Time For Blood: The Blood Series, #3

By Michael Lynes

Blood is mightier than the Sword
Dev and Tray are back but has their TIME finally come? Cronos holds all the cards, and even Gaia may not be powerful enough to stop him. The world destroying - exciting conclusion of the Award-Winning Blood Series - Time For Blood - is out now!
Winner - Finalist 2019 IAN Book of the Year Awards - category FANTASY

SOLO Medalist - New Apple Summer EBook 2019 - Young Adult FANTASY
WINNER - Readers Favorite SILVER Medal - 2019 - Fantasy
Winner New Apple Literary Official Selection - FANTASY

Book Three of the Blood Series - Time for Blood by award-winning author - Michael Lynes

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Lynes
• Release date: Nov 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393867739

Michael Lynes

MICHAEL LYNES is the Award-Winning Author of The Blood Series. To date, the series has won the New Apply Literary, Indie BRAG Medallion, Readers Favorite for FANTASY and most recently the IAN Book of the Year Selection for Fantasy. The series begins with the novella "It's in the Blood" and continues with Destroyer's Blood. NEW release Book Two - FIRST BLOOD is due out on November 1st 2019. Book One - "Destroyer's Blood"  Reviewed By Christian Sia for Readers' Favorite Destroyer's Blood: The Adventures of Devcalion: "a gripping fantasy with strong hints of Greek mythology." Meet Devcalion, "Dev," a demigod, son of Prometheus and nephew of Zeus. He has a telepathic sword and a very close friend called Betrayer, "Tray". When we encounter Dev, he and his friend are climbing up Half Dome. An encounter with Hermes changes everything, driving Dev to the last place he wants to be -- Mt. Olympus. Dev and Tray are pulled into a war they never bargained for. With the darkest power in the universe bent on wreaking havoc, do they have any chance of surviving?  Destroyer's Blood has been awarded the Silver Medal for Fantasy in the Readers Favorite Awards for 2019 and has won an Indie B.R.A.G. Medallion for Fantasy. It also won the Solo Medalist in the New Apple Summer eBook Awards for 2019. Book Two - "First Blood" will be released in November of 2019. His short story collection, "The Fat Man Gets Out of Bed", was chosen solo Medalist Winner in the 2017 New Apple Summer Indie Book awards.  His memoir, "There Is A Reaper: Losing a Child to Cancer", was an Indie B.R.A.G. Gold Medallion Honoree , a silver-medal winner Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards for Memoir, a medalist in the New Apple Book Awards for Memoir, and a finalist in Independent Author Network Book of the Year award and the Beverly Hills Book Awards. Most recently Mr. Lynes has been a Contributing Author to the 2019 Ghostly Rites Anthology. Mr. Lynes was awarded a BSEE degree in Electrical Engineering from Stevens Institute of Technology and currently works as an embedded software engineer. He has four sons, has been married for over thirty years, and currently lives with his wife and youngest son in the beautiful secluded hills of Sussex County, New Jersey.

Book preview

Chapter 1 – Gotham

F rom here it almost looks normal.

I turned to Dev, trying to catch his expression.  The cold wind of our passage blew my hair across my face, and I shivered as I awaited his reply.  His eyes narrowed, but he did not return my gaze.  I placed my hand on Bright Pearl.  Hey. . .you okay?

Yah. . .if by ‘okay’ you mean depressed and freaked-out all at the same time.  He paused for a beat, and I could feel his sadness through our shared connection.  "This was my—I mean our—home, Tray!  I always loved coming back here.  I felt welcome among the mortals as I’d never been in Olympus."  An edge of fury filled his mental voice.  "This is like visiting a tomb!  Crazy Cronos and cousin Zeusy have a lot to answer for."

I turned my gaze back to the City.  We had been flying most of the day.  We had embarked from the deck of one of Poseidon’s undersea ships, leaving it before dawn a few hundred miles off shore.  The risk of battle with the captured Oceanid fleet was high, so they had only surfaced for the time it took for us to scramble out the top hatch.  The cold waters of the North Atlantic had covered her before we rose a hundred feet. 

