The first thing Simba did when he walked into the Town Hall ballroom was put his fists on his hips and let out a low whistle. That was better than what he wanted to do, which was cry. Yeah, to many, that might feel like an over reaction, but Simba loved Town Hall. It was old and musty, but he had so many memories within its walls. Some of his earliest memories took place right here in this ballroom, riding on his grandpa’s shoulders, and hanging out with Nala--stealing extra cookies off the tables, bored at this political function or another.
The fire had peeled back some of the painted wood to expose the boards beneath. The mirrors were warped. The smooth marble floor was charred. It still smelled like acrid smoke. A few ceiling beams had fallen in. The antique mural was half-destroyed. Not to mention the puddles of blood on the floor and the fact that several tables were broken.
Simba knew that people had been hurt. Hell, he’d been hurt. His husband had been hurt. His kids (not his actual kids, thanks, but it was easier to refer to Ashlee and Kion as “the kids,” kind of like how it used to be easier to refer to Kiara, Callie, and Bambi as “the kids”) had, thankfully, not been hurt, but Ashlee was shaken up pretty bad. And people were more important than an old building.
It still tugged on Simba’s heart strings.
So, he rolled up his metaphorical sleeves (he was wearing a t-shirt), and got to work. The first place he went was towards where it looked like the fire had started in one of the back corners.
Lo and behold, who should be here but--
“Oi, hullo, Hades,” Simba beamed, his chipper attitude probably out of place in the oppressive, somber air. Still, it was better than crying he told himself. He gave Hades a friendly smack on the shoulder as he came up beside him.
“How’d you and Belle fair?” he asked, and his voice dropped to a slightly more serious tone. “And the little ones?”
Maui had drawn, arguably, the shortest straw when it came to “interviewing” the people who may know where Merida had gone. And it wasn’t that Hades scared Maui, nah. It took a lot to scare Maui honestly. Some medium with a holier than thou attitude wasn’t scary.
Plus, Maui could related to him--Magick to Magick.
It was more that...well, Merida had supposedly been involved in the kidnapping of Hades’ wife, which meant he might not exactly be forthcoming. It was a good thing, then, that Maui had the law on his side. He popped into the shoppe after one of his shifts, still in his uniform. (He’d pop back to the station and change in just a few minutes “haha! I didn’t even realize I was still wearing it until I was halfway home!”)
Probably could get him in trouble for doing this, but he would just say he was taking the initiative to try and find Merida.
So, he strolled into the shoppe, the little bell on the door chiming sweetly. He strolled until he found the man he was looking for.
“Mr. Acheron? Hello, my name is Maui, demigod. I’m part of the VFD and I was wondering if you had a minute, I’ve got a couple of follow up questions from Officer Pendragon’s initial interview.” He gave him a friendly, charming smile.
Phoebus hated late night shifts. He grew restless easily and patrol shifts meant creeping through neighborhoods and the ever-winding streets of Swynlake. They were bloody boring, unless they weren’t.
They were getting even worse these days, with Clemens breathing down his neck. Sometimes, it felt like he could see him out of the corner of his eye. Sometimes, he couldn’t find things where he had put them down.
Something in this town had made it worse. Clemens had been haunting Phoebus for nearly six years, and he’d never been this strong. The only solace was the church. He couldn’t figure out what had caused it, but if he had to place a bet, that bastard Hades had done something after their little confrontation at the Gates of the Underworld.
One good thing about late night shifts?
Lots of time to plot. He was rather happy these days. With the lovely Duchess, and less lovely de Vil woman on the Board. It meant a strong majority hold from the conservatives. His plan to slowly push Hades out was going well.
Even better when his radio crackled to life.
“Unit B, come in.”
“Over,” Phoebus said, picking up the hand-held device.
“Reports of domestic violence at 123 Fairytale Lane.”
“Roger,” Phoebus answered and pulled out of the car park he’d posted himself up in, heading down to the South Swynlake. When he pulled up, he glanced at the computer, which had pulled up the residents listed at the address--
Belle Acheron.
Hades Acheron.
“Well, shit,” Phoebus said, mostly to himself as he clambered out of the car and headed towards the front door, the blue lights flashing behind him, but no siren. He adjusted his uniform slightly before knocking on the door.
Sally had found herself walking over towards the direction of Chapter Three. It was a rather nice day, as nice and light foggy skies got you, and the red head really didn’t want to spend it all alone cooped up in her place.
That was when she decided that maybe she’ll just visit Belle for a little bit. Sally really didn’t have all that many friends (hardly any really...) so she did like spending time with the few that she did have.
Plus, Daniel was with her (as he usually was) and he had already combed through all the books she had at home. He loves to read, she could kill two birds with one stone and maybe find him a new interesting book.
He could probably squeeze in another chess match too with Belle if he was persistent enough.
The red head entered the quaint little shop taking into view the new changes as soon as she stepped through the door. There, however, wasn’t a brunette in sight, but a man, whom Sally recognized has featured in several visions she has had in the past.
And who probably had no idea who she was.
“Oh... I-umm hi. I-I was umm I was uhh well just er looking for an umm a book.... for my friend...”
There really isn’t need for a new book. It’s fine. But Sally ignored Daniel anyways. “Or-or well hoping to-to find one he might like....”
In which Hercules and Hades embark on a quest to the Underworld...[takes place evening of July 6th to evening of July 9th]
@trip-downtheriverstyx
[tw -- monsters, near-drowning, death, creepy underworld stuff, talk of gross bodily fluids, uhh yeah just some nasty underworld stuff]
HERCULES:
They left the cottage without much more conversation. The Fates had stayed behind with Belle as she said goodbye to them at the door. He was pretty sure he’d her tell them to leave, but he didn’t think much about it, because the next second the door snapped shut and he was standing in the half-dark with Hades. And Georgette.
Her body floated there morbidly, her hair falling back, her arms and legs hanging limply. Her face was still, eyes closed. The rain had washed away most of the blood on her face, but it still stained her torn clothes.
Hercules couldn’t look at her for long or he would feel like being sick. His heart was thrumming hard and fast in his chest.
He’d tried to talk--once or twice, trying to start a conversation. He was a nervous rambler on his best days. He’d tried to explain what had happened: it was an accident, a tree, and--I didn’t mean--but Hades had said: I don’t care. Which had promptly shut Hercules up. He’d tried again a little later as they’d stepped into the tree line by the river.
Hades lit his hand with fire and sent it towards the dark trees, which groaned as the fire snapped and cracked through them.
Soooo, how long have you known the Fates, then?
Hades had snapped at him something about concentration and Hercules had fallen silent again.
It was a long, quiet, eerie walk towards the Gates. Hercules had never traveled so deeply into the woods and he felt the hair rising on his arms as they trudged through. The bank of the river muddied his boots. The blue fire cast eerie shadows on either side of them. It hollowed out the curve of Georgette’s neck, her collarbone, the indents of her eyes. It made her look like a ghastly, cold thing. Hercules looked away.
He wanted to talk. The whole time, he wanted to babble--because he was terrified and confused and full of grief so heavy that he felt it physically in his shoulder blades. His body ached from carrying Georgette the short distance to the cottage.
And he was thinking, couldn’t stop thinking about what the Fates had said.
Can take the magic from the boy, but not the boy from the magic.
And the dragon’s voice still hissed in his ear:
Demigod. Son of Diana.
What did it mean? For months and months now, Hercules had both yearned for answers and been terrified. What if there wasn’t any reason for the way he was? What if he was given up because he’d hurt his mother when he’d been born? Or hurt his father? Or--someone else? What if he was given up because he was mistake? An abomination? Shouldn’t have been born. Or was born of incest or infidelity--
Demigod, the dragon had said.
No good fate had ever befallen a demigod. Not even the one he was named for. He’d gone insane, he’d killed his wife and children. Achilles had died. Perseus, Theseus. Bellerophon had been irrevocably crippled. Orpheus had lost his love--
Being a hero was not something Hercules wanted.
He just--wanted to save Georgette.
If he lost his own life, well, he supposed it would be just recompense, but it did not mean he wanted to die.
Lost in these thoughts, Hercules did not even realize they were at the Gates until the river lit up blue and the earth trembled beneath his feet.
The hole expanded and expanded into a dark nothingness, like a gaping wound. A chill rose up from it. It made the hair on Hercules’ arms stand up, but there was also something about it that made his blood sing in his veins, thrumming fast and sure.
He glanced at Hades, but the other man was already walking down the stone steps that had appeared at the mouth of the hole. Georgette’s body drifted behind him, as if she was being carried by an unseen current.
Hercules hesitated and then, he gathered his courage and stepped into the Underworld.
With each step downwards, he felt--lighter. Stronger. He let out a breath (which he had not realized he was holding) as his foot hit the bottom step. Everything was dark as shadows besides the light from Hades’ flame.
Hercules flexed his hand, spreading his fingers and then, he clenched his hand into a fist. His heart still beat strong in his chest, steadier now, slow and pulsating. And he knew, without anything at all really changing about him, that somehow--his magic had been restored.
Somehow, here in this place where things died, Hercules became powerful once more.
He reached forwards towards Hades and moved his hand slowly over the orb of flame that was hanging there. It was hot, but the kind of warmth that the sun’s rays on a bright summer’s day might feel like. He let out another breath and clenched his fist, like he could grab the flame and let his arm fall back down to his side.
“Do you--know what this means?” Hercules asked, looking at Hades.
Am I a demon of the Underworld? Am I a monster?
HADES:
Yeah, Hades wasn’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been hoping for a quiet night in, after all. But here he was again: traipsing through Enchantra wood toward the Gates of Hell during a muggy, wet evening.
It was even worse than usual, the summer flora having taking over much of the paths. There was barely anywhere to put his feet and they could barely see through all the foliage. He had to burn his way through in short controlled bursts, which he drew back as quickly as he could. Hades took no pleasure in any of this. He knew that Enchantra was no regular forest and what little magic sense he had was on high alert as they moved deeper and deeper...the shadows behind them lengthening, Hades’ feeling eyes on the back of his neck.
But he had no other choice if he were to save the life of Georgette Midler. And if the forest was pissed, it didn’t retaliate, at least, not yet. They managed to arrive at the Gate in one piece: himself, Hercules, and Georgette still floating in the air, suspended like a leaf buoyed by the wind.
But there was no wind. In this, the darkwood, there was barely any noise. Even the misting rain could not get in through the thickened canopy. The light was dim, Hades’ fire casting everything in its glow. As the river lit, that glow spread, and shadows danced across the tree trunks, as if they were ghosts.
There were no ghosts though. Surprisingly, not a lot hung out around the Gates. But was that really so surprising, come to think-- no ghost wanted to see the Underworld, that was why they were ghosts. No, the Gates were here for the living.
For people like Hercules, who needed-- hope.
Down they went until at last they’d arrived where the paths split. Hades had no idea what paths Hercules saw (perhaps a plain, cold tiled one, leading him straight to Dis) but Hades saw all of them. He was about to twitch his hand and bring Georgette forth when--
Ah, good. Hercules was talking again.
Hades glanced back at Hercules, who was staring down at his own hands. So the bloke got his power back just as the old wives’ tale went. Hercules, born again. Hades raised his eyebrows.
“Well-- legend is if you’re strong enough to be able to walk through the Gates, you’ll be-- born again, in a way. Diseases, curses, all that stuff will lift. But there are only a few kinds of people who can walk into the Gates and not die instead. Vampires, for one and--creatures of the Underworld for another. Like me.” He flashed a close-lipped, half-amused smile. “So that must be why the Fates weren’t concerned. They smelled it on you, eh, chap? You’re one of us.”
Hades turned back around then, and flicked his hand forward. Georgette’s body drifted...and kept drifting, and kept drifting, picking one of the paths where-- yes, her soul would be. Hades stopped her body in the air again.
“Follow me and stay close. If you so much as put a toe off a path, you’ll be lost, nothing I can do about it. Sides--” he smirked again. “I know a shortcut.”
Hades ventured forth, walking the path toward the swamps. The rest of the paths peeled away and then disappeared, because Hades didn’t need them and when he was here, the Underworld knew. He hadn’t been back since February-- since he thought he was going to stay here forever. Now, it was like no time had passed at all.
Which made sense. There was no time here. And since there was no time, it took no time for the path to pebble, then wash into sand, as they came to shore of the swamps, a boat waiting for them.
Hades floated Georgette’s body into the canoe, laying it down gently. He looked back at Hercules. “You know where we are? What to expect?”
HERCULES:
The silence was oppressive. Hercules felt it pressing down on him from every angle, pressing against his eardrums. He could hear the blood rushing through his veins. Still alive, still invincible. He had not been afraid to enter the Gates—but it wasn’t because of what the Fates had said, wasn’t because he knew or even wanted his powers back, but because he wasn’t afraid to die.
If he traded his life for Georgette’s, if that’s what was meant, Hercules would do it in an instant.
Especially because he didn’t want to be what Hades said—one of us. One of them. A demon. Something unwholly and evil.
(Though, he knew Hades wasn’t evil. He wasn’t the nicest person, but he wasn’t evil. He knew not all things that came from the Underworld was evil, but it was still the Underworld. It was still a place of death. Hercules was something of death.)
They walked in that awful, heavy silence. Everything was dark besides the path beneath their feet, which was plain and unassuming, but it made Hercules’ stomach churn anyway. They were standing in nothingness. It reminded him of the stories that his mum used to tell him. Of Nakara. Of Andhatamisra—the blind darkness. A darkness, cutting the tree at its roots, supposed to drive men insane.
It went on forever. Hercules’ stamina was back. It no longer cost him anything to walk and walk and walk, and he was partially glad for it, because that was what it felt like. Like they had been walking for hours. It also felt like they’d been walking for the blink of an eye.
