Across the Realms: War of the Gods, #3

By David Gearing

To save humanity, the Olympian gods must challenge the armies of both Heaven and Hell.

 

Over a thousand years ago, the Greek Olympian gods did not simply disappear--they were banished and renamed to be forgotten and powerless.

Still angry from its recent defeat, the generals of Hell regroups and launches a final attack on humanity. The stakes are high as God refuses to step in and aid humanity against death at the hands of Lucifer himself.

Now caught in the middle of a war between Heaven and Hell, Hermes, Herakles, and his feuding family must come together to protect their youngest godling, Brad, the last son of Zeus.

The final chapter in the War of the Gods is part fantasy, part horror, and you've never seen mythology like this.

Book I: Exiled from Hell
Book II: Reign from Heaven

• Language: English
• Publisher: Akusai Publishing
• Release date: Feb 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507006610

David Gearing

David Gearing is a recent transplant from the harsh Arizona deserts to the green forests of the Pacific Northwest. He plots, he games, he pretends to be his own living room rockstar when no one is looking. His other books range from various genres from thrillers to gothic horror and beyond. You can find him at his webpage DavidGearingBooks.com or at his publisher's website AkusaiPublishing.com

Book preview

1

When the armies of Hell threaten to march on the Earth Realm, your first instinct should be to run like…well…you know…and tell someone.

But tonight, Hermes’s winged ankles do not fly as fast as he cold be. Stopping to smell the roses, so to speak. Enjoying the quiet after nearly a week of chasing down angels, putting his fist inside their skulls, and worrying about his crush.

That crush—a human turned angel.

Or something.

She walked the Earth like a god-given gift.

And Hermes hated every second of it. So much that he flew away to Hell.

The light of the moon guides Hermes’s flight from the hidden entrance to Hell to the local Saraday Hospital and Emergency Room. The night’s cool breeze brushes away the sweat that builds along the little Olympian god’s skin. If he had stopped to pay attention, he’d begin to notice the bits of skin scrunching together, dry and tight on his arms and calves. Goosebumps.

Saraday remains dark tonight. Its citizens still too confused to know if they can leave their doors and enter into the world that was once overridden with angels—warriors of angels. Though if he were to speak to these frightened southerners, they would call them aliens, not angels. Killers, not warriors.

For a change, Hermes appreciated that these stupid humans were so naïve and ignorant of the world around them. If they had bothered to even look up into the dark night sky, they may spot him, a dark human-shaped bullet in the cool, cloudless evening.

He peers at the ground below him in his peripheral vision. A skill he learned well while looking for his lost brothers and sisters in the Grecian fields. The air smelled of jasmine, little white flowers that grew in thick bushes along the mountains. The Greek islands were littered with them. It was the best part of Hermes’s flight. That view was the best part of being airborne.

It also gave him a matter of perspective. It was a wonder that so many things came to him during his time.

The Greeks and Romans liked to call Hermes a clever god. A trickster.

Lies. All of it.

After all, it is amazing what a little perspective can offer when you take a step back for a while.

Being nearly one hundred feet into the air, hovering over the small ant-like people in their square and L-shaped homes, he could see the whole picture. Every little detail.

But tonight, this detail is lost on him.

His heart races, but not from the flying.

The armies of Hell raged on below the surface. Any moment now, they could make their march, led by that usurping little witch Lilith.

That same, devilishly beautiful woman who could turn any man into an instant idiot. That same woman who once dated, then tricked, then dated again, Hermes.

And any other man—or demon—she could get her claws into.

Hermes approaches the hospital, but slows his flight. His wings barely make a sound, fluttering above the barely lit garden beneath him. A group of humans, clad in what looked like thin clothes and pajamas. Pajamas without backs that, in the wrong kind of breeze, that left little to the imagination to these poor sick and injured souls.

He hovers over the hospital like a mosquito. Something catches his attention down below. Movement. Lots of movement.

