The Twelve Labors of Nick

by Amy Wolf

  Nick couldn’t believe what he faced: a colossal head, its charcoal flesh and red eyes peering out from enormous grates.

  “WHO ARE YOU?!” asked the head, smoke pouring from its fanged mouth. “Have you come to free me?”

  “Are you Typhon?” Nick asked, trying not to shake. He saw no sign of dragons.

  The head threw itself back, polluting the air as it laughed.

  Nick and Helen covered their mouths.

  “H-hey, take it easy,” Nick coughed. “We’ve had enough of fire.”

  “I AM CRONUS!” roared the head, “imprisoned by my own children. Free me, and I will make you Emperor.”

  “Uh, no can do,” said Nick, backing away. “Zeus is one of your kids, and I don’t want to cross him.”

  “HE CROSSED ME!” roared Cronus. “Zeus is my usurper. Cut my bars with your sword and I will give you talents of gold!”

  “That’s a fair offer,” said Nick, “but I already have this armor . . .”

  R-R-R-ROAR!

  It was clear that Cronus did not deal well with rejection.

  Nick coughed out the Titan’s breath as he seized Helen’s arm and ran. Soon enough, they put the Father of Gods behind them.

  “Didn’t you say,” Nick asked Helen, “that all the Titans are here?’

  She nodded.

  “After the thousand-year war—” she began.

  “Please,” said Nick. “I can’t take another myth. My point is this: let’s not run into the others.”

  “Except Typhon,” said Helen.

  “Kinda.”

  They kept heading east, and whenever they heard a noise—be it wind, crackling, or grunts—they were sure to avoid it. Nick thought he saw twelve sets of grates pressed into that vast cave floor. He turned to Helen.

  “So, if you were Zeus—"

  “I’m not.”

  “I know. But if you were . . . where in Tartarus would you put the Number One monster?”

  Helen didn’t pause.

  “Away from the rest,” she said, “so he couldn’t start trouble.”

  “Hmm,” said Nick. “You would make a great Zeus.”

  The Father of Monsters

  They went on for what seemed like forever: the scenery didn’t change, and the sounds remained the same: sometimes, an animal growl; sometimes, a female voice, “Beautiful girl! Please help me!” or “Hero, take pity on me.”

  Those Titans were laying it on.

  “Ugh,” said Nick, “I wish they would be quiet.”

  “Don’t listen,” said Helen. “Trust me, I know my own kind.”

  Nick sighed.

  “What a place,” he remarked, his words bouncing off rock. “The size alone can drive you nuts.”

  Helen nodded.

  They kept up their pace until they arrived at a plain. It seemed like they’d ended up exactly where they’d started, but here, small fires burned. There were like a hundred, almost as if . . .

  Like Tartarus, Nick heard it.

  A hissing. And, based on the Hydra, it came from multiple heads.

  Nick exhaled.

  “This is it,” he whispered.

  A strange mix of feelings swept through him: relief at this being the final Labor—and fear of what he would find. Either way, he just wanted to get it over with.

  Helen was the first to step forward.

  “Father?” she called between enormous cliffs. “It’s your daughter, Medusa. I’ve-I’ve come to see you.”

  “LIAR!” came from a hundred heads. “Do you think me a fool?”

  Nick had to cover his ears against those echoing voices.

  “No, father,” said Helen.

  “I know what you’ve been up to. You helped slay your brothers and sisters. You are a traitor.”

  Helen looked down and sighed.

  “We couldn’t have them help you,” she said. “We know what you’ve been up to.”

  “As if you could stop me,” laughed Typhon, and, to Nick’s ears, the sound contained all the horrors of Tartarus. “Did you really think that you and that horse boy could? I am the Father of Monsters who won a war against Zeus!”

  Helen couldn’t answer until the last voice had faded.

  “And then lost,” she whispered, but her words had clearly reached him.

  “Slut,” Typhon yelled. “Whore! I know what you are. A filthy priestess who gave herself to Poseidon.”

  “No, father,” said Helen strongly. “It was not my choice.”

  “Ha,” the Titan roared. “Seductress! Where are your bastard children?”

  “Hey!” Nick yelled, “that’s enough. Shut up, you-you monster!”

