Pitchfork

by Nicole Scarano

  XXII

  Far below the treacherous mountain face where Zeus risked life and limb in his descent, Kerberos had escaped the bonds of the Underworld, released from the tether that chained him to Hell. Perhaps it was Hades’ absence that allowed him to break through to earth’s surface unaided, or perhaps it was her tasking him with protecting the entire race of Olympians, but either way, Kerberos stood alone and free on the grass. His journey to earth, though, was not that of escape. It was one of desperation. The Old Ones had descended Olympus bent on destruction and carnage, devastating every living thing in their path. The trail of blood left in their wake was thick and wide, its overpowering scent what the god-killer tracked.

  It cut through the land and lives alike, and Kerberos followed, hunting the hunters. His three noses guided his steps toward that which he pursued. The aroma of power filled his snouts, but there was one strength he sought; one scent he hunted. Kerberos had come for Hades, and her dark power hung heavy in his nostrils. He was gaining on her, and when he found her, Kerberos would drag his mother back to Hell away from the evil that had such a deep-rooted hold on her.

  Before long, his incredible sense of smell and powerful body caught up to the bloodthirsty war party. Kerberos stalked the Old Ones carefully, taking stock of every peril both they and the terrain presented. Not much in this world gave him pause, but the threat these old gods posed was unprecedented. It was no wonder the three greats of Olympus cowered in his Underworld. Not even the gods of the skies, seas, and the afterlife compared to those he hunted, which is why Kerberos tracked them alone. If there was one living that could withstand their crazed rule, it was he, the god-killer. He had slaughtered a Titan centuries ago. Perhaps these vile deformities would be ended with the same ease.

  Lurking in the shadows, Kerberos bided his time for the perfect moment. The Old Ones were blind to his presence, a testament to the power churning through his hellish being. His crouched form readied to attack, coiled muscles burning with tension. Death and destruction surrounded this city, a cacophony of pain bombarding his ears, yet he waited. Kerberos remained as the ground bled red and the air choked with putrid smoke. He listened as the sound of annihilation rose to a pinnacle, waiting for it to mask any noise he would produce. Kerberos knew not how long he lingered, but time meant nothing. How many centuries had he been left to rot, chained above the Winding Staircase of Tartarus? He could bide his time now for the god he loved most.

  As the carnage and chaos spread, Hades drifted closer to his concealment. The god-killer was deliberate in his positioning, choosing not to lie in wait where she was, but where she would be. And after countless lives lost and blood shed, Hades was before him, blocked from the Old One’s sight by the burning building. The dog’s muscles twitched in anticipation, and with a deadly, terrifying speed, Kerberos launched into the street, slamming into Hades with crushing force. Their figures hurtled into the thick smoke, severed from view.

  They careened through the streets, tumbling limb over limb as his momentum drove them. Hades screamed in rage as they catapulted over the dirt, twisting desperately to free herself from the bonds of Kerberos’ body, yet the dog’s three heads and spiked tail caged her in, unrelenting in their hold.

  Hades swung the pitchfork downward and pierced its base deep into the earth. With all the strength she possessed, she gripped the metal impossibly tight, forcing her body to remain where it was staked. Her joints popped and groaned as she was ripped from Kerberos’ hold. His three fanged heads plummeted toward the dirt from the force of her departure, and he crashed, flipping over himself with a massive thud.

  Growling in outrage, Kerberos’ claws dug into the earth’s flesh as he stood. With a three-throated snarl, he lunged for his mother, intent on claiming her once again, but Hades skillfully sidestepped his careening mass and swung the pitchfork. The ancient metal connected with his neck and sent him sprawling off balance. Infuriated, the god-killer locked his legs and skidded to a jarring halt, fangs bared in wicked anger. She wanted to do this the hard way. So be it.

  Without warning, Kerberos shot forward. His six piercing eyes studied the pitchfork, and just when he was upon her, Hades swung it with deadly accuracy. Kerberos was prepared this time, and with a lightning whip of his tail, the vicious spikes at its end caught the metal with a resounding clang. The momentum careened him forward as the weapon ripped from Hades’ fingers, and his solid chest barreled into his mother. Hades grunted as she flew backward through the air, but before her back could collide with the dirt, dark webs of smoke unfurled and engulfed her.

