Beyond Hades (The Prometheus Wars)

by Luke Romyn

  “Give it up, Prometheus,” demanded Talbot.

  “So, you know who I am.” His body suddenly stretched and grew, exploding out and up into its natural visage. Prometheus stood casually, some fourteen feet tall, clothed in black Titan armor.

  “Are you going to come peacefully?” asked Talbot. By now every gun in the room was no longer pointed at Wes or Talbot, but at the towering figure.

  “Hmm... let me think about it,” said Prometheus, holding his chin and looking contemplative. His gaze became malicious. “I’m going to have to decline.”

  Prometheus threw his hands outwards and a hundred finger-thick spikes shot out from his body, covering the space to the marines in an instant and skewering them all. Several got off shots, but these were simply absorbed by the Titan, and his hollow laughter filled the ancient room.

  Wes had grabbed Talbot and thrown him behind the cover of the stone console-like apparatus. The other Wes had similarly grabbed Talbot’s twin and protected him in a similar fashion.

  “Great minds think alike,” grunted Wes.

  “Yeah, whatever,” grunted the other Wes. “Can you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  “Bad shit. That asshole can regenerate, even if you slice and dice him. This thing,” Wes tapped the console, “will open a hole into other worlds and eventually destroy the entire universe. This sword can destroy it, but we need to take out that dipshit before we even think about it.”

  “Got it.”

  Talbot shook his head slightly in wonder. He’d thought one Wes was bad enough, what would the world do with two of them?

  “You flank left and draw his attention,” snapped Wes to his doppelganger. “I’ll go right and cut his head off. We’ll need to find a way to stop him from regenerating by cauterizing the wound, but I’ll figure that out later.”

  The other Wes instantly broke from cover, darting left and firing at Prometheus with his M4A5. The Titan swung around, preparing to attack, just as Wes rushed from the right and snuck around behind Prometheus. He was just about to strike with Chiron’s sword when the Titan spun, grabbing him by the throat with his right hand and lifting him cleanly off the ground.

  “You think you have thwarted my plans, you stupid monkey?” screamed Prometheus.

  “Nope,” gasped Wes. “Just your sex life.”

  Wes sliced up with Chiron’s sword, cutting cleanly through Prometheus’s right arm and flinging it across the room, sizzling and dissolving as it landed. Wes dropped neatly to the ground and made a slash for Prometheus’s abdomen, but the Titan jumped backwards, twisting and sprinting away, heading directly for the passageway through which Wes and Talbot had entered.

  A thick steel door barred his way, but Prometheus dropped his shoulder and smashed into it, shattering it outward and sprinting away down the ancient tunnel beyond.

  “You two,” shouted the Olympian-garbed Wes to Talbot and Thomas. “Get off your arses and hurry up. We’ve gotta catch that fucker.”

  The mismatched pairs dashed down the tunnel after Prometheus, both versions of the Australian commando sprinting like bloodhounds hungry for the scent. Luckily there were very few variances from the main tunnel, and Olympian Wes hardly slowed, only looking confused at one intersection before his doppelganger had nudged him, indicating the correct direction, and they’d powered on. Occasionally they encountered bodies, torn apart and broken. Talbot averted his eyes from these, concentrating instead on keeping up with the commandos, one in camouflage fatigues and the other in bronzed, Olympian armor.

  Talbot suddenly realized they were heading directly for the chamber where they’d crashed Bessie. There was no doubt about it, this was definitely the way they’d just come. If he continued on this way, Prometheus would have no other option than to end up where they’d started.

  Sure enough, within moments they emerged into the chamber containing Wes’s ship; thick, steel panels sealing the open wall they’d cut through. Prometheus stood, like a cornered tiger in the center of the chamber, dead marines and engineers scattered all around him.

  “You cannot stop me, you know,” growled the Titan.

  “We did once already. I’ll just chop off your ugly head with this sword, and all we have to do is burn your neck to stop it regrowing,” snapped Wes.

  Prometheus appeared momentarily panicked, but then looked around and grinned. “Burn it with what?”

  Wes glanced around as well. “Oh shit,” he muttered.

  “Boy, you really thought this through, didn’t you?” muttered the other Wes.

  Prometheus extended his arms, shooting two tentacle-like tendrils out, knocking both versions of Wes flying.

  “Get under there,” Talbot commanded Thomas, indicating a huge outcrop of stone. Thomas obeyed without question, his expression betraying mortal terror.

  Talbot looked around, noting both Wes and his double lay unconscious against opposite walls of the cavern. And then Talbot made a decision. Drawing his sword, he stepped forward –

  And faced his enemy.

  Prometheus had manipulated events, seen his brother killed and thrown Talbot into a maelstrom of horrors in order to allow his people to invade and kill the Olympians in hopes of seizing their home world.

  This had to end now.

  “How will you stop me, when even your mighty protectors have failed?” mocked Prometheus. “How will you kill that which cannot be killed?”

  Talbot suddenly smiled.

  Memories flowed back to him of words carved in Elder-tongue. They’d been in one of the photos shown to him in the dossier he had read when he’d first arrived at Quantico. The words had made no sense at the time; they spoke about ways of unraveling and removing the power of the ancients and killing what could not be killed. It’d all seemed like gibberish at the time, but with Prometheus’s statement, it all became clear.

