Chapter Text
The battle against the giant began a few days before a full moon and trudged on past three more without so much as a hint towards victory. Alcyoneus proves to be an order of magnitude greater than any enemy he has fought to date — wholly incomparable to the lesser beasts Herakles has tussled with before.
It is not that Alcyoneus surpasses by some measure of strength or intellect. The former he has in spades, but not enough that Herakles cannot wrestle him into submission for precious minutes at a time. The latter he has not at all, and he still falls as readily to Lord Hades’ trick of invisibility now as he did four moons ago.
No. Instead the giant’s invincibility lies in his terrific recovery and his equally terrific cowardice. The blows that have fallen manticores and griffins in but one are healed before Herakles could stand back upright. Still harder blows, the kind that have downed river gods and centaurs in their prime, had the giant immediately scrambling underground. But less than an hour later, Alcyoneus would appear at the surface again, arrogant and whole, as if the blow were never dealt.
At first the Lady of Wisdom thought to dig up all the dirt from Pallene down to the barren stone and trap the giant from fleeing forthwith. He managed to clear out the soil within the deme’s modestly-sized agora, but then the stone gave way and crumbled to earth when the giant hurried to escape once more.
By then, the Lady of Wisdom had already been called to depart by her sister the Huntress. And so from then till now, Herakles has been left with no other recourse than to engage and give chase, like a dog being beckoned to fetch.
The brutal clashes are fatiguing, and the inevitable pursuits are more so. Even Herakles himself, owing to his innate physique and an unsteady supply of ambrosia, can only maintain this pursuit for two days consecutive; but when he rests on the third, Alcyoneus will scurry out of his earthen sanctuary like a roach, ready to devastate nearby lands.
In these periods, it is the Lord of the Underworld who stands guard, guessing at Alcyoneus’ next movements. If Hades chooses correctly, Alcyoneus will be apprehended before the creature could fully emerge, and the giant would flee back to Pallene. If Hades chooses incorrectly, then Alcyoneus would finally be found when the psychopomp Thanatos is called to the next massacre. And so it continues, with the death count tolling ever higher as the weeks pass.
If there was upside to report, it would be that the deme of Pallene had long been evacuated — both the remaining living and the unmoored souls. Only corpses and ruins remain left in the sunken land. It was by and large achieved by efforts of stealth when Alcyoneus finally grew bored enough to rest.
Except Herakles is growing bored, too.
Both of the ceaseless tug of war he’s left playing with malleable lands, and of the endless demands being levied upon him by immortals and mortals alike. Should a solution not come soon, then he’d sooner leave this miserable plot of land and seal it off with a ring of Greek fire than continue this thankless battle. That man — Theseus? — would not be happy to lose all but a quarter of his kingdom to the fires, but what's one more angry king? He can have an opinion when he has the ability to stop this cowardly giant from killing all his citizens otherwise.
Before Herakles reaches the point of making this suggestion though, a nymph swims ashore.
Though they’ve never formally met, it’s a nymph even he knows: the boy-nymph from the last time Herakles was welcomed into the Olympian celebrations. The one who was said to raise the alarm on the Earth Mother’s giants. The one who held a weapon in the festive halls, only to be pardoned by Herakles’ godly father on account of his ...incomprehension.
“Have you been sent to assist me?” Herakles asked, just to be sure.
The nymph comes out fully dry, looks at Herakles for a while, and says, with a note of confusion, “Are you Herakles?”
Herakles raises a brow. “If not, then who?”
For some reason, the nymph's gaze sharpens. He looks Herakles up and down, and says, “You don’t have a sword.”
“I don’t use swords,” says Herakles, almost amused by the peculiarities of the nymph’s mind. Why would the nymph assume him to have a blade? Well. Better peculiar than scheming. “Why would I? My bare fists are enough.”
The nymph’s lips tug down slightly, but then return to neutral. Then he says, “That’s not from the Nemean Lion.”