  Hades re-appeared behind Kerberos an instant later, scrambling for the discarded weapon. Pebbled dust embedded itself beneath her nails with scraping insistency, but Hades ignored the filth, not halting until the pitchfork was within her grasp. She swung it around and plunged it toward the dog’s ribs. Kerberos whipped his tail in a lagging response, but her aim was true. She would crush him. Kerberos’ jaw desperately clamped down on the striking bident with a resounding clang and painfully wrenched it to a halt. Metal jarred his fangs and sliced into his soft gums, but he held fast, refusing to let it penetrate his body.

  The ring of metal rattling against teeth hung in the air as Hades’ free elbow crashed into Kerberos’ eye socket. The dog howled in pain and recoiled. The pitchfork still clutched in his bite tore from her fist, and in one fell swing, he flung it far from her grasp. Hades launched herself after it, but barely made it past the god-killer, when she was shoved to the ground. Her chest slammed painfully into the dirt as Kerberos’ paw pressed down atop her back. His razor-sharp claws burrowed into the soft flesh, and Hades’ ribs groaned under the pressure. Her lungs lost their breath in ragged waves as she surged for freedom, but Kerberos’s powerful body only crushed her to the earth.

  Pain shot through Hades’ skull, and as it seared her brain, an idea whispered in the back of her mind. Something buried deep begged to be freed. The pain prohibited her thoughts from taking a tangible form, but something was there, nagging… calling to her. Something forgotten pleaded to be remembered.

  As Hades lay there, Kerberos bent and seized each of her shoulders with massive jaws, careful not to pierce the soft flesh with his fangs. He gently lifted Hades off the ground, and ebbing power began to circle them. He had captured his prey, and to Hell he would drag her.

  Suddenly the door in Hades’ mind swung closed, and whatever had been struggling to tunnel its way to the surface disappeared, the realization of the dog intentions locking it away behind the iron gate of madness. Survival overthrew her instincts, demanding escape from the deadly jaws, and Hades threw herself forward. Kerberos’ teeth slashed through her flesh as she pulled free. His fangs tore her shoulders into fleshy ribbons. The carved wounds flooded red, and Hades gasped with blinding agony as fat droplets of blood poured over her perfect skin. Crimson seeped into the dirt like a fatal, blooming flower. The expanding blemishes distorted as her fingers scored the soil. Her soaked palms pushed her up with an unsteady pitch, and Hades brandished the pitchfork with a tooth-bared snarl.

  Blood dripping from his jaws, Kerberos leapt for his mother at the same instant she flew at him. Their bodies collided with a force that shook the earth, sending him careening backward. The dog’s spiked back struck the ground and carved a gouging wound as he skidded to a stop, and Hades was above him in a second. The pitchfork slashed across his middle head without warning, shredding two deep scourges in his leathered hide. His roar echoed through his chest with a reverberating tremor as his teeth closed around the weapon with a sickening clang.

  Hades released the metal with one hand and crashed her fist into Kerberos’ snout. The gouges on his cheek seared in pain as her knuckles connected, but his enraged growl was ripped from his tongue by a second relentless punch. His teeth loosed on the bident’s staff, and it was all the opportunity Hades required. With ferocious speed, she pulled the pitchfork back before bringing it down hard to cleave more flesh from his face. Kerberos retaliate
d with a whip of his spiked tail lashed against her spine. It pained him to hurt her, but she had to be stopped. Blood spurted as his spikes flayed Hades wide, and Kerberos smashed her forehead with his unforgiving skull. The force sent her sprawling to the bloody mud, but the god of death was swift in her retaliation. Hades’ heel slammed into his exposed throat as her hip collided with the earth and stole any victory his blow might have claimed.

  The dog coughed, gagging at the choking sensation seizing his larynx. The pitchfork was at his throat in seconds, and in one fell swoop, Hades rolled to her feet, pinning him to the dirt. Prostrated before his god, Kerberos writhed trapped under the bident’s uneven curve. He begged for air as Hades crushed his breath, yet her brutal strength denied him.