  “Our hero,” said Typhon, his voices dripping with sarcasm. “This is what Zeus sends against me? A horse in borrowed armor. As for you, Medusa, it is high time your curse was restored.”

  “No,” Helen cried, but then, as if pushed by a giant hand, she fell to the ash floor. And started writhing like Ixion!

  “Helen,” Nick whispered, dropping to his knees beside her. “Try to resist.”

  “Do . . . not . . . look,” she begged, rolling over to cover her face.

  “Hey,” Nick shouted up to the cliffs. “Athena! You gonna let this tool mess with your girl?”

  “She . . . can’t hear you,” Helen said, and now, there was more hissing—which wasn’t coming from Typhon. “You must leave me. Perform your last Labor. Both our worlds are waiting.”

  “The helme—” Nick tried to say, but Helen—Medusa—rose and ran from him.

  If anger could spur him on, Nick had plenty to spare.

  “C’mon, Typhon!” he shouted, his fear falling away. “You’re just a big-ass Ladon. Show me what you’ve got!”

  Before the Titan could answer, Nick heard Helen’s voice, and what she had to say startled him.

  “Children, it’s time.”

  “THEY CANNOT HELP YOU!” roared Typhon.

  “They are your blood!” cried Helen, and the Father of Monsters grew silent.

  Before Nick could blink, two beings—for once, not monsters!—floated down from the cliffs. They settled around the crouching Helen, and Nick saw that one was a giant who bore a golden sword. But the other was even more awesome: a graceful white winged horse!

  “Chrysaor,” said Helen. “And Pegasus. Thank you for heeding my call.”

  “Those are your-your kids?” Nick asked.

  “Yes,” said Helen. “Now you know my whole secret.”

  He certainly did!

  “Children,” Helen went on, “that Hero is Nikólaos. An order from him is just like one from me.”

  Both of the . . . Demis . . . gave Nick a respectful bow.

  “Great,” he said. “I mean . . . I’m supposed to do this alone, but Hades said—” Nick ducked behind his shield as geysers of flame shot toward him. “This one’s different.”

  “We are here to help,” said Chrysaor, touching his sword to his heart.

  “You talk?”

  The giant didn’t look fierce—he wore a Hermes-like helmet—but, for some reason, Nick had expected grunts.

  “A pleasure,” said Pegasus, spreading his wide white wings.

  Nick turned away from them and toward a ghastly sight: ten dragon heads on their long necks thrusting out of their grates. The necks were slim, which was good, but each head belched a firehose worth of flame.

  Nick raised his shield, a lifesaver as always. But if all hundred heads got out . . .

  “Kids!” he yelled. “Time to pair up. We’ve got to make sure that your granddad stays put!”

  “Listen to him,” Helen ordered from her spot on the floor. “He is the son of Chiron.”

  “I SPIT ON ALL CENTAURS AND GODS,” said the ten dragon heads. Then Nick heard a sound that made him shake: the brittle tearing of metal as Typhon shattered his chains!

  Now, all that Nick could see was a tangle of grey-green scales. How long, he wondered, before the Titan stood and towered over the world?

  As
Nick pulled back his bowstring and prepared to take on the heads, he saw that it wouldn’t work: there were just too many. How could he fight the guy who’d once beaten the gods? His sword seemed like a joke—his spear, a mere shard. Still, Nick hurled the Pelian ash, hitting some bunched-up heads.

  The other six just laughed. Nick hadn’t exactly wowed them.

  “Chrysaor!” Helen cried.

  The giant ran on huge feet which shook the floor of Tartarus, slashing at dragons and leaving a trail of heads. As bold a move as it was, the dragons just laughed again, sliding out of their shattered grate and dragging poor Chrysaor down.

  “No!” yelled Helen, “Damn you!” and Nick averted his eyes as he heard her get up. When he looked again, he saw the result of her fury: twenty heads turned to stone.

  “Good one!” Nick yelled. “HEY.”

  A giant cracking launched the thing he’d feared the most: Typhon got up, shattering the floor. The dragons swept out of view to be replaced by the Titan’s . . .feet? As luck would have it, these consisted of snakes.

  “Is he all reptile?” Nick cried. He ran—away from those outstretched coils, but, behind him, they kept unfolding. “HEY, GODS,” Nick yelled. “If you plan to show up, now would be a great time.”

