Hello my children!
I'm back already! Midterm season is passed (now onto finals and term papers and shit lol) so I actually got the chapter done within a reasonable amount of time! Ain't that just something?
NEWS: Based on the votes those of you who follow my profile cast, there will be an extra-special, extra-fun, definitely extra-steamy chapter of LG updated...to celebrate 4K followers! Yay! I'll post it to the end of Lucifer's Gift--and it'll be completely canon, though not necessary to the plot or story. Just some content to make y'all smile and laugh and enjoy some extra time with our old couple ;) That should be out in the next week or so--I'm really looking forward to writing it for y'all. I hope you'll love it!
Anyways, that's all for now! Enjoy the chapter!
E <3
~~~
The sounds were the worst part.
The phantoms drifted past me, their visages tattered and destroyed as if even their souls couldn't bear to hold onto the illusion of their former selves. The rags they wore—the ones they'd been put to rest in—dragged across the craggy, desolate dirt beneath them. Unnaturally black, it matched the dreary atmosphere of the realm. Every bit of light fought desperately and valiantly against the gathering dark, but it did little to subdue it. Bones, not unlike the ones that had melted into the dirt after they'd finished dragging me down here, littered the ground in morbid clusters, stark white against the soil. Every once in a while, the phantoms would stop, pulsing that ugly gray, and stare sadly at a set like they'd known them—or been them.
Then, they would wail, the sound full of anguish and sorrow and grief. For so long they'd shriek, then, abruptly, they'd stop and drift off, as if they no longer had the capacity for such violent emotion.
I almost wished the darkness had stayed. It was far better than the horrors I was faced with now. Had I been a normal twenty-year-old, such a sight may have ruined me utterly. As it was, I hid my terror behind the mask I'd always had at my disposal—except for when I was around my Champion, of course.
But my Champion wasn't here. This was for me to face alone, as I'd done so often before. And I would not collapse. I couldn't afford to. I had something in my life to fight for besides mere, fleeting freedom.
Another shriek pierced the air. But this one was different. Feral. Alive.
I was suddenly conscious of how I stood out. Obviously living, wearing my blush pink sweater and white converse, I was a beacon for whatever terrible things lived in this realm. The phantoms, no matter how eerie, were the least of my worries at the moment. I had to be on guard, and I had to move.
Spurred into action by another, nearer scream, I ran. My pretty shoes pounded the already hard-packed earth as I flew, leaping over a massive pile of bones...which was topped with a skull that only had one enormous eye socket. I shuddered but didn't allow myself to slow. I couldn't allow my fear to win. I still had my daggers, I wasn't defenseless. I didn't want to kill, whether they be monsters or not, but I would. I'd do anything.
Suddenly, I skidded to an abrupt halt, the dark dirt flying up around my feet in a heavy spray. In front of me lay a river; wide, inky black, and utterly, terribly still. I could hear the sounds of rushing water, of rapids flowing over rocks and other obstacles, but the river appeared not to move an inch. It was unnatural, but so was everything else I'd encountered in this mysterious realm.
But I could not ignore my instincts, and they were screaming at me that this river was wrong. That I should take off in the opposite direction and never stop. That I should most definitely not cross the imposing body of water. I had a feeling that knowing how to swim would be of little help when it came to crossing this particular river.
And yet I had no choice. The terrible war cries were almost upon me now, and I did not want to meet the owner of those screams.
But before I could attempt a crossing, a line of fire wrapped around my ankle, tugging sharply and sending me hurtling towards the unforgiving ground. Moving swiftly, I caught myself with my hands, grimacing at the resulting strain on my wrists. Risking a quick glance back, I grit my teeth when I saw the end of a whip clasped firmly around me, and on the other end...a winged, demonic woman hovered, gripping the handle with a grotesquely clawed hand. The thing holding my ankle tugged upwards, grinning. With a cry of my own, I kicked out, jerking the creature on the end of it towards me. Even with my limited strength, I was able to catch her off guard and send her careening toward the dirt.
I unsheathed a dagger from my high-tops and slashed out at the whip, but the material wasn't natural and refused to sever. With a cry of frustration, I cast a glance towards the winged woman, who was just regaining her feet. Steeling myself for what I knew must be done, I sent my blade through the air, taking her through the throat—just as I'd intended. She gurgled out a final shriek as black blood bubbled up through her throat and out her mouth and nose. I looked on passively as she gagged and sputtered. I'd seen the throes of death often enough that it no longer touched me. And her death would not be easy. Contrary to popular belief, dying by throat injury was not a swift death. It was slow, it was painful, filled with panic the whole way through.
