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Evangeline, the god thought grimly.
“Name?” Hades asked.
“Alexander Sotir,” Thanatos said.“Thirty-three.”
Hades frowned. A pang in his chest caught him off-guard, but he recognized it for what it was—sadness. He would have liked to help this man overcome his addiction.
“Hades,” Thanatos said.“Look.”
His gaze shifted from the body to Thanatos to the black scratches on the floor; they were wet and looked like drag marks. Hades followed them, and what he found in the corner of the room enraged him.
It was Alexander’s soul, and it lay at Hades’ feet in a fetal position, broken and beaten. It looked more skeletal than human. The skin around it was like a membrane, blackened and tar-like. The state of the soul told Hades two things about how the mortal had died; that the death had been traumatic and unnatural.
Hades had seen few souls in this state, and he knew there was no hope. This soul had no chance of healing, no chance of reincarnating.
This was the end.
“Contact Ilias,” Hades instructed Thanatos.“I want to know Sisyphus’connection to this man.”
“Yes, my lord,” Thanatos said.“Shall I…”
“I’ll take care of him,” Hades said quickly.
“Very well.” He nodded and vanished, leaving Hades alone with the soul.
The god stood there for a moment, unable to move. He had no doubt this would keep happening. Would every death break a soul? Would every death fray another thread connecting him to his future queen?
He was certain of only one thing—he would find Sisyphus and reap his soul himself.
Hades knelt and gathered the soul into his arms, teleporting to the Elysium Fields. Despite the heaviness of the day, there was peace here in the silence, in the way the wind moved the golden grass. It was a space reserved for healing, and though Hades knew Alexander’s soul would never recover from its horrific end, he would give him the best end.
Beneath the brightness of the blue sky, Hades settled the soul beneath the leaves of a pomegranate tree, heavy with crimson fruit.
“Rest well,” he said, and in the next second, the shade transformed into a swath of red poppies.
***
Hades traded the peace of Elysium for the horror of Tartarus, teleporting to the part of his realm affectionately known as The Cavern. It was the oldest part of his realm, boasting towering stone formations, shimmering draperies, and crystal pools of icy water. The natural beauty was marred by the desperate pleas of the souls who were tortured here; part of the misery was the echoing cries that carried through the vast ceilings.
Hades approached one of the stone slabs, where Duncan was stretched out, wrists and ankles chained. He had been stripped down, and a cloth covered his groin. His chest rose and fell quickly, a mark of his fear. His textured skin was coated in sweat. He turned his head and met Hades’ gaze, beady eyes desperate.
“My lord, I’m sorry. Please—”
“You put your hands on a woman,” Hades said, cutting him off.“One who caused no harm, save for a few biting words.”
“It will never happen again!” The ogre began to struggle against his restraints, panting as hysteria settled in.
Hades’ lips curved into a fiendish smile.
“Oh, of that I am certain,” he replied as a black blade manifested in his hand. The King of the Underworld leaned over the ogre, pressing the blade to his bulbous stomach.“You see, the goddess you touched, the one you attempted to choke, the one you left a mark upon, will be my wife.”
Just as Duncan bellowed his final rebuff, Hades plunged the knife into the ogre’s stomach.
“I did not know!” Duncan cried.
Hades dragged the knife down, cutting deep with the intention of exposing the creature’s liver and summoning vultures to feast upon it, but the more Duncan repeated himself—I did not know, I did not know—the angrier Hades became. The more he thought of Persephone, lithe and powerless, suspended by the throat from the ogre’s very hand, the more his rage blossomed. He plunged the blade into the ogre’s stomach once, twice, then over and over, until he no longer spoke, until blood pooled from his mouth. Until he was dead.
Last, Hades cut off his hands, and when he was finished, he stood back, breathing hard, face splattered with blood.