Suddenly, there was the quiet sound of water lapping at a shore.
There was a boat.
Dark, still water stretched out before them.
Hercules thought of Puyoda, the water of pus, where men who slept with prostitutes lay, forced to eat all manner of awful things: urine, mucus, salvia. He thought of Georgette here, forced to do those things, forced to be among men who lived like dogs.
If anything, she should be in Ayahpana, forced to drink hot iron for her alcoholism.
Or, she could be here.
“The Vaitarni, o-or I mean, I-I guess you’d call it…the Styx? The—the Stygian marshes?” He cleared his throat a little.
“I—know the stories. Some of them but…should probably let me know what we’re in for…” He hit his fist against his thigh awkwardly and stepped closer to the boat where Georgette’s still body lay.
HADES:
Hercules garbled off a few words that Hades had only seen in books. Growing up, he’d done his fair share of research into the worlds of the dead-- for obvious reasons. He had learned of Hindu myth just as he’d learned of the Greeks. Read plenty of Chinese, Japanese, Korean tales of ghouls and demons alongside the ones set in Great Britain and Ireland. Course, the ones that he knew best were the ones in his own backyard-- the ones that his mother adored, hence Hades’ own name.
But as Hercules spoke of the Vaitarni, he knew that the bloke wasn’t entirely off. Though-- no amount of storybook reading would prepare anyone for the real thing.
There were enough horrors in these dark waters, which in certain light, could gleam as dark as oil-- or blood. Here there be monsters-- lost, sinful souls all. What form they took usually reflected back on who the person was. So maybe Hercules would glimpse one of the Hindu’s flesh-eating birds or five-hundred toothed crocodiles.
Hopefully Georgette, soul still so young-- freshly dead, as it was-- wouldn’t have succumbed so quickly to the same fate.
“Right. Get in,” instructed Hades. He ushered Herc forward and clambered in after, talking as he did.
“So here’s the den of greed and gluttony, which-- the Fates mentioned. Some souls arrive here like we did, all able-bodied, or so they think. Usually that’s the greedy. They go treasure hunting,” explained Hades as he unwrapped the rope off the dock.
He flicked a hand and the boat pushed off, as if helped by an invisible oar. And there were oars in the boat; Hades simply didn’t need them.
“They spend their whole life trudgin’ through these waters, fishing for shiny stuff in the waters below. Sometimes they band together-- sometimes they attack other boats, try to steal their haul. So be on the lookout for other boats. They’ll most likely not be friendly.
“And y’know, sometimes-- sometimes they fall in. And that’s where the gluttonous lie. Most of the souls have transformed into monsters and demons by that point, but some look like people. They go looking for flesh or guard their treasure below. So...watch out from below too.” Hades settled down into the chair and tossed an oar to Hercules.
“Where do you think your bird will be, eh? Above? Or below?”
HERCULES:
Hercules listened intently, once they’d settled in the boat.
He tried not to look anywhere but at Hades’ face. The creepiness factor had jumped from a solid 10/10 to a 100/100. And Hercules, though invincible (now), was not above succumbing to fear and horror the likes of which this swamp could possibly offer him.
Though, he felt strangely calm as the boat rowed further and further into the unfurling darkness.
With every ripple of the water as the boat cut through it, Hercules knew they were closer to Georgette. Hercules was closer to fixing his mistake and getting Georgette back. He thought this, held this certainty in his heart, as he kept his eyes fixed on Hades’ blue ones, which were hauntingly clear and bright, even in the near darkness.
Something splashed, like a fish jumping in the water, a few yards away, but Hercules did not flinch. He looked at Hades and he sucked in a breath, hoping to avoid the dangers. If he could just reach Georgette, if he could just find her…
At Hades’ question, Hercules blinked grabbing the oar, catching it in his hand, his reflexes once again quick as lightning.
“Uh—” His heart twisted in his chest, and though he had done his best not to, he looked down at Georgette’s broken body laying in the boat between them. Her head was at his feet, her golden hair stained pink with blood. Besides that and the dirt and blood, she could almost be sleeping. If Hercules ignored the rest of her body, which lay unnaturally, even though Hades had set her down as gently as he could.
Hercules stared at her face.
Gluttony or greed?
It felt too intimate a question. Hercules had known Georgette for—almost a year (he had actually met her last March…April? But they hadn’t become friends until August.) But he’d only been…dating her a week—if it was even dating. They’d never defined anything. Which was fine, but he felt bad calling it that in his head and—
Gluttony or greed?
He stuck the oar absent-mindedly in the water, turning the boat slightly South. At least, he thought it was South. South was, after all, the end of all things.
South, perhaps, was all around them at this point.
“Gluttony,” he finally settled and cast his gaze into the dark waters.
He couldn’t see anything, not really. In the half-light, no brighter than moonlight in a darkened wood, there were gems and gold that sparkled beneath the water, but no monsters. Everything was still. Too quiet.
“How am I supposed to find her?” he asked, after what felt like hours, what felt like just a moment.
How long had it been? How long?
“How—we could be at this for eternity.”
HADES:
Gluttony. Hades’ mouth twitched, though whether he was going to smile or frown, Hercules’ wouldn’t have been able to tell, and the expression was gone the next moment. Hades leaned back and gazed out at the waters, smooth as glass for now. Gluttony-- where the hungry and the thirsty made their bed. Hades was not privy to know his own fate, but he knew with certainty that these were not the waters where he would lay.
This wasn’t about Hades though. This was about Hercules and Georgette and whatever sins the both of them had dragged down to these abysmal tides. He wondered why Georgette, gluttonous as she was, deserved to get saved anyway. What were those silly Fates thinking?
(Though why had Belle been saved? Hades’ own hubris? That was in a much different part of the Underworld.)
He glanced up from his own reverie as Hercules’ talked again. Hades barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the question.
“The soul and the body are still connected-- barely,” he said. “That connection grows the closer we get to it. Think of it like a…gold detector, sort of, eh? We’re following where the body is tugging us. Or-- I am. I dunno what you can feel, Wonder Boy.”
And as he spoke that he wiggled his finger in the air and the boat turned just a little. “Don’t worry, just row. You’ll be the manpower, I’ll navigate. We’ll find your girlfriend.” He cracked a smile.
Around them, ripples moved from the boat. The mist thickened, the dock far away now, and only the water ahead and the monsters lurking below.
Eventually, Hades held up his hand and the boat came to a stop like he’d dropped an anchor. That feeling was back in his chest, the one that told him something was not quite right. It was the loudest it had ever been. It was steady and consistent-- like a heartbeat.
“Hear that?” Hades said, tilting his head. “X marks the spot.”
HERCULES:
Hercules’ eyebrows furrowed.
What could he feel?
There was a tickle under his skin, but he was doing his best to ignore it. It was just the creep-factor of this dark and solemn place. Hades voice echoed eerily, though from what Hercules could tell there was no end—no walls or ceiling for his voice to echo off of. Just the water. Just the darkness. And Hercules rowing, telling himself he felt nothing but his own fear, his own determination.
He pulled a face at Hades’ words.
She isn’t my girlfriend, he almost grumbled, but then he knew the rest would pour out—how they had never had time to establish anything. How it had only been a week. How she was just his friend, really, someone he cared about. Hercules would do the same for anyone he loved.
For anyone he had hurt.
This is my fault, he would say.
But he knew Hades didn’t want to hear any of it. That he didn’t care. That Hercules was walking on thin ice. Or, well, rowing, technically.
He wondered if the water was cold and he swallowed, hating to think of Georgette laying down below, dark, silent, cold.
The boat lurched to a stop, as if it had hit a bank of sand. Hercules knew it hadn’t. His oar still stretched down deep into the water. Everything was still quiet. There was no tell-tale lap of waves on a shore. Only the sound of other boats, rowing in the distance.
“Right,” Hercules said, as he glanced over the side of the boat for the first time.
There was no good spot to look in a place like this. He’d kept his eyes firmly on Hades’ until now. Not that he was scared. He had nothing to fear and nothing to lose. Not really. Everyone back in Swynlake hated him. He was probably going to have to skip town again. If he died—only Pegasus would care. He’d burned all his other bridges, just like he always did.
It didn’t matter. Only thing that mattered was Georgette got another chance.
“So, uh, I guess I’ll see you in a few minutes.” However long that was in a place like this.
He set the oar down next to Georgette’s body gently, trying not to knock the wood against her. While he was still bent over her, he stroked a hand over her matted, knotted hair, caked with blood and debris. It didn’t feel at all as soft as it usually did.
Straightening, he hesitated for a few moments before leaning over and untying his boots. Then, he pulled his shirt off over his head. He didn’t need to have anything something could grab, or drag him down with. Just in his trousers then, he stood up, the boat rocking unsteadily, sending ripples out along the water, but Hercules stayed steady.
He looked over at Hades. “Wish me luck.” But, before Hades could (and Hercules didn’t really expect him to), Hercules took a deep breath and jumped, diving into the dark water.
It clawed at him like a thousand knives, the water colder than anything he’d ever felt in his life. It squeezed his lungs, and he had to battle everything in him to keep from letting out the precious air he had stored there. The feeling disoriented him.
After a few moments, his limbs stiff from the cold, he opened his eyes to a soft, gentle, golden glow.
The amulet around his neck had lit up like a beacon.
He didn’t have time to wonder at it (it barely surprised him at this point.) Hercules merely jerked backwards, a face right in front of him. It was a body, with its eyes open, floating. He realized that they were everywhere. As if the very water was made of them. He swam through them, all ghostly pale, nothing more than essence, than mist. It made his heart clench, made his flesh crawl. They watched him go, he made eye contact with many of them, but they just went back to searching to. It felt like being on an eternal subway, always waiting for your stop. Never finding it.
But, there was nothing for it. Just to push on. He kept the memory of Georgette’s face, her warm, rosy cheeks and long eyelashes; reminding him that this was finite. He just had to find her and he would be out of this nightmare.
Angling his body downwards, he began to dive down deeper. The souls did not bother him. They went straight through him. Something moved off to his left, but he ignored it resolutely. Searching every face for one he recognized.
He must have looked at a hundred faces. That was what it felt like. A hundred dead faces. And each one—he would see for months and months after this. He would wonder who they were. When they had died. If they knew that they were here.
Finally, there she was. She looked right at him—but there was not an ounce of recognition on her features. Hercules swam to her, through the souls of the dead, reaching for her hand. When he grabbed onto her, she felt solid, but paper thin, like the page of a book. He was afraid if he tugged too hard she would tear into a million pieces.
The sound of his heart rushed in his ears. The only sound in this dark, empty void.
She did not react when he kicked his feet downwards, looking up through the bodies. There was no sun to beckon him to the surface. There was nothing at all to indicate which direction was which.
He was lost.
And his lungs were beginning to burn.
He kept his hand clenched around Georgette’s and he swam. He swam and swam, each stroke growing more desperate.
Then, there was a tug.
Something on his foot.
Hercules looked down and there was the head of a creature, it’s teeth on the surface of his skin. It looked like a crocodile. No, a snake. No—a tiger. Each time he blinked it changed and shifted.
It jerked and his mouth opened involuntarily, letting out bubbles of precious air. He kicked his foot out and the head just moved back and forth. Another one appeared from the depths, moving silently. There was no tide to push against it.
Hercules felt light-headed, his lungs screaming for oxygen.
His fist formed without thought and he waited until it was close, its mouth opening, like it was going to swallow him whole. He punched it in the roof of its mouth, shattering through the surface of it, its blood thick and wet and warm and black as it bloomed like a cloud into the water. The creature made a sound like a wail and its other head released Hercules’ foot from its massive maw.
With a desperate kick, Hercules rose to the surface with a gasp, drawing the still, dead air into his lungs. It felt as pure and sweet as a spring breeze. He spit out water—it tasted like blood and bile.
The boat was right in front of him. He grabbed the edge of it and looked over. Georgette’s soul was floating just above the water, her ghostly hair moving as if it was still below the water. It reminded him of the last time he’d seen her properly alive, looking up at the stars, a storm rolling in, her hair moving in the wind.
Something splashed a few feet away, jerking Hercules from his reverie, and with another cough he hauled himself into the boat with one hand, rolling in, knocking against Georgette’s cold body. Her sweater started to soak against the water pooling on Hercules’ skin. He shivered and sat up, still holding onto to Georgette’s soul. (Was definitely not thinking too much about that.)
It moved through the boat as if it was nothing.
Hercules gathered it in his arms, turned it, and laid it parallel with Georgette.
It floated into her prone body, its bluish-greyish-greenish glow disappearing as it sank down.
He waited.
A second.
Two.
Three.
“Why isn’t it working?” he said desperately, his voice rasping from the water, the taste of bile and iron in the back of his throat. He glanced up at Hades, his gaze desperate, red-rimmed; tears gathering against his bottom eyelids.
HADES:
Hades, in case you were wondering, did not wish Hercules good luck. The boy went in with a splash and then was swallowed by the water, Hades rocking in the boat until it finally steadied. But Hades had been alone on these waters before. Hades had been alone many places in the Underworld. Though, if you were to ask him, he would tell you-- that in the Underworld, he never felt truly alone.
There was a hum in the air, you see. A hum, which he felt in his own veins. If he focused in, that distant hum would become voices and he could pick out just one and listen to someone’s story. That’s what the Underworld was for Hades, just a tangle of stories, some sad and some wistful, but all of them finished.
He sat on that boat as the air hummed and hummed, and off in the distance, there was the sound of splashing. Hades did not feel the need to investigate, no, he’d let any other boats pass by and they’d do the same for him, as if they heard a humming too-- only it was more like a rattle, a warning, to stay away from the slight, pale, living boy, who knew how to walk every path.
