Motherfucking Theseus.
Forget an eternity of misery in Tartarus, Hades would not rest until his nephew ceased to exist. He would shatter his soul, cut his thread into a million pieces, and consume them. It would be the most savory meal he’d ever eaten.
Fucking favor.
Fucking Fates.
He strained against Persephone’s bindings, his limbs shook, his muscles tightened but they would not give.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She was powerful and he would have felt more pride if she hadn’t left with that bastard demi-god. He knew why she’d done it. She’d wanted to protect him, and the thought filled him with a conflict that made his chest ache. He loved her so much, and he raged that she would put herself in danger, even if he understood it.
What would Theseus do to her?
The thought sent another wave of fury through him, and he fought against her bindings once more. This time, he heard the distinct snap of one, and his foot was free. He wrenched his arm, veins rising to the surface of his skin, the vine cut into his wrist, until it finally broke. He tore at the remaining bindings after that, and once he was free, he teleported.
Persephone had a knack for hiding her own, personal energy signature. He had not yet discovered if it was merely one of her powers, or a result of having her powers dormant for so long. Either way, it made it impossible to find her—except when she wore her ring. He focused on the unique energy of the stones—the pureness of the tourmaline and the sweet caress of the dioptase. He had not set out to track her when he’d given it to her, he would have been able to trace any precious metal or gem so long as he became familiar with it.
He manifested among ruins.
It did not take him long to recognized where he’d arrived: the crumbling Palace of Knossos. In the night, it was impossible to make out the detailed and colorful paintings that covered what was left of the ancient walls, or exactly how many miles the grounds stretched, but Hades knew because he’d known this place in its prime and throughout its inevitable destruction.
It was here he sensed Persephone’s ring, but faintly. He knew these ruins went deep into the belly of the earth; a twisted maze meant to confuse. He imagined Persephone somewhere within and his anger drew him into the shell of the palace.
Though it was dark, his eyes adjusted, and as he crossed a broken, blue mosaic floor, he came to a dark pit. It seemed to be a part of the floor that had given away. He spoke to the shadows, commanding them to descend. He watched through them as the chasm turned into another level of the palace, then dipped further into an even deeper level.
Hades jumped, landing quietly upon another mosaic floor. Here, the palace was more intact—its columned walls and rooms were more pronounced. As Hades crept through each, following the energies from Persephone’s ring, unease crept through him. He sensed life here—ancient life—and profound death. That was not unusual, given this site dated back to antiquity. Hundreds had died here, but this death, some of it was fresh—harsh, acute, acidic.
Hades continued to descend until he came to the edge of another dark pit. The smell of death was stronger here, but so was Persephone’s ring. Hades’ rage and fear twined through his body—a dread thick and fowl gathered in the back of his throat. Memories from the night he’d found her in the basement of Club Aphrodisia accosted him and for a moment, it was like he was there again, Persephone on her knees before him, broken. He could smell her blood and his mind spiraled into a dark and violent place. It was the kind of anger he needed, the rush he would use to tear the world to pieces if he found her harmed.
He stepped into the darkness, this time when he landed, it shook the earth. As he straightened, he found several narrow hallways.
A labyrinth.
He was familiar with this craftsmanship, too, recognizing Daedalus’s work, an ancient inventor and architect known for his innovation—innovation that eventually led to the death of his son.
Fuck, Hades thought, turning in a circle, studying each path. It was colder here, and the air was full of dust. It felt unclean and a little suffocating. Still, he could sense Persephone’s ring, and the energy was strongest down the path that stretched out to his right. As he stepped into the deeper dark, he noted that parts of the tunnel were broken—as if it had been hit by a large object.
Something monstrous had lived here.
Perhaps it still was.
Hades gathered his shadows to him and sent them down the corridor, but they seemed to become disoriented and faded into the darkness. Their behavior raised the hair on the back of Hades’ neck. There was a wrongness here, and he didn’t like it.
Suddenly, the wall to his left exploded, sending him flying through the opposite barrier and as he landed, he came face to face with a bull—or at least the head of one. The rest of its body was human.
It was a Minotaur, a monster.
It bellowed and clawed the ground with one of its hoofed feet, wielding a double axe that was chipped and caked with blood. Hades imagined the creature had been using it to kill since his imprisonment here, which, if he had to guess by the state of the creature—matted hair, filthy skin, and crazed eyes—was a very long time.