Herakles does not immediately follow along, but then he sees the nymph’s eyes on his pelt-skin. It had been from his very first hunt; where other campers had been appeased by little birds and boars, Herakles had gone straight for the king of the forest. “No,” Herakles says. “Though I daresay that’d make an even better pelt. Maybe someday.”
It’d be a nicer fight, too, surely. That impenetrable hide hardly seems like a challenge in comparison to how Herakles has spent his last four moons.
Herakles is so taken by the thought that he nearly misses the nymph’s nod. But he does not miss the nymph pointing two of his fingers at his own eyes, and then swiveling around the salute to Herakles. “If you make a promise, you should keep it,” the nymph says. “Don’t make it if you won’t. It’ll come back to bite you.”
Herakles doesn’t mean to, but a disbelieving laugh escapes him. “What are you talking about?” he asks. “Is that a threat?”
“Not really,” says the nymph. “You can think of it like a promise.”
Herakles laughs in earnest this time. He’s not a fan of those water nymphs, even those that smell like the sea. But he has to admit these sorts of spirits really are amusingly inane.
But the nymph drops the absurdity as soon as he catches a glimpse of an unmoving form left in a heap by a cracked wall. Then the next. And still the next. The heat had slowly increased with every week that passed, and now there was nothing left of the forms but bone. But the nymph stared at it wordlessly as if he could still see the flesh, the features; as if he somehow recognized these persons whose souls had long departed.
Suddenly, Herakles remembers yet another rumor — that this nymph was intended to be born of Athens. To stand for that city the way his female cousins represent their waters.
There’s a sword in the nymph’s hands. Herakles did not know from whence it came, but it first glowed the clear green of a tidepool, and steadily dropped in intensity to that of a swamp.
Clouds passed overhead. In the backdrop of an overcast sky, a thick, heavy breeze started to wind its way around the ruins.
“Where is —” the nymph’s voice crackled. He stops. “Alcyoneus. Where is he.”
There’s a sensation in the air that sets Herakles’ teeth on edge. Not like when Herakles catches a glimpse of his divine Father’s godly weapon. Not nearly as divine, but also far more inhuman.
Like the look in the lion’s eyes when it realized that so long as Herakles lived, it could not. The growing rage, the primal wildness.
The desperation.
Herakles answers, “Below us, most likely. But it is almost time for him to re-emerge.”
“He has a schedule?” says the nymph with a decidedly blank face. “And what if I want to schedule in a little one-on-one with him and the ocean?”
There are several strange turns of phrases, but Herakles believes he understands the gist of what the nymph asks. “The fastest way is for me to throw him towards the shore. But Alcyoneus is more slippery than an eel. As soon as he touches the land, whether it be soil, sand, or rock, he will escape.”
“Then throw him,” the nymph responds. “Get him to the shore, and I’ll catch him.”
Amused, Herakles asks, “And when he runs? Will you chase him to his next city? I won’t be so kind as to fix your mess for you. Bad day, I’m afraid.”
The moisture-leaden air somehow thickens still more. A little more, and it’d almost feel strangling.
“He won’t run,” says the nymph.
“Or so you say.” After all the creatures Herakles faced— mortal, immortal — not even he had been prepared for one as cowardly as this one.
The nymph smiles. “Like an eel, right? Sure. I have some experience.” Like this, he looks remarkably like his vacuous female cousins from the lakes. It’s almost disgusting. But then his face drops back into an unsettling blankness.
Herakles isn’t particularly fond of taking orders from a nymph, but he’d rather make the attempt than continue on with this dreadful monotony. “If you insist.”
But at the very least, Herakles should inform his current allies should something go wrong. And so he departs from the nymph to head to the last sighting of the Lord of the Underworld, outside the ruins, and finds there a single rotting pomegranate.