Two glowing individuals, white dresses and soft, alabaster skin seem to be guiding some huge hulk of a person toward another dark, leather-clad man.

Oh no, says Hermes. He covers his mouth and holds still. Slowly, he moves upwards into the air. The further the better. Away from his best friend and yet another one of his lost relatives.

What are you doing here? one of the voices says.

Hermes shakes his head and keeps his eye on the one wearing the thick leather jacket. His golden hair almost shines in the moonlight, a slight halo effect from the moon, the glossiness of his hair. With that much product, it’s amazing that his hair moves at all.

The strong man and the leather jacket guy hug.

Not now, Hermes thinks. He cannot deal with this now.

He flies over the hospital and takes to the ground. The tips of his toes land just outside the brick walkway of the garden. Just in front of him, several humans hog the breathing room of his beloved Sophie. Her dark blond hair and blue eyes light up with her smile. She looks at peace, her skin rosy and blushing.

Even in the track lighting that keeps the walkway clearly visible, Hermes can see every single detail of her face. Soft cheeks. Red lips that smile. The little creases along the edges of her mouth have softened now.

He could be mistaken, but she looks younger. Healthier.

He could hardly believe that, just a few hours ago, she had been seriously injured. Bleeding nonstop.

Just a few hours ago, Hermes thought he would lose her. He took in every moment.

Now he stares and watches her as she blesses and smiles and touches the people around her. All of them eternally thankful.

Bowing. Smiling back. Blessing her, too.

Hermes takes a step onto the walkway and walks slowly, carefully, to Sophie.

Sophie, he says.

She turns to look his way. Her eyes almost look past him. She looks relaxed. At peace. Hermes swears he’s seen this look before in some stoned rock stars on a Lifetime special about addiction.

That same empty eyes and slack-jawed smile that only confused the people around him.

Hermes walks to Sophie, pushing past an older balding man. The young god stops for a moment and taps the man on his bare, exposed back. Could you, you know, fix this? he says.

The man’s face pinches upwards in confusion. An eyebrow is raised, and he slaps his own back and behind. The old man smiles, something wet dripping from his lips. Thank you, his quivering lips say.

Hermes takes Sophie’s hand and carries her away from the oncoming crowd. How are you feeling? he says.

Sophie nods and gives him a hug. I’m great, she says. Her voice sounds strong. The sweaty, shiny face Hermes remembered is now replaced with confidence and happiness. Smooth, baby soft skin. From this angle, she has to have lost nearly three, maybe even five years off her original age.

You look stressed, she says. Her hands caress the sides of Hermes’s face.

He smiles, feeling calm from the outside in. Like warmth carrying through his muscles to his brain.

He shakes her off. It’s Lilith, he says. He searches her eyes for a moment of recognition. He receives none. She’s looking to attack.

Her brow wrinkles. I thought Hell was licking its wounds?

They are. Or were. Now they are ready to march.

She crosses her arms. We must stop them.

There is the Sophie that he remembered.

And yet, maybe we can do something important.

Gun shots fire somewhere over into the distance.

Hermes closes his eyes, not alarmed just yet. The shots rang out over the distance like an echo.

Another pop pop of gun fire.

Hermes digs his hands into Sophie’s arm. She winces a little and uses her other hand to loosen his grip. You must relax, she says.

Relax, he says. Right.

The slapping, meaty sound of knuckles hitting skin rings in his ears before something thumps onto the ground.

What the hell was that for? a youthful voice says. It cracks a little. A human teenage boy.

You will get us all killed, the voice yells. How’s that for good?

Hermes rolls his eyes.

Of course they were fighting already.

2

Brad’s bare elbows and feet slip along the wet dew on the grass beneath him. His cheek feels warm, but doesn’t hurt.

Doesn’t, but should.

What did you do that for? he says. I didn’t even do anything.

But you will, the man in the leather jacket says.

Two women, each wearing tight white dresses and white heels step over his body and to the man’s side. He opens his arms and each of them enters his embrace. He holds them in his arms like they’re his girlfriends. Lucky guy.

