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  He watched, out of the corner of his eye, the interaction between Hades and the Old One. Zeus had not seen their king so close before, and his stomach turned at the sight of the blood-drenched horns atop a monstrous hulk. The seemingly half man and half bull was larger than any god Zeus had witnessed. The horned monstrosity towered over Hades, a hulking giant not only in size but demeanor. His power permeated the air about him, consuming every inch of space and making him appear gargantuan, larger than he actually was, yet this did not seem to faze Hades. As best as Zeus could see from this distance, Hades appeared in control of their conversation, and despite himself, Zeus felt relieved at that. Regardless of her betrayal, he could not bear the thought of these vile gods inflicting their own cruel brand of torture on her.

  After long moments without breath, Zeus’ sore lungs burned hot, but as he watched in total stillness, Hades and her colossal companion turned and walked off, swallowed whole by the fog. With a pained gasp, Zeus pulled cool mist into his inflamed lungs and sat up, wiping sand from his skin. He called silently to Alkaios for entrance, and in a matter of seconds, black smoke crawled up the dismal sand and snatched him from the shore.

  A moment later he stood in the Underworld just outside the fortress. The ever-shifting terrain was uninhabited, and Zeus turned to enter the citadel when Alkaios’ broad figure came barreling out of the door.

  “Where have you been?” Alkaios spat as he pushed Zeus further into the Underworld as not to be heard by any inside. “You have been gone for over a day, vanished without a trace.”

  “I do not answer to you,” Zeus said, trying to sidestep Alkaios, but the king of the depths proved too fast. He lunged forward and settled himself before Zeus, blocking the path with his hulking frame.

  “In this realm, you do. When my power and my beasts are the only reasons we remain, you will answer to me.”

  Zeus tried to elbow past again, but Alkaios simply reached out and shoved the god’s chest with bruising harshness.

  “Whether you like it or not, the three greats must act as one,” Alkaios said, leaning threateningly into Zeus’ face. “A unified front and the creatures of the deep are the only hopes we have at survival. When you disappear without a trace, you leave all of us to worry you are dead. If you die, if Poseidon or I die, any shred of hope we have disintegrates. If they take you, or your body is left somewhere unknown to bleed out, we cannot risk a rescue. The moment we step over the Styx’s border, we are nothing but easy targets. So, while you are under my protection, I will know where you are. Now I ask you again, where were you?”

  “He went to request help from the Griffin,” came a voice when Zeus refused to answer. Both gods’ heads snapped around to see Poseidon walking toward them.

  “And you did not think to tell me this?” Alkaios growled at Poseidon, who only shrugged his shoulders as if to ask, ‘what was I supposed to do?’

  “The Griffin?” Alkaios turned back to Zeus with a flicker of hope. “Will he help us?”

  “No,” Zeus said in disgust.

  “No?” Poseidon asked incredulously.

  “It is not his fight.”

  “Not his fight?” Poseidon questioned, stepping forward. “Does he not see how the world burns? Does he think they cannot breach his mountain? Olympus was not safe; how much less so is his peak?”

  “He has survived in solitude for centuries, far removed from the affairs of earth and its gods,” Zeus said. “He sees no reason to become involved now.” Alkaios opened his mouth to speak, but Zeus turned his harsh features toward him, cutting his words off before they could pass his lips.

  “And as for your traitorous wife,” Zeus said, tone bitter, “she brought an Old One to the River Styx’s shore. How long before she breaches its waters and lays waste to this desolate realm? We should have let Medusa turn her to stone in the beginning and save us all from this certain doom.” Zeus knew full well how his words would wound. He did not wish Hades to become a statue, but after the fruitless trek up the mountain, he was seething. Anger coursed through him, and he had no one to unleash his wrath on save the man who had stolen Hades from his life. “Perhaps we should have Medusa petrify her now,” Zeus continued, driving the final blow home, “and be done with that…”

  He never finished his sentence, for suddenly his head cracked sideways, a punishing impact igniting his jaw in pain. Zeus stumbled backward and glanced up in time to see Alkaios hurtling toward him. He barely was able to raise his hands before Alkaios’ mass barreled into him, sending them both colliding with the dirt. Torso over limbs, they rolled until Alkaios shoved his heel into the ground and stopped himself on top of Zeus’ crumpled body. He wasted not a moment and pulled back his fist, driving it hard into Zeus’ nose. A crazed rage filled Alkaios’ eyes as his knuckles connected, and he lifted his other hand and drove it down on the prone god’s jaw. Alkaios could not bring himself to stop. He kept pounding, blood spitting to freckle his raging cheeks.

