Pitchfork

by Nicole Scarano

  A roar ripped through the huntress’ lungs as she let another arrow fly. It flew true, but the fanged god surged head on to meet the projectile and at the last moment, hurtled to the left to miss it. His jaw whipped sideways and plucked it from the air with a sickening crack of wood.

  Poseidon unleashed a roar, and a cacophony of violence broke loose. The ruler of the seas charged, lifting his trident as he ran. All the mountain’s water snaked its way over the grass, first in trickles then in small rivulets. Streams grew as they joined and built in speed and size until a wave as tall as a giant hurdled along the field behind him. Zeus shoved his thunderbolt heavenward, and a bolt of lightning shot into the clouds, setting off a chain reaction of electricity in the ash, the only light in the otherwise black sky. Jerking the bolt down, Zeus sent lightning hurtling at his brother’s wave. The water crackled electric, sizzling dangerously. It hit the onslaught of Old Ones with such force, the gods on the front lines hurtled backward, their bodies electrocuted with a burning stench.

  Seizing the opportunity, Athena chased the wave, unseen behind the wall of water. As the surge crashed, she dug her spear into the mud and vaulted herself over the foaming crest. She landed gracefully among the stumbling, wet gods and lashed out. The spear stuck a one-eyed beast square in the chest, and he grunted loudly as he stumbled in surprise. Poseidon barreled behind Athena just as the monster caught his footing and shoved the trident into the beast’s breast. The god was not caught off guard this time and snatched the prongs in his meaty fists, halting the divine metal from piercing his flesh. Athena raised the spear high to strike when a violent blow to the base of her scalp sent her sprawling to the ground. Her vision blurred, and she heaved painfully, desperate to suck air into her lungs, but her chest refused to obey her will. Athena lay sprawled in the dirt, fingers searching for her weapon. Through clouded eyes, she found it and rolled on her back to see giant hooves poised above her head. Athena’s lips parted in an attempted cry, but the pain in her ribs was too great, and the breath only wheezed out of her lungs. This was the end. She could never move in time, but just as the hooves were about to cave in her skull, Ares appeared out of nowhere, running full speed.

  Ares collided with the beast with a sickening thud, and both of them hurtled through the air, plummeting to the ground hard as they rolled to a stop. Ares was back on his feet and at Athena’s side in a heartbeat. He wrapped his mud-streaked arms around her waist and hauled her up with a powerful tug, and Athena saw for the first time who those massive hooves belonged to as the Old One raised himself from the gouged dirt. Taller than either of them, the creature was man only until his hips, his torso giving way to a dark brown horse.

  Ares drew his sword and shoved Athena behind him as the half-breed monster pawed at the ground. Athena scanned the field frantically and saw Poseidon still grappling with the one-eyed god, but that was not the sight that stopped her heart. It was the dozens of gods closing in on them. She grasped her spear and shifted until her back pressed against Ares’. The gods of war would face death together.

  Poseidon’s wave did little to stop the onslaught of the deformed. As soon as the water cleared, Artemis lifted her bow again and let an arrow fly at the fanged god. The moment it whistled through the air, she notched a second. It, too, had barely escaped her grasp before she had another at the ready, a steady assault. Yet the fanged god merely leaned this way and that, easily avoiding all three. In seconds he would be upon her, and Artemis knew she would not survive him. With trembling fingers, she reached up and seized three more arrows, notching them together. Taking aim, she loosed them. They shot true, and for a moment she thought she had triumphed. If he pitched either left or right, their razor tips would impale him, yet he held her stare as he barreled forward without slowing. With an almost smirk in his dark eyes, he threw himself down and rolled under their flying arch, gracefully surging to his feet unharmed as his clawed feet ripped apart the ground as he ran.

