Pitchfork

by Nicole Scarano

  “Like hell we won’t,” Hydra said, the determination in her voice not quite reaching her eyes. She seized the door and pulled it wide. The ash melted against her limb, and a rippling chain reaction bubbled beneath her flesh. Within seconds, a vein on her back roiled violently, and the flesh tore open as the head of a small, midnight black snake burst forth in blood and skin. Leaving a bloody trail in its wake, it slithered over Hydra’s shoulder and rounded her neck, increasing in size as it broke its tail free from his mother with a wet pop. Its head reared as its body thickened about her throat like a nightmarish necklace, and it licked the air with a forked tongue, tasting the scent of his prey. With eerie coal eyes, the snake twisted to meet Alkaios’ gaze and held his king’s stare for a moment. Then with a hissing scream, its ever-growing girth wrapped around Hydra’s waist and down one leg, forming a massive moving barrier around her neck and torso. Cut the head off one and two more appear. The only way to kill Hydra was to take off the mother’s head, and no blade would pierce her flesh.

  Hydra roared an unearthly feminine howl and took off running as two more snakes ripped from her arms and fell to the ground. Alkaios and Keres bolted after her, passing her serpent-clad body, and into the fray, they plunged.

  Street by street, they pushed onward, finding the stone of the mountain empty. The thickening smoke forced their pace to a crawl as they closed in on the ever-increasing clash of violence. It was not long before their eyes stung blindly from soot; their hands invisible even when held mere inches from their faces.

  Alkaios froze, alarm tickling the back of his neck. The sneaking suspicion they were walking in circles nagged at his senses. He had never ventured out into the outer rings of Olympus, but the twists and turns he led Hydra and Keres around were beginning to look familiar. Alkaios paused for a moment to catch his bearings when the hair on his skin rose in gooseflesh. The air behind him, where Hydra and Keres were following, felt empty.

  “By the gods,” Alkaios cursed under his breath and whirled on his heels, coughing on bitter ash. The smoke was impenetrably black, blocking all but the shadows from sight, but he sensed it. They were gone, lost in the hellish labyrinth. He could not leave them to fend for themselves, not on this mountain. Not today.

  Alkaios retraced his steps, but nothing looked familiar. The hallways all seemed rounded in the wrong directions, and after a few anxious minutes, he knew he would not find them by hunting blindly. Tentacles of power wove around his torso as his mind searched for the women. When Alkaios found them, he would drag them back to Hell where they belonged, where they would be safe, and then he…

  Alkaios’ brain did not finish that thought. His entire body froze, fear devouring his spine. The corridor before him suddenly cleared. The thick, acrid smoke hovered behind him as if it was terrified to venture further down the burning hall. Alkaios saw the monster only a fraction of a second before it sensed him, and Alkaios knew he should run, should use this miniscule head start to his advantage, but he could not move. He just stood there, feet rooted to the earth in nauseating terror.

  There, hunched before him, was an Old One, his wife’s people. Alkaios felt the overwhelming urge to vomit that this might be her fate. The grotesque god crouched on the ground, hovering over what must have once been the body of an immortal but now resembled a lump of bloody flesh. Unrecognizable as a human form, the heaped mass lay cradled in the monster’s arms. Alkaios could not make out what it was doing to the corpse, but he did not care to find out. He should leave, run as far from this mutilation as possible, but the thought that this was the monster residing within his wife kept Alkaios frozen with nausea.

  The creature stirred, realizing its feeding had a witness, and began to rise. Its head remained bent over the lump of broken and battered flesh. Its body caught the light of the fire, and Alkaios finally saw its actions clearly. He wished he had not. The Old One was long and lean, skin made up entirely of dark, greenish scales that ominously reflected the firelight. Alkaios gagged and stumbled backward at the realization that it was consuming the remains, sucking it down. Its entire face neither chewed, nor bit, but latched onto what little existed of the meat, absorbing it in suctioning inhales. How long had it consumed this poor immortal if this oozing mess was all that survived of what was once living?

  Once it reached his full height, the Old One lowered his hands and released the globs of flesh, dropping them on the stone floor with wet smacks. Crimson dripped from his skin. Sharpened claws curled where fingers should have been, long enough to run a man through. They pulsed with murderous intent as the creature’s head twisted to observe his new prey. The moment Alkaios saw the beast’s face, he knew he had made a grave mistake. He should have fled the instant he saw this horrendous creature. The god of death was used to horrors, but nothing prepared Alkaios for this.

