Chapter 17
Hades
"They're not cultists."
Thanatos's words are barely out of his mouth when the world explodes.
The blast comes from the south terrace. A massive fireball that shoots upward into the Vegas night, all orange and red and screaming heat. The shockwave hits a second later, and I feel it in my chest, the percussion of divine magic wrapped around mortal explosives.
This is the cult, and they are declaring war.
I dissolve into shadows, racing toward the threat. Thanatos is right behind me, his own power crackling in the air. Around us, chaos erupts—screaming guests, shattering glass, the acrid smell of smoke and blood.
The cultists aren't cultists at all. Or rather, they are, but they aren't just cultists, and they have declared war.
I see them pouring onto the terrace from multiple entry points, maybe five dozen, all wearing tactical gear and carrying large weapons. They move with military precision, coordinated, trained.
Much more organized than I expected or anticipated. If I had known that this was the kind of manpower they had, I would never have agreed to this plan.
"Fuck," I snarl, and my shadows lash out, slamming into the nearest three attackers. They go down hard, bones cracking, but more keep coming.
Around me, the other gods are reacting.
Ares laughs, actually laughs, as he grabs a cultist by the throat and breaks his neck with casual brutality. "Finally! I was getting bored." He bares his teeth, the heat of the battle taking over his rational mind.
Aphrodite has somehow produced a wickedly sharp stiletto and is using it with surgical precision, cutting down anyone who gets too close.
One god is missing, and so is—
Ophelia.
My heart stops.
I scan the terrace frantically, searching for her through the smoke and chaos. She'd been at the bar, which is now nothing more than rubble and blood. She's not dead. The cultists wouldn't want that any more than I do.
But that doesn't mean she isn't hurt. And the idea of her being harmed—
There's another explosion, more screams, and that's when I catch sight of her.
I spot her across the rooftop, and my blood turns to ice.
Two men have her. One has his hand clamped over her mouth, the other is dragging her backward toward the service entrance. She's fighting, kicking, thrashing, trying to bite the hand covering her mouth, but she's mortal-sized, mortal-strong, and they're trained professionals.
And she's not using her powers.
Or rather, they aren't working.
I can see it in her face, the confusion and terror as she tries to summon vines, tries to call the plants from the decorative arrangements nearby. Nothing happens. Just mortal panic and mortal strength against men who've been trained to capture gods.
Rage explodes through me like a supernova.
"OPHELIA!"
Her eyes find mine across the chaos, and I see the fear in them. See her struggling harder, trying to reach me.
I start toward her, shadows gathering around me like a cloak of pure death. I'll tear them apart. I'll rip every one of them to pieces. I'll—
Poseidon gets there first.
My brother moves with the fluid grace of a tsunami, appearing beside Ophelia's captors like he materialized from nothing. One moment he's across the terrace, the next he's there, his hand closing around the throat of the man holding her.
Poseidon crushes his windpipe with one hand and catches Ophelia as she stumbles free. The second cultist tries to grab her again, and my brother simply looks at him. Just looks.
The man's nose starts dripping. Then he grabs his throat, vomiting up water.
He drops like a puppet with cut strings.
Poseidon catches my eyes. He tips his head as he scoops my wife into his arms. He's making his way to the only body of water.
The infinity pool.
No.
I know what he's planning. Poseidon can travel through any body of water, and the massive infinity pool glows turquoise at the far end of the terrace.
"Poseidon!" I roar, but he's not stopping.
He hits the pool's edge with Ophelia in his arms and dives.
They disappear beneath the surface, and I feel it, the shift in divine energy as my brother pulls her through space and water, taking her away from me.
For one terrible moment, I think she's gone. That he's taking her. That I've lost her again.
Then logic reasserts itself through the rage.
Poseidon is the better of the two options here. I can deal with him later, and she's safer away from here.
Which means I can release my murderous wrath.
And I do.
Shadows explode from me in waves, vast and terrible and hungry. They slam into the cultists like physical things, lifting them off their feet, crushing them against walls, wrapping around throats and squeezing until bones crack.
The temperature drops twenty degrees in an instant. Frost spreads across the marble tile. The lights flicker and die, plunging half the terrace into darkness.
My darkness.