My father had loved to kill his enemies that way. I hated that even after all this time, his teachings were so deeply ingrained that I continued to follow them without hesitation.
Finally, glassy eyed with lips and chin stained with her lifeblood, the woman slumped to the ground and went still, her wounds still bleeding sluggishly. With a sigh of regret and self-disgust, I regained my feet, gripping the upper part of the whip. After a moment of fidgeting with it, I grimaced, took hold of the length of whip closest to my ankle, and yanked. Hard.
I grit my teeth to hold in my cry of agony when, as I'd feared, the whip's barbs took chunks of my flesh with it before disengaging. My ankle bone was startlingly white against the pinkness of muscle never meant to see the outside of my body. Red blood—a thing that had repulsed my father whenever he'd caught a glimpse of it, which had been often—flowed steady and warm down my ankle, soaking my socks and turning my once pristine white shoes a morbid scarlet. I bit my lip, stupid tears welling in my eyes when I realized that I'd never get the stain out.
But I couldn't cry now. There were more important things to focus on.
Tossing the whip away, still gripping tattered bits of my skin and muscle, I limped slightly forward to retrieve my dagger from the woman's throat. Black blood burbled up when the blade was removed, and I frowned when the dark liquid splattered up and stained my pretty pink sweater. Since it was already ruined, I wiped the remaining blood from my blade with it.
I surveyed my surroundings, pondering my next move. When I'd been backed against a metaphorical wall, I'd been ready to cross that river, but when I had the power of choice...
I wasn't going anywhere near that water anytime soon.
But, I reasoned, it was a good landmark. The rest of this realm was so featureless and bleak that it would be all too easy to get turned around. Following the river was as good an idea as any, no matter how much it ruffled my feathers.
So, eenie-meenie-miney-mo-ing it, I set off in a random direction along the oddly still river. The dirt made no sound beneath my ruined shoes, the land giving no indication as to how far I'd walked. If I'd turned around and seen the corpse of the winged woman behind me, I wouldn't have been surprised. But she'd long ago faded from view.
Oddly enough, even as what I estimated to be over an hour had passed, I felt nothing. No fatigue, no thirst, no hunger. The only thing that bothered me was the wound on my ankle, and even that didn't seem to be getting any worse—though it still hurt like heck. Either this realm somehow suspended my needs, or time passed differently here. Regardless, it didn't bring me much comfort. I'd been to many different realms on my father's assignments before, and none of them that messed with time or the physical body on such a scale was a fun place. Whoever dwelled here—and there were most definitely creatures other than phantoms and bat-ladies—were likely less than friendly. And, if I was forced to kill them, there was no guarantee I could get myself out. My father had usually extracted me once my target had been eliminated. I didn't have the ability to transport myself like angels did. I could be stranded here.
There were better places to be stranded.
Finally, the monotony of the landscape was broken when the most clichéd, dark, looming castle emerged from the haze in the air. I stopped for a moment, taking in the manicured spires, the bleak, spotless pale stonework, the actual freaking drawbridge. It was melodramatic at best, but despite the overdone-ness of it, it still sent shivers down my spine. Maybe it was stupid, but if the being who lived in there had the power to back up the ostentatiousness, then I was walking into something that could get messy.
Unfortunately, even with the strangeness of time in this realm, my ankle throbbed, and the bleeding hadn't stopped despite my wrapping it with my opposite sock. I was hardy, but even I could bleed out, given enough time.
I didn't have a choice. I had no other place to go, and I doubted this would be anything else in this realm—nothing I wanted to encounter, at least. I was going to just have to walk in like a freaking offering, because I didn't have the luxury of time.
When I was assigned a kill, I often was able to simply track them down and put a dagger between their eyes. But castles and fortresses made things complicated. Had the being of that castle been a target, I would've staked him out for days. I would have gotten a full briefing from father on the nature of the target, habits, extraordinary powers, and such. I would have come in a time I knew they wouldn't be in residence when I set up. And then, after a week or so of constant surveillance...I would have killed them in cold blood.
This was less than ideal, to say the least.
Sighing deeply through my nose, I began my slow, limping walk towards the unknown. Each step was pain, and I knew that likely the residents of the castle could already see my approach—and I was at least a mile out. But I didn't have a choice, and there was no sense in delaying the inevitable, no matter how undesirable the inevitable might be.
As I approached the castle, it grew both more imposing and more stereotypical. The spires jutted into the featureless sky, each stone brick seeming to ooze frigid air and foreboding. Even the palace in the Hell realm—Castle Death, as Ammi had dubbed it—didn't give off such strong leave right now vibes. And the literal Devil lived within those walls.
