The Gods fell quiet.
Their names shook mountains. Once. Temples overflowed with offerings, and the world bent beneath their moods because immortality gleamed in their blood and eternity bloomed underfoot. Once.
But indifference was perhaps the cruelest god, older and colder than any Mount Olympus ever boasted, and belief is such a fragile thing. The greed of man outgrew their fear, and so a new god was born, mirrored in their image. It began with whispers, with gospel. A new name passed from tongue to cheek, soft and unfamiliar. The Olympians laughed.
At first.
They grew silent as their altars crumbled, vines curling over abandoned stone while a new Holy rhetoric overthrew them. The Death Gods were spared, to an extent, because Death came for all, but the rest? Once the prayers stopped, Olympus withered, but they did not die. Gods never truly died.
But they fell.
Not with fire or glory, but with erosion, with the weight of being forgotten. They wore mortal skins, hollow shells of their formal divine might, living as Otherworlders in foreign lands, far-flung from the roots of the lands that birthed them. Golden blood faded to red.
Zeus took to the West, to the City of Sin. Poseidon fell into the drift of the sea. Down south in the thriving city of New Orleans, Hades made his home by way of the English Isles, as many of the Death Gods did. His presence became a beacon for those who fought by his side in Demeter’s Rebellion, for his realm and Queen. Life settled as time moved.
They were diminished, reduced to scraps of their former glory, yes, but they were still gods. Even stripped of thrones, even threadbare with time and shame.
It had been two thousand years since Persephone was stolen, since Hades shut the gates and left the others to their ruin. Even still, he held her memory under his skin, the sharp blade a reminder of what he lost, unaware that deep beneath the bones of the Crescent City, something had shifted.
The arrival of a reckoning.
A spring awakening.
The gods were not slain. They were forgotten. And that, in the end, was worse.
Persephone
CHAPTER 1
April 21, 1996
“Wake up. Open your eyes.”
A persistent command struck through me, rousing my consciousness to the despair I’d been left to rot in.
“Please. Open your eyes, reach for the surface. Try.”
The voice, my only comforting companion to the screams that berated the side of my skull, rousing me closer and closer from the depths within, until a small sliver of stale air crests under my heavy eyelids.
Darkness.
Surrounded by the ink of shadows, I struggled to adjust my sight, raging against the voice that pushed me to the torture of experiencing. I had only known of it and the maddening screams that tore through my mind for so long; it was impossible to remember a time before. A cacophony of dreams and lost moments overwhelmed me, ensnaring my thoughts. I had slumbered until the screams dulled to mere whispers. And then, grateful for the quiet, I had slept.
Trapped.
A soft tremble shook the world around my prison, the tiniest crack in the darkness of wood and pain. I felt the movement in my fingers first, a slight tingle calling my limbs back to life. I didn’t know where I was, or how I had come to be here in the fathomless abyss, but I clung to the spark of energy seeping through my bones, sucking in a deep breath as my lungs expanded on a harsh groan. The air was stale, ripe with the overwhelming mix of dirt and moisture, the scent crawling into the crevices of my skin, lingering like a leech as I willed my body to move.
How did I get here? I couldn’t remember. I needed to remember.
I cried out, the cracked skin of my lips aching in protest around the sound. The madness had taken my memories long ago, stolen them, and locked them away. I poked and prodded at the wall of stone encasing my mind, flailing in this space between spaces. If my body wouldn’t respond, perhaps my mind could be coerced. I felt great crags etched there in my mind’s eye, obscuring the answers I sought, but I dug deeper, using my meager reserves of strength to dig through the shadows of chaos keeping me at bay. Something stilled inside me, a small, quiet voice in my ear, urging me to turn back. Danger there. It echoed in my head, a warning, and without knowing why, I heeded the words and obliged as pain radiated from my skull.
I focused my attention outward again.
My torn lips let out a small breath of air, propelling my body forward. Something had changed, as the oppressive weight of chains no longer sat upon my chest. I lifted a shaking hand toward the top of my prison and pushed.
Nothing.
Solid wood. I willed for someone, anyone, to come save me. A pair of ice-blue eyes flashed across my mind, bringing with them a modicum of comfort, but I shook my head at the thought, unable to recall who they belonged to.
