Chapter One
The smoke-brown wood nymph had no time to prepare for battle, so the young, whip-thin creature wore no armor and had nothing but a javelin to defend himself. Despite that, the nymph fought with fierce passion. He deflected many of Hades’ blows and even nicked the god high on his exposed left forearm.
The mark caused no pain, but bright golden ichor poured from the wound. It stained Hades’ sweat-soaked, feverish skin. The nymph cried in triumph. His pale pink eyes glowed as he lunged at Hades with too much enthusiasm.
With ease, Hades stepped aside at the last moment. As he did, his right arm swung. The gore-splattered short sword he held struck the nymph’s side, and Hades burrowed it deep.
The creature screamed and dropped his javelin. He tumbled to the ground.
With another sure swing, Hades cleaved off the nymph’s head. Hades’ chest was sprayed with an unimpressive shower of the soft green, thick fluid that flowed through the veins of all wood nymphs.
Hades continued further into the battlefield. He hacked and hit other nymphs, monsters, and ipotanes (the cruder, awkward half-horse, half-human cousins of centaurs thought extinct before the war) as he raced to the center of the enemy’s camp.
Outside his demolished tent, Coeus, Hades’ uncle and leader of the creatures that outnumbered Hades’ army three to one, stood. The Titan laughed as he killed the few centaurs and panes that had worked their way through the fighting crowd to reach him. Though he’d been as unprepared as his troops, Coeus was incapable of ambush. For as long as Hades had known him, his uncle had thrived on battle.
That truth, as well as watching his own soldiers fall to Coeus’ blade or the weapons of the Titan’s army, made Hades’ anger and frustration at Ares grow. What had his unwanted bastard nephew been thinking, charging into Coeus’ campsite when their army hadn’t gotten into position?
Was the imbecile so eager to die? Did Ares not realize that he may have given the Titans another victory by indulging his impatience?
Hades had opposed his nephew’s involvement in this mission to weaken one of Cronus’ strongest generals. He’d told Zeus that Ares had a dangerous obsession with war (much like Coeus, though Hades had been wise to avoid that comparison). The godling couldn’t comprehend a plan that relied on stealth and subtly to succeed, let alone follow the instructions to accomplish it. Ares was nothing better than an attack dog, a point Hades had emphasized to his brother, but to no avail.
Zeus refused to acknowledge all that was wrong with his putrid seed.
After hours of protesting, Zeus had threatened to take Hades off the mission. The threat had silenced Hades, as Zeus had known it would.
Hades had never liked his uncle, but only recently had Coeus done something so despicable that Hades now hated him. Hades hadn’t kept quiet about this development. Nor had he hidden his desire to render Coeus lifeless.
Several days ago, Hades’ eldest sister Hestia was returning to Mount Olympus after a failed trip to curry favor with a tribe of panes. Coeus had waylaid Hestia, leaving her bloodied, bruised, and broken in too many places to count. Before Hades had left Mount Olympus, she’d been strong enough to leave her sickbed for brief periods of time without vomiting or falling unconscious.
As Hades reached his uncle, the aged centaur Wloor struck at Coeus, but the Titan parried the blow. As swift as a bird, Coeus countered. He cleaved the centaur in two.
Watching his old friend die, the tight control over Hades’ emotions lessened. He swung his sword at the Titan, lacking form. Coeus dodged Hades’ attack and doubled back to hit his nephew with a giant fist.
The Titan’s knuckles connected with Hades’ chin. Hades lost his footing and dropped to his knees on the blood-soaked grass.
The god’s head rang from the punch, and his vision blurred, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—succumb to the injury. As Titan bent to drive his sword into Hades’ throat, Hades dove to the ground. The Titan’s blade nicked the battered chest armor Hades wore.
Hades continued to roll and hit his uncle’s legs. The Titan lost his grip on his sword as he toppled onto his back.
The god crawled on top of Coeus. What little composure he had crumbled as he smashed his fist, still clamped around his sword’s hilt, into Coeus’ broad, tan face.
Sensibility fought against Hades’ actions. He didn’t have the luxury of exacting bloody justice. Too much was at stake for this nonsense.
To act this way, he was no better than Ares.
This comparison didn’t cause Hades’ arm to falter.
Instead, a sick, hot joy pooled in Hades’ stomach as he beat his uncle. Through his bloodlust, he smelled the metallic, sour scent of battle, and it sent a wild chill down his back. A harsh, demented sound rang in his ears, and some part of Hades realized he cackled.
In moments, Coeus’ face became a twisted, bloated pulp. It was horrible, but not near what the Titan had done to Hestia.
The Titan struggled, grappling with his empty hands, but nothing stopped Hades. He didn’t register Coeus’ blows; he wasn’t aware of his own body. Only the Titan’s death could break Hades free from the spell of revenge that gripped him.
After what was both an eternity and a heartbeat’s length of time, Coeus’ fighting lessened. The Titan’s intense yellow-red eyes clouded with genuine fear. His busted, swollen lips parted, and Coeus uttered a soft cry.
Without reason, the pathetic moan broke through Hades’ all-consuming savagery. His mind cleared. Staring at the Titan, he decided on mercy—not for the Titan, but for himself. To murder his uncle as he wanted, slow and brutal, he’d be no better than Cronus.
Hades drew back his hand. One more hit would end it.
Coeus shut his eyes.