  Talbot began to chant, his voice powerful and clear. Prometheus laughed at him, the two sounds mingling, but gradually Talbot’s chanting overpowered the sound of amusement. The ancient words reverberated from the walls, echoing around the chamber.

  Prometheus stopped laughing.

  A snarl crossed the Titan’s lips, and he threw his right arm forward, the tendril shooting from his palm directly for Talbot’s heart.

  Talbot’s chanting did not falter.

  The tendril halted barely an inch from Talbot’s chest, dropping harmlessly to the ground, severed from Prometheus’s palm as the chanting reversed his power. Prometheus shot out a tendril from his other hand, but it met an identical fate.

  The chanting rang out strong, and panic crossed Prometheus’s face. His melding, or whatever the Titans had done with him, was being undone by the power of the Elder-tongue. The words Talbot recited were like a code, a sound-induced technique for unraveling the unnatural symbiosis of whatever had created Prometheus. The chant was merely a key, like the tune Talbot had played within the cave at Ayers Rock. It all came down to the tone and pitch, and the incessant power Talbot now used, specially designed to unravel anything unnatural – unnatural like Prometheus. He was a genetic monster, a beast which didn’t deserve to exist.

  Prometheus shrieked horrifically, his skin smoking as his invulnerability was consumed, sucked out as if with a straw. An acrid odor filled the chamber, and the Titan fell to his knees, steam pouring from his eyes.

  Talbot soon felt the need to stop and the chant ceased to echo. Prometheus was on his knees, weeping as the smoke cleared away.

  “What have you done to me?” wept the Titan.

  Talbot stepped forward, raising his Olympian sword. “This is for getting my brother killed.” Prometheus’s eyes darted to where Thomas was emerging from beneath the outcrop of stone, the Titan attempting to speak, but Talbot swept the sword down heavily.

  The Titan’s head toppled from his shoulders, and his tall body crumpled to the floor.

  It did not move.

  Wes revived slowly, unsteadily moving over to his other self and nudging him with
his foot. “Get up, ya pussy,” he muttered. His double groaned and stumbled to his feet.

  Thomas stumbled over to Talbot, uncertainly peering at the withered body of the Titan before glancing at the sword in his brother’s hand.

  “What’s going on, Talbot?” he asked.

  Talbot grimaced. “That’s a long story. And I have a feeling I’m going to have to tell it to a lot of people. For now, we need to go and destroy the controls of the Syrpeas Gate.”

  “Can’t do that, little buddy,” interrupted Wes.

  “What are you talking about? We have to!”

  “If we destroy that gate, there’s no way we can have gone through all of this crap to end up back here in order to stop all this crap. You understand?”

  “Not a word of it,” replied Talbot.

  Wes sighed. “It’s like that time loop thing I was talking about earlier,” said Wes. “But before we go on,” he glanced over at the other Wes and Thomas, “you two need to piss off.”

  The other Wes nodded. “He’s right, we can’t hear this stuff,” he said to Thomas before leading him, dazed and very confused, out of the chamber.

  Wes waited until they were out of earshot. “If we destroy the rift, there’s no way we can go back later and help the Olympians. We’ll never find out the truth about Prometheus and we won’t end up here in order to save the day.”

  Talbot finally grasped what he meant. If they altered things too much, then the past – which was now – would change and everything else they’d done would also unravel.

  “So you’re saying we have to recreate everything perfectly in order to make sure things work out exactly the same way?”

  Wes nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “But we’ve killed Prometheus,” said Talbot. “How the hell can things work out the same without him?”

  “Well, considering your government spliced him together to begin with, I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

  “What are you talking about?” gasped Talbot.

  “Oh shit. Forget I said that. That’s stuff from the future you’re not supposed to know about.”

  Talbot’s mouth hung open, a combination of shock and disappointment that he wouldn’t find out what Wes meant.

  At least not yet....

  EPILOGUE

  “Mister President, your most senior advisors have looked over the reports from all concerned, and they’ve concluded that the Australian SAS commando is correct in his assertion we must recreate everything exactly. If the events are not accurately identical, it is possible their mission will not have succeeded, and the rift will indeed overcome all dimensions.”

  The President of the United States sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So you’re telling me we have to deliberately bring the world – the entire universe – to the brink of annihilation in order ensure these two bumbling fools have a chance of saving it?”

  “Yes sir,” said the member from the President’s Intelligence Advisory Board, a slim, slightly effeminate man with a receding hairline and thick, black-framed glasses. “If these scenes are not recreated exactly, there is a strong probability that their achievements, while bumbling, will not be successful.”

  The President shook his head, unable to believe what had been brought before him. He looked through the documentation once more. “Will we be able to recreate the events surrounding what happened?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then I guess we have to do it.” He swiftly signed off on the orders and placed them in a manila folder, passing it to one of his aides who rushed from the Oval Office. “What else do we need to cover before I can go and have my breakfast?”

  The advisor looked through his dossier. “The recent research involved with this event has allowed our scientists to unlock some clues involving the Australian’s craft, and its ability to travel backward through time.”

  The President stared at his advisor oddly before nodding once, and then picking up his newspaper. “Get our people to look into it.” The advisor smiled slightly and moved from the room.

  The President lowered his newspaper, staring at the now closed door through which his advisor had just departed. For a moment, just a moment, the President had thought his advisor’s eyes had swirled with an ebony mist.

  He shook the thought away, and picked up his newspaper once more.