She arrived at the site of the avalanche which stretched for miles—every direction was a blanket of bright white. There were signs of a city—toppled buildings, broken trees, wood and twisted metal jutted out from the snow, but the worst part of it all was the silence. It was the sound of death—of an end.
As she stood there amid the devastation, pieces of food that had stuck to her hair and clothing fell to the ground and it spurred something inside her—a desire to end her mother’s reign once and for all. She reached for her magic—for what life remained around her, drawing upon its energy, upon her anger, upon the darkness inside her that wished for revenge, and as she released it, she thought of every beautiful thing she had ever wanted to create—the nymphs she had wanted to protect from her mother, the flowers she had wanted to grow, the lives she had wanted to save.
The magic built behind a dam of emotion, and when it burst, it streamed from her in a wave of bright light that made her eyes water and her skin hot. The snow began to melt beneath her feet, and in the gruesome aftermath of the avalanche, amid the rubble and debris, grass grew, flowers sprouted, trees straightened and bloomed—even the sky above split at her command, the clouds parting to show blue skies.
Then vines rose from the ground, lifting and righting whole buildings and houses, repairing the structures until they were covered in greenery and flowering blooms. The landscape no longer resembled a white desert or a metal city, but a forest of colorful and fragrant flowers, emerald vegetation, and pure, bright sunlight.
Still, the silence reigned and there was a new sensation that played upon the edges of her mind, much like the life that fluttered there—but this one was dark, a curl of smoke, teasing and mocking.
It was death.
She might be able to bring life to part of this world, but not all of it.
She was distracted from her sorrow when she felt a terrible power coming from the sky. It was both wicked and pure and it crowded into her soul, raising the hair on her arms and the back of her neck. Then Olympians fell from the sky, landing in a circle around her—except for Hermes and Apollo who landed on either side of her, sightly in front, as if to defend.
Hermes was dressed in gold armor and a leather linothorax. His helm boasted a set of wings that matched the ones sprouting from his back. Beside him, Apollo wore a similar outfit, only a halo of spikes protruded along the top like a sunburst.
Hermes looked over his shoulder and grinned.
“Hey, Sephy,” he said.
“Hey, Hermes,” she replied quietly, unsure of what to make of the presence of the gods, and yet knowing this was not good.
Directly across from her was Zeus who was bare-chested, saving for a fur pelt he wore as a cape and a pteruges—a leather, strip-like skirt—about his waist. Beside him was Hera, who wore a complicated mix of silver, gold, and leather armor. Despite Persephone’s fear of Zeus, she felt as though the Goddess of Marriage looked the most battle hungry. Then there was Poseidon with his predatory gaze. He, too, was bare-chested and wore a white tunic, secured in place by a belt of gold and teal. In his hand he gripped his trident, a weapon that gleamed with malice. Ares was here, too, his bright red cape and feathered helm fluttering in the wind. Then there was Aphrodite, draped in gold and blush and Artemis whose bow was slung on her back. Persephone could tell she was tense, ready to reach for the weapon if given the single. Athena looked regal, if not completely passive as she stood with Hestia, who was the only goddess not dressed for battle.
Her mother was the only Olympian missing—and Hades.
Then she felt his unmistakable presence—a darkness so delicious, it felt like home as it curled around her waist and suddenly, she was pulled back against his solid chest. Persephone tilted her head back and felt Hades’ jaw scrape her cheek as his lips settled near her ear.
“Angry, darling?”
“A little,” she replied breathlessly.
Despite his teasing comment, she felt the tension in his body.
“That was quite a display of power, little goddess,” Zeus said.
“Call me little one more time,” Persephone glared at the God of Thunder, who chuckled at her anger.
“I am not sure why you are laughing,” she continued. “I have asked for your respect before. I will not ask again.”
“Are you threatening your king?” Hera asked.
“He is not my king,” she said.
Zeus’s eyes darkened. “I should have never allowed you to leave that temple. That prophecy was not about your children. It was about you.”
“Leave it, Zeus,” Hades said. “This will not end well for you.”
“Your goddess is a threat to all Olympians,” he responded.
“She is a threat to you,” Hades said.
“Step away, Hades,” Zeus said. “I will not hesitate to end you, too.”
“If you make war against them, you make war against me.” The words came from Apollo, whose golden bow materialized within his hands.
“And me,” Hermes said, drawing his blade.
There was a stark silence.
Then Zeus spoke, “You would commit treason?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Apollo mused.
“You would protect a goddess whose power might destroy you?” Hera asked.
“With my life,” Hermes said. “Sephy is my friend.”
“And mine,” said Apollo.
“And mine,” said Aphrodite, who broke from the line and crossed to Persephone’s side. As she came to stand beside Apollo, she called Hephaestus’s name, and the God of Fire also appeared, filling the space beside her.
“I will not battle,” Hestia said.
“Nor I,” Athena said.
“Cowards,” Ares shot back.
“Battle should serve a purpose beyond bloodshed,” said Athena.
“The oracle has spoken and pinned this goddess as a threat. War eliminates threats.”
“So does peace,” said Hestia.
The two goddesses vanished and then it was Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Artemis, and Ares who faced them.
“You are sure this is what you want, Apollo?” Artemis asked.
“Seph gave me a chance when she shouldn’t have. I owe her.”
“Is her chance worth your life?”
“In my case?” he asked. “Yes.”
“You will regret this, little goddess,” Zeus promised.
Persephone’s eyes narrowed.
“I said don’t call me little.”
Her power moved and broke the earth beneath Zeus and the other Olympians’ feet. They jumped to avoid falling into an open abyss, rose into the air with ease, and attacked. Zeus seemed intent upon striking Persephone, and his first attack came in the form of a powerful bolt of violet lightning that struck the ground near her feet, causing the earth to shake.
