Aphrodite

AD 70

Sunlight warmed Aphrodite’s skin as she stood in the shadowed grandeur of the Roman palace courtyard, one hand resting against a towering marble column. Below, the city had fallen into chaos.

Screams rose from the streets. Smoke unfurled into the sky. Fire devoured the fragile wooden structures beyond the palace walls, and the spring markets that had filled the city with colour only hours before were crushed beneath fleeing feet. Animals bolted through the streets, wild with terror, while people ran in every direction, searching for gates that had already been sealed.

A young boy galloped through the city on horseback, shouting warnings no one needed to hear. Danger had already arrived.

From her place above the courtyard, Aphrodite watched the praetorian guards rush towards the outer gates. Their courage was undeniable, their armour polished, their swords drawn, their formations disciplined. Against human armies, they might have stood a chance. Against what waited beyond the walls, bravery would mean very little.

The guards formed a line before the gate, prepared to defend the city if it fell. For years, mortal enemies had wasted their strength trying to breach Rome’s defences. None had succeeded.

But this was not a mortal enemy.

This was the creature of darkness.

“Aphrodite,” Aquila whispered beside her, her voice trembling. “He is here.”

Dread settled deep in Aphrodite’s stomach. She had known this day would come. No city wall, no army, no mortal king could hide her forever. No matter how far she ran, no matter how carefully she concealed herself, the Abaddon had always been destined to find her.

“We knew this day would come,” Aphrodite said softly. “I had only hoped it would not come so soon.”

Together, they watched the afternoon sun dim behind rising coils of black mist. The darkness moved like smoke, twisting through the streets before wrapping itself around the fortified city gate. Stone groaned beneath its touch. Iron strained. The city’s defences were failing.

Concealment had ended. Flight was no longer possible.

“It is time,” Aphrodite said.

Aquila gasped and seized her hand. Her fingers were cold despite the heat of the burning city.

It had been decades since Aphrodite first entered these lands, seeking refuge from the creatures that hunted her. They believed the pure darkness of the Abaddon could only be stopped by Aphrodite, the creature of love and rebirth. Because of that belief, they had pursued her across kingdoms, across seas, across lifetimes.

Rome had given her shelter.

Rome had given her love.

In the palace, she had found mortals who opened their hearts to her. She had loved them in return, but mortal love was fragile. It bloomed brilliantly, then vanished with the short years humans were given on earth.

“It cannot be,” Aquila said, tears gathering in her eyes. “Surely there is something we can do.”

“You must do as I asked.” Aphrodite squeezed her hand. “When it is done, you must flee through the tunnels. Do not wait for me. He will take no prisoners.”

A burst of flame erupted near the gate. Heat rolled through the courtyard, forcing them back against the marble columns. Aphrodite lifted an arm to shield her face as the black mist consumed the outer wall. Stone cracked. Iron screamed beneath the pressure. Dust exploded through the air. Screams followed, then silence.

Through the darkness, she saw him.

The Abaddon stood beyond the fractured gate, a towering silhouette of shadow and rage. Even from a distance, the sight of him sent ice through her blood.

Below, the guards raised their shields.

Aphrodite wiped a tear from her cheek. Those men would die for her. They had known the risk when they agreed to protect the city, yet they had stood their ground. She wished there were a way to save them. She wished there were a place in the underworld for human courage.

But there was no time left for wishing.

She turned from the courtyard and hurried inside.

Maximus was waiting in the palace hall, a cup held carefully between his hands. He came towards her at once, his expression steady despite the ruin unfolding outside. Aphrodite crossed the marble floor and threw her arms around him, pressing her face against his chest.

She had met him when she first arrived in Rome, charmed by his kindness, his patience, and the quiet strength with which he carried himself. Age had touched him since then. Silver threaded his hair, and lines marked the corners of his eyes. But when she looked at him, she still saw the young soldier who had once smiled at her as if she were not a hunted thing, but a woman worthy of tenderness.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

“You told me this day would come.” His voice was calm, though grief lived beneath every word. “I am sad to see the city burn, but if he claims you, darkness will fall upon the earth. Neither man nor creature can stop what waits outside.”

She held him tighter, breathing in his familiar scent one last time. She was frightened to let him go. Frightened of the poison. Frightened of the underworld. Frightened that, when she returned, she would remember none of this.

None of them.

At last, she pulled away and took the cup from his hands.

Aquila stood nearby, sobbing into the folds of her stola. Her soft brown hair had fallen over her face. Aphrodite reached out and tucked the loose strands behind her ear.

“You must live,” Aphrodite said gently. “Promise me.”

Aquila shook her head. “I do not want to leave you.”