“A little more, come now. Almost there . . .
Don’t stop moving . . .”
Desperately, I pushed on my prison once more, and this time, it moved. With renewed hope, I bent my knees slightly and heaved, willing my feeble body to work for me.
It did.
I was rewarded with several pounds of loose dirt cascading into my prison as the wood gave way. Groans escaped my lips as I pushed forth, crawling from the depths until my hand broke the surface. I squeezed my shoulders through the oppressive earth with gusto, this time until my head and torso joined my hand. I gulped in several mouthfuls of air as thundering sounds of metal and yelling amped up around me. A putrid stench assaulted my nostrils, causing my stomach to roil. The air smelled . . . sour. The taste of metallic residue rested on my tongue, and I resisted the urge to bury my face back into the heady scent of the dirt. The ground still smelled like home, like musk and rainwater.
The sun was harsh against my eyes, and I pulled my hand high to shield my face. No, not the sun. Some sort of conjuration of light, as the world beyond it sat dark still.
“What the fuck, lady?! Are you okay?!” A crowd of men stood above me, strangely dressed as they yelled at each other in nasally accents that I had never heard. Rough hands hooked under my arms, pulling me from my would-be grave. They settled me gently down as one of the men pushed the hair from my face, cleared the residual dirt from my nose. “I gotcha sweetheart,” he soothed, bringing a strange chalice to my lips offering it to me. “Who hurt you? Did someone bury you down there? What’s ya name?”
His voice was smooth, kindness and concern etched in his deep brown eyes. He was older, with wrinkles around his mouth and white hair that peeked out haphazardly from under his yellow helm. I wanted to answer him, but my throat croaked when I opened my lips to push air through. The man tilted the chalice toward me, and I took it, relishing the cool liquid as it soothed my dry and aching throat. A rancid aftertaste hit, making me choke and gag on the clear liquid. Was this poison?
“That’s it, ya safe,” he repeated, breaking the loop only to ask again, “What’s ya name, sweetheart?”
I glanced around at the small crowd who had gathered, saw many were yelling out orders, murmuring to each other. I looked back at the man kneeling before me, eyes wide.
“M-my name . . .” I managed to choke out, “My name is . . . My name . . .” Confusion flooded me. It was just on the tip of my tongue, dancing at the far edge of my consciousness. I reached deep, searching for the voice who had kept such close company to me, but there was no voice to answer, no comfort left in it to give. I was alone.
Tears pricked the back of my eyes. I began to panic. My name. What was my name? Who was I? A loud buzzing noise shook through my ears, humming high, obscuring the world around me. A tightness coiled in my chest,
constricted my breath. “I don’t know my name.” I sobbed, clutching my chest. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know.” I rocked back and forth, shaking and light-headed. Darkness crept up into the corners of my eyes, and I felt the sweet relief of unconsciousness take root as I collapsed backward into the disturbed earth.
“Jesus Christ. Mike, call 9-1-1!” the man with the kind eyes yelled, somewhere far in the distance.
It wasn’t his eyes I saw last, those dark brown orbs etched with concern. Instead, it was a pair of blue irises with brutal rivers behind them, deep as the currents that pulled me under as I sank into nothingness.
Hades
CHAPTER 2
The sun lay low, casting a yellow tinge to the banks of the river. Persephone sprawled across me, staring up into the sky, her golden skin soaking up the last rays of the sun. Flowers grew and bloomed of their own volition, stretching toward us, toward her, despite my icy demeanor. Delicate fingers skated along my skin, bruising warmth into my ribs as she went.
“Why do you hate Olympus, Hades?” she asked in a soft voice.
Each time my eyes raked over her, I discovered something new. A freckle on her arm, a speck of gray flecked in her green eyes. Today I learned that her golden hair held subtle streaks of red as I twirled the strands casually around my finger.
Our routine was something I lived and breathed for. Sitting together or walking through the Wild Wood, we shared all manner of things. The way I ran the Underworld, what she loved about ushering in the spring. Sometimes we fell silent, just eager to be near each other, but I had a feeling that today, she was going to ask me the harder questions, her insatiable curiosity on full display. I looked down, meeting her gaze as she waited for my reply. A defeated sigh wilted from me; I could keep nothing from her, even things better off not being spoken into the cosmos.
