was no pause as the blade struck; it sliced through the heavy-plated armor like it was made of ice cream.
The helmeted head twisted slightly, the expression upon Prometheus’s face remarkably like one of intense amusement. It seemed to pause momentarily, and then fell to the ground with a metallic thud. The body stood briefly, twitched slightly and then collapsed into a heap.
Heracles stood, victorious over the body.
“Don’t get too confident there, Herc,” called Wes. “I already did that once.”
Heracles stared at Wes quizzically, and Talbot noticed the body begin to spasm on the ground, the gauntleted hand grasping the hilt of the dark sword once more.
“Watch out!” yelled Wes.
Heracles instinctively leaped away just as the headless body swiped at his legs with the ebony-bladed weapon. The Olympian stared incredulously as the decapitated corpse slowly rose, and then stood once more. Talbot watched the head frothing and sizzling like butter on a hotplate.
Talbot glanced back at the newly-risen corpse to see a tiny fresh head had sprouted from the severed neck, like a diminutive bud breaching the earth. The miniature skull stretched and grew like a balloon inflating, until eventually it filled out to the same size as the one Heracles had just hacked off.
“Ha!” laughed Prometheus as his new face finished forming. The entire growth had occurred in a matter of seconds. “How will you kill me, mighty Heracles? How will you stop that which cannot be stopped?”
Heracles leaped forward like lightning and skewered Prometheus through the middle of the chest, the glowing sword cleaving straight through the Titan’s armor, piercing his heart and exiting through his back. The Olympian tore the blade loose and stepped back. Prometheus merely stood, arms outstretched.
“You cannot slay me, Heracles,” spat the Titan contemptuously. “I shall kill you all, one at a time.” He glared at the circle of Olympians gathered around him, several stepping back fearfully as he did so. One woman actually tripped and dropped her flaming torch to the ground. It rolled several yards before stopping, still burning fiercely.
Prometheus leaped at Heracles, and once more their weapons clashed and boomed against each other. Talbot watched the exchange in awe. Heracles seemed to battle slightly more anxiously now, unsure of how to finish the conflict. How could he kill something which could regrow its own head?
Regrow its own head...?
Something within Talbot’s memory sang out at the thought, and he sought to recall why. One of the creatures he had recently encountered....
“The Hydra!” shouted Talbot aloud.
Everyone looked at him, including Heracles. The Olympian barely deflected a blow from Prometheus as a result, bringing his own sword up at the last second, the Titan’s dark blade skimming along it, dangerously close to his throat.
Damn. Talbot couldn’t risk distracting Heracles like that again, but he had to pass on what he’d remembered. What he wouldn’t give to be able to mentally project something.
He snapped his gaze away from the battle, searching for Zeus. The leader of the Olympians was further around the fighting circle, anxiously watching Heracles, battling for his life.
“Let me help you!” called Wes. Heracles was growing noticeably fatigued from the battle.
“NO!” roared Heracles, launching a blistering assault on the Titan, forcing him back. This only ended up tiring Heracles further, though, with no real solution in sight.
Talbot pushed his way through the Olympians, slowly making his way to Zeus’s side. Swiftly he outlined what Heracles needed to know. Zeus stared expressionlessly at him for a moment, and then nodded. A look of intense concentration came over his features, and Talbot immediately shifted his gaze to Heracles, who risked a glance at his father before nodding slightly in acknowledgement. Talbot even thought he saw the ghost of a smile cross Heracles’s lips.
The Olympian leaped forward, his sword slashing more confidently. Prometheus blocked wildly, the fact he was invulnerable not meaning he enjoyed the pain inflicted when he was wounded. Heracles forced him further back, and the crowd parted, allowing plenty of room. As he passed the dropped torch, Heracles snatched it up and stepped back, holding the flame before him.
Something akin to fear flashed across Prometheus’s expression as he saw the flaming torch in Heracles’s hand, but the look was gone in an instant. “Having trouble seeing me, Heracles?” he mocked.
“Not at all,” replied Heracles, the ghost of a smile flashing across his mouth. “I was just remembering something about one of the creatures from your world; a beast called the hydra, which I once had the intense displeasure of meeting. Our friend here –” he indicated Talbot, “– also encountered one on his recent journey, and just asked my father to remind me of it.”
Fear once more glimmered upon Prometheus’s face, but this time he was unable to conceal it. “Are we going to talk all day or fight? Why do you insist on talking about some stupid lizard?”
“Well, it seems to me that you and it possess very similar talents, in particular the one of regenerating wounds. It too has the ability to regrow its heads when they’ve been severed.”
Prometheus’s eyes narrowed, and Talbot saw sweat beading upon his brow. “Put down your pretty torch and face me like a man, Olympian!”
“It makes me wonder,” continued Heracles as though Prometheus hadn’t spoken at all. “It makes me wonder if during all the myriad of experiments your race did, whether one involved the combination of Hydra blood with that of a Titan.”
Prometheus attacked, his sword snaking out and clashing again and again against Heracles’s golden blade. Each strike was more desperate than the
last, and Heracles blocked them all with ease. Finally, Prometheus overbalanced and Heracles’s sword clove his chest, exiting his back in a bloody spray. Prometheus’s hand reflexively opened, dropping his dark sword, which fell clattering on the stony ground. Heracles pulled him close.
“I hope you feel fear, Titan. I hope you are terrified. You have caused countless deaths in your quest to conquer my people, and all you have achieved is the extinction of your own race. The Keres will hunt down every last Titan and destroy them all. Your quest to defeat my people and conquer my land has ended with your failure. Know that, before you die.”
Prometheus whimpered.
Heracles twisted his golden blade and dragged it from the ribcage of the Titan. Prometheus slumped down and scrabbled for his blade, but Heracles slashed through his neck, once again decapitating the Titan.
As the head dropped and new growth tried to push through from the severed neck, Heracles thrust the burning torch into the wound, cauterizing the flesh and sealing it completely. The soft tissue stopped twitching immediately and Heracles stepped back, preparing for anything unforeseen.
The corpse twitched slightly, becoming more frenzied as the inability to regenerate seized it. Like a suffocating man battling for breath, the body flopped and thrashed upon the ground, its hands clawing at the cauterized flesh of its neck, but they were unable to pierce the seal. Finally the struggling petered out and the hands fell aside, its spine arching as though trying to scream, before it dropped to the stone, unmoving.
“And stay dead this time,” Heracles snarled, glancing over at Wes and grinning before staring back at the corpse, “you fucker of mothers.”
Wes’s laughter rang out across Mount Olympus. Prometheus, the last of the Titans, was finally still.
CHAPTER 19
There was no cheering, no celebrating. Several Olympians staggered in shock as the import of what had just happened began to sink in. The city of Mount Olympus was decimated, its people almost wiped out. Everyone had lost someone close to them this day. Talbot surveyed the devastation, wondering how they would rebuild.