We had continued on, flying low, hugging the water to avoid being spotted by any land-based detection systems.  I’d also had Bright Pearl cloak us with her invisibility shield as an extra precaution.  We made landfall and then continued our approach from the north, angling our way down the Hudson, still staying low. 

We had come upon encampments of refugees on the banks of the river, living humans who had been driven out by the Undead.  Figuring the risk of being heard was greater than being picked up on radar, we’d banked upward, leveling out below the cloud cover as we flew over Yonkers.  At last we’d reached the Harlem River and turned to follow it across the top of Manhattan.  

The sun was setting as we turned, and golden light spread across the brownstones on the West Side.  We were passing over the center of the Triborough Bridge.  The irregular ring of blackened pavement in its center, left by the exploding tanker fire that had marked the beginning of our involvement in this whole mess, was still clear to see. 

Knife-edged shadows crisscrossed the streets behind the buildings, and reflected light sparkled from the windows of their upper stories as we continued down the river.  We made the turn, and the head of Roosevelt Island appeared, like the prow of a massive ocean liner rising up from the middle of the East River.  The beam of the lighthouse on the north end was out.  As we got closer, I could see broken windows, like hollow eyes, in most of the lower stories of the apartment complexes.  There were no cars moving on the street, and no people.  The only sound came from the whirr of Dev’s sandal-wings.  A melancholy tone entered my thoughts:  "Well. . .the sooner we secure the remains of the Scuttle and get back to Atlantis, the better.  At least the fighting seems to have ceased."

He remained silent as we broke off our level flight and began a steep descent.  We were aiming for the roof of our old apartment building.  We’d set out from that exact spot on our mission to Hades.  It seemed ages ago.  My thoughts returned to the present as my feet hit the pebbled surface.  I dismissed the colorless bubble of force that made up our two-man craft, but I kept our invisibility screen intact.  Dev drew Emptiness as we moved across the rooftop.

We paused when we reached the battered steel security door located beside the elevator motor shed in the center of the roof.  It was closed, of course, and probably locked, but that was not going to stop us.  Our apartment was two floors down.  All we had to do was pop the door and we should be in, out, and on our way back to our rendezvous point in about ten minutes.

Okay, Light Fingers, you’re up, I said in a whisper. 

He grinned as he sheathed his weapon and bent down, peering at the lock.  This should be a piece of cake.

Yeah, well, make it quick, O Master Thief.  I’m getting a weird feeling.

He shot me a look and dug in his keikogi for his lock-pick.  I raised my gaze, scanning the empty rooftop.  I did have a strange feeling.  The hairs on the back of my neck were crawling.  It was times like this when I missed the old days.  Not that I’m complaining, but back when I was a sword, my senses on the ethereal plane had been so much keener.  I pressed one hand to Bright Pearl’s hilt.  She was slung low on my left hip.  "You’ll warn me of any danger. . .right?"  Her answering vibration was immediate and comforting. 

I heard a sudden snick.  Dev stood up and made a flourish with one arm.  After you, Milady.

I let my tone become light.  "Woo!  That was quick. . .must be all the practice you’ve been getting lately."  The door swung open, hinges groaning, revealing a small landing and a few rusty stair treads.  They vanished into the gloom as they descended.  I swung one hip, giving him a gentle bump through my skin-tight black one-piece as I sashayed forward.

He grinned.  Yah, I’ve found that once you stroke the right spot, they just slide right open. . . .

You found?  Ha!  If I hadn’t been giving you directions every step of the way, you’d still be poking and hoping.

He clutched his chest in mock agony.  "Arrgh!  Right in my ego.  He stepped in behind me and closed the door, plunging us into near total darkness.  He flipped the switch a couple of times.  Woops!  No power."