For Hades then, there was only the wait.
So y’know, he got out his phone to text Belle. What? He literally had nothing else to do.
Hercules just dived under water 2 get girl’s soul lol.
What time is it there? How much time I miss?
Hey remember to put yams on the list for O’Hare’s.
Then he went through some pictures he’d taken and did some light photo editing so he could upload one to Instagram. Had to keep his followers happy, y’know, dead bodies or no dead bodies.
Then there were a few bubbles on the surface. Hades cocked an eyebrow and swiftly pocketed his phone, just as Hercules’ head emerged, gasping for air. Georgette’s soul emerged yet, though it made no sound and did not disturb the water. Instead it just materialized, floating there. Hades’ raised his eyebrows at the sight; for all his months trekking through this place, he’d never seen something quite like that.
“Oi, you need help?” he called to Herc, but he didn’t think Hercules heard him over his own waterlog. The boy trawled through the water and collapsed over the side of the boat the next moment, Georgette’s soul floating above.
She floated. She floated. And then, she sank, her soul moving eerily as if it were still in the water. When at last she disappeared, Hades, too, expected the body on the boat to stir with fresh, new life. But he felt nothing pass through the body. There was no heartbeat, no flicker of anything. Death clung.
Hades glanced at the dripping Hercules, and his brow twitched at his panic. He held up a hand. “Oi. The Fates had other instructions, didn’t they? We have to take the River-- shit, what was the name?” He glanced around. There were no bloody signs of course, why would they be? “Shit, it was the river that wrapped around the-- Oceanus!” he remembered.
And as soon as he spoke its name, the boat groaned and lurched, suddenly carving a new path through the waters, through the mist-- and away from here.
HERCULES:
Hercules had forgotten all about the Fates. Had forgotten all about what had started them on this quest. All he had inside of him was grief--pouring out like a river itself, like a river long and wide enough to wrap itself all around the world.
He had his grief, which took many forms--panic and pain being the main ones. They stabbed at him, one after another, in equal turns, as he propped himself on his elbow and looked into Georgette’s still, lifeless face. It was covered in blood, black and red and pink. All he could think about was that fact. Not any promises by the Fates.
It wasn’t until the boat jerked that Hercules remembered any of it.
He scrambled back to sit in the boat properly.
“Where is--” but, he trailed off, because he was pretty sure that Hades didn’t know the answer.
They sliced through the water as if there was a motor tied to the boat, no longer slow and sluggish, drifting more than anything else. Water splashed up the side, ice cold on Hercules’ skin. Once again, they fell into silence, darkness all around them. Though, the water was clearer as they went. Hercules couldn’t tell what direction they were going. For all he knew they could be upside down. That was how dark it was. He felt as if he was in zero gravity, floating through nothingness.
The boat churned on, like it was being reeled in, pulled by some invisible fishing rod.
And then, as quickly as it started, it had stopped. (Or had it taken a long time? Time felt like some kind of accordion here beneath the earth.)
But, the front of the boat pulled onto sand. The river flowed in either direction behind them. Hercules couldn’t tell where they’d come from. Only that they were probably supposed to get out here. He hopped out of the boat with little hesitation. At this point, he was not questioning anything. He just wanted this over. He just wanted to see Georgette breathe again.
Leaning back over the boat, he looked at Hades. “I’ve got her.” Gently, he lifted Georgette into his arms. Her body was cold, but not stiff as her head lolled against his bicep. Her hair tickled. She felt like little more than a sack of flour. Though, the weight in his heart hadn’t lifted. But, as he sloshed through the ankle deep water, his legs didn’t shake.
He walked forwards with his head up.
The sand was dark brown, a deep, tarnished gold color. There was only one way to go, grey rock walls appearing on either side as they walked forwards. It funneled into one passageway, a light beckoning them towards it.
Hercules glanced at Hades, but kept going.
The light was sun. Even Hercules could tell that it was warming his skin in the way only the sun could. He could smell fresh air, feel a breeze. His steps quickened, ready to be out of this hell.
He stumbled into the light, squinting as his vision adjusted.
He heard a clatter of what sounded like sticks, and the scuffle of feet. Then, something sharp pressed against his skin. Even though he was invincible again, the force stopped him in his tracks. His eyes blinked a few more times before looking down the shaft of what seemed to be a spear to a woman with her dark hair braided down her back.
“Who are--”
Another of the women stepped forwards behind the first as Hades appeared at the mouth of the cave they had come from. As he did, it disappeared behind him, into a thick tangle of trees and solid stone, a stream flowing into what seemed like nothing but rock.
“Ambassador,” the older woman said and her head bowed slightly. “We were expecting you.”
“Lykopis, what about him?” The woman holding the spear to Hercules’ throat had not removed it.
“I-I’m with him,” Hercules said, pointing to Hades sheepishly.
The older woman, Lykopis, leaned forwards and whispered in the younger woman’s ear. Hercules didn’t catch what she said, but the girl’s eyes went wide and she dropped the spear down to her side at once.
“We’ll take you to where you need to go,” she said, “this way.”
Journey to Hell Saga, Hades, Belle, Haku, and Persephone.
Mother Blue, a Seph and Hades one shot in the underworld.
Callie’s Nightmare
Previous Callie/Hades threads,
Part One: Clotho, Urania and Sally.
Part Two: Lachesis, Urania and Sally.
Ad Congregandum, ft. Callie, Howl, and Hades.
Blue Lullaby, a Hades one shot ft. Cassandra.
You Will Go, You will Return, Belle ft. Persephone.
Obituary, Hades and Belle.
Aliquid Venturus Est, Callie and Urania.
The Eye of a Seer, a Sally one shot.
Fate Comes Knocking, Hades, Belle, and Urania.
Neque Lumen, Urania and Belle.
The Pithos of Pandora, Urania, Calliope, and Hades.
Below the cut is a cliff notes version of this plot, but you should really read the whole thing because it’s Epic...
[tw for discussion of suicide and murder--nothing graphic just “this person committed suicide, this person was murdered.”]
Journey to Hell Saga w Helle
So, Hades and Persephone came to Swynlake seeking the Gates, guided by their “ghost mom” Agape (real name: Cassandra.) They found the Gates. Agape (Cassandra) told Persephone in order to go to the Underworld, she had to commit suicide. So, Persephone did.
Mother Blue, a Seph and Hades one shot in the underworld.
In the Underworld, Cassandra possessed Persephone’s body in order to come back to the world of the living to seek revenge.
Callie’s Nightmare
Callie has a nightmare of a murder and a suicide of two people who seem very familiar...but who are they?
Previous Callie/Hades threads,
As the Muse of Heroes, Calliope helps Hades get control of his powers that went haywire post-Persephone’s death. They get off to a rocky start, but it works out in the end. Hades gets it in his head that he’s going to summon Cassandra, force her out of Seph’s body and return Persephone.
Part One: Clotho, Urania and Sally.
Meanwhile, Urania is in Swynlake searching for the Gates of the Underworld. Unfortunately for her, her powers of being able to track people down have been blinded where the Ambassador (Hades) is concerned. As luck would have it, she meets another seer who just so happens to know Persephone and by extension Hades and saw where the Gates were when she saw Persephone’s death.
Part Two: Lachesis, Urania and Sally.
Urania and Sally venture to the Gates. Sally has a vision of the same murder/suicide that Callie had a nightmare about.
Ad Congregandum, ft. Callie, Howl, and Hades.
In which Hades successfully summons Cassandra and they learn a fascinating story. Cassandra was the Ambassador before Hades, she was in love with the previous Calliope, which was against the rules of the Order of Hesiod. They ran away because of their love, unfortunately, Urania tracked them down to drag Calliope back. She murdered Cassandra in cold blood. Calliope, coming across Cassandra’s body, took Urania’s knife from her and committed suicide.
Blue Lullaby, a Hades one shot ft. Cassandra.
Cassandra reveals that it is possible to give away the powers of the Ambassador. Hades exorcises Cassandra and accepts the fact that Persephone is not returning to the world of the living.
You Will Go, You Will Return, Belle ft. Persephone.
Persephone, hearing Hades calling her beyond the veil comes into an available body, her kitten, Vincent. She warns Belle that Urania is dangerous and that Hades should not be alone with her.
Obituary, Hades and Belle.
Hades brings Persephone’s body home to bury. Belle shares Persephone’s warning with Hades.
Aliquid Venturus Est, Callie and Urania.
Callie seeks the truth about Urania’s past with Calliope-prior and Cassandra. Urania lies and say that Cassandra was already dead when she came upon Calliope and Cassandra. With her magic, she forces Callie to give her Hades’ name.
The Eye of a Seer, a Sally one shot.
Sally has a vivid nightmare of Urania murdering Cassandra, Calliope committing suicide, as well as the death of Urania. In her dream, it is Belle who kills Urania in the end. Knowing that the only way to make this prophecy come true is to tell Urania it is Belle who will kill her, Sally delivers the news...
Fate Comes Knocking, Hades, Belle, and Urania.
Armed with the knowledge of the new Ambassador’s name, Urania heads to Belle and Hades’ to convince him to open the Gates. Belle doesn’t want to open the door, knowing Persephone’s warning. They listen to what Urania has to say. Hades reveals to Belle that he has been considering giving up his powers. Belle is shocked that he would ignore Persephone’s warning and go with Urania into the Underworld. (What she doesn’t know is that Urania--using her powers of epiphany--influenced Hades’ decision.) Eventually, Belle agrees to accompany him to the Gates, though she is not happy about it.
Neque Lumen, Urania and Belle.
In order to do away with the threat of Belle murdering her, Urania forces Belle to write a note to Hades, telling him that she cannot accompany him to the Gates and that she is breaking up with him. Then, for good measure, Urania kills Belle.
The Pithos of Pandora, Urania, Calliope, and Hades.
Meeting Hades and Calliope at the mouth of the river, after having murdered Belle, Urania hands Hades the coerced letter. Heartbroken having thought Belle left him, Hades forges ahead. At the Gates, though, at the last moment, he changes his mind. This does not sit well with Urania, who snatches Calliope and uses her as a hostage to convince Hades to open the Gates. He does so and they descend into it, entering the City of Dis, where in a dark, empty cellar there is a jar: the Pithos of Pandora, better known as Pandora’s Box. Urania opens it, releasing darkness and destruction across Swynlake and crowning herself Queen of this new world...
In which Snow and Diablo pay Hades and Belle a little...friendly...visit.
SNOW
This was it. Snow felt the excitement buzzing--even if it was dull, even if it wasn't the way it was supposed to feel (not that she could remember how it was supposed to feel, but, soon. Soon she would. Soon she'd have a beating heart again. Soon she would be able to feel it all again, the magic coursing through her that connected her to everything, all the living beings around her. Soon she would not have to kill in order to survive, she would be able to taste apples again, and bread, and meat. So, there was a pep in her step as she met Diablo to begin walking towards this mysterious cottage on the edge of the woods.
"Is there anyone else that lives with them? Anything else at all I should know?" she asked her companion as they turned down the dirt path that would lead to the house, and hopefully, the Gates.
DIABLO
Diablo walked along the woman. It wasn't usual that he walked places, to be honest. He was even wearing more clothing than usual, because they obviously didn't want to attract any unneeded attention. It was simple, though, and obviously stolen from somewhere the night before. In any case, this could potentially be the best lead toward becoming a full-fledged human for the first time in a century.
"As far as I know, there's nobody else," he responded, looking at the path. "Unless you count the dogs. I don't imagine they'd keep them around all the time, though. That would be rather foolish."
SNOW
"Yes, we'll have to keep an eye out for those," Snow mused, wrinkling her nose.
Fire was, of course, a natural enemy of vampires. One of the only things that could truly kill them outside of decapitation. Shudder at the thought. The little house came into view soon enough and Snow had to think fast then, seeing as if she was not invited in, they may hit a roadblock.
"According to my--limitations as a vampire, I cannot cross the threshold of a private abode without being invited. Which means I may need your help, if it comes to...a bit of coercion."
DIABLO
Diablo blinked. "Okay. Well, how does that work? Does it work if I step inside and then invite you myself? Or does it happen only when the owner allows you in?" he asked, deciding not to question the logic of vampires for the time being. He'd ask about all that later.
SNOW
"Only someone who resides within the home, which means I might need your help bringing them outside, for a little friendly interrogation." Snow spun a finger around a lock of hair.
DIABLO
Diablo nodded, smiling at her. "Okay, that does make sense. I can lure them out, easily! Or you know, we can trick them into letting you in. Maybe you can pretend like you're hurt. The girl looks like the helping sort anyway."
SNOW
"Oh, that's quite the idea," Snow complimented, tilting her head to the side. "Perhaps I twisted my ankle whilst we were out walking? I think I can fake a twisted ankle long enough to convince her. Hopefully our luck holds and she opens the door."
DIABLO
Diablo smirked, looking at the house as they got closer to it. It was tiny and nice. It almost felt bad to go in and coerce information out of people. But then again, they were people with access to Hell itself, so it's not like they're a pair of nice elderly ranchers either.
"Then we do that. In case that doesn't work I'll find a way to drag them out, but it won't be necessary. I think we'd be more comfortable, doing things in private."
SNOW
Very well, when we get to the door, I shall lean on you for support, you can knock, explain the situation whilst I look--faint. Should not be hard to do, I was, in fact, an actress quite a few times over the years." She smiled at Diablo.
DIABLO
Diablo nodded. "Got it!" he exclaimed, before letting out a chuckle. "Don't be too dramatic, though. It's just an ankle. Actresses always make everything so over the top."