  The scaled figure possessed no face. No eyes or nose adorned the scaly head, just a bloody slit from the top of its forehead to the base of its chin. The orifice split its head into two halves like a massive sideways mouth, the sight turning Alkaios’ stomach to ash. Its mouth vibrated slightly as it faced Alkaios, anticipating the next meal his cavity would suck down. But before either one could take a single step, the Old One froze and shifted his eyeless face to Alkaios’ hand, where the Olympian clutched the pitchfork.

  For a pregnant moment, the monster stared unseeing at the bident, its talons clicking softly at his side. Alkaios prayed, to who he did not know, that the beast recognized his brethren’s ancient weapon and would believe its welder was an ally, not a foe, but his hopes were short lived as the demon slowly turned its eyeless head back to Alkaios’ face. The Old One’s bloody sideways mouth quivered with a barbaric scream, and he lurched.

  Snapping into action, Alkaios bolted from the fiery corridor, powerful legs propelling him down the hallway. Every fiber of his being pushed his body faster through the smog and flames. Alkaios could barely see, and the curves in the wall painfully herded him into a dead end, shoulders grazing the rough walls with punishing bruises. He was trapped by a collapsed section without a clue where he was. His heart thundered with every vibration of the Old One’s heavy footfalls behind him. Alkaios’ eyes stung with smoke as he spun to face his charging pursuer. The monster was almost upon him. Alkaios would have to fight, and after seeing what this ancient god did to flesh, he was terrified what losing meant.

  “Get down!” screamed a feminine voice. Without thinking, Alkaios doubled over just in time to miss a wave of enormous black snakes hurtling through the air. He heard the impact as Hydra’s snakes of Tartarus slammed into the Old One, their hungry mouths attempting to devour the monster’s face, and Alkaios prayed out of sheer habit that these poisonous god-killers could melt the scales off this beast.

  “Alkaios!” came Keres’ desperate voice from above. She and Hydra stood on the roof adjacent to the collapsed wall, both beckoning wildly for him to join them. Alkaios spun on his heels and launched himself off the piled debris with a bend of his powerful legs. Keres reached down as Alkaios flew, and her iron fingers seized his forearm. The moment their limbs locked, she heaved, pulling him through the air. Alkaios’ body collided with Keres as he landed, but his heels dug into the ashen roof as his biceps trapped her to his chest, halting their fall

  “Are you both all right?” Alkaios set Keres firmly on her feet and gave her a once over before flicking his gaze to Hydra. They nodded, eyes wide and bloodshot, and Alkaios craned his neck over his shoulder to glimpse the Old One’s struggle to free himself from the constricting snakes. “We have to keep moving,” he said, urgently nudging them with insistent hands. They took off running, leaping from rooftop to rooftop above the burning and scorched ground, hoping none of the Old Ones had the same idea.

  Careening over crumbling roofs and the burnt shells of what were once Olympian homes, they charged forward. Alkaios caught Hydra harshly by the arm as the charred roof beneath her feet gave way and jerked her along as the building opened wide to swallow her whol
e, a meal for its raging flames. He refused to slow as Hydra stumbled to regain her footing, pulling her at an unforgivable pace toward the council chambers. Its imposing size grew closer through the harsh smoke with each step they forced from their legs. They just had a little further to…

  “Alkaios!” Keres screamed, but her voice was lost in an explosion of crumbling buildings. Their rooftop path exploded in flames as the blackened rocks caved in. Not slowing, Alkaios shot his free hand out and grasped Keres by her bicep’s soft flesh as their foothold gave way to nothingness. They plunged into the scorching blaze, but black inky smoke twisted to ensnare their bodies, snatching them away almost a moment too late.

  A fraction of a second later they were inside the council chamber. Alkaios barely materialized before something too fast to be anything natural careened for his skull. Instinctually, he jerked sideways and slammed a fist into the object, forcing its trajectory from his head and lodging it into the heavy door behind him with a thud.