I didn't have the time, unfortunately, to fully appreciate the fortress in its entirety before a familiar screech filled the air. I whirled just in time to see three of the bat ladies—one identical to the one I'd thought I'd killed—circling me, barbed whips lashing teasingly around me like evil, sentient tongues. I didn't give them the satisfaction of making me flinch, though my heart lurched in my chest every time the crack of a whip whistled past my ear, or the air was displaced near my calf.
"Master ordered us to bring you in in one piece, girl," the undying one hissed at me spitefully. "Be grateful you continue breathing."
I blinked at her, baffled. "You think you could kill me? Surely not."
All three women spat and shrieked like demonic snakes, the one who'd spoken to me darting downwards, her claws extended. I tensed, the muscles in my legs bunching to throw myself to the side—
But, suddenly, she froze midair, her wings beating almost hesitantly.
"Basileus orders her immediate escort," another of the women groaned, before narrowing her glowing eyes in my direction. "Follow nice, or he'll come himself."
"I hope you decide to be difficult," the undying one murmured, genuine glee in her expression.
Well, that settled it. I was heading to the castle anyways...what harm was there in an escort, no matter how unpleasant they may be? I really, really didn't want to kill them all. I could. It would be difficult taking all three of them, and I would doubtless be hurt in the combat, but I knew it was within my abilities.
But...it was so incredibly pointless. A waste.
So, I wouldn't. I'd play nice, hide my fear, and hope that my Champion would save me before I had to take any more life.
So, with a noncommittal shrug, I followed the bat-winged women towards the castle, and across the drawbridge. My footsteps seemed to ring loudly against the stone, the women flying with only the slight sound of their wings beating the air to accompany their movements. I'd never really felt clumsy before, but when I was the only one tethered to the ground, it put things in a new perspective.
That being said, though I hated to do it, I palmed a dagger, ready to start throwing if things were to turn out of my favor.
The twists and turns of this castle were not unlike those of Castle Death; navigation was hopeless, and it seemed we travelled hours and miles of corridor before stopping at a massive set of wooden doors. Two of the women drifted upwards, reaching for metal knockers far above the reach of any non-winged creature. They knocked twice, and the doors opened simultaneously.
Their silent, smooth movement was infinitely more intimidating than any screech of rusted hinges could be.
The chamber beyond was expansive. Elegant, somehow ancient décor lined the sloped walls and pale floors giving it an almost skeletal look. Like this room was the skull of the fortress. And, directly in front of me, down an inky black carpeted path, was an arching, curved, ebony throne.
And on it, a dusky-skinned, lean-bodied warrior lounged, his battle-roughened fingers curved to grip the edges of the armrests. Dark dreadlocks, pulled back and tied with a leather tie at the nape of his neck, framed an angular face with a thick, close-cropped beard. Eyes the color of dripping honey with none of its sweetness or warmth regarded me with the focus of a cat about to pounce, sweeping down my ruffled appearance with a critical eye.
Doing the same, I saw a man used to wielding a heavy weapon; his arms were roped with muscle, and he had broad shoulders, ideal for a spearman, or perhaps a shield-bearing swordsman. His whole body was swathed in a blood-red cloak-like toga, his feet bare on the cold stone. And his aura unnerved me, chilled me to the bone. It was so very familiar. Almost comforting.
That I would find any aspect of this male comforting was a mystery to me.
"I said unharmed, Tisiphone." His voice seemed to fill every nook and cranny of the room, when in fact he spoke only barely above a whisper. His eyes never left mine, but the undying woman flinched as if he'd glared directly at her.
"She is a murderer, master, and I am the avenger. I have had naught to punish since the fall of Rome—"
Now he swung his head in her direction, the snap like a viper in the grass. "You punish murderers, avenge their victims, but only once they are dead, Tisiphone. And only on my word. Must we have a repeat of Periander?"
Though her skin was bone white, I swore I saw her blanch. "No, master, I apologize for my insolence."
"See it doesn't happen again. Now," he cast a look at all three. "Leave us. Find something to occupy yourselves."
With bowed heads and beating wings, they practically fled the room.
"Come forward, keeper of pure soul," he intoned, beckoning, head cocked and eyes glinting with madness.
Gulping down my fear and gripping my blade so tightly I almost cut my own flesh, I did as he asked. He seemed to grow in size, his stature more intimidating with every step. He was just so freaking tall—taller than my father, or Lucifer, even, who was gigantic. He dwarfed my Champion, and the cold fingers of fear trailed down my spine in a slow, intimate caress.
"Who are you?"