Herakles takes the decaying fruit, and crushes it in his bare hands. As the dark juices trickle out through the gaps in his fingers, he waits a moment. Then another. The shadows on the earth appear to deepen more than an overcast sky would suggest, and that's all the acknowledgement the Lord of the Underworld deigns to give him.
Petty. But Herakles won't say so out loud; no need in making that particular relation any worse given that he’s on worse terms with the only alternative.
It takes another few increments of the sun before the ground begins to rumble. The rattle of loose gravel is a familiar sound now, as is the absolutely putrid roar of the giant as Alcyoneus bursts through, shouting, “IT IS I, ALCYONEUS! THE NEW MASTER OF DEATH!” Alcyoneus soon catches sight of Herakles, and he grins toothily. “Here again, boy! Perhaps I should applaud your bravery! When you die, you will surely spend your afterlife regretting having opposed me while alive!”
Herakles laughs out loud. “That’s hardly my doing, is it? Even if I wanted to give way, what way can I give to an enemy that cannot best me?”
Alcyoneus’ nostrils flare even larger, exposing the detritus within. “I SHOULD SAY THAT TO YOU!”
Today, Alcyoneus seems to be in a mood to wrestle, which makes the operation all the more simple. Usually it's Herakles’ blows that end up turning the giant away, but this time Herakles does not raise his fists at all. He dives for the giant's massive calves, and a grunt forces its way out of him at Alcyoneus’ immediate retaliation. The blow does not break skin, but it rattles its way down to Herakles’ very bones.
Herakles roars, and he heaves himself up, arms still wrapped around the giant's filthy leg. Alcyoneus roars with him as the beast unbalances, and his massive arms flail ignorantly. “What trick is this?!” cries Alcyoneus.
“Come on, giant!” Herakles grits out. His every muscle strains, and the giant's other leg finally lifts with the effort. “There's a little nymph that wants to personally bathe you!”
Instead of answering, Alcyoneus drives another blow into the hard flesh of Herakles’ back. And so Herakles doesn't bother to speak to him anymore either, and with a terrific heave, he throws Alcyoneus out towards the shore.
Alcyoneus hollers in the air, twisting this way and that, until he lands several feet before the waves. Herakles frowns. His strength should have landed the giant in the waters. Did he misjudge the distance?
“So you have given up!” crows Alcyoneus. “Very well, I will grant you a day of reprieve when you next come into the Halls of Death!” The shadows of the ruins lengthen, and only then does Alcyoneus realize he is not alone. “Oh? And which puny god dares to face me here?”
The nymph throws his muddy green sword into the sands.
The sky cracks open.
No. Herakles has it wrong.
First the towering wave, a deep stormy blue of the same shade as the blanketed sky, collapses down, washing away the figures of both the giant and the nymph. Then, as if tugging on a string, the sky falls with it, and a downpour of which the likes Herakles has never seen before comes to pummel the ground nearly all the way to the former doorstep of Pallene. It sends rocks flying from the lands. The humidity is suffocating.
The shadows seem to think so, too. The Lord of the Underworld suddenly springs forward into his towering existence, shadows lashing out. The flared silhouette then settles down into Lord Hades’ dark, silken robes — of undeniably fine quality, with no flaws but for the folds that occasionally formed themselves into weeping, tormented faces.
The Lord of the Underworld casts his gaze up at the sky, and then he lifts a pale, powerful hand in an open gesture. He turns his face towards the sea, and Herakles catches his dark eyes glinting even darker. “My brother’s offspring have never tended towards the palatable. But he has truly outdone himself this time.”
It's nearly impossible to make out the happenings on the beach in the downpour, at least until a large hulking shadow lumbers its way into sight. Alcyoneus’ shape is made ever bigger by the waves of water that lap relentlessly at him, and every so often the shape of him slips and hits the ground with a terrible splash.
But his silhouette still grows larger. The nymph is giving a good showing, but the lands will not abandon the giant. The limited traction does not allow Alcyoneus to escape outright, but it nonetheless urges him back in, away from the place where the sea has swallowed the sky.
