by Luke Romyn
Was that what it was, some sort of trans-dimensional tornado?
At the moment it didn’t matter. They had survived through some miracle of physics which should not exist, drawing one step closer to completing their mission.
Talbot glanced around. Yep, this was definitely the place.
The ground was more like flesh than soil or rock. It was even pinkish in color, and sticky. As Talbot’s feet lifted, it seemed as though he were walking on flypaper. He had the unpleasant sensation of standing upon a gigantic tongue.
Looking to the sky, clouds of pure black eddied and swirled through a hazy atmosphere. Nothing beyond the clouds – which stretched from horizon to horizon – could be seen. Talbot had no idea what color the heavens of this world were, but the charcoal clouds were enough to make him feel hemmed in and oppressed.
“Where do we go?” asked Talbot.
Wes glanced at him. “How the hell should I know?” he retorted. “You’re supposed to be the guru.”
“Oh....”
Talbot hadn’t thought this far ahead. The entire time he’d either been led or fleeing for his life; none of the responsibility for finding their way had been on his shoulders. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Scanning the horizon, Talbot looked for a sign of something, anything, which would tell him where to go. Wes pulled a compass from his pocket, but after glancing at it simply shook his head. “Fucking thing just lies there like a hooker on sedatives.”
We’d better move, thought Talbot. But where do we go?
It was like a desert; a land without water or life, much as Hades had been, though it did offer more color. Thinking of water made Talbot realize how thirsty he was, checking his canteen, he found it still half full and took a small sip.
Damn it! There had to be some way to tell which direction to go.
“How about we have something to eat?” said Wes, pulling two MREs from his pack and throwing one to Talbot.
Talbot looked at it – scrambled eggs. Oh boy. What was this going to be like? He’d eaten a roast beef one earlier, and imagined the box it came in was probably tastier, but it was food, and it was hot. It might even help him to think.
They sat down, waiting for their meals to cook in the chemical ‘ovens’, both of them constantly checking the surrounding area in case of attack. The one good thing about the landscape was that nothing could sneak up on them. Then Talbot remembered the sphinx which had erupted from beneath the earth and those hideous crab-things on the beach.
Who cares? he thought. Things were swiftly mounting against them, and as Wes had said back in Hades, worrying about the little things wouldn’t stop them from happening.
He ate his scrambled eggs in silence, thinking they had a texture similar to sodden tissues filled with snot – and probably the same flavor too.
“What’s that?” asked Wes suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. Talbot followed where Wes pointed and spied something.
It was miles away, but Talbot was sure it hadn’t been there earlier. At this distance, it was impossible to make out exactly what it was, but judging from its size – not that such a thing was a definitive factor when talking about the creatures they had already faced – the dark smudge looked to be some sort of tower.
Now they were faced with a conundrum – should they head toward the only thing they had seen since coming to this world, or run from it? It could very well be something meaning them harm, but it was stationary... or at least it looked stationary.
Where the hell had it come from?
“Screw it,” muttered Talbot, throwing away the rest of his snotty dinner. “Let’s go and find out what that thing is. If it’s bad, I’m sure you’ll find a way to kill it.”
Wes laughed, throwing aside his own meal and slapping Talbot on the shoulder, checking that Chiron’s sword was still in its scabbard at his hip. “That’s the spirit! Face it head-on and figure out what to do when you get there!”
They walked for hours... or at least an approximation of hours. Without being able to see the sun – if there even were a sun behind those inky clouds – they had no way to tell what part of the day it was. Nor could they fathom how long they’d been here.
The dark smudge didn’t appear to get any closer. Glancing back, Talbot couldn’t see the exit from the Pit now. It was almost as though after disgorging the two of them onto this plane of existence, it had simply vanished. Part of Talbot wondered if it were some kind of optical illusion which would re-appear should they return to the same spot. Another part ridiculed him for thinking about things not concerning their current predicament.
The black smudge hovered just out of reach for their eyes to fully focus on it. In one instant it appeared to be a tower of some sort, in the next it looked like some kind of huge, lumbering creature. Talbot couldn’t tell if it were moving away from them, or if it were merely a complete illusion – this world’s version of a mirage.
They didn’t talk. At this point they were beyond small talk. It wasn’t like they could have a chat about the fact that at any moment Talbot expected something to tear through the ground or materialize from the very air and kill them. Maybe he could mention the fact that part of him wished this very thing would happen, that this entire mess would finally end, and everybody would stop relying on him.
Talbot plodded on; each step talking more energy than the last as the tackiness of the ground leeched his energy.
He looked up once more, noticing Wes had now pulled ahead, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. What could he be thinking? Was the commando, even now, developing some sort of strategy for what they were about to come up against? Or was he merely reciting lyrics from a Kylie Minogue single in his head?
That was the thing with Wes; you could never tell what he was thinking. On the surface he seemed like a joker, a clown looking for a laugh. But Talbot suspected the commando’s humor hid something, something painful from Wes’s past which he held at bay by making jokes. What could have hurt the man who appeared to fear nothing?
Perhaps he feared nothing because he had already lost everything?