"Who's to say?" he leaned forward, as though confiding a secret of great import. "I don't even know any more. I've been replaced so many times over now, I don't matter."
"Those bat ladies didn't seem to think so," I muttered dryly, before biting my lip at my brazenness. Ammi had definitely begun to rub off on me.
Still, he chuckled—no, cackled, really—unhinged and manic in nature.
Oh, heck, he was absolutely bonkers.
"The Erinyes are restless. They have no purpose anymore. Like me," he muttered, almost to himself. "But fucking Than does have a purpose, the idiotic son of a whore, and he's blind to boot!"
Than?
"Um, I don't know who you're talking about. I think you may have grabbed the wrong girl, so—"
"Kaiah. Means pure, or one of pure blood in Greek. The bastard child begat of Michael the archangel of the Christian pantheon and a gullible human woman—"
"Don't you dare," I hissed, my dark-bladed dagger invisible in the low ambient light. "Even mention my mother."
My vision vibrated with the force of my anger, my fingers white and bloodless on the hilt of my weapon. My arms were so tight with fury-fueled tension that they trembled and quaked.
The man steepled his long fingers together, cocking his head and grinning so widely it mirrored a skull's grimace.
"Hit a nerve? Yes, I hit a nerve. Some people are made of nerves, but not you, little purity. No, you're like steel with a mushy, tender core, aren't you? Like a porcupine." His face sobered so abruptly it gave me whiplash. "Porcupines are rather unpleasant, you know. I didn't. I didn't know a lot of things, and yet I also knew so much more." He eyed me with newfound curiosity. "You could tell me, couldn't you? Then again, so could Than. Than will tell me everything. He has to."
I swallowed hard, the haze of my anger dissolving in the face of his untethered rant. "Who—who is Than?"
His face grew soft, wistful. "Than was my friend. I didn't have many."
Wonder why that could be.
He sighed, "He was more like my brother, really—no." He wrinkled his nose with profound distaste. "Not brother. I fucking despise my brothers. Than was family. Than was also a...colleague. We spent a lot of time together. He lost so much for my sake. And I still wasted away regardless. His suffering was pointless."
"What happened?"
The man stood up suddenly, his red robe-cloak swirling around him like dark flames. "God. Such a pretentious name, is it not? God bound him, suffocated him, enslaved him. Like the Spartans did their Helots, and his spirit was similarly crushed. And then he took over Rome with his fucking stupid pantheon, put his whelp of a son in charge of a new realm of death. Made us all obsolete. Fucking REPLACED ME!"
Oh, gosh. Spartans? New realm of death? Oh jeez.
"Are you...Your name...Hades?" I squeaked, backing up a step despite myself.
That wide, feral, insane grin reappeared on his face. "Yes. That's what they used to call me. They used to spit and curse my name all through life, only to whimper and plead it after. It was the sweetest kind of worship." He stepped forward. "I find I can't even be mad at my own replacement—I'm too busy being furious about poor Than. But now, I make it right. You'll help me make it right."
"But I don't even know Than!" I cried, brandishing my weapon defensively in as a new phase of frenzied, energized madness took over his words.
He frowned. "But you do. You're his mate."
I froze, my heart raggedly thumping against my breast.
"Marc—"
"Don't say that name." Hades growled, taking me by the shoulders before I could react. I lifted my dagger before he could press his advantage, the tip of the blade resting over his heart.
Looking down with a grin, he whispered, "I would expect nothing less of Thanatos' other half."
Thanatos.
The name rang in my ears over and over, and though I knew not much of the Greek pantheon, I knew enough to know that name. The bringer of death, harvester of souls. Unbeholden to any but himself. Marcus was everything Thanatos wasn't. What had happened to his over the centuries that had made him this way? What had he suffered?
"But Mar—Thanatos isn't a god anymore. He's a daemon now."
"Thanatos was bound to daimon form by your God," he said the name on a sneer. "A fucking indentured servant. He's been so for so long that even he now believes it. He's so used to being a slave that the idiot doesn't even realize he's free."
My eyes widened. "You mean..."
That grin again. "Yes. Thanatos is a god again. And when he breaks down the gates to the Underworld to get to you, maybe the stubborn dumbass will even realize it."
~~~
And another one bites the dust! (Or rides the bus, depending on your worldview.)
If you got that reference you are legally my best friend, just as an aside.
So, what do you think of Hades? Poor guy is quite a bit different than he was in the prologue :'(
And, apparently, Marcus is a god! Already? What? Y'all think Hades just forgot to take his meds, or what?
Any fun theories/thoughts you want to share?
Until next time!
Epsilon <3