Herakles clears his throat to rid it of the thick feeling, and reaches for a jagged piece of a ruin. If this is where today's excursion ends, then he’d like to at least try and take out one of Alcyoneus’ eyes. Those always took the longest for the giant to recover from.
As the giant continues to fumble through the downpour, his shape grows steadily more clear. He looks like a pathetically drowned rat.
But he never comes into full visibility. Just a few lumbering steps away from the end of the rainfall, the broken stone steps of Pallene shift. Herakles shifts back on instinct, and an incredibly large volume of steam explodes out of the earth to hit Alcyoneus right in the face.
The giant wails. High and unceasing, Alcyoneus's scream of pain seems as if it would upturn the earth by sheer force of sound. And as the giant crumples, using his large hands to cover his blistering face, the waves come once more. And this time, they drag him back.
Then, for the first time since the sky started falling, Herakles hears the giant speak. “My eyes…” the giant groans, barely audible through the deafening rain. “My eyes… they didn't deceive me! You're there… I saw you! Damysos!”
Cool thin air slips past Herakles as the shade of the Lord of the Underworld suddenly darts into the veritable storm.
“Why won't you aid me?!” cries Alcyoneus, pained, as the earth shakes and writhes in sympathy. “DAMYSOS!”
And that's the last he speaks. The rain suddenly stops, and when the last of the mist clears there is nothing on the shore. Not Hades, not the giant, and not the monstrous nymph.
•••••
Let it be decreed that this was the first and last time Hades enters his domain by way of his brother’s. Thank his foresight that he chose to land in the Fields of Asphodel and not his palace doors, lest the smell of fishy brine follow him in. These sorts of impressions never air out.
But the urgency of the situation forced Hades’ hand this time. Had the terrified tantrum of the giant continued, the Earth Mother would be called to stir. And if the primordial’s attention were turned towards Pallene, then she would no doubt realize the state of existence of the second giant, one who flickered so transparently and emptily that not even Hades had realized what he was feeling before Alcyoneus named him.
But even if the Earth Mother did not subsequently move to wipe the city of Athens off her body, then the mutating daimon currently speckling Hades’ fields with reddish-ichor — bleeding it from several orifices, too — would have eroded it all away.
Damn him, Poseidon. One day, that brother of his will be the end of them all.
But until then, Hades is as always left cleaning up the aftermath.
“You —” His brother’s creation shudders as what would be rattling coughs instead move weakly through his frame. Bubbles of rust pop, splattering over his face and Hades’ robes. “You — cough! — killed him.”
Alcyoneus has been taken care of. Hades can feel the giant’s soul darting through the Underworld towards his primordial father’s embrace — the very first of the giants to do so.
“Hah,” Perissei wheezes, and when he speaks his voice is thin and strained. “I couldn’t… couldn’t get him to drown. So much lung. ‘S unfair.” He breaks off into another bout of airy laughter.
That does bear the question of what to do with the rest. Perhaps the second giant would suit as fertilizer for the Isle of the Blest. Both far from the Pit, and not a place that inspires the Earth Mother to snoop.
But when Hades summons his skeletal servants to lift the heavy carcass, Perissei suddenly begins to struggle to sit up. “Oh, wait — stop. Please. I —” the godling suddenly groans, reaching his hands up to press into his own eyes “— need that. Please. Ow.”
Hades scrutinizes him. “You need… the corpse.”
Perissei laughs again, hoarsely. “Oh gods, I hope I do.” When he drops his hands, the sclera of his eyes are now more white than burnt gold and his hands are covered in rust. “That’s the only plan I have.”
Hades feels the corner of his lips curl down. “Then what was your plan, bringing it out of the concealment of Delphi and into the sight of another giant? Did you want to follow Poseidon in provoking the same foe?”