The thought came to Talbot suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue – or black, as it were, the ominous clouds swirling overhead.
Wes was completely nonchalant when it came to matters regarding life and death. He fought without thought for his own safety, risking his life in a crusade which most would have fled from at the first chance. No man who loved life actually sought these things out.
The more Talbot thought about it, the more the pieces seemed to fit. He gazed at the back of the SAS commando, thinking he now saw a man searching, yearning for a way to die.
“Stop staring at my arse, Doc,” said Wes without turning around.
“How did you know that?” asked Talbot. “I mean, how did you know I was looking at you? Not the bit about your ass.”
“My buns were burning,” replied Wes, turning around and giving Talbot a wink. “It’s okay Doc. You’re only human.”
“But I wasn’t....” Talbot trailed off, spying something rapidly approaching across the sticky desert. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.
Wes shot a hand to his pack, dropping it from his shoulders. The other drew the sword of Chiron from the scabbard at his left hip. The entire action was accomplished with such an economy of movement it would have left Talbot speechless – if he weren’t suddenly terrified by the sight of something rapidly approaching with no sign of any impediment from the tacky surface of the ground.
“What the hell is it?” asked Talbot once more, unable to keep the hitch of fear from his voice.
“I’m not sure,” said Wes. “Chances are it’s not Little Red Riding Hood.”
The hazy shape suddenly broke into several. These were different from the tower-like shape they had been moving toward; they moved much lower to the ground, more like –
“It’s those dogs!” Talbot yelled. “The same as the ones that attacked us when we entered Hades!”
; “No they’re something else,” replied Wes, his voice steady. “These things are bigger and they move differently.”
Talbot looked once again, noticing Wes was correct. The creatures approaching them didn’t run like dogs, they moved more like, like....
“Oh shit,” he heard Wes announce. “They’re minotaurs, dozens of the fuckers.”
The creatures were still unclear in the dim light, but as Talbot stared harder, he saw that Wes was correct. It was an entire herd of the bull-headed men, running toward them like a pack of wild dogs.
And it had only taken one of them to destroy Atlantis.
***
Jogging was not something Talbot did particularly well. He tried to hit the treadmill on a regular basis down at the gym, but he never professed to be very skilled at it. This, however, was not jogging. This was running in panic in a world where there was absolutely no safe haven.
No, this wasn’t jogging. This was fleeing in mute terror.
Talbot’s heart pounded in his chest as Wes ran alongside him, urging him along, glancing back occasionally to gauge the distance between them and their attackers. Judging from the commando’s expression, it wasn’t far enough
But they were only prolonging the inevitable. This was it. Even Wes, with his seemingly limitless optimism, was beginning to look concerned. His eyes were narrowed and focused, his nostrils flaring slightly.
“We have to stop,” gasped Talbot, halting his run. Wes began to argue, but Talbot held up his hand, sucking in huge gulps of air. “I’m not going to die running,” Talbot said simply.
Wes nodded. “Good. Let’s die like men,” he said, a wide grin splitting his features.
They both turned, and Talbot witnessed the entire horde of Minotaurs fanning out in front of them, increasing their pace as they closed in on the source of their hunt. Talbot’s mind raced. The only chance they stood was to out-think the beasts.
“Wes,” he whispered, “don’t do anything. Let me try to talk to them.”
Wes appeared dubious, but stepped aside and allowed Talbot to face the terrifying creatures stampeding toward them. He’d only get one shot at this, so he needed it to work.
“STOP!!!” he commanded, trying to mimic the authoritative tone of General Sharpe, but also adopting the confident stance of the toughest guy he’d ever met in his life – Wes.
He failed.
They were going to trample them to death.
Talbot felt Wes’s hand on his shoulder, but shrugged it off. He’d face his death the way he should have lived his life – like a man. He held a proud, confident stance, glaring at the minotaurs as they charged at them.
“I said HALT!!!” Talbot boomed.
And amazingly, they did.
Skidding on the tacky terrain, the horde of beasts all tore at the ground – fighting to stop. Talbot held the stance, determined to not show any sign of the shock he felt. He was going to hold this bluff until the end. All of the beasts stood up on their rear legs, the shortest still at least six inches over seven feet tall, the largest pushing ten feet in height. All of them glowered with equal malignance down at Talbot.
“Who’s in charge?” demanded Talbot.
The beasts looked at each other, uncertain. Finally one stepped forward. “I am herd leader. What you want?” Its voice was rough, and Talbot guessed it was unused to speaking. He glanced at Wes, noting by the incomprehension etched across the commando’s features that Wes couldn’t understand them. So whatever language he now spoke with the minotaurs was not Olympian.
“We mean you no harm,” said Talbot, his hands open.
The lead beast snorted, mucus spraying upon Talbot. “We eat you, stupid human!” the minotaur roared. Wes realized the threat, even if he couldn’t understand the words, and he attempted to step forward, but Talbot once more motioned the commando back.
“What then?” asked Talbot. “What will you do once you’ve eaten us?”