  Alkaios was not sure how many punches he landed when he felt arms clutch his chest and haul him off. Vaguely, he heard Poseidon begging him to stop, but he was in such a blind rage, the pleading god barely registered. Alkaios roared, struggling to free himself from Poseidon’s iron restraint when his face exploded in pain, and both men tumbled backward. Zeus recoiled his fist and launched himself forward again, but the king of the Underworld broke Poseidon’s hold and thrust the heel of his palm at his attacker. The blow connected with Zeus’ ribcage, and the punishing crack forced Zeus to choke on his own breath.

  Alkaios seized the opening Zeus’ incapacitation provided and delivered an elbow to Poseidon’s ribs. The impact ruptured the blood vessels beneath the god of the seas’ perfect skin, and he loosened his restraining hold. Alkaios bolted in temporary freedom only to be punched in the face. His head snapped backward, and his eyesight blurred for a moment, clearing in time to see Zeus’ deadly aim closing in for a second punishment.

  Alkaios roared, the agony of his sorrow bursting from his soul, and he caught Zeus’ hand with brutal speed and crushed it. The trapped knuckles popped and groaned under the constricting pressure, and despite Zeus’ thrashing attempts to wrench free, his hand was a prisoner to the inescapable grip. Spit flew from his lips as anger boiled in his veins. Zeus would have this insolent debauchery gutted for this, and in his rage, he never saw the fist aimed for his gut. The blow was so violent nausea overtook him instantly. Zeus heaved as Alkaios made contact. His stomach threatened to embarrass him and spill its meager contents, but he willed his body to obey his control. With a blind bellow and gasping breath, Zeus dove forward. The gods’ foreheads cracked together with bone-jarring force, and both men stumbled backward dazed.

  Zeus spat blood to the dirt and wiped his mouth. Anger boiled in his veins. Alkaios had publicly taken Hades’ name but was nothing more than a born mortal, yet with the exception of Poseidon, he was stronger than any other Zeus had fought. It enraged him, and with all frustration and hopelessness pent up inside him, he was determined to put Alkaios in the ground.

  Zeus flew forward, but Alkaios was faster, hurtling into Zeus’ ribcage. Zeus grunted as his breath was shoved from his lungs and then again as his spine slammed to the earth. He ached from his climb up the Griffin’s mountain, and the brutal impact crippled his muscles in cramping pain. Stunned, Zeus sputtered and writhed on the unforgiving terrain.

  Long seconds of breathlessness rushed past, and when he finally regained control of his extremities, Zeus struck out without aim, hoping to connect with any part of his opponent’s body. His fist cracked finely muscled ribs, and Alkaios roared in pain at the punishing blow. The agony did little to stop him though, and he prepared to strike the prone hulk called king.

  But the punch never fell, for just as Alkaios was about to attack, the entire Underworld shook. The ground pitched violently, and both bloody gods froze. Their eyes shot to where the River Styx flowed hidden beneath the fog. They waited there, Zeus flat on his back; Alkaios’ fist raised. For
a moment, not a sound or a movement broke the peace, but then the thunderous boom convulsed again. This time it thundered more savagely than the first, almost deafening to the ears. Alkaios slowly twisted his head down and met Zeus’ alarmed gaze. They held each other’s panicked stare for a horrifying breath before Alkaios bolted to his feet, their quarrel instantly forgotten. They both looked to Poseidon as the rumble increased, who reached a helping hand down to his brother’s prostrate form, and an echoing explosion ricocheted throughout Hell.

  There was no peace after that earth-shattering violation. The shaking did not cease, and the echo of monsters desperate to fracture the gates of Hell, the determined banging of those clawing to break their way in, did not silence.