  “No one commands the gods,” said a voice. “But some of us choose to be here.”

  The snakes slithered back in fear.

  “Athena,” Nick breathed. By Zeus, were they saved?

  “Not yet,” said the goddess, and, for the first time ever, Nick got a close-up view. In one hand, she held a giant spear; in the other, a disc-like gold shield.

  “Can even you beat Typhon?” Nick asked, though the snakes’ retreat was a good sign.

  “I am not alone,” said Athena, and, in a flash of light, a fully armored guy joined her. Nick saw he was ginormous.

  “Ares,” Athena greeted him.

  This god, two swords in each hand, charged forward like the Boar. Athena followed, and the two Olympians went for what must be Typhon’s ankles. The gods flew without wings, using their weapons to hammer Typhon in a flurry of blows. Nick heard a bloodcurdling scream from far above his head, then a series of roars like ten Nemean lions.

  Two more tubes of light transformed into new gods: the twins Apollo and Artemis, silver bows locked and loaded.

  “Sister,” said Apollo, controlling as ever, “you aim for the right, and I shall take the left.”

  Nick’s jaw actually dropped as the two moved in a blur, shooting their silver arrows into any snakehead that lived. When they halted, all heads lay still, and, from what seemed like the sky, came a sonic boom. Nick started to run as Typhon, now without any “feet,” crashed heavily to his knees, crumbling the cliffs of Tartarus.

  Nick watched a boulder come toward him, three times the size of Sisyphus.’ He avoided certain death as Ares swooped him away.

  “Thanks,” Nick gasped. “Helen! Where are you?”

  He didn’t get a response.

  “She lives,” said the God of War, and Nick believed him.

  Once the avalanche settled, Nick got a rare chance: to see even more of Typhon. The Titan had reddish calves that seemed to be carved from rock, and, far above these, knees as wide as a canyon. What could he, Nick wondered, do against this creature?

  Still, the gods kept coming. There was Hermes, wiry in his winged sandals; even Aphrodite, her perfect beauty dazzling. Then there was his pal Heph, floating down in a chair which shot flames from its wheels; and another, older goddess who reminded Nick of his mom.

  Nick watched these gods form a squad so much cooler than any superheroes’. As the twins shot their darts, never missing, Ares whirled his four blades; and Hermes was here, there—no, there—his helmet and sandals a blur. Even Aphrodite looked pissed, and she and her child Eros spread the love by shooting arrows. For the first time in what seemed like years, Nick almost relaxed.

  He wanted to go find Helen, then remembered that she was Medusa. Instead, he stared at the Olympians who hung in the air like stars. Surely, these children of Zeus could beat their father’s tormentor . . .

  But Nick had forgotten something: these Titans were in fact . . . titanic. He watched as a giant hand slammed down, grabbed the twins, and flung them without mercy against a jagged rockfall. Though Hermes had speed on his side, Typhon had sheer size, and Nick flinched as he watched the god swatted aside like a fly. Athena and Ares stood strong, but even the Ultimate Warriors couldn’t hold out forever. Nick saw them float off before they too were smashed. He felt rising panic until—thank the Underworld!—Hades popped in from above.

  “You are destroying my realm!” cried the Lord of . . . here, banging down his enormous fork. All Tartarus must have felt that. “Typhon,” Hades commanded, “cease this mutiny now.”

  From the sky came a laugh.

  “Never!” Typhon boomed. “I’m having too much fun.”

  Hades lifted his fork, aiming straight for the Titan’s calves. Before he could strike, another god floated in. Nick only knew his statue, but there was no mistake.

  “Poseidon,” said Hades. He didn’t seem too thrilled.

  “Not so fast, my brother,” said Poseidon, using his own famous trident to raise a flood of white water.

  “Stop!” Hades cried. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Diverting your seven rivers,” answered Poseidon.

  “Why?” asked Hades, now knee-deep in fetid water.

  “Because,” said Poseidon calmly, “I am sick of Zeus. Why should I, King of the Ocean, settle for second best?”

  “We are equal!” Hades yelled, lifting his fork like a spear.

  “Not really,” said Poseidon, and, from his trident’s three prongs, spewed powerful jets of water. Hades fell to the ground.

  “Traitor,” Hades yelled, sputtering. “I see it now. You’ve allied yourself against us.”