Ya think? I replied, my voice dripping with mock scorn.  No worries—I’m on it.  Pearl’s pommel flashed, and a globe of star-white brilliance rose into the air, hovering just above our heads.  The light did nothing to improve my initial impression of the space.

The shadows fled, and I could see further, but darkness still cloaked the bottom of the flight.  There was a musty, sick-sweet odor rising up from below, like rotten meat mixed with rancid milk and stale water.  The drone of flies filled the air.  Ugh!  I held my hand over my nose.  Let’s hurry.

Dev drew Emptiness and took point.  I left Pearl in her sheath, following behind as he descended.  The sound of our steps seemed loud in the close stairwell. 

We came to the first turn and continued on down.  The smell grew stronger, and it was all I could do to keep from coughing.  When we reached the penthouse level, Dev stopped and dug out a couple of kerchiefs.  He handed one to me. 

Thanks, I said.  He grinned as he tied his on. 

Ya, it’s pretty thick in here.  I figure it’s from all the food that must have spoiled, and maybe backed-up pipes.  His voice grew muffled.

I nodded.  I just hope you’re right, and that’s all it is.  I tied my mask on, leaving my true fear unspoken.  We both knew that coming back here was risky.  The hordes of the Undead had overrun the City weeks ago, even before we reached the banks of the Acheron.  And after the gates of Hades had been opened by Hermes-Typhon, the ‘real’ Dead had invaded the Living Lands as well.  Our stealthy aerial approach had been designed to minimize any potential for hostile encounters, but we were on their turf now.

Dev turned and we continued on, moving down the next flight of stairs.  The floor below the penthouse was our destination, but to get to our apartment we would have to leave the relative shelter of the emergency stairs and enter the building proper.  Dev halted as we came to the door.  This is it, he murmured.  Ready? 

I nodded.  You want me to kill the light?

Good idea.  We were plunged into darkness once more.  I felt him crouch, tensed for action, and I did the same.  My heart began to pound in my chest.  I heard a creak as he leaned his weight onto the security bar. 

The door was spring-loaded, designed to close automatically as a protection against fire.  It opened about halfway and then stopped as it struck an unseen obstacle.  Its hinges made less noise than those on the first door, but their high-pitched squeal still set my teeth on edge. 

As we slipped through the gap and let it close behind us, we were hit with a solid wall of smell.  I wrinkled my nose and pressed my hands over my mouth, stifling my reaction.  The kerchief was hardly cutting the stench, and my eyes watered as I blinked.  Dev grabbed my elbow, and we pressed our backs against the door, not moving.  The hall was filled with shadows, and lurid beams of blood red light streamed in from a couple of apartments that were missing their front doors.  The floor was choked with debris.  Wow, I whispered.  This place looks like a bomb hit it.

Looters, he hissed.  Come on. 

He picked his way through the junk, moving with fluid grace as we made our way down the hall.  Our place was on the north end of the building, and I could see the outline of our door in the gloom at the end of the long hall.  On the plus side, it was closed and appeared intact.

Dev strode up to the entrance and sheathed his blade, digging in a pocket for his key.  I laid a finger on Pearl as I came up behind him, asking for a trace of light.  My heart beat faster as her glow revealed deep scratches and scuffs around the lock and handle. 

Wait! I breathed.  He gave me an eyebrow-raised look, one hand on the doorknob. 

I leaned in, lips almost touching his ear.  "Suppose there is someone—or something—inside?"

Heh, he exclaimed with a low laugh.  Then I’ll start feeling sorry for them now. 

His face fell as I punched him in the shoulder.  Be serious!

He let go of the handle and began rubbing his arm.  Okay, I get it. The air stinks like a thousand zombies, and our door is all beat up.  Plus the whole place is a wreck, and it’s pretty spooky in here.  He gestured toward the scratches and dings along the doorjamb. 