SNOW
Snow rolled her eyes. "I know what I'm doing," she scoffed, just as they entered into the little front garden.
Snow bent down near one of the dying flowerbeds and grabbed a hand full of dirt, smearing it on her jeans, to make it look like she had fallen. Then, she stood back up and went to the door, knocking a few times before looking over at Diablo, wrinkling her nose a bit before she leaned against his side, waiting for someone to appear on the other side of the door.
DIABLO
Diablo held on to Snow, serving as her support, before looking up at the door and waiting for someone to come out. Soon, hopefully.
BELLE
It was getting close to dinner time and there was water boiling on the stove, though, not much else needed to be done at the moment, which meant Belle was just reading, chewing on her thumbnail as her eyes scanned the pages. Hades was out back, feeding the hounds.
When the knock sounded on the door, Belle furrowed her brow, put her book down before scurrying to toward the door, popping up on her toes to look through the little window on the door that Rajah had so kindly installed for her. She didn't recognize the man and woman on the porch, but she opened the door a bit anyway, cocking her head to the side but smiling.
"Hello," she greeted, "can I help you?"
DIABLO
Diablo put on a somewhat pity-inspiring smile, and greeted the sight of the woman's face with a gesture in Snow's direction.
"Hey, sorry to bother you, miss," the young man apologized. "It so happens that we were walking in the forest, and my sister hurt her ankle. I think it's twisted. Would you... mind if I bring her in for a second and use your phone? We're too far from town to make her hop all the way back."
BELLE
Belle's eyes jumped to the woman at once as the man spoke, taking in the awkward angle she was holding her leg at and the dirt on her jeans. Belle's face crumpled with pity. Her own ankle had been twisted in October, and it had not been fun at all.
"Oh, yes! Of course, please, come in." Belle opened the door wider and moved out of the way. "I-if you can make it to the kitchen, I can grab some ice, if not just, please, sit down in the living room--" she gestured to the room right off the door, "--and I'll do what I can."
DIABLO
Diablo smiled once more and held on to Snow's waist, figuring they'd probably be better off pretending until they were firmly inside and all that. So, he helped her hop their way inside and put the woman down in the living room, before looking around.
"Thank you very much, we won't be long," he assured the woman. "Wouldn't want to make your family uncomfortable, after all!" He figured he might try and find out if the man was in the house, too.
SNOW
Snow was regretting being the injured one, if only because hobbling around, having to lean on Diablo for support felt wildly uncomfortable, but--she bit her tongue and kept from letting a triumphant smile loose as she crossed the threshold with no push back from her magic.
Silly little thing. So easily manipulated.
And yes, perhaps she did fall a little dramatically onto the couch, but, the girl wasn't even paying attention, already scurrying into the kitchen to fetch her some ice.
BELLE
Belle closed the door after the siblings and shrugged a little.
"Don't worry about it, oh! And we don't have a landline but I'll grab my cellphone for you, or I can give you the wifi password--I know the cellphone reception out here is hit or miss. I'll--go get that ice, and don't worry about disturbing us, it's really no trouble."
With that she disappeared into the mudroom first, opening up the back door.
"Uhm, Hades--there's a man and woman here, siblings. Apparently the sister sprained her ankle poor thing, but you should probably put the hounds away so they don't catch a glimpse of them."
HADES
Hades looked up as the door opened (Baskerville growling instantly, the fucker was so aggressive, nothing like happy-go-lucky Shuck or the Bearer, who stayed calm until it was time to eat). He hissed at the dog to quiet and then nodded Belle's way.
"Right, got it." He looked at the three dogs, maws wet, smelling of meat-- they were only half done with the massive fillets of meat he'd dragged to them.
"You heard her, everyone back inside, take it with you-- don't, Shuck," He glared at the little one as he started to whine. He snapped his fingers and gestured toward the makeshift shacks they'd built, and one by one the hounds disappeared into it, red eyes glowing.
Then Hades ducked back in, glancing at the strangers out of the corner of his eyes. He didn't say anything, just went into the kitchen to get himself some tea.
DIABLO
Diablo could swear he heard some unusual growling in the back, but he couldn't be too certain of its origin, and instead made a gesture in the direction of the kitchen.
"That's the man in there," he whispered to his pretend-sister, wondering when would be a good time to blow their own covers.
SNOW
Snow heard the growl too, and the whine--sharp hearing and all that. The woman had called them "the hounds"--as in hellhounds? Perhaps? That was rather naughty, keeping hellhounds in your back garden, but, it just meant that they were in the right place.
She nodded in Diablo's direction, her eyes twinkling triumphantly. "I think you're right," she purred. "We'll just ask a couple of questions and be on our way..."
BELLE
Belle nodded at Hades and turned around, hearing him follow a few steps behind her in the kitchen. She grabbed some ice from the box, putting it in a plastic bag and wrapping a paper towel around it before going into the living room. The woman was perched in Hades' spot on the couch, Belle handed her the bag and turned to her brother.
"Here's my phone, you're free to call a car, if you'd like." She gave him the address. "Hopefully it won't take too long, is there anything else I can do to help?"
HADES
Hades put the kettle on, moving 'round the kitchen as he normally would-- getting a mug and the tea leaves and all that sort of thing, when through his own shuffling rose a soft and tender voice.
Uh oh, Hades. Not paying attention. He paused by the counter, nostrils flaring at the sound.
Bit early to be visiting? he quipped to the ghost, feeling her at his back.
Its snack time, Hades. Not paying attention, the ghost said again, sing-song. But Hades had never been good at paying attention-- not to the ghosts. He'd spent his whole life trying to ignore them. He put a bit of honey into his mug, shaking his head.
DIABLO
Diablo took the phone and looked at it for a few seconds.
"Thanks!" he exclaimed, and focused on making a call. He wouldn't just do that, of course. He figured it would be handy to have this number available, and so he decided to have it recorded somewhere. His own phone wasn't there with him, but a call to it would be more than enough to keep the number on track. He figured he'd let Snow ask the questions meanwhile, if she wanted to do that now.
"I'll call someone, just a minute!"
SNOW
Snow took the ice, careful not to touch the woman as she did so, though perhaps it wouldn't have mattered, seeing as the girl's hand was surely cold from the ice. Snow kicked up her foot onto the coffee table and set the ice on her leg. It felt like nothing, really, against her already ice cold skin.
"This is a lovely home you have. Thank you for letting us in, it hurts awfully bad. I'm Snow, by the way, and that is my brother--Derek." Diablo didn't not have any pleasant connotations to it. "And you? Oh, and was there someone else I heard moving about?"
BELLE
"Oh! Yes, I'm Belle," she introduced herself at once, feeling silly for not having done it earlier. "And that's Hades in the kitchen. Please, don't worry, you're not really bothering us at all. We were just getting ready to start dinner, oh, that reminds me."
She raised her voice a little. "Hades, will you turn off the stove, please? Thank you!" She couldn't have the water boiling over while she tended to their guests.
HADES
Hades flicked his eyes to the pot and the stove top clicked off without him touching it.
Might want to take a second look... sang the ghost again.
He looked up, jaw tightening a little. He rolled his eyes.
Don't judge a book. And now it was rhyming. He hated ghosts that fancied themselves riddlers.
He poured his tea, then drifted back toward the living room, stopping near the doorway to lean against the frame. And that was when he felt it-- something. He didn't know what it was but it was the same feeling he got when he walked near a graveyard. He didn't react, just stood there, eyes drifting over the shape of the man, the hair of the woman, before he looked at Belle.
"Belle, will you c'mere a second?" he asked as casually as he could-- which was quite casually. Hades was quite the actor himself.
DIABLO
Diablo looked over at Hades too, looking him over. He wasn't exactly the most welcoming presence ever, but he didn't seem like a threat, either. He decided to focus on making his call to nobody at all, and acted out a small conversation as he pretended to summon someone to give them a ride, wondering if they'd be able to hear what the two were about to talk about.
SNOW
Snow felt the tone change. It was a subtle shift, but after being alive so long, you learned to pick up on such things. Snow's head subtly turned towards Hades and then looked at Diablo and raised her eyebrows. Hopefully he would understand the it may be time look.
BELLE
Belle's eyebrows furrowed a little but she nodded at Hades and scurried into the kitchen, wondering what he wanted. "Yes?" she asked, turning on her heel, eyebrows raised expectantly.
HADES
"I had a question about dinner, actually, just a second," he said then guided her toward the stove that he'd just switched off-- which Belle would see. Soon as he was far enough away though he faced her, leaning in a little, hand on her upper arm.
"Something's weird. I dunno what, but something feels --" he stopped, trying to find the word, ".... dead in that room," he murmured quietly.
DIABLO
Diablo couldn't hear. Immediately, he subtly gazed at Snow, wondering if she knew what was going on. Perhaps he recognized her somehow? That wouldn't be possible, right? Snow didn't know about the guy at first, as far as he knew. Maybe it was nothing.
SNOW
Something feels dead in that room. Snow heard the comment crystal clear and tensed immediately.
This meant two things: one, Hades was--more powerful than originally anticipated and two, this was going to be harder than she originally anticipated.
No matter, no matter. She had a plan. Her excellent hearing would help with that.
"We've been found out," she whispered quietly to Diablo, though her voice was calm. "It's no matter, though, I have a plan."
BELLE
A question about dinner? Immediately Belle felt her heartrate tick up. Hades wouldn't be asking a question about dinner not right now, it didn't make any sense. Something else was going on. Her eyes searched his face, brows furrowed in thought as he spoke.
Dead? Neither of them looked dead. Had they possibly brought a poltergeist in with them?
Or...perhaps...
"Are they possessed? Oh, do you think that's really what they need our help with?" she asked. "O-or, I mean--your help."
HADES
"It's not a ghost," he said at once. He knew that, knew just as he knew there were two ghosts in this room, one in the garden, and Balder upstairs, in Seph's room (he was there every day, silent, like a tomb).
"I know what a ghost feels like," he had lowered his voice to a whisper, feeling even more uneasy. Now that he noticed it, it wouldn't go away. It was like the feeling someone was watching. It was a foul scent-- though the air was clean, the only smell wafting up from his tea. "I-- don't know what this is. But it's not alive."
DIABLO
Diablo blinked, looking at Snow with expectation for her plan. What was it about? They still needed to question the pair so he didn't want to leave.
"I'm listening," he whispered, gesturing at the kitchen. "What do I do?"
SNOW
Snow tilted her head slightly, listening both to Diablo and Hades and Belle whispering in the kitchen.
"I'll grab the girl. I can be rather fast when I want to. You may serve to cause a diversion, or can do most of the talking while I handle Belle. We may just have to roll with the punches. There really isn't a way to predict this Hades, but he is powerful. Keep your guard up."
With that, Snow stood fluidly from the couch, and, without bothering with her injury she made her way to the kitchen, standing in the archway a few feet from the couple by the stove. Her lips curled into a smile.
"You're right," she told Hades, tilting her head slightly.
"We've just got a couple of questions and then we'll be on our way, isn't that right, Diablo?" Snow purred over her shoulder at her companion.
BELLE
Belle began chewing on her lip--and funnily enough, she didn't feel frightened, not really. If anything, she was more intrigued and tantalized by this new mystery that had been presented to them. Not alive. Though, they both looked perfectly alive and well (except for Snow's ankle.) So, not possessed. Not ghosts. Or ghouls. Or poltergeists. Belle wracked her brain--alive but dead, alive but dead. It clicked at the same moment Snow came around the corner.
Vampires.
She turned around when she heard Snow's voice--her back having been to the living room. Her eyes dropped to Snow's stylish black boots and dark wash jeans, where she was standing perfectly straight.
"Your--ankle," she said, dumbly, gesturing, as if that was any help at all. It caused Snow's lips to tug up in a bigger smirk, shrugging one of her shoulders.
HADES
Hades instantly moved in front of Belle, his arm out like some sort of guard rail, so he might catch Belle if she did something stupid like try to get closer to the two of them. He knew it was the woman now, staring at her from across the kitchen-- it ebbed from her, that undead aura, and if he concentrated on it, he could feel it thick as tar on his skin. It wasn't hard to put two and two together really, the other half of the equation being the vampire attacks in town. And really...made sense, didn't it? He opened the gates, hell hounds flooded to the door-- why not vampires?
Hades scowled, at himself and at this creature in front of him. "You stay on that side of the kitchen and maybe I'll answer," Hades spat. "Step any closer though and it's gonna get toasty in here rather fast."
DIABLO
Diablo smirked.
Now this was what he was there for. He had longed for actually doing something ever since he arrived to this town, and until now he had been watching carefully without intervening anywhere. This would mark the day he stepped toward gaining his true form once more after a hundred years, and he couldn't be more excited. He was so excited, in fact, that he couldn't help but let out an almost maniacal-sounding laugh. He was just so pumped!
"I'm glad you agree!" he exclaimed, grinning widely. "We'll just get our answers then. Where did your pups go, by the way? Sent them back to Hell, or to attack a neighbouring town? I think they like to do that a lot."
SNOW
Snow rolled her eyes at Hades' little threat, though, in the back of her mind she remembered to be cautious. Fire was one of the only mortal enemies of vampires, if he really could light things on fire, it was best to not have that happen.
Her eyes flicked to Diablo. Well, someone was enjoying himself.
"Now, now, Diablo, let's play nice," she chided lightly, though her voice was full of amusement. She could play the good cop to his bad cop, that may work rather well.
"We're curious about a certain--" she pursed her lips "--landmark we are quite sure you might know something about. The Gates of the Underworld, by chance?"
