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.
Chapter XVII
Iniquity
Hades had been summoned to Hera’s fight night nearly twelve hours ago, and though he’d been healed by Paean, he felt restless and uneasy. There was a kind of horror that thrummed through his body, a darkness he had yet to channel away. It was there when he blinked, in the form of bloodied rocks and crunching bone and the phantom pain of acid burning his skin.
He returned to the Underworld, where he had expected—or rather hoped
—to find Persephone. There was a part of his brain that needed to lay eyes on her after the ordeal he’d been through, not only to ease his pain but to know that she was still here, that he had fought for her and not lost her.
He was not prepared for the sinking feeling in his chest when he did not find her asleep in their bed, roaming the garden, or at Hecate’s cabin.
“What has you so uneasy, my king?” Hecate asked when she found him outside her home.
“Could it have something to do with the fact that I have been killing all day?” he snapped.
“Murder does put one on edge,” Hecate agreed airily. “Would you like some tea?”
“What I would like is to be free of Hera’s labors,” he said.
“Hera,” Hecate said. “The Goddess of Women who does nothing but punish them. How did you earn her scorn?”
“I told her I would not overthrow Zeus,” Hades replied.
“Yet.” Hecate paused and looked at Hades, who raised a questioning brow. “What? All things must come to an end.”