"But look. Whoever wrecked this place might have tried to break in, but as far as I can tell the door hasn’t been forced.  Second, besides the locks, we also have a little magical protection on the space.  And even if the Undead did manage to break down the door, I don’t think they would have gotten past that.  I nodded reluctantly as my heart began to slow.  So let’s go in, grab what we came for, and get out.  No muss, no fuss."

He turned back to the door and inserted his key, unlocking the deadbolt.  Pearl’s hilt jumped under my hand as the door swung open without a sound.  Her light flared sun-bright, and I felt my heart stop as the door disappeared with a shriek of tortured metal.  A howling wail filled the air as scores of dead-white arms erupted from the darkness.  We sprang back, drawing our swords as zombies surged through the shattered doorframe.

NAH, DAT AIN’T GONNA work.  Hep’s voice was filled with gloom as he bent over the induction furnace, craned his neck, and peered up the metal-lined flue pipe.  I mean, dis here ventin’ is okay, I guess.  But dis little stove is a joke, and da rest of dis stuff. . . .  His brows arched in dismay.  It ain’t no use, Dezzy.  I don’t care what ya Dad told yaz.  Dis junk ain’t gonna cut it.

Despoena let out a gentle sigh of patient exasperation.  Lord Hephes—  She stopped as he held up a meaty paw. 

Come on, Dez!  If I told yaz once, it’s a zillion times.  Just call me Hep.  Her brows lowered, and her silver hair billowed outward as she shook her head. 

As you wish. . .Hep.  She continued her interrupted gesture, sweeping her arm and taking in the array of sophisticated fabrication equipment that filled the Oceanid metallurgical lab they were in.

This is the best forging and metal-working technology my people can offer, far superior to anything that can be found on the surface.  Her voice took on an edge. If this will not suffice, then we have already failed.  There was a brittle silence.  She watched as the God of Fire continued rummaging among the equipment, a look of incipient disgust on his face.

Suddenly his head rose and his gaze brightened. Hey!  Why didn’t yaz tell me about those things?  She shuddered as he swept a row of glass retorts off one of the benches.  They hit the floor with a tremendous crash. 

Now dat is somethin’ that I can use! he exclaimed, clambering up onto the burnished metal tabletop.  The acid-proof alloy groaned in protest as it took on his weight.  He rose on his tip-toes, stretching towards the enormous set of red-gold metal hammers set high on the wall.

But those are antiques! Des protested.

Yah, I know, he replied, shooting her a huge grin as he dragged the tools off their mount.  "Dey’re made outta orichalucum, right?  She nodded as he grasped a hammer in each hand, hefting them to check their balance.  They were massive, sporting wedge-shaped heads, and their handles were longer than Despoena’s arm.  The overhead lights reflected off of their burnished surfaces.  I thought so. Dat’s exactly da kinda stuff I need."

But Lord—uh, Hep.  How can this aid us?  These tools are not useful.  They are for decoration.  She stopped as he laughed aloud. 

Ha, dat’s what you think, eh?  He kicked the last of the glass containers off the bench and leapt to the ground.  Okie-dokie, now we are in business!  Ol’ Uncle Hep is gonna show youse a few tricks you ain’t seen before.  Hephaestus’s voice was cheery.  Get yaw assistants in here ta clean up dis mess, and den clear da rest of deese tables an junk outta here.  As soon as Dev-o and Tray get back wit my Scuttle, I’m gonna setup right here unda dis vent pipe.  We ain’t got a lotta time.  He stomped one foot, making the reinforced floor tremble.  An’ one maw thing.  Tell ‘em ta bring me some heavy-duty rock. . .lots and lots of rock.

THE FIRST WAVE OF THE Undead crashed into Pearl’s shield, and they screamed as flame filled the hallway with flickering shadows.  My skin crawled as they pressed close regardless, and the stench of burning flesh took my breath away.

Dev crouched and whirled, crying aloud as he swept the bitter edge of Emptiness through the flood of rotting bodies pouring out of our apartment.  Severed limbs littered the entranceway, and their cries became a keening wail as we fell back into the hall. 