  XXIV

  Kerberos was the first to burst through the fortress’ doorway, his spiked back raised in aggression. Power rippled off his body, an opposing force resisting the intruders at Hell’s threshold. His three monstrous throats snarled with terrifying viciousness as he bolted through the trembling terrain with a roaring Chimera hard on his heels. The lion’s paws slammed into the ground as he thundered after the god-killer, and both monsters disappeared into the fog.

  Zeus shot a glance at Alkaios’ concerned features, and as if by an unspoken agreement, they simultaneously launched into a run after the beasts.

  “The Old Ones,” Alkaios yelled over the quaking earth, “they are trying to force their way in.” As if in answer to his words, the Underworld pitched, heaving like a retching stomach and causing him to lose his footing. Overtaking him, Poseidon lunged forward and seized Alkaios by the elbow and hauled him back to his unsteady feet.

  “We have to aid Kerberos,” Alkaios said, nodding in thanks as they barreled toward the river. “He may be the only thing that can keep them out.”

  “How do we know he is not rushing to his mother?” Zeus asked as the fog thickened around them.

  “Hades freed him from the shackles that bound him above Tartarus,” Alkaios said over the deafening thundering of the Old Ones. “He is not so eager to return to slavery, even if it is his mother who holds the chains.”

  The ground shook again, sending the three greats pitching forward, stumbling for solid footing. A snarl echoed over the banging at Hell’s gates, and Alkaios angled toward the sound of the god-killer’s voice. Through the mist, he careened, unable to see more than a few inches in front of him. It was as if the river itself was trying to block the first gods’ entrance.

  Blindly, Alkaios forced a path over the rocky terrain, unfurling his power to search for Kerberos. Black tentacles of smoke twisted through the air in dark contrast to the grey of the mist until they found their mark. The clawing fingers of death embodied encircled the dog, winding their way around his muscular body before plunging into his leathery hide. With a roar, Kerberos lunged forward, baring his protruding fangs. His claws dug deep into the drab riverbank and absorbed the strength Alkaios’ darkness fed him. The force rippling off him hung tangible in the fog as he barred entrance to all who sought access to his sacred ground.

  Alkaios skidded to a stop in the sand and without hesitation slammed his palm into Kerberos’ side. Power jolted as their skin collided, and the god-killer’s energy surged forward, pushing back the smog in a violent heave.

  “Lay your hands upon him!” Alkaios bellowed at Zeus and Poseidon as the crashing across the river grew, all of Hell shaking at the fists of the almighty deformed gods banging at the gates.

  “Do it!” Alkaios screamed when neither brother moved. “He needs to feed off us!” Both Zeus and Poseidon stared in terror at the massive beast planted at the river’s edge.

  “Now!” Rage and strength laced Alkaios’ voice, and both gods lunged for the dog. With great trepidation, Zeus stretched out a hand and slid his fingers around one of Kerberos’ spikes. The beast’s back flinched at the contact, but his focus remained across the river, ignoring the violation of his space. Instantly, Zeus felt power rush through him and seep into the beast. Kerberos’ hide twitched, and snarls rumbled deep in his throats.

  Seeing his brother take hold of the god-killer without repercussion, Poseidon pressed his fingers to the dog’s protruding hipbone. At his touch, Kerberos roared, unnatural energy flowing through him as he shielded the Underworld from their enemies. At his voice, the fog shuddered, pushed back by the waves of terrifying strength rippling off him, and for the first time since the Olympians had sought refuge in the Underworld, earth’s shores were visible across the poisoned waters.

  And there she stood in all her dark glory, the breeze tossing her hair about her gorgeous face. Malice in her eyes. Hades’ cold expression met Alkaios’ in a defiant stare as the fog began to roll back over the current, and his stomach knotted painfully at the sight. Kerberos flinched beneath his hand, and Alkaios knew the same knife that carved into his heart also plunged deep into the dog’s. He wanted nothing more than to open his arms and call his wife home, to forgive all her bloody transgressions, but Kerberos sensed Alkaios’ momentary weakness and forced a wave of resistance over the Styx. The mist folded in on itself, slowly obscuring Hades’ withering gaze. The instant before she vanished from view, an imposing shadow shifted beside her, and through the thickening cloud, two massive horns pierced the air.

  And the whole of the Underworld heaved at his deafening bellow.

