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More terrifying than the ice that flows over Olympus is the sight of Kronos, wrapped in bronze chains, marching behind Hades. He’s the largest deity Kore’s ever seen. Kronos’ aura shifts the world around him, The Void of Erebus stronger than Hades’. If he’s here; how many more prisoners did Hades release? What other devils who hold grudges toward Zeus have come here?
“Get the students into the shelter now!” Athena shouts over the din of terrified screams. An enormous thud sounds on the roof above Kore’s head, the moment of warning he has before the glass dome shatters with an unusual arrival.
Ares, like all greater gods, has a set of wings when he chooses—they spread in a black shroud of war, beating against the air as Ares descends into Hestia’s school. His boots touch the marble without making a sound, but there’s an ominous, musical ring from the bronze weapon Ares wields. His blade—crafted by his twin, Hephaestus—sings for death and destruction.
Athena rolls her neck, reaching for her sword, strapped across her back. Her short, golden hair glows almost white beneath the stream of sunlight. She tosses her lance to the side, as well as her heavy shield that is cast with Medusa’s likeness. Athena’s aegis—a gift from her father—gleams across her chest like a medallion of honor. At the center of the breastplate, Zeus' likeness stares blindly from the bronze—a mark of royalty. To strike against one who wears the aegis gifted by Zeus is to strike against Zeus himself.
Ares, blasphemous bastard that he is, moves against Athena without worrying about treason.
“Give me the Child of Spring and I’ll leave without bloodshed,” Ares tells Athena. He handles his weapon with skill unrivaled, twirling the bronze with a careless grace that would wound another mortal or god. His grin is reckless, and Kore wonders how mortals favor a god so heedless.
Athena faces her younger brother with a blank expression; she watches him with calculating, gold eyes. Ares is might, but Athena is wisdom. She is the one mortals pray to when they want a favorable outcome in strategy. Ares is their preferred god when they want blood.
Ares' casual stance changes when he notes Athena won’t yield.
“Remember, Athena, you chose the hard way,” Ares says with a huff. In a blink, Ares moves across the marble room; his blade seeking soft flesh. Athena meets him with equal speed and ferocity. Bronze against bronze rings through the deserted halls. Only Kore remains, bearing witness to the fight between family turned foe.
Athena is the first to bleed, and Ares' laughter is hollowed out with fury and what Kore believes is a twinge of regret.
“Stand down, Athena,” Ares says. “You won’t win.” The God of War steps away from his sister, lest she hit him with her sword.
Kore watches her wipe ichor from her side. Athena stares at the glittering substance without comment. Her wings beat behind her back. They are as golden as the essence running through divine veins—everything about Athena is gilded now. Hair, eyes, wings, ichor—all that Athena is glows gold. Her violence also smolders like smelted gold when she shoots across the room with the ferocity of a lion. Athena kicks her lance up from the floor, catching it with a deft hand, before launching the lance at Ares with the precision of a skilled warrior.
Ares bleeds next; his upper bicep oozes. Ichor drips across the faun shade of his tanned skin. Ares releases a terrifying laugh. The sound bounces around the stone area, echoing back to where the three gods stand. Athena and Ares square off in the center of the room while Kore watches them with bated breath. Ares' blue eyes slide over to Kore as Ares lifts Athena’s lance. He steps toward Kore; ignoring his sister, Ares stalks toward the prize Hades came to reclaim. Kore bristles with indignation; Ares isn’t going to carry him from the room and back to Hades.
His wings come out–—the dark crimson of pomegranate seeds—and stretch open with authority. Kore fills the space around him, intimidating enough that Ares slows his progression.
“I’m not a damsel, Ares. I’ll fly myself,” Kore says. Then Athena moves through the room with her blade drawn, and Kore’s eyes widen.
“Ares!” Kore shouts, but the other god is prepared. Or so it seems, as he turns with his own blade and buries it in Athena’s hip. She goes to the floor with a shout.
With a triumphant grin, Ares stands over her.
“Poor Athena,” Ares gloats, retrieving his weapon and stepping on her wound. “Who’s the clever one now, sister?”
He twists his boot’s heel into the wound, causing Athena to cry out in pain.
Ares moves again, but Kore takes Ares by the arm. That stops him. He turns to Kore, his eyes blackened by bloodlust. Kore startles at the sight.
“Sorry,” Ares mumbles, shaking his head until his eyes return to their normal hue. His desire for blood recedes as he commands Kore to follow him. “This way,” Ares says, his black wings expanding as he moves to take flight.
Athena sits up; she bites down on an uncomfortable groan. Kore doesn’t linger. His crimson wings beat, lifting him out of the school’s broken ceiling.
“Don’t look back,” Ares tells Kore as they soar above Hestia’s school and Olympus' metropolis. “Keep going until you reach the furthest mountain of Olympus. That’s where you’ll find Hades!” The last part of Ares' words mingle with a shout; followed by a groan.
Kore doesn’t look back. He keeps flying, heading in the direction Ares told him to fly. Kore knows if he looks back, he will stop. He’s too close to Hades to quit now.
I’m coming back, my love, Kore’s thoughts push him to fly faster. In his haste, and in his joy, he misses the dark green, thorny vine that climbs up from below. The leathery plant hits Kore’s side, lashing against his skin. As he glances down—searching for his mother—another vine wraps around Kore’s throat.
Kore blacks out when the vine squeezes hard enough, and he swears he hears his mother’s laughter ringing through his nightmares.
33
Hades
Ares returns empty-handed, battered as if Athena took his attack personally. Hades always preferred Athena to Ares, but her niece won’t turn against her own father. Nothing short of a miracle that will make that happen. Athena will pay for her loyalty—the Fates love to test that trait—but Hades doesn’t wish that trial upon her. She doesn’t wish that trial on anyone, mortal or otherwise.
At the moment, she’s furious Ares returns to her empty-handed. Hades stands from her temporary throne, constructed by the cyclops who swore fealty, and her boots click against the volcanic glass of the last of Olympus' great mountains. Ares kneels, his black wings fold inward and disappear by the time Hades stops before him.