I danced over the debris at my feet as I turned, drawing Pearl and holding her crosswise in front of me.  More zombies poured out of the stairwell and the broken apartment doors behind us.  Lidless eyes popped, and yawning jaws stretched wide as they rushed to cut off our escape.  My heart leapt into my throat—their numbers were beginning to overwhelm my defensive screen. 

"There are too many!"

This is no good.  We need room to maneuver. 

The dark ring on my forefinger pulsed, growing icy cold as tendrils of darkness streamed out from the hilt of Emptiness.  They wove between the massed bodies of the Undead, parting them like a wedge. 

Grab on! Dev cried, as his sandal wings hummed to life and his body began to transform.  I sheathed Pearl and wrapped my arms around his torso, tucking my head behind the ridge of bone and muscle that his shoulder had morphed into.  We accelerated sideways, slamming square into the middle of the apartment door on our right, and it flew open with a crash of splintering wood.  I let go and somersaulted to my feet as his body flowed back into its normal shape, stepping a couple of paces to his left, so we both had room to fight. 

The level beams of the setting sun streamed in through the windows behind us, catching the dust motes raised by our sudden entry, and a chorus of unearthly moans shook the air as the Undead began to force their way through the door frame, crowding against one another in their eagerness to get to us.

Dev stepped forward, swinging his blade and lopping off limbs with whip-like speed.  The zombies screamed their hatred and redoubled their efforts.  Gobbets of rotting flesh and bone began to pile up around him.  Stalemate, he hissed between sword cuts.

Pearl’s shield snapped outward, forming a brilliant barrier across the door and pressing the writhing mass of zombies back into the hall. 

That should hold them for a bit, I replied.  You stay here in case they break through.  I’ll go out the window and see if I can get in by the balcony.

He glanced at my barrier.  "Divide and conquer, eh?  Great plan, but you got the roles reversed.  You stay, I’ll go."

I lowered my brows and put an edge in my voice, "Ha! Like your plan has been working?  I told you I had a weird feeling!  If someone had listened to my intuition, we wouldn’t be in this mess." 

He rolled his eyes as I gave the room a second look.  It was a typical city studio.  An overstuffed leather sectional brooded in front of a gigantic flat-screen, and cheap leopard-print area rugs sat underneath faux Danish-modern end tables. A clothing-draped exercise bike, and other bric-a-brac, littered the living space. 

I mean, look at this place!

He shrugged.  Ya, it’s pretty hideous.  I’d say it rates about a seven on the fashion-crimes-against-humanity scale.  His grin faded as I shot him a stink-face. 

"Come on!  You know what I mean.  This proves it was a setup.  There were no looters.  They were expecting us."

That’s two points for you. . .so, what’s to say that it’s not a clean sweep?  Whoever is behind this probably took Hep’s toy cup, too.  We should cut our losses and bug out.

I closed my eyes, extending my awareness into Bright Pearl and letting my senses meld with hers. 

The last time I interacted with the golden vessel that Hephaestus had created to contain the Fire of Olympus, I’d still been embodied as a sword.  Hera and Zeus had brought the Scuttle to the top of Mount Kazbek, intent on abusing its power and using it to recall the Fire of Olympus from the earth. 

Working together, Dev, Prometheus, and I had stopped her, but the Scuttle had been nearly destroyed by the fantastic energies that she unleashed.  Dev had taken the remains for safe keeping.

If I was being truthful, I had never ‘seen’ it at all.  Back then, my perceptions had all been on the magical-etheric plane, and my current biker-chick bod no longer possessed those talents.  On the other hand, my memories, combined with Pearl’s power, were the next-best thing.  A sudden thrill of recognition filled me. 

No—I can feel the Scuttle, and it is close by.  I shook my head, sending my auburn tresses flying.  "It had to be here—it was the bait."