The creature roared and swung his axe. Hades pushed off the wall and ducked, sending his shadow-wraiths barreling toward him. If it had been any other creature, his magic would have jarred it to the soul. The usual reaction was a complete loss of the senses, but as they passed through this monster, he only seemed to grow angrier, losing his balance momentarily.
Hades charged, slamming into the Minotaur. They flew backward, hitting wall after wall after wall. When they finally landed, it was in a pile of rubble, and Hades rolled away, creating as much distance between them as possible.
The Minotaur was also quick and rose to its hooved feet. He might not have magic, but he was fast, and seemed to draw from a never-ending well of strength. He roared, snorted, and charged again, this time, he kept his head down, his horns on display. Hades crossed his arms over his chest, creating a field of energy that sent the creature soaring once more.
As quick as he crashed, he was on his feet, and this time the snarl that came from the Minotaur was deafening and full of fury. He tossed his axe, the weapon cutting through the air audibly. At the same time, he charged at Hades who braced himself for impact. As the creature barreled into him, Hades called forth his magic, digging the sharp ends of his fingers into the Minotaur’s neck. As he pulled free, blood spattered his face. The creature roared but continued to run at full speed into each labyrinth wall. The impact against Hades’ back began to send a sharp pain down his spine. He gritted his teeth against it and continued to shove the spikes into the Minotaur’s neck over and over again.
Hades could tell when the creature began to lose his energy. He slowed; his breath came roughly, snorting exhales through his nose and mouth where blood also dripped. Just as Hades was about to let go, the Minotaur stumbled, and he found himself falling with the monster into another pit. This one narrowed quickly, causing Hades to hit the sides like a pinball, knocking the air from his lungs. They twisted and turned sharply, until they were both thrown from the tunnel, into a larger room. The Minotaur landed first, and Hades after, hitting a wall that did not give which told him whatever they’d landed in wasn’t concrete or stone.
Adamantine, Hades realized.
Adamantine was a material used to create many ancient weapons. It was also the only metal that could bind gods.
Hades rose to his feet quickly, ready to continue the fight with the Minotaur, however, the creature did not rise.
He was dead.
His eyes adjusted to this new darkness. It was somehow thicker. Perhaps that had something to do with how far below the earth they were located, or maybe it was the adamantine. Either way, the cell was simple—a small square with a sandy floor. At first glance, as far as Hades could tell, there was no way out—but he’d have to look longer. For the moment, his attention was drawn to Persephone’s presence. It was strong here, as if her heart beat within the walls of this cell. Then he saw it—a gleam from one of the jewels in her ring.
If her ring was here, where was she? What had Theseus done?
As he started toward it, there was a faint mechanical sound and a net fell from the ceiling above, sending him to the ground. He landed with a harsh crack against the floor. As he tried to call upon his magic, his body convulsed—the net paralyzed him.
He had never felt so helpless and that made him angry.
He thrashed and cursed but to no avail. Finally, he lay still, not because he did not wish to fight, but because he was too exhausted to move. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he had the sense that he’d fallen asleep. It took him a moment to adjust, his vision swimming even in the darkness. As he lay there, breathing shallow, he noticed a faint flicker of light a short distance from him.
Persephone’s ring.
He started to reach for it, but the net kept his arm locked in place. Sweat broke out across his forehead, his body losing strength. Once again, he closed his eyes, the sand from the floor coated his lips and tongue as he worked to catch his breath.
“Persephone,” he whispered her name.
His wife, his queen.
He thought of how stunning she’d looked in her white gown as she had walked to him down the aisle, flanked by souls and gods who’d come to love her. He remembered how her smile had made his heart race, how her bottle-green eyes, aglow and so happy, had made his chest swell with pride. He thought of everything they’d been through and fought for—the promises they’d made to burn worlds and love forever—and here he was, parted from her, not knowing if she was safe.
He gritted his teeth, a fresh wave of anger coursing through his veins. He ripped open his eyes and reached for the ring again. This time, though his hand shook, he managed to strain and grasp a handful of sand and as he let it sift through his fingers, he found the gem-encrusted ring.
Breathing hard and shaking, he brought the ring to his lips, curled it safely into his palm, and held it to his heart before he fell into darkness once more.
