These were Stymphalian birds, creations of Ares, the God of War.
Their beaks, talons, and feathers were deadly weapons and had the ability to pierce armor, which made getting close enough to kill them nearly impossible.
Hades would need a bow in hopes of even wounding one, though that too would prove to be difficult given their feathers were metal.
The birds screeched and charged, a towering stampede of sharp blades heading right for him.
Fuck.
Hades took off at a run once more, though the pain made it hard for him to maintain a steady pace. He gritted his teeth through it as he heard the distinct sound of metal scraping metal, and he knew the birds were airborne. Glancing overhead, he saw that they were circling, vultures ready to pick apart their kill.
Shelter. He had to find some kind of shelter.
Frantic, he glanced around the arena, spotting his shield. He turned toward it, just as a metal feather lodged in the earth in front of him like a spear. A second followed and then a third, barring his path to the shield. He changed course, heading instead for one of the entrances used by the monsters. The threshold over the doors was minuscule, but it would provide enough cover until he decided on a plan of action.
As he veered right, so did the birds and their feather spears, each hitting so close, the air felt like a whip upon their impact. If he slowed down, he would be impaled.
Except that the birds seemed to be aware of Hades’s plans, because in the next second, the small bit of relief he’d hoped to have beneath the awning of the arena was barred from him by a row of sharp metal feathers.
Hades halted in his tracks, anger boiling his blood. He turned, eyes settling on the corpse of the hydra. It was full of poisonous things, including teeth.
Once more, he changed routes while the attacks continued from above. As each feather spear hit the ground, it tore up the earth, sending rocks and dirt into the air, making his course to the hydra more difficult. There was no relief once he arrived either, as the entire creature sat in a pool of its own venomous blood, but Hades was already wounded by the venom, and if he could manage to win this final fight, he could heal himself.
Hades launched himself into the air, landing atop one of the hydra’s heads. As he did, a sharp feather cut through the air, impaling the head.
Several followed after that, piercing the deceased monster, making it vibrate with the impact. His anger began to build, his exhaustion a weight, and while magic was forbidden in this duel, he felt himself calling to it, gripping the teeth within the mouths of the hydra. Ripping those sharp, poisonous teeth from their gums, he catapulted them through the air and pelted the birds, filling the air with a cacophony of horrible cries followed by a metallic crash as they fell from the sky, landing haphazardly in the stadium —some in the arena, others in the stands.
In the aftermath, Hades turned, facing the box.
“Hera!” he yelled, infusing it with a hatred beyond anything he’d ever felt before. “End this madness!”
The goddess rose languidly to her feet and stepped to the very edge of her box.
“Do you not wish to wed the young Persephone?”
Hades gritted his teeth, staring at her, so consumed by his rage that he did not even notice how badly the ground beneath his feet, soaked in blood, burned. If it had been anyone else, he would have snapped, demanded that they leave her out of this, but he knew, perhaps better than anyone, that Hera would never cease her pursuit if he did not do as she asked.
She knew where her power lay, and it was in Hades’s heart.
“Am I wrong?” the goddess asked.
Hades knew she sought more than an answer. She sought his vulnerability.
“No,” Hades gritted out. “You are not wrong.”
“And yet you cheat by using your magic,” Hera said, her head tilting to the side.
Hades had no words for the goddess, only feelings, and they were building just as quickly as they had toward the Stymphalian birds. He was
angry, and he was tired.
“How do you intend to atone for your error in judgment?” she asked, nonplussed.
Hades would have liked to offer her a final, vulgar gesture before returning to his realm for the night, but there was a future on the line that was not completely his own, and he was not about to let it slip through his fingers. So he answered, slow and deliberate, “However you see fit.”
“I thought so,” she said, smiling, and returned to her iron throne. As she sat, another door opened, revealing a large, muscled man dressed similarly to Hades. He had a head full of golden curls, and while handsome and young, there was something wrong. Hades noted how the veins in his arms and neck bulged, how the whites of his eyes were stained red, how his breathing seemed both labored and angry.