In that case, this fish is still hungry, he shot back with a grin.  Let’s not keep them waiting.

WAIT, NO!  DESPOENA’S hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around Hephaestus’s wrist with surprising strength.

Hey, leggo! he protested, trying to wrestle his hand free.  Dis ain’t what yaz think.  It’s just a test.

The God of Fire lowered his right arm, relaxing it into Despoena’s grip.  The intense heat from his newly created forge had already barbered his flowing beard back to its normal length, and his hair hung in lank ringlets across his brow.  He brushed a few sparks from his tunic as Des took a long breath. 

I have met with my father.  He and the generals do not agree with your plan.  My lor—Hep, you must reconsider!  She frowned as he smiled at her correction.

Yeah, I figured dey might be a little skeptical.  He gestured toward the blue flame that danced atop the glowing coals in the forge pit.  "Dat’s why I fired her up and made dis test without askin’ em fer permission.  I been workin’ all day on it. 

He raised the golden trident once more.  It was an exact replica of Poseidon’s great weapon, and Despoena’s eyes grew wide as he turned it from side to side, sighting down its length.  Its points glittered in the forge-light. 

I bet you thought dis wuz da real thing, eh?  He laughed aloud as she nodded.  Dat’s good. . .I guess I ain’t lost my touch.  An I made it all from memory, too!  His face fell.  But you know looks can be deceivin’. . . 

He swung his arm down in a sharp arc.  The head of the weapon hit the volcanic rock that lined the floor of the converted lab, and it shattered into sparkling fragments. 

Dis forge ain’t even hot enough ta make a regular weapon.  If I’m gonna work on da real thing, I need ta use da Fire of da Gods. . .an fer dat I need my Scuttle.  He mopped his brow and sighed.  Dev-o an B’traya are overdue.  I hope dey are okay.

WITH A MOVEMENT TO fast for the eye, Dev swept Emptiness up above his head.  Her ebony tendrils curled outward, spreading out and wrapping around the unfortunate décor.  I sprang back towards the window as her power swept the contents of the room up against the doorframe. 

There, that ought to hold them, he said.  Plus, now they can’t see what we’re doing.

I glanced at the towering pile that blocked the door, muffling the cries of the zombie horde.  I’d say it’s an improvement.  You’ve got a gift for interior design. 

He grinned as I opened up the window, peering at the narrow ledge and the eight-story drop beyond.  Get over here, Tinkerbell—I can float, but we’ll need your fairy-wings to fly.

I stepped out onto the ledge and then onto seemingly empty air, commanding Pearl to reform our invisible bubble.  He followed.  There was a crash as the Undead began to push through our makeshift barrier.  He circled one arm around my waist as his sandals hummed to life.  We shot sideways, gaining a bit of altitude as we did and heading toward the north corner of the building. 

Hey, they can’t see us, I hissed, but you need to muffle those sandals!  Zombies can hear, ya know.

As if to punctuate my words, there was a zip of cloven air on our left, followed by three more from below us on our right. 

Archers! he exclaimed as his wings stilled.  I commanded additional lift from Pearl, and we rose in silence like a balloon, pushed along by the gentle river breeze that was blowing up out of the south. 

I could see one squad of bow-toting zombies almost hidden by shadows on the street below, and a few more staked out on the roof above our place.  Our sudden silence seemed to have confused them, and the rest of their bolts were far off the mark. 

No worries.  Pearl’s shield is holding, and their aim is crappy.

Great, he replied in a sour tone.  But the real problem is, how are we going to get past them and find the Scuttle? 

We continued to rise.  To the west the sky was crimson with the last glow of sunset.  As we floated past the corner of the building, I could see our tiny balcony no more than twenty meters below us.  I extended my arm.  I don’t think we’ll have to look for it.