“You are as dogged as your mother,” Zeus snarled.
“I believe the word you are looking for is strong willed,” Persephone said.
Zeus reared back, but instead of striking her, his arm met a wall of sharp thorns—and they shattered, but it was enough of a barrier for Persephone to avoid the god’s blow. As she did, Hades stepped between them, his glamour fading into black amour, but the shadows that fell away from him barreled toward Zeus. One managed to pass through his body, causing him to stumble back, but he recovered in time to deflect the other two with the cuffs that braced his arms.
“The rule of women, Hades, is you never give them your heart.”
Persephone didn’t have time to wonder how Hades’ responded because as she stumbled back from the two, she came face to face with Poseidon who swung his trident at her. The edges cut into her upper arm as she tried to move and she gasped in pain, but she used that sting to begin to heal, and summoned vines from the ground that tangled around the trident, pulling it from Poseidon’s grasp. The god was quick to anger and punched his hand into the vines, ripping his weapon from their hold and slamming it into the ground. The earth began to shake and crack open, and the land that Persephone had healed was now broken. A giant fissure appeared between her and the God of the Sea, and as he took a step close to her, fire sprang from its depths and a flaming whip cut through the air and wrapped around Poseidon’s neck, sending him flying backward. He crashed into one of the vine-covered buildings Persephone had resurrected.
At first she did not know who had come to her rescue, but then her eyes fell upon Hephaestus, whose eyes glowed with raw power and flame. He turned his back to her and face Poseidon, who rose from the rubble, his trident gleaming.
Suddenly her head was yanked back, and she stared into Hera’s cruel eyes as she lifted a blade and brought it down upon Persephone’s neck. She reached for Hera’s hand and summoned spires from her fingertips. They sank deep into the goddess’s flesh and she scream, wrenching away, her sword went flying. Rage flashed in Hera’s eyes and she picked Persephone up by the arm and threw her. She flew through the air, the wind felt sharp against her skin. She landed on her feet, but in a crater and as she jumped from it, Hera continued toward her. Persephone gathered her magic and blackened limbs burst from the earth, tangling around Hera’s arms and ankles, holding her aloft in the sky. The goddess struggled, her scream sounded animalistic, until the vines closed over her mouth, silencing her.
There was a moment where Persephone stood at the edge of the abyss her body had created, staring out at the destruction brought about by the gods—the earth was barren and cracked, and fires raged, cutting across the land like rivers of flame, the sky heavy with smoke. The magic of the gods was heavy in the air, an energy that felt like doom and sounded like thunder.
Across the field, the Olympians were locked in battle with one another—blades and spears clanked and clashed, while bursts of powerful magic countered attacks. Apollo released arrows upon Ares, who blocked them with his spear. Hephaestus used his fire-like whip to block blow after blow of Poseidon’s trident, while Artemis and Aphrodite crossed blades. Then there was Hades, who was still locked in a fierce battle with Zeus. The two struck at each other with their weapons—Hades’ bident and Zeus’s lightning bolt. Each time they clashed, there was an explosion of power and it seemed to feed their anger.
Persephone focused on the two, her magic rising to grip Zeus’s ankles and arms. The god broke her hold easily, but she persisted, and Zeus roared with anger. Hades used the opportunity to send shadows shuddering through him until he stumbled backward. As he fell, the ground yawned open, urged by Persephone’s magic, and the god fell into the abyss, dirt and rubble filling the hole, burying him alive.
Hades turned to Persephone just as the ground began to shake, and Zeus tore free from the ground in an explosion of earth, showering the gods with dirt and rock. Lightning crackled around the King of the Gods, and his eyes glowed. A terrible fear shivered through Persephone when she saw him and felt his power. It was like a poison, making her stomach sour.
“Persephone!” Hades roared.
The lightning hit fast. Her body shook uncontrollably, her limbs froze in place, eyes wide, mouth open. She could only see the flash of violet light, smell burning hair and flesh. She did not know how long she suffered beneath the shock, but something happened, a shift in her body as it adjusted to the feel of the magic that had initially accosted her body and suddenly, she could harness it. As Zeus’s attack ended, Persephone felt aglow, her body zinging with electricity. Her eyes narrowed upon Zeus in the sky and she gathered his magic as if it were her own, sending it striking toward him.
His eyes widened just as he was hit, and his body convulsed in the sky.
When the assault ended, Zeus fell, his landing shaking the Earth. Persephone’s vision swam and her lungs rattled. She turned, searching for Hades only to find Ares releasing his golden spear. It cut through the air at an inhuman speed—too fast for Persephone to move.
In the next second, she was pushed to the ground, she twisted to see Aphrodite’s body arch as she was pierced by the spear. It lodged in the ground behind her, and she was pinned at its center, her arms hung limp beside her, blood dripped from her mouth.
“No!” Hephaestus’s roar was so loud and so deafening, it halted the battle. Everyone watched as he tore his way toward her, wreathed in flame, reaching for the spear, he pulled it free from her body. One arm was wrapped around her shoulders, the other pressed on her stomach.
“Aphrodite—” Ares spoke her name as his feet touched the ground. “I didn’t mean—”
“If you take another step, I will slit your throat,” Hephaestus threatened.
“Aphrodite,” Persephone whispered, her throat thick with tears. “No.”
“Persephone,” Hades said, suddenly beside her, urging her to her feet. “Come.”
“Aphrodite!” she screamed.
“We must go,” Hades said.
“Apollo! Heal her!” Persephone cried.
Hades gathered her into his arms.
“No!” she roared even as they vanished.