  A tear streaked down Artemis’ face as she reached behind her and grabbed three more. She hoped her death would be quick and released the arrows. They shot with incredible force at the fanged Old One. Still holding her gaze, he launched himself into the air with the curl of his muscled thighs and soared over them. He landed on his palms and continued racing for her on all fours like a rabid beast. Artemis broke his glare and looked heavenward. It was morning now, though one could not tell with all the black clouds and raging lightning. But she knew where in the sky to look. She had spent many nights staring at the stars, memorizing Orion’s pattern. Artemis took a depth breath and shut her eyes, picturing his constellation. She would join him soon.

  “Artemis!” Zeus bellowed in horror as the fanged god closed in on her peaceful form. With all the power he possessed, he launched himself over the heads of the countless monsters rushing toward him. Zeus landed with a sickening thud behind them and dropped into a roll. He came out of it right in front of Artemis, and in a single swift movement was on his knees, his back to the goddess of the hunt. Gripping the bolt, Zeus shoved one end into the ground and aimed the other into the air ahead of him. At the speed the fanged god was coming, he could never stop in time. His own size and momentum would impale him on Zeus’ bolt, and Zeus dug in hard knowing the impact of this monstrous body would be bone jarring.

  The expression on the Old One’s face shifted. It morphed from malicious confidence to a realization that no matter how he tried, he could not stop. His intestines would spill over this god of thunder, and he knew by the lightning sparking from the weapon that this was no ordinary god. This deity would not miss his mark.

  Making a split second decision, the fanged deformity pushed harder, increasing his speed as he bore down on them. His eyes took on a wicked glint as he scowled, and Zeus’ stomach dropped. He was speeding up. Why was he speeding up?

  “Artemis, get down!” Zeus bellowed, and a wide-eyed Artemis flung herself behind her king’s massive bulk. Zeus gritted his teeth and dug in, bracing for the painful blow. The fanged god’s eyes flashed sinisterly, and just as he was upon them, his arm flew out and seized the closest Old One to him. Jerking the much smaller creature to his chest, the fanged god gouged his clawed feet into the dirt and catapulted himself into the air. The god at his breast screamed as they hurtled through the wind, and with a sickening ripping of flesh, the smaller body collided with the tip of the thunderbolt. Together, they careened over Zeus, and both Zeus and Artemis cast their eyes down as his bolt gutted the god, breastbone to abdomen. The Old One’s screams transformed into bloody garbles of agony as they soared over the Olympians to crash into the soil.

  Finally clear of the deadly bolt, the fanged god unceremoniously dropped the exenterated carcass and rolled to his feet. He turned to Zeus, who leapt upright, wiping blood and entrails from his face. Zeus shoved Artemis behind him and gripped his weapon, but he could not tear his eyes away from the dying Old One on the grass. Behind him, Artemis gagged at the sight of the eviscerated body heaving and sputtering as his insides leaked onto the mountain.

  As if to make the point that he would win even by sacrificing his own, the fanged god walked to his bleeding kinsman, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. With a clawed foot, he stepped on the god’s shoulders, gouging rivets in his flesh. The dying Old One groaned, blood spurting from stained lips, and the fanged god responded by grasping his prostrated neck with his other taloned foot and snapping it.

  Artemis yelped, and Zeus felt fresh panic inject itself into his heart. The Old One smirked, opening his massive mouth, showing off his rows of sharp teeth, and then he lunged.

  Poseidon grappled with the one-eyed monster, watching the monstrous gods close in around Ares, Athena and himself out of the corner of his eye. They were not faring well; they had to get out of here, or it would not be long before they were dead. He could already see the Olympians, not blessed in the art of combat, fleeing for the protection of the stone city on the mountain. It would not save them, though. They would have to run muc
h farther than that.