They both smile and wrap their arms around him as well. One of them is blond, her hair pulled up around her head like a bun in the back. She smiles at Brad.

He can’t help but to smile back. His cheeks feel warm as he looks to the side. Hi, ladies.

Don’t you ‘hi, ladies’ me, says the man.

Herc puts his large foot and massive tree-stump of a leg between him and man in the leather jacket. The boy is right, Apollo. He didn’t do anything yet.

But he will. The man Herc called Apollo points a ring-beaded finger at him. His own eyes shine like gold rings, shining into Brad’s soul. Mark my words, he says. You will be the death of us all.

Herakles, Brad’s brother and sparring partner, picks up Apollo and turns him around, facing away from Brad. Talk to me, buddy.

Apollo rests his hand on Herc’s shirtless torso and pushes him to the side. I came here as fast as I could, he says.

You’re a little late, says Herc. He smiles, brushes his hand through his hair and then flexes his chest muscles. I already took care of the bad guys.

Apollo shakes his head. Once again, you idiot, you have no idea what you’re talking about.

I am not an idiot, says Herc.

If you had as much brains and you have muscles, you’d have seen this coming a long, long time ago.

Herc pulls Apollo to the side again. Look at me, says Herc. He points his index and middle fingers at Apollo’s eyes and then to his own, back and forth. Look at me. Drawing an invisible line from his own face to Apollo’s. What’s going on?

Apollo sighs.

Then, a hushed silence.

Brad can hear the air coming through his nose. The sound of the grass rustling in the evening breeze sounds louder than it should.

Brad feels the need to clear his throat just before both of the women hold hands and stare up into the sky. The second woman, dark hair and longer, almost past her shoulders, opens her mouth first. Her skin looks darker. Maybe not white, but in this darkness, Brad can’t tell.

All he knows is—and he’s not sure if these thoughts are really his—is she’s pretty hot.

The youngest son will bring the destruction as his own father had brought before him. The cycle of change, the cycle of pain. The cycle of secrets will begin again. The brunette almost sings these words into the night sky, the pattern of her voice alluring.

Brad understands nearly nothing that she says, but all of it, every single syllable pulls him in. At some point, he’s not sure when, he feels like the rest of the world stopped existing.

Only her words.

Her words and an image.

A mountain. A cloudy mountain with him near the top.

And someone crying.

A child? A woman?

Brad stands up and wipes the dew from his hands onto his shirt. Lady, I have no idea what you just said, but I’m not the guy.

You are the youngest son, says Apollo. The same cycle. What our Father had done, so will you.

Brad points at Apollo, tilts his head and then turns to Herc. This make any sense to you?

Herc shrugs. A little.

Please help me, then.

Apollo throws his hands into the air. You’re a stupid, stupid little kid that will get us all killed. Just as the titans had been overthrown before, you will overthrow the Olympians. The cycle will continue.

And what am I supposed to do about it?

Apollo opens his mouth to answer, but a rock bounces off his forehead. He grabs his head and bends over. What the?

Hermes says, You will do nothing, Apollo. He is under my care. My rules.

Apollo glances up and smiles. You stupid, stupid, idiot. He stands up and cracks his neck. He picks his cowboy hat off the wet grass and rests it onto his head.

You call me stupid and then wear that stupid looking hat? says Hermes.

Brad nudges Herc on the shoulder. What’s happening here?

Herc nudges back. I have no idea.

Apollo and Hermes approach each other, step by step, trading insults.

You really want to make fun of my hat while you dance around in those cute little fairy wings on your shoes?

Ya, well, they help me fly circles around you. Go play with your little sun ponies, stable boy. Hermes takes a final step and the two gods are left staring at each other eye-to-almost-eye. Apollo stands nearly six inches above Hermes and yet that does nothing to make Hermes back down.

Hermes’s wings get twitchy, flapping up and down and slowly lifting him up to meet Apollo’s height.