  “We will crush all who oppose us beneath our heels,” Hades said in a voice Kerberos had never heard from his beloved mother. “All will kneel, but you will die. I will rip your heads from your body.” Kerberos froze unable to move. His six eyes opened wide in terror, not at her viciousness, but at her words… those words.

  A snarl drifted over the city’s dying sounds, and Kerberos snapped his side head around in horror to see the fanged god crawling through the ash on all fours. Kerberos growled in panic, body bucking, but Hades held firm. He could fight her, but not all of them, not at the same time. And as the Old One crept closer, massive tongue licking his razor rows of teeth, Kerberos knew his plan had failed. This fanged deformity would devour his flesh as Hades pinned him down as a sacrifice. Kerberos had come for his queen, not to destroy the host of madness that consumed the earth, and in that moment, he knew all was lost. He had failed her, the mother who had freed him, the god he pledged fealty to. Not even he, the mightiest of the god-killers, could bring Hades home.

  The fanged god drew up to Kerberos salivating and crazed, and in one final act of retaliation, Kerberos shot his head out and seized hold of the monster’s ankle. With a powerful snap of his jaws, Kerberos bit down, and hot blood spurted over his tongue in vile streams. The Old One screamed, bellowing for all his brothers to hear, yet the dog only sunk his teeth further into the leg’s flesh until fangs crunched against bone. With a yank, Kerberos severed the fanged god’s foot from his leg. All the while, the Old One howled, sacred blood pouring over the dirt, and Kerberos spit the depraved blood from his mouth and took one last look at his mother. He saw a shadow of a monstrous shape looming behind her and almost did not notice the pitchfork before it was too late. Hades brought the weapon down for the kill, for the annihilation of what she once loved so dearly. Hellhounds cannot cry; their eyes cannot shed tears of sorrow, yet as the queen Kerberos loved with an unholy fierceness prepared to snuff out his life, moisture blurred his vision. Kerberos’ last sight of the mother he adored was obscured by his anguish and tarnished by her hatred, yet he paused to commit her face to memory. Then Kerberos vanished, his body sucked back to Hell.

  Hades screamed, a visceral, savage rage bellowing deep from her belly. Slick crimson coated her arms and poured over her skin like blood spilled over an altar. The fanged god’s blood bathed her feet as his severed limb pumped hot spurts from his veins. Birthed of terror and smoke, the horned god settled behind her. He slowly lifted a gargantuan palm to Hades’ shredded shoulders and with a jolt of power, sent his life force into her. Cell by cell, her body knit back together until all traces of damage erased, unblemished once more. Only then did Minotaur bend and grasp the detached foot from the dirt. He unceremoniously shoved the jaggedly torn flesh against the lesser god’s stump. In a matter of moments, he, too, was whole, the only sign of his turmoil being the red seeping into the earth.

  In the Underworld, Kerberos crawled to a dark corner of sand and curled up to nurse his shredded face. He wanted nothing more than to lie on Hades’ bed. The soft mattress would comfort his aching body. Her scent was still woven into the sheets, but Kerberos could not bear to be seen defeated, nor did he deserve such comfort after his failure. So, in the dirt he lay, panting in pain.

  Kerberos was only alone for a few moments when the sound of padding feet drifted into his ears. He bared his teeth, resenting the intrusion, but the footsteps continued until Chimera rounded the boulder he huddled behind. The massive lion surveyed the dog, and a purring growl escaped his lips. Against his nature, Chimera sank to the sand, careful to avoid the razor spikes, and curved his body around the dog’s back. With a lazy yawn, Chimera settled his monstrous head on the ground and shut his eyelids.

  Kerberos stared at the lion for a long while, yet Chimera slept, rumbling snores escaping into the air. Weak and exhausted, Kerberos gave up fighting and lowered his heads next to the lion’s and closed his eyes. Chimera’s warmth encircled him, his power feeding Kerberos’ healing, and the two god-killers rested at peace with one another for the first time in history and most likely for the last.