  “It’s me!” Alkaios shouted, shifting to watch as the razor tip of Zeus’ thunderbolt ripped free from where it was embedded. “Zeus!” Alkaios shoved the pitchfork forward just in time to catch the thunderbolt’s second assault. “It’s me!” he yelled into Zeus’ bewildered eyes.

  For a moment Zeus stood before him, crazed and aggressive, and then suddenly as if a veil had been drawn back, the force behind the thunderbolt slackened, a look of recognition dawning in his eyes.

  “What took you so long?” Zeus asked, lowering his weapon. “We needed your help to defend the mountain, but now it is too late. It is overrun.”

  “We have to get out of here.” Alkaios choose to ignore the question. He had come as soon as he felt the attack, but even if he had arrived sooner, it would have been of little consequence. Medusa had been right; they were no match for these monsters, even in their weakened form. “We cannot stay here.”

  “I will not leave our mountain,” Zeus insisted, the dried blood covering his muscled body enhancing the crazed look in his eyes. “We must take it back.”

  “We cannot hold out against them,” Alkaios said, urgency in his voice, “let alone drive them back. Olympus has fallen. We have to go now.”

  “We cannot leave,” Zeus said adamantly.

  “Zeus.” Poseidon stepped forward with concern marring his beauty.

  “Where would we go?” Zeus demanded. “Olympus is our home, an impregnable fortress of the gods. If they have breached it, then where can we go? Nowhere is safe.” He stared at Alkaios; his perfectly smooth and chiseled features suddenly looking older. Alkaios swallowed uncomfortably and looked to Keres and Hydra before twisting back to face the Olympians.

  “I have somewhere, but you will not like it.”

  Zeus studied Alkaios inquisitively, and when it dawned on him, his eyebrows shot up, mouth drawing into a firm, harsh line.

  “Absolutely not. I will not trade one brand of monsters for another.”

  “What choice do you have?” Alkaios asked as a massive explosion of a crumbling building ripped through the air outside. “Between the poison of the river and the god-killers, we should be safer there.”

  “And what is to stop your god-killers from murdering us?” Zeus asked. “If we are to be torn to shreds by the unholy, we might as well stay here.”

  “I will keep all harm from you,” Alkaios vowed, and all in the room believed him. For the first time, the gods saw Alkaios as one of their own and not as Hades’ shadow. The strength emanating from his soot-streaked body gave them hope.

  “Zeus,” said Poseidon, “he is right. That river kills all it touches. If there is any place on this earth where they will not find us, it is behind those waters.”

  Zeus turned to meet his brother’s eyes, desperation clouding his beauty. For a moment, he looked as if he would argue, but eventually, he sagged in resignation.

  “Very well,” Zeus said, “if we have your word?” Alkaios nodded in assurance of his promise and began to turn toward the door when Zeus’ heavy hand landing on his shoulder stopped him. “We have to find the others first. We were separated from the other gods and immortals.” He paused as if he did not want to finish the thought before letting out a deep breath. “Hera is one of them.”

  Alkaios looked around, taking the chamber in for the first time, and was appalled by how few were present. His stomach dropped.

  “Take them to our throne room,” Alkaios said to Keres and Hydra. “Do not let Kerberos or Chimera near them until I return.” Keres bowed her head in obedience, and the tentacles of black began to ooze from Alkaios’ skin. “Zeus, Poseidon, and I will find the others.”

  “Wait!!” interrupted Ares’ voice. “I am coming with you.”

  “As am I,” said Apollo as he sidled up next to Ares. “You might need our help.”

  Alkaios nodded, and with a snap of his fingers, all in the room disappeared, leaving the five gods alone.

  “Where are they?” Alkaios asked as he moved toward the double doors.

  “I do not know,” Zeus answered, falling in step beside the king of death. “I cannot see them… I think the Old Ones’ power is blocking mine.”

  “Well then,” Alkaios said, resting a massive palm on the door, wishing terribly Hades was here. His fierce wife was better equipped for this brand of chaos, and he felt her absence more now than ever. “We start at one end of the mountain and move to the other until we find them.”

  Together Alkaios and Zeus heaved the doors backward, opening the council chambers to the smoke-filled streets, and there he stood. The tall-scaled body hovered in their exit, ruptured face quivering. The Old One held a shredded snake in its talons, and Alkaios was thankful Hydra was not here to see the mangled carcass.