The godling blinks. “Oh. Well, Apollon said —” Hades does not groan, because that would be terribly undignified. But of course this leads back to his other brother’s son. “ — that you were the only person that could help.” Then almost like an afterthought, Perissei tacks on a quick, “Lord Hades.”
“You think you have the right to make a request of me?”
Perissei shrugs and winces at some strain caused by the movement. “I’d hope that the whole, killing a giant for you can sway you a bit. Lord Hades.”
Hades says, flatly, “Thanatos dealt the killing blow.” But he considers it, glancing up at the saltwater still dripping from the closing crack in the ceiling. “But in light of your… meritorious service, I will hear you out. What is your request?”
Perissei stares at him.
Hades frowns. “What?”
“Wow,” says Perissei. He drops himself back down. “Am I, uh, dying? Is this my one guaranteed audience with the Underworld? I sort of thought you'd tell me to go away and then I'd have to beg a lot for you to finally spare a second for me.”
Hades stares down at him. “Any time I have to spare is being ill-used by your rambling. I have souls to judge.” It is really quite infuriating. The souls that had once taken Hades the hours from dusk to midnight to parse through now require Hades to start at sunset, or else be forced to contend with a backlog the next day.
The mental exercise of it is taking a toll, too. It had been tedious, but doable, to design fitting afterlives for the souls that come into Hades’ domain. But even with the shortened debriefs, Hades is spending twice the time and effort on judgments now. The headache he contends with these days is annoyingly persistent, and Hades very much doubts he will come out at the end of it with a daughter willing to take this thankless task over from him.
It may indeed be time to do as Persephone says, and conscript some wise men into his service.
“Maybe it’d be less if Alcyoneus died earlier,” says Perissei, a sharpness edging into his voice. Then: “No, sorry. Don’t know what’s gotten into me. I'll be quick. That guy over there,” he points a finger at the giant, as if there were any ambiguity, “gave me a prophecy but I passed out before I could remember it. Can you tell him to repeat what he said?”
Hades glances at the unmoving giant, and makes a quick assessment. “Not much of him is left,” Hades says by way of answer. “You can speak to him, but for how long is uncertain.”
And then he reaches out a hand to command the giant into action. Dallying any longer will only cause the giant to fade more, and Hades isn't keen on polluting his Blessed Isles with the energy from an aborted prophecy.
Living things should stay livingside. Hades’ domain is meant for the still and stagnant. Or things that very well should be.
Something briefly flickers in the giant's milky eyes, and wisps of green escape his lips. “Approach,” the giant whispers, sibilant as a snake. “Approach, approach… And ask.”
“What vision have you given to the boy before you?” commands Hades. “Repeat it.”
“Vision,” murmurs the giant through a larger plume of green. “Yes. Yes. Seven seats on a council, a girl before them. No. No. She is not a girl, not yet. Seven thrones that are not ready, seven who are less than seven — Praise the seven! O seven! O spirits, O brethren! Guide our souls through troubled times; council of the first divines!”
The giant goes through a whole body twitch, and his skin seems to noticeably sag as more and more green mist escapes him into the open field. The skeletons that were originally lifting him suddenly start to rattle. More than one crumples back into the dirt fields.
Neither near nor far, neither present or absent, voices that do not yet exist chant:
Your kingdom flowers on the vine,
In kindred songs sung so divine!
His wildness holds man's first desires
Her grace to raise man’s great empires
Praise the lush king and bull-horned queen,
Who brought us up from a world obscene!
Praise the seven! O seven!
O spirits, O brethren!
O seven!
O seven!
O SEVEN!
O SEVEN!
O SEV—
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
For a strange, disconcerting moment, Hades forgets where he is. The image he sees feels broken and disjointed; the colors and shades do not seem to know how to find their rightful place. But then it is as if a haze lifts, he again recognizes the decrepit state of his asphodel fields — its untilled fields, its false sky. He is present in this field, and so is his brother’s spawn.