  A scream from Artemis’ lips jerked Poseidon’s attention to his brother. The hulking fanged god was stalking Zeus, and Poseidon knew despite his brother’s power, that Old One would eat him alive. The beast was almost double Zeus’ massive size, so with all the strength he possessed, Poseidon shoved the cyclops and raised his palms into the air. Straining as if he lifted a heavy bucket, his fingers clenched as if they gripped invisible rocks. Water snaked through the trodden grass and wound up the one-eyed god’s legs. Like ivy strangling a tree, the stream circled his body and pinned his arms down until the beast was unable to move. Poseidon roared and pulled back his trident. With a vicious strike, he slammed it into the Old Ones’ face, the middle prong plunging into the single protruding eye. The bulbous eyeball ruptured, and death strangled the Old One’s cry as the trident pierced his brain. Poseidon wrenched the weapon free, and the one-eyed monster collapsed to the ground. Not wasting a single moment, he spun on his heels and shot his hand forward. A current of electrified water exploded out and struck the half-horse god, knocking him away from the desperately fighting Ares and Athena.

  “Go!” Poseidon bellowed above the din of violence. “Fall back! Take everyone with you!” And without waiting to see if they followed his command, Poseidon bolted into a frantic run. Halfway to his brother, he bent his legs, and with a powerful leap, hurled himself into the air. He crashed down to earth just as Zeus collided with the fanged god.

  “Go!” Poseidon screamed at Artemis, and she did not hesitate, taking off full speed toward the buildings. “Use our home to your advantage!” Poseidon called to those who fled and then reared on the fanged god, well aware that the entire host of deformed Old Ones was closing in around the two greats.

  Zeus drove at the Old One who merely batted him aside as if he were a fly. Zeus cleaved a gouge in the dirt as his mass slid through the ground, but as he flew backward, his eyes met Poseidon’s, and he thrust the thunderbolt forward. Lightning erupted from its tip, and knowing instantly what his brother meant, Poseidon forced his trident forward. Water flowed from the prongs to slam into the electricity. Seconds later, it crashed into the Old One, his body jerking from the electrified water. The creature stumbled, and Poseidon lunged. His trident hammered its metal into the fanged mouth, which caused the monster to stumble yet again as he spit shards of teeth and blood. That was all the time Zeus needed to recover, and he was there in a heartbeat. His thunderbolt jabbed at the monster’s gut, but the fanged god grabbed hold of it before it could pierce his flesh. Lighting exploded into the Old One’s stomach, and his black mass doubled over, losing his grip on the thunderbolt. Zeus wrenched it free and whipped it across the monster’s grotesque face. A bloody red welt burst across the god’s cheek as the weapon made contact, and he screamed. The howl was so loud the mountain shook, and the brothers lurched on the heaving ground. Hearing their brethren’s pain, the army of Old Ones wailed a deafening response and charged.

  “We have to go.” Poseidon seized his brother’s arm, wild panic permeating his voice. “We cannot hold them all!”

  Zeus opened his mouth to argue, but a rumble, the likes of which Olympus had never felt before, drowned his protests. A whipping wind of power and cruelty rushed over the mountain, and Old Ones and Olympians alike stumbled at its strength. All the deformed gods froze in their assault on the brothers. Their eyes reverently turned to the mountain’s ledge, waiting with bated breath for who was coming. Zeus and Poseidon realized in unison, bitter bile rising from their stomachs, that this onslaught was only the beginning; that this monstrous fanged god that seemed almost impossible to kill was merely the opening, the pawn before the king. They had been so foolish to think this Old One was the leader, was the demon that would be the hardest to defeat. No, he was simply part of the scouting party. Whoever came next, he was the true horror.

  “We have to go!” Poseidon screamed, grasping his brother’s bicep in an iron fist. “We cannot win this.”

  Zeus did not argue this time, and the two greats vanished just as a colossal shadow loomed onto the field.

  XVI

  The Underworld lurched, heaving violently like an ill stomach. Kerberos bolted upright without warning and with a vicious snarl, whipped his tail with savage accuracy at Alkaios’ head. Alkaios grunted as he threw himself off the bed just in time to avoid being decapitated by the speared tip, and in one powerfully graceful lunge, Kerberos was on the mattress, hovering above the still unconscious Hades. His muscles tensed like a compressed coil, her small frame encased in the protective barrier of his powerful legs.