  “Yet, what can you do?” smirked Poseidon. “You’ve no monstrous dog to defend you; no staff that shatters all. I even see that you’re not wearing your helmet.”

  “Helen,” Nick shouted. “Put it on!”

  “Farewell, brother,” said Poseidon, now drenching Hades himself with furious spurts of water. But Hades, being a god, merely lifted into the air.

  “All in Tartarus,” he called. “I command you. Leave your torment and join me.”

  Faster than Hermes could fly, Nick saw Sisyphus and Tartarus pop into the shattered cave. Above them flew Ixion, hurling fire from his wheel: right at Poseidon’s head. The god put up both hands, giving Hades a chance to blast him with a wave of his hand. As Poseidon started to float down his own surging river, Tartarus gave him a tackle, while Sisyphus pushed his boulder, rolling it straight at him.

  “Oof,” said Poseidon.

  But no human, living or dead, stood a chance against him. Poseidon took up his trident and blasted the boulder of Sisyphus until it dissolved into pebbles. He threw Tartarus aside as if he were made of paper. With a gesture, he toppled Ixion, who was still strapped to his wheel as he fought the rising waters.

  But Hades wasn’t down yet. He zoomed toward Poseidon, slamming him to the ground. It was like the God Olympics!

  As exciting as the sight was, Nick turned away, since he—and maybe Pegasus and Helen—were now neck-deep in water. If the rivers kept filling this plain, all the mortals would drown.

  “Helen!” Nick cried, struggling to keep his feet.

  “Here,” she answered from somewhere to his right.

  “I have,” said Nick, “a final Labor to do. You—keep that hat on. Pegasus, stand by.”

  Nick used all his strength to try to lift the horse up. Helen’s son knew what to do. He flapped his wings so hard that they created a breeze, causing streams of warm air to flow and dry off his feathers. Then, he did what a Pegasus does: he flew!

  “Epic,” Nick breathed. “Just stay above me—” The winged horse did. “—And

  I’ll—” Nick leapt, grabbing the horse’s back as
he lifted over a leg.

  “Helen,” he yelled, bending to dangle an arm. “Grab on.”

  Nick felt a tug, then pressure at his back. The three of them were all set.

  “Let’s go,” he shouted to Pegasus. “As far up as you can.”

  The white horse shook his mane, pointing his head straight up. This was no easy glide: Nick saw Pegasus’ muscles tense, his wings beating fast as a sparrow’s.

  As they left the plain below, Nick saw the now-revived twins firing at Typhon’s thigh; higher up, Athena and Ares battered his waist with their shields.

  From beneath her round helmet, Athena glanced at Nick briefly.

  “This is your time,” she said, her voice inside Nick’s head. “Nikólaos, son of Chiron, the rest is up to you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nick answered.

  Once they passed the gods of war, Pegasus charted a route close in to Typhon’s body. The Titan was so huge that Nick could see only parts of him: a section of rocklike ab; a glimpse of bulging chest; and, as Pegasus veered, a bicep that hid the sun. Somewhere along Typhon’s shoulder, they shot into open air, fleeing to a space above Tartarus, Hades, and a smoking volcano. One that was erupting in angry spurts of lava.

  “Here goes,” said Nick, clutching his sword. From behind him, an unseen Helen handed over his bow and an arrow.

  Nick turned to feel her hand stroke his cheek.

  “The gods are with you,” she whispered. “Me too.”

  Nick nodded as they flew straight into the sun. When Pegasus circled back, Nick saw a massive neck, and . . cascading down it, what looked like orange lava!

  “Hey, no fair,” Nick shouted as they swerved to avoid the stream. “Along with everything else, you have to belch fire too?”

  More height gained, more lava, and Nick felt the air thin: like they were leaving Mýthos and heading right for the stars!

  “We are higher than Olympus,” said Helen. “Higher than even the gods.”

  “Let’s hope we do them honor.”

  Nick tried to prepare himself for what he would see attached to that massive body. Now that the dragons were gone, what would he find in their place?

  Pegasus skirted more orange as they worked their way up to where Typhon’s head should be. Blech! Now Nick saw it up close: kind of a man’s, but molten, like the lava spewed from its mouth. Framing it on all sides were the limp necks of dead dragons.