“The scythe!” godly whisper echoed in the man’s ears. “Break the scythe!”
“Persephone?” he whispered back, confused by everything that was happening: his hand’s felt like they were burning, and now he could hear voices in his head. But all of it made sense – his whole meaningless life, the time he had spent improving, perfecting, it all started making sense. “All of this is supposed to happen” he thought.
He sprinted forward, towards the rouge god, and threw his sword. It span in the air and hit the scythe where the blade and the handle connect, and broke it. Hades’ roar bounced off the thick, cold walls of the room. He turned around, towards the man, leaving the helpless heroine to lay broken on the ground.
“You!” His voice became deep, distant - rippling in the man’s mind. “Do you realize what you’ve done, you dog!?” Slowly, Hades walked towards the man, his each step heavier than the previous. The room shock and crumbled, the pillars that remained started cracking. He stopped in front of the man, towering over him. His perfect, eternally young, godly body was two times bigger and much stronger. Without a word, Hades swinged his arm with intention to hit the man over the head and shoulder and break his neck.
His whole body screamed “dodge!”, but he didn’t – he couldn’t. Instead, he brought both his arms up to block the swing. Their forehands collided and sharp pain sprung through his arm and shoulder as he flew to the side. He hit the wall with his back and heard both his back and the wall crack and break. For a moment, he lay there, helpless like the heroine, but then the broken bones started burning much like his arms. He could feel it, and see it, somehow – the light of the fallen soldiers had filled his blood. It made him stronger, and took care of him. It repaired his broken bones and removed all doubt from his mind: he is stronger than Hades.
The man jumped back up on his legs and screamed at the god, challenging him. Hades was surprised with his strength and power of will, it filled him with a terrible feeling he was unfamiliar with – fear. He hated it, he wished he could grab this new feeling with his hand and just crush it with all his might, but he couldn’t.
The roles changed, and now the man walked slowly towards the god. His body illuminated the room, brighter and brighter. The broken heroine covered her eyes as the man got closer. He stood right in front of the god, looking up into his dark, traitor eyes, filling him with crippling fear.
Hades hated this even more; he felt tiny, helpless – it was maddening. He thought if the man was only to touch him, he’d go insane and burst into pieces. He didn’t dare hit him again, but the man wouldn’t hit him either. He just watched.
The man’s face was stiff; the muscles of his jaw and neck were showing. Not because of anger or exhaustion, but because of his determination. He knew he could make the god explode, he knew the god feared him and hated him. And so it was –
Hades put his hand on his head, squeezing it, holding it together while he screamed in pain. He leaned forward and backwards, from one side to the other, struggling not to fall over as every piece of his skin tightened and stretched. “This can’t be happening!” he yelled - but it was. Moments later he exploded, but instead of a mutilated mess, he left behind nothing. His body parts and organs dissolved when the light touched them, and disappeared into the stench of his palace.
“It’s not over...” the man thought to himself.
A sinister laugh started filling the room: first in front of him, then behind him, then it seemed as it came from the corner of the room, high above him. “Oh, no its not!” Hades squealed, still laughing madly.
The man felt doubt again, this isn’t what he expected. He still felt stronger, but he couldn’t see him. What was he supposed to do?
On the other side of the room, the heroine knew exactly what was going on. She could see a black and red shades flying around the room, circling the man. Most of them were disoriented souls that Hades had devoured, but one knew where it was and what to do. It started pushing the man and throwing him around. He bounced off the walls and the floor. The light healed him, he would get back on his feet and the shade would pick him up and smash him against something again, and again, and again. She had to do something.
Struggling hard just to see clearly, she crawled towards her blades, leaving a trail of blood and guts behind her. She stretched towards the swords, but they were just out of the reach. She tried harder, stretched her hand further, but she couldn’t reach them, and now the cuts on her stomach opened even more and she felt completely defeated.
Overtaken by pain, both physical and spiritual, she let out a bloody tear from her healthy eye. It rolled down her cheek to the chin. Another tear followed, and then another. Her face was still without expression, shocked by the horrors that had happened to her, until she felt a gentle hand on her cheek. She looked up and around, but no one was there, still, she could feel someone holding her.
“Get up.” A gentle voice asked and she was given new strength. She got up on her legs and with a few unsure steps made it to her swords. She grabbed the handles tightly and turned towards the man. The Hades’ shade held him up in the air, their backs turned to the heroine. It held him by the neck, strangling him.
She closed her eyes and disappeared into the purple void. Immediately after, she ran towards Hades, leaning as much as he could on her right, unbroken leg. When she was close enough, again with her healthy leg, she jumped up and at Hades and thrusted both her blades in the back of his neck. Without a sound, the shade dissipated into the air.
The man fell down, next to her. He could feel the light, the power, leaving his body. He turned his head to the left and saw the heroine. Laying next to him, facing down, with her head turned towards him, she reached with her hand. He was scared, they both were, so he took her hand and held it.
Once, long ago, he saw a powerful warrior: a woman with strong body, bright look and pure intentions. And he even saw beyond that – he saw a beautiful, curious girl. But he was distracted with his thirst for power, he had almost forgot. Now, it saddened him to look at her. A deep cut stretched from her forehead over her left eye, and her right eye was completely purple; he wasn’t even sure she could see. Blood flowed under her and away, through the cracks in the floor. Her left leg was twisted and broken and both her arms were covered in cuts as she tried to protect herself from the scythe. She was destroyed, but he still found her beautiful. He wanted to say how everything would be alright, but he couldn’t lie to her or himself. He wished things could be different.
The remaining of his strength was leaving his body. Still holding on to her, not even sure if she’s still breathing, he turned towards the ceiling of the palace. The light that once was a part of him danced around the room, and then finally settled at the top. Like a little star, it started turning around, faster and faster, as it filled the room with light. It was too bright to look, so he closed his eye, feeling rested and calm. He couldn’t breathe anymore, “This is my final breath” he thought as his body went numb. As his hearth pumped the blood with its last beat, he felt something grab him under the shoulders and pull him, but it was too late to acknowledge it – it was over.