The godling is the one who just spoke. He looks pale, and his eyes are fixed in the direction of a disproportionately large skeleton.
Yes. That’s right. Although unexpected, the act of expelling the remaining prophetic energy has rendered the giant’s remaining flesh clean off his bones. There is some benefit to this however; with a thought, the skeleton pieces itself together and slowly stands itself upright.
Hades waves a hand, and the skeleton gradually sinks down into the shadows, ready to emerge on the other end to the Isles.
Perissei watches it go with visible confusion. “That’s it? All I get is some rambling about seven thrones and a weird chant about kings and queens and swords and shields? What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Swords and —?” A sudden scattering of light momentarily distracts Hades’ from his thoughts. Eventually the inexplicable throbbing eases, Hades can once again ponder the giant’s words. Seven seats on a council. No wonder the godling was skeptical, even Hades would wonder how five words could be so potent as to require all that was left of the giant to deliver it.
What council could it refer to? The gathering of Hades’ enforcers, somehow increased? One of Poseidon’s many royal courts? Or… the Olympian Council…. thereby diminished?
No. That was ridiculous.
The giant had simply been so withered that those five words were all it could deliver.
“I warned you,” Hades says. “That giant was barely a wisp. You should have acted sooner.”
“It’s not like I knew I was going to go into a coma —” Perissei stops. “You said I should act sooner? What about you, Lord Hades? How long did you stand around when you could have taken Alcyoneus out at any time?”
Hades narrows his eyes. “Watch your tone,” he warns. “I wouldn’t suffer disrespect from my own brothers, let alone one of his many ill-advised children.”
“Wow. That’s so scary for someone who did nothing.”
“Enough!” Hades snarls. He forces himself to calm. Perissei is merely lashing out, and not necessarily with any awareness of why. Poseidon would be furious to learn of the boy’s death. “Considering your current mental state, I will explain this just once.”
He ignores Perissei’s venomous glare and continues,
“I could not have acted any sooner. The giant Alcyoneus’ domain was designed to overwrite my own. Neither Death or the Underworld could be imposed upon him, and he himself healed far too quickly to be brought close to Death. Only when you arrived did we have the means to stall his escape. And only when you terrorized the giant so much he believed in the possibility of death, was I able to have Thanatos convince him that he has died, and send him directly to the Pit.”
Perissei’s glare slowly weakens as Hades speaks, until at last his expression is left blank. “Fine. Got it. Some big abstract laws tied your hands, as always. Sorry for my impertinence.”
“I do not care for your contrariness,” Hades tells him, irate. “Do not provoke me further, or your stay here will be made very unpleasant.”
The godling runs his hand through his hair. “Right. Right. Sorry. I'll leave. Where's the nearest exit?”
Hades narrows his eyes. “There is no exit.”
Perissei says, “Okay, then where is the unofficial exit? For the people who got lost and aren't supposed to be here?”
“You are not leaving.”
“Excuse me?” Perissei says, taken aback. “Okay, you've been really amazingly helpful, Lord Hades. I'm sorry I’ve been such a rude brat to you. I'll go back to Atlantis and really reflect on myself. I'll write you a thank you note. And a letter of apology, if you want that too.”
Hades says, “I cannot in good conscience set you free into the world.”
The godling looks at him, for once stunned out of his belligerent mood, and mumbles, almost inaudibly, “Really? Again?”
Hades ignores his mutterings. “You will stay here, in my halls. This isn't punishment, just a proactive measure. Pending good behavior, I'll even allow your father to visit you once a solar year.”
“Okay, this is not happening,” says Perissei decisively. “My dad's in trouble. Atlantis needs me. Please just let me go.”
Hades snorts. “If I let you return, Poseidon won't be in trouble for much longer. Because he'll be dead.”
“I— What?!”