“I chose to not be there because I rival Zeus’s power. He is not prone to sharing his toys.” Her pupils grew wide as shock flashed across her face, and I grinned at her reaction. “Surprised, Little Flower?” I teased, watching as her cheeks set aflame.
Persephone cast her eyes from mine, mumbling incoherently. “I just . . . never heard of anyone, God of Gods and all . . .” She looked flustered, and it was all I could do to keep my composure. My free hand slid down to cup her chin, raising it to have her eyes meet mine once more.
“No need to be embarrassed. It isn’t something advertised. We were created from the same matter, after all. They would call us ‘brothers’ but it is in name alone. I never really shared their lust for power, never felt a sense of family or connection. When we defeated Cronus, splitting the realms seemed the easiest way to broker peace. Once he was gone, there wasn’t a common enemy to unite us, and without that distraction, it was only a matter of time before we began to clash. Poseidon took the sea, and Zeus took the sky and heavens. I think it’s because Zeus never really saw Poseidon as much of a threat; he was always more interested in being out in the wild than ruling.”
My goddess shifted her body against mine and I sucked in a breath at the pressure resting on my torso and hips, willing any rogue reactions to keep their stay. The last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable or do anything that may dissuade her from wanting me to lay with her. I lifted my chin, throwing my head back to focus on the clouds floating lazily above our heads. Persephone folded her hands beneath her chin, snuggling closer, creating a deliciously torturous friction that had me swallowing hard.
“So, how did you get the Underworld?” she inquired, studying my face.
“When we fought Cronos, my full power emerged. I could draw on this . . . almost infinite spring of shades. I think it frightened Zeus, though he would never admit it. He suggested the Underworld, and I imagine in his eyes it was a banishment, a form of punishment. He’s so obsessed over the worshiping thoughts of the mortals that he couldn’t fathom not being in that spotlight. I have no desire to be ogled and demanded upon. The Underworld is a refuge for me. I have the darkness, the calm of the Hells. I have no reason to venture up here often and quite honestly, this is the most time I’ve spent topside since my coronation.”
face as she turned away.
“I’m sorry to have kept you.” Her voice was small, and I grit my teeth against the pain laced in her words.
“Persephone, I come back because I want to. I want to know more about you.”
Her eyes softened as she looked at me, fluttered shut as I stroked my thumb across her cheek. Persephone’s teeth sunk into her lip and a small groan rumbled through my chest, unchecked. I wasn’t quick enough to suppress it this time, the urge for her, the desperate longing that lived inside me, just beneath my skin. She sat up, hopped to her feet with her chiton a mess around her, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Well, if you want to know more, then I should warn you that I won’t make it easy. Catch me, Lord Hades, and I’m yours.” With that, she took off like a shot, barreling into the woods, her laughter trailing behind her.
Without haste I rose, chasing after her. My shadows swirled around me, propelling my body forward, aching as her words caressed against the hungriest part of me. I could hear her feet rustling branches and leaves as she went, glimpse the beautiful light pink swaths of fabric as she flitted through the trees. I searched and searched until I heard . . . nothing. No laughter. No rustling. Not even the chirp of birds or the slither of insects. The silence built around me and I faltered in the deafening vacuum. I spun, unsure of which way I should go.
“PERSEPHONE!” I bellowed, panic rising in my chest, because everything felt suddenly wrong. “PERSEPHONE!” No answer came. No rustling. Only more silence.
I tore through the trees, eyes alert and breath stripped with fear. The meadow was empty, no sign of my beautiful goddess. My world glitched, images flashing before my mind’s eye and grief, all-consuming grief. Her kissing me. The creation of our Bond. Her eating the pomegranate seeds on Mount Olympus. Her body entwined with mine, the sound of her soft cries as she chased her pleasure. Panic at her being lost.