  The boathouse pitched violently, the river clawing at its dock in hungry waves. Charon’s boat reeled as the current fought against it, water vaulting over the sides in search of living flesh to burn. Charon lunged out of the water’s vengeful path. The Styx had already claimed him in another lifetime, but too much was now at stake to allow it to reclaim him; too many people he refused to leave behind.

  Charon threw himself to the rear of the ferry, pulling his feet from the sloshing water, but his weight landed heavy and tipped the boat dangerously in the bucking waves. He fumbled for balance in a desperate attempt to remain above water, but the Underworld boomed; a violent shaking that sent him careening at an alarming speed toward the dock. With a mighty lunge, Charon’s fist seized the rough wood of his home, but his hand had barely closed, when the river lurched, wrenching the craft downriver. The ferryman roared as his body slammed into the dock’s splintered edge. His feet hung precariously over the turbulent waves as the boat disappeared, racing down the Styx, but that did not matter. Alkaios could recall it if they survived the gods at their gate, and Charon was determined to survive the poison waters that clawed to consume him.

  He flung his free hand over the dock’s edge and dug his fingers into the wood’s crevasses, grasping for even the smallest hold. His fingertips slipped as he heaved to keep his body from returning to a watery grave, but the roar of the Old Ones ripped through the air, jarring the trembling dock. Charon fumbled his precarious grip and plummeted deathward, losing what little ground he had gained. His fingernails tore where they clawed for a splinter of salvation. The damp wood fractured beneath his palms, descending him to his suffering finale when a hand clamped under his arm and jerked his weight to a halt. Charon’s eyes shot up through the deafening air and landed on Ioanna crouched above him. Her knees burrowed into the dock as her small hands clutched his arms, face pinched with exertion.

  “Climb!” Ioanna demanded over the crashing of the deformed gods. Charon groaned and hoisted himself up as his wife pulled with clutching fingers. His knee swung over the edge, and he scrambled over the wood until he was kneeling before the woman he loved with an excruciating fierceness. Charon wanted to envelop her in his arms, but the panicked look distorting Ioanna’s face froze him to his bones. Charon reached out and grabbed hold of her bent thighs and opened his mouth to console her when he realized it was not him she fixated on. Ioanna’s fixed gaze peered over his shoulder toward earth’s shore, and slowly Charon twisted his head. The impenetrable smog had parted ever so slightly, splitting enough to see the shadowy masses on the distant bank. There, dark and immobile, her form almost obliterated by the thickening mist, stood
Hades. Charon’s stomach dropped at the sight of her hollow eyes as they stared piercingly upriver at her family turned enemies, and just as the fog swallowed the vision of her whole, horns speared the haze, cutting the fog into ribbons before disappearing.

  Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos’ cries cut through the vibrating air. Their tiny lungs screamed their panic, and Ioanna caught Charon’s gaze. Without a word, the parents scrambled to their feet and clamored inside. Charon cleared the doorway first and scooped up two of his infants, cradling his daughters in a muscled embrace. Ioanna bent behind him and snatched up their third babe. Her thin arms encircled her daughter, and Ioanna pressed her lips soothingly to the small forehead clutched to her breast.

  “Mother is here,” Ioanna cooed as their daughters’ wails continued, and their terrified hysteria mixed with the unearthly crashing of those monstrosities banging at Hell’s door. Ioanna clung to her daughter as she thrust herself against Charon in search of the strength that oozed from his warm body.

  “I should go help Alkaios,” Charon said, voice loud above the writhing Underworld and the cries of his terrified children. “He will need all our aid to keep these old gods at bay.”

  “No!” Ioanna shifted to block their home’s exit. “I forbid it.” Her panic incited fresh screams from the child in her arms, the tiny cry rivaling the cacophony of the turmoil at Hells’ gates. “That Olympian will see you killed.”

  “And if the Old One’s breach our defense, they will see us all killed,” Charon argued still clutching his daughters against his chest.

  “I lost you all those years ago!” Ioanna leapt for her husband and pressed her body as close to his breast as she was able, their children the only barrier between them. “I will not lose you now if it gains us nothing. No, Charon, you will not leave this house. Not unless our king himself calls upon you.”