"You came for her," I say, and my voice doesn't sound human anymore. It sounds like the grave. Like the space between heartbeats where death waits. "You dared to come for her."
A cultist raises his weapon, some kind of high-tech rifle, and fires.
The bullets pass through my shadows and clatter harmlessly to the ground.
I smile.
Then I show him what happens when you threaten what's mine.
My shadows wrap around him, and I don't just kill him. I unmake him. Pull his essence apart thread by thread until there's nothing left but ash and the echo of a scream.
The other cultists see this.
Some run.
Most die trying.
I tear through them like a force of nature, like the ancient god I am, and I don't hold back. Every drop of restraint I've cultivated, every carefully maintained facade of civility, burns away in the face of my rage.
They tried to take her.
They touched her.
They made her afraid.
Somewhere in the chaos, I'm dimly aware of the other gods fighting. Ares is covered in blood and grinning like a madman. Aphrodite has somehow remained completely clean, stepping over bodies. Athena appeared at some point and is directing security forces with tactical precision.
But I don't care about any of them.
I care only about finding every single person who participated in this attack and making them pay.
A section of the terrace railing gives way, weakened by the explosion. I catch it with shadows before it can collapse, but part of the structure is already compromised. The building itself is wounded, and I can feel it groaning, shifting.
I don't care.
Let it fall.
Let the whole fucking casino collapse.
I'll burn it all down if it means keeping her safe.
"Hades!" Thanatos's voice cuts through my rage. "Hades, stop! You're going to bring down the building!"
I don't care.
"You'll kill the mortals."
I pause, breathing hard, and look around.
The terrace is a war zone. Bodies everywhere—most of them cultists, but I see a few guests too, caught in the crossfire.
The infinity pool is cracked, water pouring over the edge.
The decorative plants are all dead, withered by the proximity to my power.
Shadows writhe across every surface like living things.
And the building is shaking.
I've poured so much death magic into this space that the structure itself is starting to fail.
"I don't care," I snarl.
"Ophelia is at the house," Thanatos says, and that gets through. He reaches for his phone, showing me the CCTV footage. "Poseidon took her there. She's safe. But we need to secure this location and deal with the survivors."
Survivors.
Right.
I force myself to pull back, to rein in the shadows, to think tactically instead of emotionally.
There. One cultist, pinned under debris but still breathing. He's young, maybe mid-twenties, and terror radiates off him in waves.
Perfect.
I cross to him in three strides and haul him up by his tactical vest. He's injured—broken leg, probably some cracked ribs—but he'll live.
For now.
"Thanatos," I say quietly. "Take this one to the holding cells below the Underworld entrance. Make sure he doesn't die before I can question him."
"Understood."
I look at the cultist, at the fear in his eyes, and I smile.
It's not a nice smile.
"You and I are going to have a very long conversation," I tell him.
"About who sent you. About what you were planning.
About every single person involved in tonight's attack.
" My shadows wrap around his throat, not tight enough to kill, just tight enough to terrify.
"And you're going to tell me everything. Because if you don't—"
I let the threat hang.
He whimpers.
Good.
Thanatos takes him, and I turn to survey the damage.
The other gods are gathering near what's left of the bar. They look shaken, which is saying something. It takes a lot to rattle immortals who've survived millennia.
"Well," Ares says, wiping blood from his face with a cocktail napkin. "That was unexpected."
Athena, who'd been monitoring the situation from my office, walks toward me, Hecate next to her. "They were organized," Athena says, her tactical mind already analyzing. "Military training. Coordinated assault. This wasn't some desperate cult making a play. This was planned."
"How did they get past security?" Aphrodite asks, examining a broken nail with distaste. She glares at Hecate. "Aren't you in charge?"
Hecate glares.
"They had inside help," I say flatly. "They knew the layout. Knew where to plant the explosives for maximum chaos. Knew exactly when to strike." I look at Hecate. "I need your people to sweep the building. Find out who helped them. Find out how deep this goes."
She nods. "Consider it done."
Athena looks at me. "My team will do a search of the dark web. There has to be something online. There always is."
I nod. That is why I asked Athena to join. She's thorough, and her tech is incredible.
"And the girl?" Ares asks, his eyes too knowing. "The one Poseidon saved. She the reason you just reminded us all why you're called the God of Death?"
I don't answer.
I don't need to.