The huge, muscular beast tossed its head around, red eyes glaring murderously, but without a direct reason, it seemed unable to attack. Following its lead the rest of the herd also stamped feet and snorted, but otherwise made no overtly threatening moves toward Talbot or Wes. Confusion seemed to radiate from the group. Their prey was supposed to flee, not ask questions.
“We....” The lead minotaur paused, uncertain.
“I tell you what you’ll do,” said Talbot. He suddenly noticed the scars many of the beasts bore. “You’ll return to being bored, passing time in this existence by simply raging against each other. Do you enjoy attacking each other? What is your name?”
The lead minotaur glared at him, confusion etched across its bestial features. “Name? I have no –”
Suddenly, its head was gone, along with the heads of several of the beasts standing close by. Talbot’s gaze shot to Wes, but judging from his expression, the commando was just as surprised as Talbot by the sudden attack on the herd of minotaurs.
Both men glanced around behind them, the rest of the herd scattering, fleeing, panic-stricken back the way they’d come. A solitary figure was approaching their location. As he came closer, he raised his hands to show he was weaponless. Wes still held Chiron’s sword ready. Nothing could be taken for granted in this place.
The man – or whatever he was – looked much taller than Heracles or any of the other Olympians they had seen, and dressed in a simple loincloth. His lean muscularity made him look slimmer than Heracles, yet he appeared almost as dangerous, but in a different way. Whereas Heracles had seemed like a lion, this man appeared to be a cobra – sleek and full of peril.
A fluttering of wings sounded, and the towering figure raised his right forearm. A great, golden eagle swooped low over Talbot’s and Wes’s heads, blood and bits of flesh from the decapitated minotaurs hanging from its razor-like claws and its sharpened beak. It shot in as a blur to land on the tall man’s forearm, its claws digging deep into the flesh, which appeared to heal immediately without spilling a single drop of blood.
“Who the hell are you?” demanded Wes.
The man drew even closer, and Talbot peered up at the newcomer. Standing around double Hercules’s height, the man’s alabaster skin appeared blemish- and hair-free, apart from the short curly locks which framed his sculpted features. Within his angular face were a set of ebony eyes without iris or pupil, merely dual black orbs. Gazing into them, Talbot felt vaguely unsettled. He had seen special effects in movies similar to this, but these were not merely contact lenses over normal eyes, these eyes were something else entirely. What resided within those sockets were spheres of swirling, black smoke – much like the black clouds hovering overhead.
“Who –?” Wes began to repeat.
“I am Prometheus, human, and I expect some semblance of respect for the fact I just saved your lives.”
“I was doing okay,” countered Talbot.
“You were merely delaying the inevitable. Confusing them was a good tactic, but ultimately doomed to failure. Their hunger and lust for violence would have soon overridden anything else, and you would have been torn to pieces.”
“You speak Olympian,” said Talbot, picking up on the fact that Wes seemed to understand the words. “But why do I think you’re not from Olympia?”
“Do not insult me,” said the figure, a small sneer marring his features. “I am as far removed from those pompous fools as you are from the beasts you just faced.”
“You seem pretty pompous yourself,” Wes snapped, with his usual lack of subtlety.
Rather than insulting the figure, however, it seemed to intrigue him. He appeared to contemplate what Wes said momentarily, his expression introspective. “I suppose you are correct,” he eventually replied. “But I believe I have earned that right, especially from humans like you.”
“You know of Earth?” asked Talbot.
“Of course. In a sense, I helped your people more than any other during my time there. Tell me, do the gardens of Babylon still hold images of me?”
“The Hanging Gardens?” asked Talbot incredulously.
“Yes,” replied the tall man. “I believe some called them that. Do they still bear statues or frescoes of me there?”
“The Hanging Gardens of Babylon disappeared centuries ago,” said Talbot. “How long since you were there?”
The tall figure looked thoughtful. “It must have been several decades, but I do not think it would be centuries. It is hard to keep track sometimes.” He suddenly slapped his palm to his forehead. “Of course! I forgot about the difference in our timelines. It would have been centuries for you.”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” said Talbot, “but what are you?”
Prometheus appeared shocked initially, but gradually broke into a wide grin, though it did nothing to reduce the unearthly quality of the swirling, ebony orbs where his eyes should have been. Talbot also noticed that the newcomer appeared to have no eyelids either, something which bit deeper into Talbot’s nerves than the appearance of his eyes.
“I am a Titan,” replied Prometheus simply.
“What the fuck is a Titan?” interjected Wes before Talbot could say anything.
“A Titan?” For a moment Prometheus appeared to be beyond words. “That’s like me asking you what a human is. It is what I am; I am a Titan. We originally ruled Olympia, but were driven out by the ones who now reside there. Now we are forced to exist in this living hell; a place where torment becomes a constant thing as the environment itself conspires against our sanity, and the air we breathe tries to make us into beasts such as those you have just seen.” He waved his hand in the direction the minotaurs had retreated.
“You mean this place, Tartarus, is what creates the mutations?” asked Talbot.
“Of course,” replied Prometheus. “Why else did you think these things were so warped? How could something so obscene be created naturally? No, the people who inhabited this realm before us conspired against the land in such a way as to poison everything with their waste.”