“It’s time,” he said.
Hades said nothing. There was a part of him that could not believe he was even entertaining this. He felt like a puppet Hera had dressed and attached to strings, a vessel for enjoyment rather than an age-old god.
Still, he followed, strung along by the hope that if he did as he was instructed, his future with Persephone would be secured.
Hermes led him from the room, down the rounded corridor where it branched once more, down another concrete tunnel. Ahead, he could see light, but it was unnatural, tinged with green, and as he neared it, his body grew tense, his anxiety deepening.
What would he face in this ring?
When he came to the end, where the shadow met the light, he paused. The tunnel led to an oval stadium with seats that sloped gently upward. They were full, and the crowd was already hyped—laughing and shouting, cheering and howling. Their excitement to see blood burrowed into his ears, twined into his mind. He gritted his teeth against it, hating it.
There was a second level, a fenced-in balcony where spectators stood, their fingers looped through metal wire, and while curious, they were far more subdued.
There was no announcement, no introduction as Hermes motioned for Hades to step into the ring. As he took one step, then another, the cheering that had inspired such frustration in him died—no one had expected to see the God of the Dead.
Hades’s grip tightened on the shield he had chosen as a weapon as he scanned the crowd. His eyes followed a ring of fire-lit pyres before settling on Hera, whose box was built into the second floor. The goddess herself sat on an iron throne. She had changed and now wore all black, trading most of her jewelry for a single diadem of gold coins that glimmered across her forehead.
Even from here, she looked cold, carved from solid marble.
Then his eyes shifted to someone he had not expected to see.
Theseus.
Theseus, demigod, son of Poseidon, sat beside Hera. There was no mistaking his nephew’s aquamarine eyes or the arrogant air with which he held himself. There was a part of him that was not so surprised to see the two together, given that Hera wished to overthrow Zeus. Hades had suspected for a long time that it was Theseus’s wish—and the wish of Triad, a terrorist group that had organized against the Olympians—to end the reign of the gods.
How long, Hades wondered, had his partnership with Hera existed?
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice—Hermes’s voice—as he announced Hades and his opponent.
“Welcome to fight night,” he sang. “In the ring, we have a very special guest. The one and only Rich One, Receiver of Many, the Unseen One, Lord of the Underworld, God of the Dead, Hades!”
With each name, Hades’s jaw grew more taut.
Hermes did not even manage to announce his opponent when a set of stone doors opposite the ring burst open as two heads emerged. They were snakelike with pointed noses and mouths. Webbed scales fanned out from the backs of their heads and down their backs. A large, clawed foot shook the ground as the creature squeezed its way out of containment, followed by another two heads.
Something sour gathered in the back of Hades’s throat. He knew this creature, knew that there were three more heads attached to its body that had yet to emerge from the darkness of the arena.
It was a hydra. A seven-headed creature that was impossible to defeat. Even if he managed to decapitate one of its heads, another two would grow back in its place. Not to mention its venom, the tar-like saliva that dripped from its mouth even now, was deadly.
The creature bellowed and screamed, and as it moved into the arena, it shook its heads, slinging its deadly venom carelessly about. Horrified screams erupted as onlookers were hit with acid.
Hera and Theseus watched on, unfazed.
Hades bolted. Perhaps the only thing on his side was speed, because even hydra venom could be deadly to gods if they sustained enough injuries. Unfortunately, the hydra’s heads were just as fast, and their long necks meant its bulbous body did not have to move far to reach its victims.
The ground shook as one of its heads slammed down an inch from Hades’s ankles. He turned and lunged into the air, slamming his shield down on the creature’s head. It remained limp, disoriented, but the other six heads hissed and attacked.
Hades rolled away and covered himself with his shield as each of the hydra’s heads rammed against the metal. Soon, the shield was covered with a mix of black venom and saliva that dripped thickly off the edges and onto the ground at his feet. Hades gritted his teeth against the might of the monster. He knew that eventually he would have to move, but he needed a plan, a way to ensure the heads could not grow back. His eyes caught on one of the lit torches around the stadium.
Fire.
He could use fire.
But first, he had to get out from under this attack.
He bent his knees and hurled the shield into the air with all his might. It flipped as if it were light as a coin, distracting the hydra’s heads as he bolted for the first torch, his bare feet burning as he stepped in the hydra’s venom.
The monster was not deceived long, his heavy footfalls giving his retreat away, and soon the heads slithered after him. Some nipped at his feet while others went for his head. It was a constant game of jumping and dodging, and by the time he reached the edge of the stadium, his body was fatigued, the soles of his feet on fire.
Overhead, the torches burned, a beacon that signaled an escape. Hades turned, back against the wall, and as the venomous heads raced toward him, he jumped. The heads struck, one right after the other, and he used them almost like stepping stones, diving for the torch when it was within reach. But as he grabbed it, it snapped in half, burdened by his momentum, and he continued falling to the ground, the hydra’s heads chasing after him, open-mouthed, a rain of venom pouring down around him, touching his body like drops of drizzle, burning his skin.
He couldn’t let the hydra catch him on the ground. So he hurled the torch at one of the open mouths, and as it hit, it burst into flames.
The creature bellowed and all its heads flailed. The crowd screamed, and Hades knew that those who had remained after the hydra’s first attack were probably wishing they had left.
With the hydra distracted, Hades rushed for his shield, which lay discarded across the arena. Scooping it up, he then ran for another torch. This time, he managed to top the wall, which was wide enough for him to run atop. He snapped the torch from its place and ran for the next, tossing them to the ground below.
When he came to the final one, the hydra had recovered, and as it charged for him, he waited until the last second to jump from the wall. As its heads collided with the wall, Hades bore down on one of the necks with his shield. The impact was jarring, but the shield cut into the creature’s flesh enough for Hades to shove a lit torch inside. A second head was on fire, but this time as the monster reacted, it jerked, sending Hades flying across the arena.