  XXIII

  Hades paced earth’s bank of the River Styx, eyes boring through the impenetrable fog toward the realm that lay beyond. Not a shade was to be found on the bleak shore. Even the dead hid from her, subjecting themselves to endless wandering instead of being ferried across if only to evade the violence of the dark queen. Opposing pressure wafted over the water, pushing up against her power. Kerberos was blocking all entrances into the Underworld, just as she had tasked him to do, and standing here on the riverbank, Hades could feel his resistance brush against her skin in defiant waves. Normally his presence was a great comfort, but now with her irises glazed in rage and her pitchfork coated in blood, she wanted nothing more than to force past the hellhound’s iron will and rip out his throats.

  With a whoosh of air and a soft thud, a presence landed behind Hades, and her murderous stare shifted to the intruder. The monstrous horned god strode down the grey sand toward her, and after holding his gaze for a moment, she turned back toward the treacherous Styx.

  “This is where the cowards are hiding,” Hades said of the Olympians, “just beyond the water and fog.”

  “Then ferry us across, and we shall take them.”

  “No,” Hades said, which caused the massive god to turn his eyes toward her, death in his glare.

  “Can you not feel that?” Hades asked unfazed by his menace. She lifted a hand and pushed her bloody fingers through the smog. It drifted as if to clear a way for her, but almost as quickly as it dispersed, it folded back in on itself. “The Underworld resists anything that is not either dead or its own. It will deny us entrance, and while I can force its hand and bring us to the distant shores, there is a host of monstrosities there. There are god-killers beyond these waters, and the three greats of Olympus who will not be so easily defeated. You took Olympus in one fell swoop with little damage to your army. The Underworld will offer more of a challenge while we are still regaining our strength, but it will not be long until we are unstoppable. Now is not the time. It is too soon.”

  “I thought the monsters of the deep answered to you, god of death?”

  “It is not me they will attack,” Hades said, turning to glare icy eyes at her companion. “They will grant me passage willingly. It is you they will try to kill. They still answer to that imposter who sits on my throne, and they may stand with him if we invade. It is better to bide our time until I am strong enough to rip control from him. We want the beasts fighting on our side, not against us.”

  “We wait then,” the horned god finally conceded. “Those imposters have nowhere to go. They will remain trapped here until we are ready; until it is too late for them, but the moment we are fully what we used to be, I expect you to ferry us… or I will use your body as a raft to bear me across this death.”

  At his words, Hades’ eyes narrowed in contempt, and holding his gaze with an icy stare, she bent slowly to the river. The horned god shot out an arm, his large palm slamming into her chest to halt her descent, but Hades merely looked at him and continued reaching for the dark waters. Her dirty fingers plunged into the flowing current, and the Old One watched in amazement as she scrubbed the blood from her ski
n. Her flesh remained pure and unharmed submerged in the poison river, and all the while, Hades held his gaze in defiance, as if to prove his threats were hollow.

  Once the water had carried away the last remnants of carnage, Hades rose, droplets falling back into the current. Shaking her hands of the excess water, she watched with a cold glare as a drop flung from her fingers and landed on the horned god’s bare wrist. The circle of flesh bubbled and burned, marking a small trail of red and blistered skin as it rolled from his arm. He did not flinch in pain or utter a single syllable. He only held Hades’ defiant stare as she gripped the pitchfork and turned to walk away. He may be the king of the almighty gods, but Hades was the god of death, and she had made it clear that he was not to forget that.

  Battered, bruised, and aching in ways he did not know gods could ache, Zeus appeared on the banks of the River Styx and prepared to call to Alkaios to pull him from earth’s shore to the Underworld’s when a movement caught his eye. Turning his head, Zeus swore under his breath and hit the sand, flattening his massive form as if he could sink into the earth. The barren shore offered no coverage, and so he lay perfectly still in the sand and hoped the wafting fog would hide him.

  Prostrate and frozen, he barely breathed as he watched Hades bend toward the river and plunge her hands into the poisoned water despite the giant god’s attempt to stop her. Zeus held his breath, but neither of them seemed to notice him as he lay motionless on his back. He was at the water’s edge, but his need to remain hidden outweighed the discomfort at being so close to the burning tide. He could not let them see him, not here alone on the earth’s bank of the Styx. So instead, Zeus’ body stilled, willed to be as stone.