HADES
Hades could play dumb. Unlikely. He had three hellhounds in his garden and the powers of the dead at his fingertips. These things could damn him, but at this point he wagered they were more powerful pieces-- knights and rooks to this undead lady's simple pawn (Hades thought this as he flicked his gaze toward the man then back to the woman-- the queen.).
Besides, why play dumb? Why protect the gates? Because it was technically his job? The gates had done nothing but ruin him. Hades thought all this, tilting his head, pausing for a moment before he decided.
"What about them?" he asked.
DIABLO
Diablo grinned, looking at the man. "Where can we find them?" He inquired, almost impatiently, as the man asked about what they wanted.
He didn't seem to be overly uncooperative. Almost as if he was judging whether or not to tell them. That was decent at least.
"And how do they open?"
SNOW
Snow simply nodded a little, eyes fixed on Hades. Unlike Diablo, her excitement was easily tempered. It was because she couldn't exactly feel it humming through her blood. It simply existed. It kept her calm, collected, not at all eager. Though, she was, her fingers were itching for it. But, she simply nodded in confirmation, waiting to see what this Hades would say.
BELLE
They shouldn't tell them anything. Hades shouldn't tell them anything. Belle knew, from Yubaba, from Cassandra--the Gates of the Underworld were for no one to mess with but Hades. They were dangerous. They corrupted. They unleashed things like hellhounds. Whatever these people (vampires?) wanted, it was not going to bode well for Swynlake.
Her gaze flicked to Hades, watching him carefully, her fingers curling around the wrist of the arm he held in front of her like a warning. Think it through.
HADES
Once again, a tense silence gripped the group for a few long seconds, Hades' eyes locked on the woman's from across the room. He was thinking it through. He saw the whole board, knew what pieces he had to play and what pieces he had to sacrifice.
And he knew what he would not sacrifice either-- and that was Belle. It all kept routing back to her, every strategy. To lie, to fight, to tell the truth. It all came back to how could this hurt Belle? Because Hades didn't want a fight-- and that wasn't the Hades of old. Once, he'd have already set himself on fire and scared the vampire away with his blue flame. But he'd not used his fire, not really, since Christmas. He'd stopped going to the Gates and he stopped trying to open them. And if he told them the truth-- gave them what they wanted-- he could reveal that weakness, finding himself stumbling back out to that wretched place. He couldn't do that. Couldn't exactly lie with the hellhounds condemning him already.
See, that was the real problem-- he didn't know what they knew. So was this to be a game of poker, not chess? Who had the best poker face?
"Tell me why you want to open them first," he said.
DIABLO
Diablo shrugged. "Nothing too important," the man decided to say, as he didn't know if Snow would want them to know. She looked at her briefly before looking back at the others.
"You should probably send your dogs into them, too. You wouldn't want another hell dog invasion on your hands, right?"
SNOW
She knew that he was stalling--or that he didn't know what pieces to play. Snow saw the chessboard too. She wasn't the greatest strategist--much too overeager. Eva tried to get her to play chess on more than one occasion and Snow just whined the whole way through. Still, she could appreciate the finesse and delicacy this situation needed to be handled with. She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly.
"We're not planning on letting anything out of them, you can be sure. We'll not be making that mistake."
HADES
"Gonna have to be more specific, love," he said to her. "Seein as you're the one asking me for a favour."
DIABLO
Diablo decided to speak up, figuring Snow wasn't too keen on them knowing what she intended to do.
"We need to talk to someone, if we can find them," he decided to say. "I do, rather. It's a... personal matter."
He didn't know how Hell worked. Or if dead people really were there, so he didn't know if that would be a believable excuse. Either way, he stared at the man with the face of a person who was determined to do what he said.
SNOW
"A personal matter we'd rather not discuss," Snow purred in agreement. "Which is why we're not seeking out a medium to mediate. Must speak to them ourselves, you see."
HADES
Hades snorted. It was a horrible lie. Even the basic myths of the Gates said no mortal could enter them and survive-- so what, were they planning a summons there on its front step? They'd need a medium anyway for that or a sorcerer or something.
Unless-- that was right. She was a vampire. Not a mortal at all, but an immortal.
"So a vampire wants to chit-chat with the dead on behalf of her, what? Boyfriend?" he raised his eyebrows at the man again. "Forgive me for my skepticism, but doesn't sound very convincing. Not that it matters," he said.
"Because I don't know where they are. You got the wrong Acheron. My sister opened the gates, not me. I tried to stop her." The lie came easily, even as he felt his chest grow tight with the thought of Persephone. "She didn't listen."
DIABLO
Diablo raised his brow. "You're not implying you don't have the power to open them, are you? Because I wouldn't believe that. We know you can command beasts from the underworld. You can surely find your way there too."
HADES
"Hey, I didn't summon them. They escaped when my sister opened the gates and now I'm cleanin' up her mess. Though-- come to think of it, if you find the gates, let me know. Then we can throw the mutts back in where they belong," Hades said with a lift of his eyebrow.
SNOW
Snow rolled her eyes. She didn't believe this child for a moment, she knew he would just keep lying and lying. He was right, though, when he said he was doing them a favour. They had nothing to really give him in return.
Which meant that they needed leverage.
As her eyes finished their circuit around her skull, they landed on Belle, the smile on her face growing downright sinister.
"Alright, enough of this," she said in an irritated tone, and then--she ran, became a blur to the average eye. It took her perhaps three seconds to get a hand around Belle's waist and pull her back to the other side of the kitchen. Poor thing, she was so light, she didn't stand a chance.
She felt Belle take a breath, heard her heart begin to pound furiously in her chest. As soon as Belle realized what had happened she kicked her legs out, doing her best to wiggle away, her whole body writhing, but Snow had a hand firmly on her waist, strong as stone. With her other hand, she grabbed Belle's chin and turned her face towards her.
"Now, be a good little hostage," Snow purred, watching Belle's eyes dilate and felt her body go slack. Snow smiled and stroked her hair. "Much better."
Then, she turned Belle's head so her neck was exposed, moving her fingers down it lightly. "Such a beautiful neck...Perhaps you should tell us the truth now, hm?" She smiled at Hades, like he was particularly amusing her.
DIABLO
Diablo couldn't help but smile with excitement at how things were developing. It seemed it was all getting much more fun now, and this was probably what they needed for the guy to tell them all about it. After all, nobody wants their wife or mistress or whatever taken hostage, and it's not like anybody cared about the doors to hell more than their partner, right?
"Like we said, we don't mean to bring anything out. We can even throw the dogs in for you, and save you the trouble, and everyone walks out of here just fine. What do you think?"
HADES
Belle was out of his grasp.
It happened fast-- so fast-- Hades' muscles freezing to ice when the woman blurred in front of him. Even if he wanted to act (and he could have, could have caught the blur and slammed her hard against the table, could have turned the house against her and been much much scarier than a vampire and his lackey), he couldn't. It was fear, ice cold, making him useless. Fear and then Belle was in the woman's hands and Hades could barely see straight, as the anger woke up hot and vicious.
He half lunged, every door opening, plates and mugs spitting themselves out and smashing onto the floor. He barely stopped himself from catching fire.
"You hurt her I'll see to it you burn," he spat out harshly. He took a breath. It scraped down his throat. "The gates are at the end of the river, where it runs dry. There. Let her go."
SNOW
Snow hardly flinched as the kitchen exploded and rained down ceramic, crashing onto the floor. She sidestepped a few pieces--one of them cutting into her hostage's leg (who didn't even acknowledge, putty in Snow's hands.) The scent of the blood dilated Snow's pupils and she could feel her fangs itching at the corners of her gums.
Pulling her lips back, she hissed low at Hades, an inhuman sound as her eyes flashed.
"That's not everything we need to know," she chided him, putting her cheek against Belle's hair.
DIABLO
Diablo couldn't help but be amused by the spectacle. It was refreshing to be participating in things for once, and he was truly enjoying it. He had a knack for being an evil lackey, apparently. He ought to thank that long-dead sorceress for it.
"How do we open then?" the man inquired with authority in his voice, staring directly at Hades with a playful smirk, having readied himself to transform should the man attempt something against him even if they had the girlfriend hostage. "It's an easy question to answer, and it's worth it, hm?"
HADES
And again, Hades had to play his cards right-- right being Belle safe, Belle out of the vampire's arms and no longer their problem.
Which meant he couldn't reveal it was he who opened the gates, especially because Hades didn't know if he could anymore.
So he had to lie, lie fast, lie convincingly, and that's what Hades did. Luckily, he knew all the rumours. He'd read about them.
"You have to open it during an equinox or a solstice, and turn the river water red. I suggest pigs' blood," he said.
SNOW
"Well, lucky for us there is a solstice coming up, isn't it?" Snow purred, her lips still at the curve of Belle's jaw, her eyes zeroed in on Hades. "Thank you for your help, you've been wonderfully cooperative." Her hand stroked down the curve of Belle's neck. "And if you tell anyone about this, well, necks are easy to snap."
She gripped hard at Belle's neck for a moment, two of her nails piercing the delicate skin in little crescent shapes.
Belle hardly flinched.
"You can be sure we'll be back if you're wrong. Diablo, anything to add, my friend?" She smiled at her partner-in-crime.
DIABLO
Diablo admittedly wanted to say something cool and clever, but he had nothing to add that wouldn't potentially diminish how cool they looked. He thought it was all going well enough, and they knew where to find those two in any case if stuff went wrong.
"We'll be watching," he decided to add, smirking at the man. "You should start being more careful with stragers, by the way. You never know, right?" the man suggested, shrugging at them.
This had been a lot of fun. Finally, he turned to Belle. "Thanks for your hospitality!"
And then, to Snow, in a whisper, he spoke. "Okay, I'm done now."
[tw -- so many things. violence, kidnapping, gore, lots of talk and thoughts of murder, self-harm, just anything you would expect from a kidnapping okay it’s a lot. if you want a synopsis hmu bc phoebus is Truly Awful]
PHOEBUS:
The night had finally come.
And none too soon. Phoebus knew that the sheriff was getting suspicious, his plans derailed by the lunatic woman in the back of his car, who was glaring consistent daggers any time he looked in the rearview mirror. This town was too small to move the way he wanted or needed to. However, he knew they would all be thanking their unsung hero when Phoebus vanished after putting a bullet into Hades’ temple.
It was a good thing too for this town was too haunted. Even now, he could feel Clemens’ ghost closer than ever, breathing down his neck. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the same cold expression on Belle’s face on Clemens’. If he blinked too long, they shifted--one to the other, his victims. His collateral damage, for yes, Phoebus knew that Belle would die by the end of this too. That was his secret, his burden to bare.
Whatever was inside of her was stronger than some succubus. Was stronger than some lower tier demon. She may just be a poor Mundus woman that had been seduced and tricked, but there was no way to keep her alive--and the baby could not be born. It would be too dangerous. Sure, they would try the exorcism, but Phoebus knew that it wouldn’t work. The thing growing inside of Belle was evil in the purest sense, just as a babe was good in the purest sense.
The whole family needed to be extinguished, snuffed out like a candle. Their bodies buried in the Catholic cemetery so that they could not rise again. (This only worked on demons, for the record. Anything else in a Catholic cemetery could very much rise again.)
“Get her inside,” Phoebus instructed Merida, even if he didn’t need to. She was doing a very good job. And of course she was--he would not have included her if he did not trust her implicitly. If he did not think she was up for the job. (He had tried to recruit Phillip but the worthless boy hadn’t answered his phone. No matter, Merida was worth ten of him.)
The old wooden doors creaked, but opened easily. It was not locked, Phoebus knew that it would not be. There were a few votive candles flickering in their containers, but besides that nothing moved. Moonlight spilled through the stained glass, but otherwise it was dark. The shadows did not stir here, however. There would be no ghosts.
“Seat her in the pew,” Phoebus told Merida, gesturing to the last row, right in front of the altar. Phoebus moved towards it, striking a match laying near one of the candelabras and lighting it. The flames jumped to life, casting a golden glow over Belle--though she still looked white as a sheet, sweat beading on her brow. He had not realized quite how sick she was. Perhaps that would work out well for him. She’d never survive the exorcism in this state.
Collateral damage indeed.
“I really am very sorry about all this,” Phoebus cooed at her, taking a few steps closer.
Belle’s eyes flashed. “Stay away from me.” She wiggled her shoulders, even though it was very clearly a feeble attempt to get away.
“Do you have your phone, love?” Phoebus reached forward to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, but Belle jerked her head away. He let his hand drop with a little frown. “I fancy a chat with your demon husband. Merida, check her pockets.”
MERIDA:
Merida tasted bile, seeing Phoebus touch Belle like that. The urge to grab his wrist and twist it-- knee him in the groin just to watch him whine like the pig he was-- nearly overwhelmed her. She clenched both fists and bit down hard on a growl that threatened to come outta nowhere--
She imagined her fangs ripping out his throat.
It scared her. Scared her enough that Merida didn’t step forward or mouth off at all, but she stepped back, swallowing the growl roughly as the world tilted around her for a moment.
She’d not felt… for so long, there had been nothing but fog. The fog only lifted in her dreams, and so she had believed the curse was contained there and in a longing she’d never answer. But here it was, a second from ripping through her skin. Merida breathed in. She still had her knife. She could press the tip of it into her wrist, just enough to draw blood and silence the howling.
But she didn’t want to draw Phoebus’s eye or his suspicion. She’d been dead lucky so far that she’d managed to evade his scrutinization and she knew it was only because he was obsessed with this mission instead.
So Merida breathed and let Phoebus get away with his behavior, even if she wanted to bite off his hand too.
She swallowed again, took another second, and then moved forward, keeping her eyes off Phoebus as she dug through Belle’s pockets. She didn’t look Belle in the face either. There’d be no point. She already had Belle’s hatred slashed into her, a different kind of knife.