You got your mother’s tiny stature, I see, says Apollo. In the last few thousand years, I would have thought you would have grown a few inches at least.

Hermes’s jaw tenses. His eyes narrow.

Oh ya? says Hermes.

Yup, says Apollo. His skin by contrast looks so much darker than Hermes. His sunny blond hair almost illuminates the angry stares they give each other.

You sheep-loving, lyre-playing pansy.

You winged little imp.

The two stare each other down until finally, Apollo cracks a smile.

Hermes bursts into laughter and the two hug, slapping each other on the back.

How the hell are ya? says Apollo. Last I heard you were haunting little kids for Lucifer.

Oh, that? says Hermes. He pulls away and lands back onto the ground. Yeah, I guess you could say I was fired.

Or something, says Herc.

Hermes points at Herc. Hush you.

Brad snorts back a chuckle.

You, too.

Apollo’s stance relaxes a little, but he pulls his arm around Hermes’s shoulders and pulls him in. What will we do about him?

Hermes puts his finger into the air. Hold up, he says. He nods at the two very attractive women. Their low cut dresses catch Brad’s attention as they turn to the distant streets. What is wrong with your Oracles?

They come to destroy us, they say in unison. Their voices join together in a chant that reminds Brad of the times his school started each day with the Pledge of Allegiance. All the kids, together in the same cadence, chanting I pledge allegiance. To the flag. Of the United States of America.

What is it, girls? says Apollo.

They come, they chant. They come for them.

The girls raise a hand and point at Brad and Herc and Hermes.

Brad feels the blood rush from his face. I swear it wasn’t me this time.

3

Rows of flashing red and blue police lights, coming into the city two by two, become the only source of light down most of downtown Saraday. They stroll casually through the entrance of the city, past the sign with its obligatory population number—10,512 and counting—and stop just before reaching the bridge that crosses over the Yellow River Wash.

Hermes watches this from afar and up into the air. The tanks, he gathers, won’t be looking for him up there. Indeed, they are most likely lost in the roads, looking for a way to cross the railroad tracks and the bridge without falling into the Yellow River.

Not that the Yellow River is that deep. Even during the rainy spring and fall seasons, the wash only fills up halfway. It’s the tides that come from the beaches that really keeps the town on edge. Once high tide comes in, after it rains, most schools let out early.

These are the things that Hermes didn’t know he knows after living in Saraday for only a year. Up to now, he has never seen more than a few police officers at the same time. Already, with the six cars driving two-by-two next to each other on the road, Hermes gathers he’s seeing six times what he normally sees together.

And probably six times as many guns.

One of the men in the first car gets out—the driver. He wears a blue suit that with a black vest. Hermes saw these before on the television.

Flak jackets.

Or were they bullet proof vests?

Hermes shakes the thought when the police officer adjusts his protruding belly and shifts his belt just under his waistline. It doesn’t really seem to matter because his pants just fall back to the same loose formation from before.

He walks to the last car in the row and taps on the window. He talks to someone inside though it does not look like he’s the one giving orders. The man steps back from the window and looks at the bridge. He shrugs and walks slowly, twitchy, back to his car.

all the engines start in unison.

The first car drives, alone, onto the bridge. Nothing happens, so it speeds up just slightly and stops at the end of the road.

The officer gets out again, wipes his forehead, and waves for everyone else to come along.

These police officers, they’re from a different town, Hermes gathers. Any idiot who has lived in the town for more than a day knows that the bridge is sturdy.

Gods only know how old that damned thing is, but it’s there and holding for many a year.

Hermes folds his arms across his chest and smiles.

The tanks come just after the cars, each of the police cruisers lining up along the edge of the road across from an ice cream shop.

Note to self, Hermes thinks, get some ice cream for the way home.

The first of the tanks pulls to the front of the bridge and creeps toward the bridge and stops.

Something creaks down below them.

Hermes holds his tongue and smiles.

Psst, Apollo calls below him. What do you see?

I bet you wish you had your chariot now, Spray Tan. Do you not?