A force slammed into Hades’ left side, and he toppled off the Titan. Hades landed sprawled on his back, and the red sprite that had knocked him over leaped on top of him. The burly, heavily muscled creature dug into Hades with fingers tipped with flames, searing Hades’ skin. As the sprite worked small holes into his upper arms, the god roared.
While the sprite burned Hades, he bent closer to the god’s face. When he was a breath-length from Hades, the sprite opened his small, black-lipped mouth. A glow flared to life in the creature’s throat. Clogging smoke wafted from the sprite’s mouth and blinded the god.
Hades had a brief moment to act before the sprite melted his head from his neck. He brought his knee back, and it connected with the creature’s testicles.
The sprite squealed and clamped his jaw shut.
With a mighty shove, Hades flipped the sprite off him. His sight was still bleary, but the god reached for the sprite and brought him close. He wrapped an arm around the creature’s throat and yanked to the right. A satisfying, quick snap followed, and the sprite went limp.
He tossed the dead creature aside, and Hades scrambled to his feet. He searched for his short sword, found it next to a severed arm, and snatched it. The god surveyed his surroundings, in vain hope of spotting Coeus, who’d scrambled away.
Much of Hades’ army continued to fight. The brave soldiers hadn’t grown overwhelmed by the size of Coeus’ army, and in certain parts of the Titan’s camp, Hades’ army was winning their minor battles.
Halfway across the field from where Hades had beaten Coeus, the god saw the Titan. Coeus, now a destroyed shell, hobbled toward a waiting chariot. As the Titan reached it, he knocked aside two ipotanes. He hopped into the back of the chariot and grasped the reins that connected to a bridled green and black hippogriff.
Hades contemplated chasing after the Titan, but by the time he reached the area, Coeus would be long gone. All the god could do was watch as the Titan snapped the reins and ripped a cry from the beast’s sickly yellow beak.
The chariot raced across the battlefield. The hippogriff’s huge wings flapped and knocked aside both Hades’ and Coeus’ troops. It launched itself and the Titan into the sky. In moments, Coeus was nothing more than a retreating speck.
The Titan’s troops noticed their leader’s departure and followed his lead. They fled their campsite in droves. Some of Hades’ soldiers pursued them, but most let them retreat.
An irritated sigh left Hades. Far too many still lived, but that was a problem for another day. He shook his head and busied himself helping his troops defeat what remained of Coeus’ army. After the god completed that task, he tended to the wounded. He gathered the dead to burn.
Though it upset many of his soldiers, Hades grouped the enemy’s dead into a separate pile that he dosed with oil and lit. They deserved the same proper sendoff as his army. Most of them hadn’t been horrible, just blinded by Cronus’ false promises. Or likely threatened into compliance.
As he turned from the burning bodies, the god noticed a familiar sandaled foot crushed underneath a beheaded, molted green drakon. He shifted the deceased beast’s scaly carcass aside to find Ares.
The godling’s breast armor missed chunks from the front, and the monochiton underneath was little more than shreds strung together by pieces of thread. The drakon’s sticky black blood plastered Ares’ dark brown hair to his gorged right cheek. A rainbow of drying blood covered his toned legs and arms. The godling’s eyes were shut, and the few patches of his clear, visible skin were as pale as a drowned corpse.
Hades kicked his nephew in the side. He made sure he wedged his sandal into a puncture mark. “Are you dead?”
Ares’ eyelids drew back and exposed his red-brown eyes. He coughed, and a wheezing rattle followed, telling Hades that many of Ares’ ribs were broken. He groaned and half-heartedly swatted at Hades’ foot.
“Help me,” he said.
Hades kneeled by his nephew. “I’d rather you rot here for what you’ve done. This mission failed. Soldiers we couldn’t spare perished, and Coeus escaped.”
“I had a shot and took it.” Ares managed one of his petrifying glares. “It’s your fault this happened.”
“My fault?”
Hades laughed. It kept him from strangling his nephew.
“Yes.” As his denial strengthened, Ares’ color brightened. “I could have killed Coeus and captured his lieutenants, but something hindered me.” An idea sparked anger in his eyes. “You planned for me to mess up.”
“I did now?” Hades mused, curious to hear Ares’ delusions. They’d amuse him, but he’d also like to know what lies he’d have to defend himself against when his nephew bawled to Zeus.
“You and those cock-hungry, ugly bitches. They’ll do anything you want, even betray Zeus.”
“Ridding the cosmos of your existence isn’t much of a betrayal. Besides, the Fates wouldn’t waste their time arranging something your idiotic behavior guarantees.” Hades smiled. “However, I’ll tell them about your theory. The ladies like a good chuckle.”
Terror gripped Ares.
Hades laughed again. He patted his nephew’s destroyed cheek until Ares shouted obscenities before he stood. He turned away from him and headed for a group of nearby soldiers who cared for the wounded.
“Help me!” Ares screamed.
The terrible noise made some nymphs and sprites shake.
Larasa, an impressive young water nymph who’d joined the war to avenge her family’s slaughter, took a step toward the ass masquerading as a godling. Hades gripped her bony shoulder and shook his head.
“But…” Her eyes, which shimmered like the sun on a rippling stream, darted to Ares.
Hades declared, loud enough for his entire army to hear, “If he wants to make it home, he’ll manage himself.”
Many nodded their agreement. They flashed the godling looks full of bitter contempt, which they wouldn’t have risked if Ares weren’t so badly hurt.
“Yes, my lord,” Larasa said, allowing Hades to turn her back to the more important task at hand.