She got out the phone and handed it to Phoebus. “She won’t call ‘im,” she informed him, knowin’ enough about Belle to know that. He might as well not waste his time.
(And she didn’t want to see him-- touch her. Taunt her. Hit her. Merida had meant what she said when she pledged herself to protect Belle. That loyalty churned through her, nearly as powerful as the urge to maul Phoebus in front of them both.)
PHOEBUS:
“She’s right,” Belle threatened, lifting her chin. Her eyes flashed, glinting like a flash of lightning.
It was admirable that she looked so brave. None of her bravery mattered, however. It didn’t stir Phoebus’ heart. He cared for nothing except the fact that Clemens was far from this place. That his ghosts could not enter here. Neither could Hades’. It was blissfully, peacefully quiet. He could pause properly for the first time in days. Everything was falling right into place. The only possible contingency was—Hades not coming. Hades, the ever-practical, heartless demon, not coming for his little Mundus wife. The theory as to why he would? If not for her, for the demonspawn. Whatever he was cooking in Belle’s womb meant something to him. The evil there he had spent all this time tending to.
“Good thing I wasn’t asking you to,” Phoebus told Belle with a saccharine smile.
“Passcode?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because otherwise I’ll have Merida cut off one of your pretty little thumbs to use to open it. And it would really be a shame to rob a mother of one of her thumbs.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Zero five zero six,” Belle finally said.
Phoebus typed in the code and opened her contacts. Hades was right there at the top. He pressed his name, holding the phone up to his ear and rocking back on his heels slightly. It rang and rang and rang and rang.
Voicemail.
Phoebus scowled and hung it up before redialing.
Voicemail.
“What kind of man doesn’t answer his phone when his wife calls three times?” he hissed in annoyance, shooting a glare at Belle as if this was her fault.
“A demon,” Belle said plainly, but as Phoebus turned to look at her, there was a twinkle in her eye.
“Bitch,” Phoebus snarled back. His gaze snapped to Merida. “Let’s get your knife on that pretty neck again. I’m no photographer, but the glint of light off the blade against that pale skin? The contrast will make for a beautiful picture.” He held up the phone to get a better shot, waiting for Merida to do as she was told, his gaze drilling into her until she moved so he could make sure nothing that would identify Merida was in the frame. He smiled again, feeling giddy and light.
So close. A year of work. So close.
“Smile.”
Click. Went the camera shutter.
“Perfect, thank you, ladies,” Phoebus complimented them both as he opened Hades’ contact once again and sent the picture, along with a text: You have twenty minutes.
Then, he ambled towards the pew and sat down next to Belle, heavy enough to shake the bench and make Belle wince. “You want to take bets on if he shows or not?” He tilted his head a little, close enough that his breath stirred strands of Belle’s hair. Close enough to see the sweat in her hairline, the blue veins along her cheek. She really was tragically beautiful, wasn’t she? If only Phoebus had gotten to her before that demon.
She didn’t look at him. This time, she didn’t even flinch at his proximity.
Phoebus turned his head to look up at Merida, giving her a broader, more genuine smile—manic, some might call it, but Phoebus would just say: triumphant.
MERIDA:
Merida still clutched the knife in her hand.
She clutched it as though it were a long, black claw extending from her knuckle. Her eyes drank in the sight of Phoebus’s jugular. A voice inside her, animal and wordless but a voice nonetheless, told Merida that if Phoebus touched Belle again, she would slice her claw across that throbbing artery and paint the pews with his blood.
Her gut told her there were things he was not telling her, there were lies her mentor had weaved thinking her a simple woman, not realizing that Merida had become something else-- and she could smell his lies like she could smell the sweat on the back of Belle’s neck.
HADES:
Across town, Hades’ phone buzzed again and again. He ignored it with great difficulty--mostly because this meeting had gone on too long and he was bored out of his brain.
On the third ring, though, he began to worry. It was a scratch-scratch-scratch in the back of his brain.
It buzzed again and under the table, Hades slipped it from his pocket and turned it over. Belle’s name lit up the screen. A text.
He opened it quietly there at the table, then calmly turned off the screen, and pocketed the phone again.
“I have to go,” said Hades abruptly. He smiled at the board members and said as his explanation, with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Pregnant wife.”
He gathered his things and walked out the door. As soon as it was shut behind him, Hades broke into a run, and halfway down the hall, vanished into shadow.
MERIDA:
“So nice of you to text the address!”
Hades’ voice rang through the cathedral in ominous echo and Merida whirled round to see him there at the end of the long aisle, door open from where he’d stepped in. It had been only six, seven minutes since Phoebus sent the text. A nothing amount of time if you asked Merida, and so the sight of him kicked up her adrenaline and she clenched her knife.
The wolf laid back down to make room for her instead-- warrior, knight-- a girl who knew supernatural when she saw it, let alone sniffed it.
Hades strolled down the aisle. “You’ll move away from her now, the two of you. I’m not your average demon.” He lifted his hand and the flame licked the air. “My powers work just fine here.”
PHOEBUS:
It was very hard to get your hands on a gun in England, as it should be—according to Phoebus and the rest of the Order. Guns were messy, new-fangled things. Swords were cleaner, more holy. They had ancient rites written into them. However, sometimes, guns very much came in handy—according to Phoebus and not the rest of the Order.
A bullet could incapacitate a demon far better than a sword, enough that an exorcism could be performed on the prone body before it had time to re-awaken. A bullet could make a demon think twice about attacking.
It was very hard to get your hands on a gun in England, but if you were a police officer, with access to the gun safe—it was very easy.
Phoebus had not expected Hades so quickly. He had thought that he would skid into the cathedral at the last moment, making for a lovely dramatic entrance—if he deigned to show up at all. If he didn’t, well, it would be back to the drawing board. But Hades manipulation (devotion?) to Belle was one of the things that made this case so strange. Phoebus had never seen an incubus or demon act that way towards the object of its manipulation. And he had seen this story play out time and time again.
Which was why he’d decided on the cathedral. Everyone knew that demons’ powers did not work on holy ground.
So, when the little blue flame jumped into being—Phoebus’ eyes went wide, but they narrowed just as quickly. An unforeseen hurdle, but no less. Hades had come for Belle, which meant she or the baby meant something to him. And that was all the assurance that Phoebus needed. Now he knew that Hades was not completely powerless too. If he was a demon, he was a very stupid one. He could’ve hid that fire until the perfect moment.
Phoebus was not going to let him get that chance.
Roughly, he grabbed Belle by the bicep and dragged her up out of the pew. She stumbled, but Phoebus’ grip on her arm was strong enough to keep her upright. He pressed her flush against his own chest. His other hand twisted behind his back to the gun, which he pulled from its hiding place and pushed against Belle’s temple in one swift motion.
“Would you like to test them against my reflexes?” Phoebus snarled. “Now, play nice and perhaps we will consider letting your little pawn go.”
HADES:
His eyes flicked, once, to the shadows on the ground. Then up again, his flame still flickering in his hand. Otherwise he was stone still and silent as his brain churned. It ran quickly through all the scenarios--
He could grab Merida. Hostage for hostage.
He could try to shadow-jump and end up behind Phoebus.
He could burn the fucking cathedral to the ground.
None of these options guaranteed Belle’s safety. It took a twitch of the finger and the gun would go off and Hades didn’t know if he could bank on Phoebus not being a complete monster and shooting a pregnant woman-- considering he’d already kidnapped her and had a gun loaded to her head. She’d be dead in a second, their daughter dead several minutes after. He could not enter Limbo; he knew there was no Limbo here.
Surrender was option four, one Hades rarely entertained, but this time it floated so easily to the top of the list.
And Hades got-- calm. The blue flame flickered again, but grew low, its eerie light drawing itself back…
Merida, however, wasn’t so calm.
“Oi! What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed at Phoebus. “He’s here, isn’t he? It worked, he came, let Belle go!”
His fire jumped back to life. Hades raised his eyebrows. “Trouble in the ranks, Officer? Did your lackey not read your memo?”
“You shut it!” Merida snarled.
PHOEBUS:
Phoebus could taste the victory on his tongue.
How the Order would praise him. Taking out two demons at once? It was almost unheard of more or less on one’s own. (Merida half-counted, she was but a Knight and a woman besides. Everyone would know that this was Phoebus’ triumph.) Most demons took a group to kill, if there was more than one, and only experienced demon hunters managed without assistance to take down one demon by themselves. Though, of course, one of those demons was enwomb and there would be the death of a Mundus on his hands, but if he could take down whatever the fuck Hades was? (Clearly a level four, at least, perhaps a five—Phoebus had no idea if ‘opening the Gates of the Hell’ was even quantifiable.) The Order would sing his praises.
It was the perfect hunt to round the year off with (even if a few weeks late), just in time for the Tourney to choose the new king. Phoebus the Demon Slayer would not entertain much opposition.
And what was more—if he won King, perhaps Clemens’ ghost would be put to rest, since his death would not have been in vain.
Phoebus could see all of this right in front of him as he watched Hades’ flame diminish. He could see in the demon’s eyes that he was calculating, and he knew that it was hopeless. If he wanted to save his little wife—or his demonspawn—the only way to do so would be surrender.
His eagerness was so tangible, he almost felt trigger happy with it. He just needed Hades to take a few steps forward, right into range—so that he would not miss. Phoebus could already see the finish line, see passed it to the Tourney and his victory there as well. Could see himself being crowned King, Duchess his Queen. (Even if it was really his father would be crowned, Phoebus’ delusions of grandeur did not stop at murdering Belle. No, they ran far deeper. A father was not so different from a cousin, after all.)
Belle trembled against him, her hand squeezing pathetically weak at the wrist wrapped around her shoulders. “Hades,” she whimpered—sounding scared for the first time.
The demon’s name was hidden beneath Merida’s growl. Phoebus snapped his head towards the girl, his lips turned immediately into a scowl as from the corner of his eye, he saw Hades’ flame jump higher, banishing the finish line to the shadows, the demon’s hope restored.
“He hasn’t surrendered yet, you idiot girl,” Phoebus snarled at Merida.
As quickly as he glanced at her, he looked back at Hades—making sure the demon hadn’t taken another step on his watch. “So, surrender, and we’ll let her go.”
“Hades, d-don’t listen. He’s lying,” Belle said, her voice cracking, but it was stronger than he suspected, since he could feel her shaking.
“Shut up,” Phoebus hissed, lowering his head to press his cheek to the top of her head, the muzzle of the gun still flush with her hair. “Not another word.”
HADES:
Of course the man was lying. Villains always did-- Hades should know. He was one.
But he didn’t have any bargaining chips of his own. Phoebus had cornered him. Phoebus had outsmarted him. There was no point trying to deny it, though to Hades’ meager credit it was Merida in the end who had outwitted Hades-- Merida who was a plant and a spy, her duality more clever than he would have ever thought of such a girl, who had a rough, loud laugh and the kind of straightforward nature he’d never expect to be a cover for this. Phoebus had failed, in the meantime, to stay hidden.
It was Merida who fooled them. And Merida now who might be the wild card and Hades’ only chance.
His eyes once again darted from Phoebus and Belle to Merida, the girl looking surprised-- unhinged. Something was going on under the surface between Merida and Phoebus, a slip in floorboard, a knot Phoebus, himself, did not see.
“I’ll surrender when you stop putting that gun to my wife’s head. Because if you’re going to murder her anyway I might as well set the both of you on fire now. Belle can take a little heat,” he said.
Merida’s eyes widened at that. Ah yes, she cared about Belle. Or the baby-- either way, she wasn’t entirely heartless.
Hades smirked. “Hand her over to your personal assistant to hold onto and I’ll come to you, hands up, no magic.”
And then you can shoot me, Hades thought, as he eyed that gun.
Or you can try.
PHOEBUS:
Now, Phoebus didn’t know if Hades’ threat was real or not, but to him—he’d be willing to take the chance. Hades had come all this way, somehow arrived in record time, for his little wife. Phoebus would not put it past him to light her on fire, but he hadn’t yet. He cared. That was why he was still here. That was why his flame had flickered low and Phoebus had almost had him in his clutches just a moment ago.
It didn’t make any sense, but there was no time to wonder.
If anything, it just worked to his advantage.
His head tilted, lifting up off of the top of Belle’s, as if he was considering.
“And why should I trust you? If you’re so eager to set your wife ablaze, what is to say as soon as she’s out of my grasp, you don’t use your magic on me—uncaring if she gets hurt or not? Maybe I should just do away with her now and shoot you next. Plenty of bullets for that.”
HADES:
“Then I definitely will set you on fire. You’ve seen me spontaneously combust an entire river before. Distance isn’t a challenge,” he taunted and glared, and he knew he would. If Belle dropped, the church would go up. It’d take a blink and the sound of his heart breaking. Broken hearts made excellent kindling.
“Enough!” Merida barked. Her wild eyes were darting back and forth between Phoebus and Hades. He noticed how knuckle-white she’d gone, gripping the knife.
Her eyes settled, though, on Phoebus-- not him.
“Stop usin’ a pregnant mundus woman as your hostage and puttin’ her unborn babe in danger! That’s disgraceful and you know it! Face him like a man-- fight him like a Prince!” she declared and pointed Hades’ way. “We never talked about ye puttin’ a damn gun ‘gainst Belle’s head!”
“Yeah Phoebus, c’mon mate. Let’s solve this like men. Which I guess means hitting things with big pointy sticks,” mocked Hades. He snuffed his fire but spread his arms.
He knew it made himself an even larger target. So did the mocking.
But even just as second with that gun on Hades, instead of Belle, earned him a second more than he had now.
And who knows? Fates have pity on him, maybe the shadows would take Hades before the bullet did.