  The monster let out a reverberating scream. Its split head opened wide, flaying its eyeless face. The unearthly screech echoed off the walls alerting all on the mountain of his find. The Olympians were rats in a maze, and this scaled god would bring all the Old Ones down on their heads like starving predators to prey.

  Without hesitating, Alkaios leapt forward, swinging the pitchfork. It struck the god’s flayed face with deadly precision, and the monster flew backward, digging its heels into the stone to stop from careening into a wall. The moment the metal contacted with the scaled flesh, a jolt shot up Alkaios’ arm. He looked to his hand, feeling the weapon pulsing. It recognized one of its own. Suddenly Alkaios’ mind cleared. The strength of the Old Ones’ that had been blocking his sight vanished as if the power on the mountain accepted the pitchfork, welcoming it home.

  “The pitchfork!” Zeus bellowed. “They are afraid of the pitchfork!”

  Alkaios looked back to the scaled god and watched him eye the weapon warily. The Old One shifted its weight carefully between its feet, weighing his options. It stared at the bident, split face quivering, and Alkaios’ racing mind registered that Zeus had said they. His gaze flicked to the rooftops filled with Old Ones, each more grotesque than the last. They were surrounded.

  The scaled god paced erratically before them, its featureless face never leaving the pitchfork, but when it sensed Alkaios’ movement, he looked up. He feared the weapon, but as his sightless scrutiny bore down on Alkaios, it was clear he was not afraid of the Olympian wielding it.

  In a split second, the Old Ones moved, closing on the Olympians, but they were a breath too late. Alkaios had reached out with his inky black smoke, and all five vanished. Alkaios was not about to let these monsters get any closer, and that moment of clarity the pitchfork provided was all he needed. Alkaios knew where they had to go.

  Seconds later, they stood before the mouth of a cave on the outskirts of the city, far from the fighting. Ares stepped forward to the dark opening, eyes searching warily for danger.

  Whack! Something moving faster than light shot out and smashed his nose, sending him toppling to the grass. Ares cursed angrily, and the other four drew their weapons ready to cut down whoever emerged from the cave.

  “Ares?�
� came a panicked feminine voice, and a second later Athena burst from the darkness. She looked wild, her hair tangled and face streaked with blood and soot. “I thought you were one of them!” Athena rushed to Ares and dropped to her knees. Her arms ensnared him, and a soft sob escaped her to be stifled against his neck.

  “Hera!” Zeus called, lowering the thunderbolt and moving toward the cave. Her name had barely left his lips before Hera was in his embrace, small body flinging against his solid mass. Hera sobbed as she clung to him, and Zeus pulled her as close as he could manage without crushing her. Alkaios was surprised at the intimate reunion between husband and wife. He was under the impression they hated each other, but maybe he was wrong. Or perhaps after today, all sins between them were forgiven.

  Slowly the rest of the gods and immortals emerged from the cave. Aphrodite shuffled out first, her beautiful face bedraggled, her dress torn in multiple places. An immortal man followed, bleeding profusely. A jolt of concern electrocuted Alkaios at the sight of the man’s dangling wrist, the limb hanging on by a few sinewy threads of muscle.

  “We have to leave,” Alkaios said, resting a hand on Zeus’ massive shoulder. “These people need help.” Zeus extracted his face from his wife’s hair and looked around with a bewildered horror.

  “Is this all of them?” Zeus asked, turning to Alkaios. “I am still having trouble seeing through their power.”

  “This is all… all that are alive.”

  Zeus opened his mouth to speak when the mountain pitched, heaving violently. All eyes snapped back to the burning city that was so beautiful only hours before. The smoke was impossible to see through; the fires destroyed all as they raged. Nothing could be seen through the ash, yet there was a shadow. Something emerged from the darkness. Someone had arrived, and his image loomed, his dark presence greater than even that of the destruction.

  All eyes watched in horror as the shadow grew, and Alkaios knew if they waited any longer, none of them would make it off this ridge. He clutched the pitchfork tight in his hand and drew upon his power. Inky black began to twist from his limbs, snaking around all the Olympians and immortals. The tentacles ebbed and flowed, growing and ensnaring by the minute, and when the last body was encircled, Alkaios pulled them to Hell, but not before something horrifying materialized in the smoke. Not before they all witnessed the shadow of a massive horned head.