With the echoes of past battles roaring through his mind, he reached and retrieved a shield from the wall. It carried a symbol of Hera, a panther, and as much as he hated to wield it, the shield itself was an invaluable weapon.
It was fashioned from adamant, an unbreakable metal that could injure a god. Its edges were sharp and it was heavy, a weight that seemed to increase the longer he held it and turned it over in his hand. After a few moments, he turned and found Hermes staring, looking very much stricken.
“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.