PHOEBUS:
At first, Phoebus glared at Hades. Blue to unearthly blue. His threat would not go unheeded. Phoebus knew that demons had no morals or honor and nothing he said could be trusted, but he also knew they had irresistible bloodlust and it would not be above him to set him aflame with a thought.
He had to recalculate. Phoebus has not planned on Hades having his magic. He was supposed to be near-incapacitated by the holy ground. He wasn’t. The bastard still had his pyrokinesis. Perhaps his telekinesis too. Phoebus couldn’t be too sure.
His hand adjusted its grip on the gun as he thought. Recalculated. It would be best to shoot Hades first. Belle could not defend herself. He could give her to Hades and shoot them both as they turned to leave.
And then, Merida snarled.
Phoebus’ gaze snapped towards her, his own face twisted in fury. The dumb bitch was making this ten times more difficult. Phoebus should’ve known that this would be the case. What he got for working with a woman to start. She had played house with Belle, had gotten her here, but he should’ve made her leave. He saw that now. Mistake after mistake. He was supposed to be cleaner than this. Better than thing.
Hades spoke again and Phoebus’ head whipped back towards him, though he was half-paying attention to Merida again.
“Shut up, the both of you. Or I swear on the Lord I’ll shoot her right now.” His head shook like a dog with water in his ears. “This girl is far from innocent, Merida. She carries an unholy, powerful spawn. It goes against God and all that is good. It’s not a baby, it’s a demon. Getting rid of them is what we planned. Now stop your whinging and help me kill the bastard. Or are your weak emotions going to take over? We don’t have time for a woman’s remorse. Princes do not have sympathy for women who lie with demons.” His hand knitted in Belle’s hair, yanking it back so that she cried out.
His attention snapped back to Hades. “Who would you rather go first? You or her?”
MERIDA:
She carries an unholy, powerful spawn.
It’s not a baby, it’s a demon.
Getting rid of them is what we planned.
Phoebus had lied to her. With each one of his spitting words, he revealed those lies as a cold crept over Merida, a feeling she’d had before, a feeling, sometimes, she felt she had been born with. It came from looking someone face-to-face and watchin’ them let you down. Her father had let her down before in a manner quite similar. Her uncles, her cousins, her friends. Everywhere Merida looked for someone to believe in her, she only found liars and cowards.
And so it didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt inevitable. Phoebus had lied. He had never intended to try to save Belle at all, she saw it clear-- he’d shoot Belle in the head as soon as he could, then wipe his barrel clean and go have a beer. He thought that made him stronger than her.
It actually just made him stupid.
That wild, savage voice in her quieted then. It did not growl, it did not snarl or ask for Phoebus’s blood. It was Merida who was in complete control then, the same sort of control she had when she laced a bow and locked eyes on her target. It took a crack eye, a steady hand, and an instinct to know when to let the arrow go.
Merida laced her arrow now as she sucked her teeth like the annoyed, wild girl who showed up to Phoebus’s practices and mouthed off. She glared-- rolled her eyes-- scoffed. “I’m not weak,” she retorted and let Phoebus think he’d won her.
“Well then. If I really get a choice--” started Hades, drawing Phoebus’s eye back to him.
And that was the moment Merida released her arrow. She moved with the strength and speed of a wolf. Her hand grabbed the barrel of the gun and shoved it to the ceiling as the other twisted Phoebus’s wrist. It was enough to give Belle a second.
“RUN!” she hollered at Belle.
BELLE:
There was little Belle could hear over the sound of her heart beating, her blood rushing in her ears. Since he had arrived, she’d not taken her eyes off of Hades. He’d barely looked at her—and she knew why—but she’d drank him in, so close, yet so far. She wished he hadn’t come. She was so glad he was there.
For once, she didn’t know what to do—how to save them. Any of them (her, Hades, Opal.) The desperation clawed at her heart, but between the panic and the tourmaline and the adrenaline, she didn’t have thought in her head besides please. She didn’t know who she was asking. Some long-dead god? Some fate? Some destiny? This couldn’t be theirs, she thought. They had suffered too much for this.
And then, she thought, that she hoped Hades died first, if it came to it. She’d rather save him from the pain of losing his wife and daughter. At least she’d only lose him. Opal would survive longer than her, at least she could give her that.
It should make her calm, she supposed, but that was not how she felt. She felt like exactly what she was—trapped, helpless, useless, so stupid.
Belle wanted to live, she wanted to meet their daughter, she wanted Hades to meet their daughter. The idea that any of that wouldn’t come to pass froze her with fear, kept her perfectly still. The muzzle of the gun was cool against her head. She could smell whiskey on Phoebus, beneath the scent of his awful cologne.
And she could hear her heart beating fiercely in her ears. Not yet, not yet—it woosh-wooshed.
Something jerked—and for the sharpest flash of a second, Belle had thought the gun had gone off, she thought that she’d feel the impact and then—nothing.
“RUN!” was what she heard instead, the command like a bolt of lightning striking through her.
It was just enough to propel her forwards as her heart clenched in her chest. Her wild gaze searched for Hades, but the darkness of the Cathedral bled around her, the edges going fuzzy. She stumbled one, two steps, her legs like jelly, barely listening to her brain. She couldn’t breathe. Before she could stop herself, she was pitching forwards, heading right for the stone floor.
Behind her, the gun discharged, and stone rained down over them all like snow.
PHOEBUS:
“NO!” bellowed Phoebus, just as Merida slammed into him. His hand clenched instinctively as he braced himself to throw her off. And normally—he would be able to throw her off. He had wrestled with Merida since she was a tot, and more so recently. He knew exactly how much strength she had. He had trained her himself.
This was not her normal amount of strength.
His eyes went wide as his body stumbled from the sudden impact and Merida peeled his arm off of Belle as if she was opening the lid of a can. Belle managed to slip from his grasp and Phoebus’ face twisted in anger.
The gun went off much on accident as Phoebus tried to jerk his hand back and away from Merida.
“What are you doing, you bitch?” he snarled, practically spitting in her face. “I’m not the enemy. You’re going to get us both killed!” His knee came up to her gut, his hand twisting out of her grip as she bent to the pain of the blow. He reached up and snagged the gun from his other hand, waving it wildly about, attempting to find Hades in the chaos.
MERIDA:
Her own strength surprised her. Like thunder, it roared through her muscles and then exploded, Phoebus’s hand jerking up farther than she anticipated, his wrist in hers feeling strangely thin and fragile, reminding her more of the horsehair of her bow-- bendable, pliable-- than bone. Though she knew it would snap if she twisted just a touch more. And that surprised her too, knowing she could break his wrist. She could break a man’s wrist before-- but this-- this would be easy as breathing.
It surprised her and so did the gunshot. The echo of it rattled through her eardrums, much too close for her liking. It jolted the beast inside.
The beast didn’t like the sound of guns.
The smell of gunpowder made her face twist and her eyes glint.
She barely felt the blow to her stomach, just bent to it as bodies do. It was all instinct. Action, reaction. The gun tore from her hand. She heard the sound of something falling and knew it was probably Belle, Belle not safe, Belle one second away from a bullet put through the brain.
She got her foot between Phoebus’s and she tripped him. The two of them fell with a thud of their own. An animal snarl rose from her lips as she reached for his hand again, to pin the wrist, to squeeze with sheer force the gun from his hand--
Her other went to his neck. If she couldn’t get the gun, she knew who could.
The necklace’s chain snapped as easily as a wrist could.
HADES:
Merida had whirled on the man and with her action, the tension in the cathedral had shattered. Its pieces went everywhere-- Merida onto Phoebus, the gun pointing at the ceiling, the bullet discharged somewhere into the walls, Belle stumbling like a blind woman away, and Hades going straight for her too.
She fell. Phoebus and Merida fell. Hades arrived a second too late to catch her but reached down for her anyway, hoisting her roughly to her feet. His hands went straight to her face, his palm smoothly over her tangled hair and pale skin. His eyes conducted a wild, but thorough search of her face for blooms of bruise or blood. But she was untouched, except for the damage of the tourmaline.
“We have to go,” he said to her. As much as he wanted to inspect the rest of her, to sit down and to hold her, there was no time.
And then the gun went off a second time, Hades’ flinch turning quickly into action as he twisted Belle around so she was behind him and shielded.
BELLE:
Belle barely felt hitting the ground, her conscious flickering in and out for those few seconds—though instinct had her flinging her arms out to try to catch herself.
What she did feel, however, was a hand on her bicep, jerking her back to her feet with force. For a few moments, she thought it was Phoebus. He’d thrown Merida off and come for her again. And next, he was going to put a bullet through her temple. She lurched, trying to pull away on instinct, even if it meant crashing back down to the ground.
But then—a hand touched her face and she knew that hand. Blinking, she took in Hades’ features as they came into proper focus and she felt some part of her unclench. She wanted to fall into him.
Safe. Safe. She was safe. Opal was safe.
And then, the gun went off again—that semblance of safety ripped away as swiftly as it came. Hades pulled her towards him in a split second, before she could even register what had happened. She stumbled and tensed, her heart jumping right back into her throat.
The echo of the shot petered out and Belle looked up at Hades, her hand reaching for the collar of his shirt, searching his eyes—looking for any trace of pain. “Are you--?” was all she could think to say, the terror had her by the throat.
PHOEBUS:
The bullet whizzed right passed the couple, shattering into a column nowhere near them. Only three bullets left. And now—there was no breath in his own lungs, the fall having knocked it out of him. Merida’s fingers brushed his throat and he thought in the confusion, that she was looking to strangle him.
It was much, much worse than that—
He felt the chain of the necklace snap. “No!” he snarled again, his stomach twisting—for the first time that night—in fear. The necklace was his protection. With it, he was immune to the telekinetic tricks of demons. Nothing could touch him. Now, he was exposed—and Merida knew it.
“Traitor!” he snarled at her and thrashed—trying to dislodge her from his hips. His free hand went to her own throat, he’d kill her if he had to. The Order would understand. They did not take kindly to traitors. He should have expected no less from a woman. It was not often that they had loyalty or nobility or common fucking sense.
His fingers wrapped around her neck and they squeezed.
The pain in his wrist would not alleviate, but he refused to drop the gun. It was his only defense against the spectre now. If he could just get Merida off of him—there was a bullet for each of them.
One for the traitorous cunt.
One for the delusional bitch.
And one for the demon responsible for it all.
MERIDA:
Merida used to wrestle with her father. They were games of pretend: Merida three times her size and her father the rambunctious pup who showed her his belly, there on the green of Cawdor gardens. She’d climb all over him and shout with the force of her lungs her victory. With her fists raised high in the air, she’d declared herself king-- king of fathers and king of Cawdor Castle.
She knew that he had let her win those games. Now-- this wasn’t a game and Phoebus wouldn’t let her win. But she knew how to fight. If wrestling had taught her anything, it was how to want something so badly, you would fight for it.
So Phoebus thrashed and she steeled her thighs around him. He discharged the gun again. The cathedral echoed with that iron sound. Merida banged his hand back with her own so hard she imagined the itty bitty bird bones of his knuckles crunching into grains of sand.
She raised the necklace away from him with her other hand. He flailed to catch it and when he didn’t get it, his thick fingers found her throat.
Merida choked. Her breath squeezed in her belly, her lungs bursting. And in between her ears it wasn’t the ringing of the gun anymore, but the howling begun, growing louder and louder, closer and closer--
She flailed her hand and threw the necklace behind her. “It’s-- the-- necklace!” she tried to rasp the answer. Her hand now free, she reached for Phoebus’s hand around her neck.
And she fought. She fought to peel every one of those fingers off her, with a strength she knew was not her own, but the beast’s.
She watched how his eyes bulged, reminding Merida of prey.
Her own flashed as her mouth twisted in a snarl.
PHOEBUS:
Phoebus watched, his own eyes bulging as Merida pulling his fingers from her neck, one after another. It shouldn’t be possible. Men were stronger than women, just by default. It was the way their bodies were made. Not to mention, Phoebus had been training almost his entire life. Over twenty years—he never missed an exercise. He worked hard every day to keep himself in the best shape possible. He was strong.
Merida was not this strong.
And still, she peeled his fingers back one by one, like snapping the strings a guitar.
It shouldn’t be possible—but it was.
Phoebus’ brain was attempting to recalibrate. If he could not defeat her by brute strength, he could certainly outsmart the dumb broad. This was a lie he told himself, for he knew Merida was sharp as a tack—but he was smarter, older, had been doing this much, much longer. Merida was all brawn. Phoebus was all brains. It was what he had always excelled at. This was why he was glad to fight demons, not dragons.
She peeled his fingers from her throat, but she needed both hands to do it.
Which meant that Phoebus had one shot.
Surprisingly, shooting someone at close range was at times more difficult than at a distance. It could be hard to get the angle correct. But Phoebus knew he needed to get her off of him if he had any chance of taking care of what he needed to. If he could just destabilize her at least, then he could deal with the Acherons—and Merida later.
With a twist of his wrist, Phoebus aimed the gun up and towards Merida, the shot loud and echoing once again.
Blood splattered on his face and he heard Merida give an inhuman growl. The next moment she had sprang off of him.
The moment after that, Phoebus had also jumped to his feet.
He spun on his heel to find the Acherons again. “STOP!” His voice boomed through the nave of the cathedral. “I swear to God I will shoot either of you.”
HADES:
The first shot didn’t hit them. He waited for the sharp bite, but it never came. The scuffle behind them continued, Phoebus snarling and Merida gasping. She said something about a necklace, but--
“I’m fine. Let’s go!” Hades hissed. He grabbed Belle’s hand and yanked her into motion.
