Chapter 7 #2
He shared her exhaustion and closed his eyes, telling himself it was only for a moment, but the darkness pulled him under.
Hades knew this darkness.
It was thick, heavy, and solid. He reached out, chest tight, fingers brushing the smooth stone walls of the labyrinth.
He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his breathing haggard.
There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears.
It grew louder and louder, piercing his brain, broken only by a horrifying scream.
He went cold all at once and his heart beat painfully in his chest.
“Persephone!” he bellowed.
“Hades!”
He ran in the direction of her voice, calling for her.
“No! Please!”
Her scream seemed to come from the left, but he found he could only go right. For a moment, he attempted to scale the walls, but they were too smooth to climb. With a frustrated yell, he slammed his fist into the stone before racing down the only open path.
“Persephone!” he called again, needing to hear her voice.
She answered with a blood-curdling scream. It was followed by the cry of an infant.
Panic set deep in Hades’s bones, his throat felt swollen and breathing impossible.
Another wail joined the other—a second baby.
The twins.
“Persephone!” Hades called, racing down another passage, but she did not answer. The babies continued to cry.
“Persephone!”
Hades shot from sleep and sat up.
For a few brief seconds, he froze, his heart still racing. Slowly, he realized he was in his bed, in his room, in the Underworld. He took a breath and scrubbed his face hard before turning to check on Persephone.
She was not in bed, which wasn’t exactly surprising. For the last few weeks, she’d risen before him and gone about organizing, decorating, and baking. He knew she was safe, he could feel her presence like warmth grazing his skin, and yet, he needed to lay eyes on her.
He rose and summoned his robes. He felt like a storm as he headed down the darkened halls of his palace. The dream had stirred up every quiet emotion he’d managed to smother over the last few months, but the one that needled him most, the one that gave the others life, was fear.
He ground his teeth as a wave of hot shame settled over him. He struggled with the humiliation of having allowed himself to be deceived and imprisoned by Theseus in the labyrinth, of having failed not only Persephone, but his realm.
“Do you consider your love for Persephone a weakness?” Hecate had asked.
This was not the first time he had battled this demon.
“Of course not,” he replied.
“Then there was no failure,” she said.
He turned those words over in his mind, reminding himself that he would have never chosen another path. He’d believed Persephone was in the labyrinth, and he’d considered no other possibility. Even if he had, he’d have needed the certainty, much like now.
As Hades entered the foyer, he noticed the light in the library was on. He found Persephone seated near the fire where she had fallen asleep, legs propped up on the ottoman. The book she had been reading rested against her chest.
Hades picked it up and set it aside, then covered her with a blanket.
Another time, he might have woken her and coaxed her back to bed, but she had slept so little recently, he was not willing to risk it.
He left, stepping outside the library, and teleported to Tartarus.
Hades had kept his promise to Theseus. When the demi-god had died three years ago, he’d remained in the dark outside the gates of the Underworld until Hades could greet him.
Theseus had cowered and begged for mercy, but Hades had none for the man who’d deliberately hurt his wife, his friends, and thousands of innocent people.
He dragged Theseus through the Gates as he clawed and kicked. Beneath the eves of the dreaming tree, he’d ripped every hope and happiest memory from his consciousness before tossing him into the River Styx.
Hades wished he could say he got some sort of satisfaction from his screams as the dead circled and shredded him, but he’d felt nothing, not even a sense of justice.
The Styx carried him to the Phlegethon where he burned until he came to the mouth of Tartarus, limbs flexed in an odd position, body charred and mutilated.
He was whimpering. The journey would have killed anyone else, but Hades kept him conscious and aware of his pain.
“Did I not promise to greet you upon your death?” Hades had said.
There Theseus lay, prey for the vultures who circled and snacked, until Hades had decided on an appropriate punishment. He placed the demi-god in a cell and once he was healed, introduced him to the labyrinth.
Unlike the dark and dusty maze Theseus had trapped him within, this one was bright and white which made navigation a nightmare.
When the demi-god managed to find the center, he would face any number of opponents—from the minotaurs he had created to the gods he had betrayed, that included Apollo.
When the battle was over, Theseus began the journey all over again, pushed to the end by a belief that he would, one day, win.
It was at the center of this labyrinth where Hades appeared and waited. It wasn’t long before he saw Theseus round the final wall and freeze at the sight of him. He was unremarkable, no longer able to craft a powerful appearance behind well-tailored suits and other modern conveniences.
Hades would have preferred directly engaging in battle, but the demi-god could not help himself.
“Come to redeem yourself, Hades, after the cowardly way you took me out?” he said.
“Your arrogance is astounding.” Hades’s voice was thick with contempt.
“I call it like I see it,” Theseus replied. “Do you intend to fight as you did before my death?”
Hades did not answer, and Theseus laughed.
“I suppose you cannot say, given you didn’t fight at all.”
“It is intriguing,” said Hades. “How you rewrite history. I bargained on your hubris and won.”
Hades had battled Theseus, but he had become invincible after eating a golden apple from the Garden of the Hesperides. Meaning the only way to kill him was to trick him into eating another apple, which is exactly what Hades had done.
“I suppose you must tell yourself that to sleep at night,” he said. “Or is that why you are here? Because you can’t?”
“If you are so eager to fight, why do you keep talking?” Hades countered, unwilling to let the Theseus know that his insight had made the god uneasy.
He recognized a more fitting punishment for the demi-god would be realizing that Hades never thought of him at all, but the God of the Dead was not there yet.
He was still angry, and he would be for a long time.
Theseus’s lips curled. “No one said you had to listen.”
Hades bared his teeth and summoned his blade, trading his robes for a skirt made of leather strips. Opposite him, Theseus continued to smirk, eyes gleaming as he bent to pick up a sword that had appeared at his feet.
Their blades clashed violently, a manifestation of their hatred. Hades might have let the battle go on, but the demi-god had stoked his rage, and it burned hot. It was only a few seconds later that Theseus’s head rolled across the pristine floor, leaving a streak of red in its wake.