“You must.”

Aphrodite opened her arms, and Aquila stepped into them. For a moment, Aphrodite allowed herself to remember everything she was about to lose. Warm afternoon walks through the palace gardens. Music drifting through banquet halls. Laughter over wine and the late-night conversations beneath painted ceilings. A human life, she had almost convinced herself she could keep.

Reluctantly, she let Aquila go.

Then she turned to them both.

“I am thankful for the time we have had together,” she said. “Aquila, I have known you since you were a young girl. I have watched you grow into a beautiful young woman, and I want you to have the future you deserve. Leave the city. Do not waste your life on my ending.”

Aquila covered her mouth, trying to hold back another sob.

Aphrodite looked to Maximus.

“And you,” she said, her voice breaking. “I have loved you since the beginning. I am thankful you chose to spend your mortal life with me. I am sorry to both of you that it has come to this, but this is the only way to stop him.”

Maximus stepped closer. “Will you remember us?”

Aphrodite looked down at the cup.

“Each time I enter the underworld, I forget.” Her fingers tightened around the metal. “But this time, I have tried to leave myself a path back. I have hidden pieces of myself in the things I created. If fate is kind, one day I will find them. One day, I will remember.”

She lifted the cup and drank.

The wine was bitter beneath the sweetness. The poison followed quickly, cold at first, then burning as it moved through her body.

Aphrodite lowered the empty cup and looked around the palace one final time. Painted walls, carved statues, bright mosaics, and the art she had commissioned filled the space with the illusion of eternal spring. In each piece, she had left a trace of her essence. A memory. A clue. A promise to the woman she would become.

If she returned to the world again, she would need to find her way back to herself.

Outside, the city shook.

Aphrodite turned towards the small monument of Hestia that stood near the palace entrance. The sacred flame still burned in its bronze dish, trembling in the violence of the wind, but refusing to go out.

She stepped towards it on unsteady legs and lowered herself before the shrine. The poison was already moving through her blood, cold and merciless, but she pressed her trembling fingers to the stone and bowed her head.

“Hestia,” she whispered, “guardian of the hearth, keeper of the flame, watch over those I leave behind. Let there be one place in this world his darkness cannot touch.”

The flame flickered higher, as if answering her.

Aphrodite closed her eyes for only a moment. Her sacrifice would not end the Abaddon. Nothing in this world could end him yet.

But it might delay him.

It might give the world another life.

A thunderous crack split the air.

Aphrodite lifted her head as the outer gates gave way. Stone and iron burst inward, scattering across the avenue below. The Abaddon crossed the threshold of the city with darkness rolling before him, his black wisps spreading through the streets like a living tide.

The guards rushed to meet him.

They did not reach him.

One by one, the darkness struck them down. Shields fell. Swords clattered against stone. Men who had stood bravely before mortal armies turned to ash beneath the touch of something far older than war.

Aphrodite gripped the balcony rail as the poison tightened in her chest. Sweat gathered along her hairline. Her hands trembled. Her legs weakened beneath her, but she forced herself to remain standing.

The Abaddon moved through the avenue below, no longer a distant horror beyond the gate. He had breached the city. He had crossed the outer defences. Now he was coming through the palace grounds, with fire behind him and darkness gathering at his feet.

Then he stopped.

Slowly, his red eyes lifted.

He had sensed her.

Aphrodite stepped to the edge of the balcony, though the poison was already dragging her towards death.

“You should leave,” she called down to him. “It is too late.”

His gaze burned through the smoke.

“In this world or the next, you cannot run forever,” he bellowed.

Then he charged towards the palace.

Aphrodite’s legs buckled, and she caught herself against the stone. Black wisps surged ahead of him, racing across the courtyard and up the palace walls. They climbed the marble columns like living things, curling over the balcony’s edge, reaching for her ankles, her hands, her throat.

Barely able to speak, she whispered, “You will never find me.”

The darkness recoiled for a heartbeat, then pressed closer.

“One day,” she said, her voice fading, “I will find a way to stop your power. You destroy everything you touch.”

The Abaddon reached the base of the palace. His shadow rose through fire and smoke, stretching up the walls beneath her.

“We are destined to be together.”

“The humans do not deserve this.”

“The humans are weak,” he snarled. “Pathetic. When I find you again, we will rule this land and the underworld. We will rule the creatures. It will not be long, my love.”

The poison closed around her heart.

Aphrodite sank to the marble floor as the black wisps reached for her.

The last thing she saw was the Abaddon climbing towards her through fire and smoke, his red eyes fixed upon hers.

Then death took her.

And somewhere beyond the world, the underworld opened.