  With vibrating panic, Chimera leapt through the doorway; body careening with such speed, he slammed into the doorframe with a harsh impact to his ribcage. His feline lungs let out a roar, but Kerberos growled a warning for the massive cat to be silent.

  “It is them,” panicked Keres as she and Hydra barreled into the room after the lion. Their eyes were wide, and Alkaios could hear the slamming of their hearts against their ribs.

  “They are on Olympus.” Alkaios’ chest constricted. Deep in his soul, Alkaios felt the mountain of his people, and it screamed in pain within him.

  “Stay here with her,” he commanded Kerberos and Chimera, already knowing they would not leave Hades’ side. He mostly voiced it just to say something, to delay the inevitability of his next words.

  “I have to get to Olympus,” Alkaios said, gravity in his voice. He grabbed the pitchfork and left the room, Keres and Hydra close on his heels.

  “We are coming with you,” Keres said.

  “You will need help to save Olympus,” Hydra added, determination flashing in her snake-like irises.

  “No.” Alkaios turned to them, eyes wide with horror. Both women opened their mouths to protest, to insist on lending their aid when he interrupted, “It is too late for that.”

  Moments later, the three of them stood in Hades’ old bedroom on Olympus. It was the only place on the mountain Alkaios could think of where their arrival would go unnoticed. The fields of Olympus were churning with the bodies of crazed gods, and the throne room and council chamber would be among the first they dominated. Alkaios figured it would be some time before the brutality ventured into the outer rings of the city, and he was right. The only sign of disturbance in her room was their own footprints in the thick film of dust. Alkaios tried to avoid observing the space beyond what was necessary. He did not care to see the place where his wife loved another man, the wife he was on the brink of losing, and so Alkaios hastened to the door and cracked it open to peer outside.

  The acrid smell of smoke and death assaulted his nostrils, and Hydra coughed and gagged behind him. Fine ash drifted through the air to settle on the stone doorstep. The whole of the mountain burned, charred stains blackening the stone from where Zeus’ lighting collided with the mountain. The scars birthed ravenous flames, which devoured the ransacked streets. Some of the homes were crumbling as if the fight had passed through their walls and left only dust and rubble in their wake. Alkaios looked up, watching the soot fall like a dark snow; the sky punctuated by Zeus’ cloud-to-cloud lighting.

  “Are they still alive?” Hydra asked, coming up and pushing the door out further so she, too, could see.

  “Yes,” Alkaios answered. He still felt their Olympian power running through him. “But who knows for how much longer? We have to get them out of here.”

  “Where are they?” Keres asked, scrunching her nose at the smell.

  “Council chamber.” Alkaios nodded his head toward the center of the mountain. In the beginning, when Zeus and Poseidon had first set foot on Olympus after the war that destroyed the Titans, it had shifted. Once only rolling grass and rocks under a perfect sky became a home for the gods. The peak had changed, growing beneath their feet until the city that stood today was complete. Not a single hammer or nail had created the residence of the gods. It had risen from the rock itself, offering its new masters perfection to solidify their reign with the council and the thr
one room at the center most point. The gods’ dwellings surrounded them and circling out further, were the homes of the immortals all connected by beautiful pale grey stone hallways, their ceilings absent to reveal the crystal blue skies. On a typical day on Olympus, stepping out into the warm sun sparkling off of the stone must have been what Elysium was like, but as Alkaios stepped from the chamber that had housed Hades for decades, it was worse than hell. The ash fell and tangled with his hair, smearing on his bare shoulders. The red light from the burning mountain resembled the depths of the Underworld, a place he never set foot.

  “The whole mountain will converge on that point,” Keres said, doubt marring her features. “They laid waste here so quickly as if they were determined not to leave any of Olympus unscathed. I do not think we can make it there before they do.”

  “You do not have to come with me.” Alkaios turned to the women, his wife’s most trusted friends.