Panic . . . panic . . . panic . . . the death of Narcissus . . . the taste of ash on my tongue. Persephone was gone. Tears fell down my cheeks, fear and despair swelled before me like a tidal wave. This wasn’t real. She had loved me, we were happy, and he took her. He stole her from me. I fisted my hands through my hair and let out a wail so full of anguish that the earth shook. I dropped to my knees, burying my hands into the ground, willing her to come back to me, but my fingers sunk into gray ash. A sharp pain constricted my chest as though I had been stabbed, and I cried out from the violence of it. The force flipped me backwards, pinning me to the ground. My fingers grasped at my chest, clawing the skin, begging for the relief of nothingness.
A faltering THUMP resounded from between my rib cage, stealing a strangled cry from my lips. Thump . . . thump . . . again and again. Painfully, slowly and uneven at first, but steadily it built into a rhythm as I struggled to fill my lungs with air. My heart was beating. Thump, thump, thump.
My eyes flew wide, and I was no longer in our meadow in Greece.
The cold cedar floorboards of my penthouse pressed into my back as the pain in my chest slowly subsided. The hand still clutching my ribs shook, sweat pouring from my body, slicking the wood beneath me. The nightmare had let me loose, but my mind was still stuck there in the pain of it all. For centuries, I’d dreamt our memories on an endless loop, but they hadn’t turned against me in a very long time.
Thump, thump, thump . . .
I froze, listening. My heart pumped steadily, gathering steam as panic and excitement rose within me.
Thump, thump, thump . . .
It trilled on, beating a bruise against my rib cage. Disbelief and shock tore through my body as it carried on, as though it had always worked, as though I hadn’t gone without it beating for over two thousand years. My muscles screamed in protest as I struggled to catch my breath and right myself, that deep ache in the pit of my chest roaring to life. The beat of the cursed organ could only mean one thing.
“Persephone.”
Persephone
CHAPTER 3
I awoke to light. Not sunlight, or firelight, but a cold, buzzing whiteness that came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. The sky above me stretched on, no beams or cracks, no soot . . . just white, stretching on to infinity. I managed to pry my eyes all the way open, my vision blurred and strained. There was no scent of earth, just the sharp, acrid tang of a putrid odor burning my nose.
I tried to sit up, but my limbs felt like they didn’t belong to me. Heavy. Weak. Dead weight rested over my body as I tried to raise my hand to my face, but something tugged at my arm. Looking down, my eyes widened in horror as I saw a thin, clear serpent burrowed into my skin, attached to a metal stand beside me. A bag of liquid hung above, slowly dripping into the serpent.
Was it feeding me? Poisoning me?
The walls were too clean, too smooth. No windows. No fireplace. Just strange, humming panels set high in the corners, their purpose a mystery. I couldn’t even hear birds, just the unpleasant tone, thrumming in tandem with my heart.
Where was I? A prison?
My heart thudded in my chest as that strange beeping began to tick up, faster and faster beside my ear. Sharp. Insistent. Unnatural. I turned my head. A black box blinked back at me with green, eerie light. Jagged lines danced across mirrored glass, like the scribbles of a madman, sigils I couldn’t know or understand. Another box beneath it glowed blue, unreadable, arcane in nature.
I reached for it, the tones matching the thud in my skull, the galloping of my heart, but the moment I moved, pain lanced through my side. I gasped at the sharp tug from my chest, and when my trembling fingers pulled back the thin material covering me, I cried out. Several thinner, brightly colored serpents stuck to my skin like leeches.
Panic overtook me and I tugged at the snakes, cursing the infernal machinations, the deafening din of the world around me. I attempted to pry them from my arms, despite the excruciating pain that overtook me at their release. My skin gave way in a sickening gush of blood, and it was too hot as it splattered over me, red and vibrant from the wound, ripping a cry from my lips.
Red? That wasn’t right, something was wrong.
Voices came from the doorway and my vision swam as several people appeared, faces contorted in horror at the deluge that gushed from my wound. I kept moving, ripping and tearing from my chest. Hands descended, strong and foreign and I fought them, thrashing backward from their grips as I struggled to free myself from the bindings that shackled me. A blonde woman hurried in with a long, sharp object held aloft in her grip. The bite was swift and brutal as it pricked at my skin, and within moments, an oppressive wave washed over me, pulling my body back pliantly.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I managed to croak out before the world went dark, and again, I was floating, twisting out of my body into gentle nothingness, fading away from the woman with what looked like apology in her eyes. ...
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