It’s not a spray tan, you winged freak.

Hermes nods. What ever helps you sleep at night.

You know I hate you.

Hermes knows.

The tank makes it halfway across the bridge before the second creeps up to the edge, ready to begin its attempt.

They are trying to come into the town, Hermes says. I believe they think the angels are still here.

Can’t they see they’re gone? says Herc. He holds Brad on his shoulders, trying to peer over the roofs of the lower one-story buildings.

Apparently not, smart guy, says Brad.

Herc looks up at Brad.

Sorry, says Brad. He puts his head down, pouting.

If this is what teenagers are like, can we please turn him back? Though Herc grins as he says this, Hermes watches as Brad’s fake smile completely disappears.

Just as everything seemed to be working out fine, Brad returned from Heaven, saving the day but six years older.

It seems to be just as much of a surprise to Brad as well. Another one of Jehovah’s secret plans, most likely.

Hermes shushes them both and watches, even flying just a bit closer to get a better glimpse of the tanks’ attempts.

He flies to the roof of the Owl Foods grocery store. His shoes touch the hot, black surface. Even this evening he can still feel the heat and humidity radiating from the walls of the roof. Like an oven.

The dangers of living in a subtropical climate.

He squints to get a better idea of what’s going on at the bridge. He counts three of the four tanks across the bridge. The fourth slows down when it reaches halfway there.

These tanks are going to make it across, says Hermes down to his brothers. They are looking for something, he says.

Herc points at the tanks. Then we go stomp them.

We are not as strong as you, Herc. You can go stomp all you want. But when you take a shell to the face, do not come crying to me. Hermes flies back down to the ground and lands with a soft tap of his shoes.

We’re out of luck now matter how we cut it, says Apollo. What do you suggest? Apollo surveys Herc, then Hermes.

Brad steps forward in his bare feet and winces a bit. These rocks are sharp.

Herc chuckles. Not quite got your godling feet yet, huh?

What?

Herc lifts up his foot and points it at Brad. Pointing at the sole of his foot, he says, Godling feet. Like having shoes on all the time. Part of being invulnerable and stuff.

Brad nods. Yeah, it’s a little weird. Sometimes I’m strong and sometimes I’m not.

Yeah, I remember those days, says Herc.

If you are done reminiscing your younger days, we must return to Sophie. Hermes begins the first few steps up the hill to the residential homes.

I’m pretty sure she’s fine. Herc follows, with Brad right behind him.

Hermes counts the crunching of the rocks underneath everyone’s feet and notices that someone must be missing.

Apollo? Hermes turns around. Apollo?

Apollo approaches the tanks with confident steps. He walks with a bit of a waddle, Hermes notices. Cocky, but almost with a limp.

Get your stupid, sun-bleached behind back here! Hermes yells.

Apollo holds up a middle finger and keeps walking.

You little, Hermes says. He goes to run after him, but Herc stops him with his strong fist clutching onto Hermes’s blue short-sleeved shirt.

Let him do his thing, he says.

Hermes shrugs. He will get himself killed.

We don’t know that, says Herc.

Yes, we do. Those are big tanks and we do not have our powers as we used to.

Herc points to himself. I know I don’t have all of my powers. He points to Hermes. And we know that you have some of your powers. Points to Brad. And he’s just starting to get his powers. Points to Apollo. We know nothing about Apollo’s powers.

Hermes shrugs and looks away. Right. Whatever. He waves away the conversation with a wave of his hand and turns around. Fine, he says, just bring the body back to the apartment when they’re done with him.

Hermes feels his feet slip along the loose asphalt rocks as he trudges up the hill. He takes to the sidewalk and considers flying for a bit, but decides against it. He does not want to risk making a spectacle of himself. The winged flyers already caught the military’s attention. The last thing he needs to do is stand out himself.

Each step feels almost painful. Hermes begins to realize that he’s not just out of shape, but he has been relying on his wings for too long.

All of this, and he’s winded. Only a few hundred