They stumbled into a clumsy, staggering run, Belle still weak and sick and very, very pregnant. Feet pounded anyway. Down the aisle, halfway to the door, Hades’ eyes scouring the shadows and wondering, wondering if he could take Belle with him--
Another gunshot. Hades flinched and looked over his shoulder. He saw Merida stumble back only to collapse out of view.
He felt a flicker of something in his chest, but didn’t have time to consider what it was. Because Phoebus scrambled up and pointed the gun at them again.
Hades once again shoved Belle behind him. He obeyed the order, his feet, heavy as concrete as he stared back at a manic Phoebus. He looked more monster than Hades ever had-- hair wild, uniform crumbled, and blood spattered across his front.
But he didn’t have his hostage anymore. And Hades remembered what Merida had gasped. Necklace, she said, and Hades decided to take a chance, based on an inkling in his stomach that felt exactly like his sixth sense.
He waved his hand and ripped the gun from Phoebus’s hand. It flew across the church and got lost in one of the pews. Phoebus looked startled. Then scared. Hades smirked.
He reached forward and grabbed Phoebus by the throat with his magic. With his hand extended out, fist white-knuckled with his grip, he moved forward, back down the aisle and toward the choking Prince. Who was the devil now?
“What do you think of me now?” Hades snarled. He forced Phoebus to his knees as he got closer and closer. The candles on the altar lit a ghostly blue. “Do I look like the demon yet? Am I the devil?” He wrapped his powers so thickly and tightly around Phoebus that he couldn’t move his arms.
He arrived in front of him and leaned down so he could spit directly in his face.
“I’m something so much worse,” he told him. And he contemplated Phoebus’s death--Hades’ most familiar friend standing next to them both. He sensed there was a choice here when sometimes there was not. To choke, to burn, to slice Phoebus open--to spare him-- Death waited, silent and patient, for Hades to decide.
Behind him, a different creature rose from the shadows.
PHOEBUS:
The gun sprung from his hand as if attached to a string. Phoebus stumbled, more on instinct than anything, as if he had just received a blow. He thought that he might be able to bluff. Hades knew that Phoebus was immune to telekinesis but didn’t know how. Phoebus could hope that Merida had not been able to convey her message. Whether through sheer luck or the sense of some otherworldly creature—Hades called his bluff.
And Phoebus felt the cold trickle of fear. It started as a quiet thing—as silent as a prayer.
Invisible fingers closed around his throat and Phoebus’ hands came up at once, clawing at the nothing of it, desperate and instinctual. He was dizzy even before Hades shoved him to his knees. His brain confused at that point—unable to feel what was choking him, unable to understand why that was. Hades looked just as terrifying as Phoebus knew him to be—that unearthly blue fire bouncing off the stained glass, turning the Cathedral dark instead of warm. Or, perhaps, that was just the blackness creeping into the sides of his vision.
BELLE:
Belle had stumbled to a pew as Hades moved off. She got her hand around the side of it and leaned over for a moment, attempting to catch her breath. Realistically, she knew the threat was gone now. Phoebus was unarmed and unprotected from Hades’ powers, which meant there was no way to overtake him.
Still, the fear rushed through Belle. She was dizzy with it. Could feel her hands shaking. So, she pushed back up and gripped at the back of the pew, trying to find the spirit inside of her that had faced off with murderous muses and dragons and shadow creatures galore. She couldn’t find that girl. Instead, she found another as she watched Hades force Phoebus to his knees. She found a vicious, vindictive woman—who wanted to watch Hades snap Phoebus’ neck.
The thought didn’t even startle her. She didn’t look away. Instead, she stood taller. Her gaze was hard and cool. For a few moments, there was no sympathy in her heart, only the thirst for revenge. And not just for this incident, but all the ones that had come before. Belle could see it all now, clicking into place. Phoebus, the officer who had arrested Hades. Phoebus, the officer who had been the first to show up after Shuck’s collar had come loose. All the rumors kicked back up and swirling around Hades. Rumors that had died down considerably when Hades had won his seat on the Board.
Their lives—Hades’ life—potentially ruined by someone who was going to murder him and her and their unborn child in cold blood.
Belle had no sympathy for him.
However, her gaze fell softly on her husband. Even from a distance, even though he kept it contained to the thunderous tilt of his brow—she could see the fury etched into every line of his body. In that same moment, Belle knew that she would not allow her husband to kill Phoebus in cold-blood. (no matter how delicious the sound of Phoebus’ neck snapping would sound in the echo of the cathedral. Later, it would haunt them both.) She knew Hades had killed before--she knew that he had killed just like this, not under threat of attack, but because of his fury. Belle wouldn’t let him this time and she would not have let him if she had been there before.
And this was not because of some higher moral obligation. No, Belle was woman enough to admit that. It was not because there wasn’t some riotous, monstrous part of herself that wanted Phoebus dead. It was not because she thought Phoebus worth saving.
But because she knew that Phoebus’ death would do nothing to clean up their reputation in town. If Hades wanted to salvage any of that, they needed to play the victims. Which meant keeping Phoebus alive, taking the moral high ground. He was just a Mundus anyway. If he was put in jail, there would be little risk of him leaving. He was no longer a threat. It was better to keep him alive. Phoebus was the one who was going to kill them, not the other way around.
“Hades,” she called—her voice soft but ragged--she knew he would hear her regardless.
Don’t. He’s not worth it.
This was what she was going to say, but movement caught her eye.
In the blue of Hades’ candlelight, Merida’s fur shone black—but Belle knew who and what she was at once—and she was stalking right towards Hades.
“Behind you!” she called then, her voice much louder.
Her gaze turned frantically towards the wolf and she moved from the pew into the aisle again, as if she would be able to run fast enough to do anything at all. She knew she couldn’t. Still, she gathered what little strength she had.
“Merida, no!” The command bounced around the walls of the cathedral, echoing much louder than Belle herself was.
HADES:
Hades turned at Belle’s voice and had approximately half a second to react to the werewolf that had fucking materialized out of nowhere.
Okay, realistically, in the next five seconds, he’d put together the werewolf was Merida all along. But at first, all he saw was animal and all he thought was animal. The wolf hulked, massive, its fur a rustic red-tinted penny colour with eyes like molten lava. It dripped blood. Hades barked in shock and he literally collapsed back onto Phoebus as the creature lunged with a terrible cry of its own.
His magic lashed out. It grabbed the wolf like it had grabbed the gun and flung the creature into the altar, knocking the whole damn thing over. The werewolf snarled then screeched with pain. When it got up again, it scrambled on clumsy legs like it didn’t know how to use it.
And then it bolted down, toward Belle.
“Belle!” he cried out and was about to toss the wolf against the pews.
But the wolf streaked past Belle, straight for the open door, and out again.
Now it was Hades turned to scramble off Phoebus. He twisted around, grabbed the dazed, gasping corrupt cop by his ruined uniform and then punched him once across the face. It was surprisingly more satisfying than he thought it would be, for someone who had never had to throw a punch before. His knuckles crunched cheekbone. It hurt, but Hades liked it.
He then let Phoebus fall back onto the ground. He got up the rest of the way and jerked Phoebus’s hands above his head in mock surrender.
“You didn’t mention you were working with a fucking werewolf. What the fuck?” Hades panted. He twisted half-round to look at Belle. “Are you okay?”
BELLE:
Merida lunged and Hades knocked himself backwards, toppling him and Phoebus both to the ground and out of sight behind the pews. Belle felt her heart jump into her throat the moment Merida’s paws left the ground, her heart sinking—helpless once more—into her stomach.
But Hades managed to toss her into the altar with an awful crash. There was just a moment, just a moment of respite (though, Belle’s heart clenched in her chest at the sound of Merida’s whine—though she wasn’t sure why, she had no pity for the sorrowful, hateful creature.) Then, Merida got up and shook herself off and barreled towards her.
Though this, at least, Belle was not afraid of. She had been stared down, stalked by a werewolf once before. She knew the look in their eye, hungry and focused. As Merida neared, she knew that was not the case—her head was shaking back and forth like she was attempting to fix a ringing in her ears. So, Belle’s heart jumped back into her throat but she did not flinch as the beast blew passed her, fast and powerful enough to ruffle her hair and clothing.
She turned to watch it go, wondering what would become of the girl. If she cared, it was only because there was a rogue wolf on the loose. When all this was over, she should probably call Adam and give him the heads up, (When all this was over, she would forget.)
Her reverie was broken just a moment after it had started (another moment of respite gone), when she heard flesh against flesh and turned—startled—back to Hades and Phoebus. Her breath caught in her throat just before she registered that it was Hades who had thrown the punch, Hades who was still in control of the situation. For a second, she had thought—
Phoebus’ manic laughter filled the cathedral, bouncing off the walls and making Belle shiver and her stomach sicker. She clenched white-knuckled at the pew and wanted to beg for him to stop. But Belle had not begged with a gun to her head and she would not start now.
Instead, she looked to Hades and nodded her head slightly—making her way back towards him slowly, her whole body trembling as the adrenaline began to eek out of her.
“I’m fine,” she reassured him, though it was not wholly the truth. “We need to call the police, Hades,” she told him. “I-I don’t know where my phone is. They—” her voice caught, strangled as her throat closed, “—took it.”
HADES:
The wolf-- was gone. Phoebus-- had lost. Was manic and laughing, unhinged as Hades expected he had always been under his uniform. And Belle was okay.
For a brief second, Hades just let out a breath and enjoyed that fact for what it was: Belle was okay. Yes, she was still pregnant with a baby that was sucking all of her health from her. Yes, she had been kidnapped and all his fault again. Yes, she’d been held at gunpoint. Knifepoint. The nightmares would keep them both awake.
But in that second, she was alive. Alive, standing, still pregnant, her hair a tangled mess but otherwise alive. If he could just hold onto that, maybe he’d make it to March and see the other side of this.
But he couldn’t. Hold onto it, that is. There was a list of things to do tonight, from the police to the Board to scheduling an appointment with Hera to check the baby-- couldn’t be too careful. And so the second ended and Hades had to go on. That’s how you made it to the other side anyway. Not by holding your breath and waiting for things-- but by going on.
“I’ll call,” he said. He still had his powers wrapped tightly around Phoebus, a hand out to keep it that way while the other dug into his pocket. “Is Opal kicking? Can you feel her?” he asked Belle as he dialed.
If she was kicking, then, at least… at least it would be one good thing.
BELLE:
Hades asked about Opal and Belle blinked a little. It surprised her—though, guilt nipped on her heels the next second. In her mild defense, she had just been kidnapped and held at both knife- and gun point, betrayed by someone she had thought of as a dear friend. (For the second time in a handful of months, though really, Berlioz’s betrayal seemed meager to all of this.) In her mild defense, Hades barely took an interest in the baby these days outside of making sure Belle was as comfortable as possible.
So, yes, she blinked a little, and then—with a jolt, realized she hadn’t felt her at all since—the car? Or, perhaps, when the gun had pressed to her temple. She couldn’t remember when the last time was. And Belle, you know, was very diligent at measuring her kick count every day—and Opal was always delighted to participate, if you caught her at the right time. Which was just about now. If Opal wasn’t tap-dancing on Belle’s liver, something was wrong.
Something might be wrong.
Belle put a hand to her stomach, and for the first time in several minutes, focused on her daughter in more than the abstract “save her life” kind of way. She held her breath for a moment, two—
There she went, kicking right against the bottom of Belle’s stomach. Belle’s hand arched down towards the movement as the relief washed over her.
She heard Hades’ voice speaking to the emergency operator, so she took the moment to edge her way back into a pew and sat down, her hand pressed against her daughter’s foot, like she could hold it already. She wished she could count all of her toes.
Belle watched Hades hang up the phone and turn towards her. “She’s—she’s fine, I-I think. Tap-dancing, a-as usual.” She smiled just a little and wanted to reach out for him, but she was terrified for him to come any closer whilst he still had Phoebus in the grip of his powers. Realistically, she knew Hades could probably hold Phoebus steady from across the cathedral and not simply a few pews away, but she did not want to risk it.
Instead, she just slumped down and tilted her head back, looking towards one of the stained-glass windows. A pietà. Belle looked away.
PHOEBUS:
Phoebus gave up fighting rather quickly. It was no use against the invisible binds around him, stronger than any rope. Rope, he could wiggle his way out of. Magical binds that defied the logic of physicality? It was impossible.
So, instead, he was quiet and still. He did not try to fight. He began to plot.
In truth, it was not going well. He knew that Hades was too dangerous a target now. With a hunting party, perhaps they would catch him. There was no one Phoebus trusted enough to be smart and steady, to bide their time and strike when the moment was right. The Order was full of impatient, amateur assholes just looking to make an easy kill. Fine. Let Hades live and destroy this town. The people in it were idiots for living within its borders.
His planning turned towards the future. Getting out of prison. He was confident it would happen. Swynlake was not quipped to handle a trial of this caliber. He would be outsourced to a proper jail, a proper prison. A different court system entirely. One that was not magick-friendly. One that would sympathize with his position. His family could hire a perfectly powerful lawyer. He could get acquitted. He could have a vastly reduced sentence. He could break out. The Order knew enough people in the prison system. It was how they continued to operate the way that they did. He was confident he would not be in jail long.
Which left—Duchess. Would she wait for him? He prayed she would. Phoebus would still give her the big beautiful seaside house. A wedding that he would let her busy herself with planning whilst he was dealing with the red tape. He would take care of her still.
Phoebus hardly noticed the handcuffs going onto his wrists or being jerked to his feet. He stayed stony and silent as he left the sanctity of the cathedral and was shoved into the police cruiser, the red-blue lights flashing like the sun spiraling through stained glass.