“You have no awareness of what it is you are.” Hades realizes grimly. “That storm you called was a seasonal downpour I've only ever seen in Indos. You brought another pantheon's storm to our shores. You forced a deep earthen vent to the surface. You made an immortal giant believe himself mortal. You are breaking down the very laws that govern us. You are Erosion personified. Enter your Father's city, and your divinity will tear him apart from the inside.”
“Is this,” the daimon of Erosion's voice cracks, “is this some kind of joke? How can I be the… the god of breaking things? I was literally bleeding not even ten minutes ago.”
Hades squints at him. “You bled ichor.”
“That's generous,” says Erosion insistently. “It was at most orange.” Then he slumps, head falling into his hands. “Oh gods, and I'm already healed. How— how do I stop this? Can I reject —” He suddenly lifts his head back up, and shouts towards the sky. “I reject godhood! Hello! Are you hearing me? I don't want to be a god! No thank you! I'm good! I'd like to stay mortal!”
There is of course no answer. Hades hopes the godling doesn't sincerely expect one — Poseidon had claimed the boy's cognition restored, but it wouldn't be the first time Poseidon was wrong about something. “Rejecting your godhood is what caused this,” he says. Erosion turns his wide eyes to him. “Not even once, but multiple times at that. Do you think ascension is a matter of saying the word? Your vessel must be reshaped each time to become a conduit for your divinity. And descension is its own trial. Your gained divinity does not simply disappear once your form regains mortality. It can only slowly dissipate until the god you could have been has finally faded.”
“What are you talking about, faded?” Erosion demands with great audacity. “You make it sound like part of me died or something. I'm fine. Maybe I took a big nap once or twice, but I'm clearly still in one piece.”
“Unsurprising,” says Hades, scowling. “Dormancy is the last step to lost divinity. Fading immortals would sleep until they either regain power or reach the point of no return. Perhaps the one benefit of your fixation on mortality is that it allows you to reawaken despite not doing the former.”
Erosion says, incredulous, "Are you saying I've been falling into comas because I rejected godhood and started fading? You can't be serious. I apparently ascend if I just breathe wrong. I'll be going into comas for the rest of my life!”
“You are not listening,” Hades snarls. “Neither ascension nor descension is an easy ordeal. It completely remakes you. You are fundamentally different from the first time you started ascension, and you will be fundamentally different the next. One cannot be shaped and reshaped so drastically, repeatedly, and not start to fracture from within. You started off as a patron of man, and now you are Erosion. The next time you attempt ascension, you will either finally shatter into non-existence or you will bring about the end of us all. And I will not take that chance.”
Erosion stumbles to his feet, backing away from Hades. “No, this isn’t right,” he says. It matters not. There is no escape. The ribbon on his arm shimmers away, and a pale blue sword forms itself in the godling's hands. The monstrous divinity in the form of a boy repeats, “This isn't right. This can’t be how it ends. This isn't — I need to go to Atlantis. I need to get out of here.”
“You will not,” Hades decrees. “I forbid it.”
The god snaps his head towards him. His eyes are a bright and alien green. “You can't stop me,” says Erosion, voice thin and strained. “I'm of the sea. What's of the sea will return to the sea.” As if convincing himself, he says again, “I'm of the sea.”
He's growing more frenzied now. Perhaps Hades should have approached this more tactfully. But in hindsight, Hades couldn't have known the scale of the boy's obsession with mortality. “Perissei, peace. I do not mean you harm. I in fact want to help you.”
“It's not Perissei!” the other god shouts, and suddenly a piece of his divinity pools into something small and round in the palm of his hand. Hades frowns instinctively when the boy's eyes suddenly light up.
Erosion crushes the pearl in his hands. His form liquefies and his body flashes up to the ceiling. All too obediently, a pathway forms between Hades’ domain and his brother's, and soon the boy is gone. Escaped.
When the pathway disappears, a crack remains in the false sky.
It begins to rain in the Underworld.