Dev’s brows rose as he followed my gaze.  The intruder was tall, standing alone and at ease on our deck as if he owned the place.  A shiver ran down my spine as his dark-eyed gaze seemed to lock on mine.  Blood-red light fell across the chiseled planes of his face, glinting from the burnished plates of his armor.  His beard was black, shorn close to his cheeks, and his expression was cruel and cold.  I could feel Dev’s mental shock as he recognized him.

It was Aries, the God of War.  In his right hand he held a naked blade.  In his left, he clutched the Scuttle.

Chapter 2 – Hades

Asigh of wind came to him, and he felt its fitful caress as it flowed across his prone form, endlessly muttering.  He shivered, though he felt no sensation, either of heat or cold.  His reaction was habitual, a tremor born of the mind and not the body.

Without volition, his eyes opened.  Wan light, neither gloom nor dusk, filled his sight.  It was diffuse, sourceless, and yet ubiquitous. . .an eternal gray twilight that subsumed all.  He stared into the formless void.  His thoughts were distant, surreal. . .soundless images that played across his inner sight.  By degrees they began to connect into memory.

A GLOWING SLIVER OF brilliance swept past him, cleaving the warm ever-darkness, burning bright and then vanishing.  In its wake there was a shudder, a chthonic spasm, and his form was squeezed, sliding through the tension in an impossible motion.   

Vertigo, sudden nausea, rolled through him.  He felt the sickening sensation of down, and the irresistible rhythmic peristalsis of tissue as it strove to both open and eject.  A feeling of being contained, of being smothered by layers of choking slime, filled him.  He struggled, lungs burning, throat drowning in fluid and mucus.  There was an instant of terrible pain.  Then his form exploded outward, rushing through blood and gore, sliding past the cloven flesh.

It is like being born anew. . . .

The thought rang within his consciousness, although the concept of birth seemed to be a semantic null.  Strange bands of light appeared in the stygian darkness.  Pain again lanced through his body, along with a terrible sensation of cold.  All at once he was falling.  He’d barely had time to register this new terror when his body struck an unyielding surface.  He turned his head, vomiting up fluid and blood, and drew a deep, searing breath.

He blinked.  He could see the head of a golden spear, its tip covered with gore.  His eyes tracked upward, focusing upon the figure that held it, his face half-strange, half-familiar.

Brother! the stranger cried, his voice ringing from the walls of the cave.  He extended an open hand, reaching down to help him rise.  He reached up, his red-stained fingers opening.  They touched.

NO!

His cry was involuntary, a choked scream that was filled with rage and sorrow.  Traitor. . .usurper. . .kin-murderer.  The thoughts beat through him.

He sat up, the shreds of his dream-vision fading into grim reality.  He shook his head.  It felt odd, as though filled with air, light and insubstantial.  He raised one hand, splaying his fingers, examining his transparent flesh.  He ran his palm across the gaping wound in his chest.  It is no dream, then, he muttered.  I am a shade in truth.  Brother Zeus has—

At wast!

The high-pitched exclamation made him jerk his head up, dragging his attention away from his bleak mood.

Took you wong enough!  The lispy squeak was joined to a face, and Hermes wafted into view.  Behind him he could see the dreary scenery of the Underworld, only slightly distorted by his semi-transparent form.  He seemed to be upset.

Uncle, he cried, pointing his finger in accusation, Dis is all yaw fault!  If you weren’t alweddy dead, I would find a sharp wock and sock you.

Hades remained in a seated position, allowing the tirade to wash over him.  Dead. . .after all these millennia, and by the hand of one I loved.  My deliverer and my brother. . . .

The terrible realization seemed to beat upon his awareness as the recollection of the battle unfolded in his mind.  I had been winning!  The power of his Bident had seared the flesh from the possessed god of Poetry, revealing his true enemy.  Typhon.  Sudden anger again rose from within.  His eyes glowed, filled with baleful fire.  Hermes ceased his rant and drew back as Hades bared his teeth.

You! he hissed.  You speak of faults.  Then what of your own responsibility?  The shade’s voice became like a howling wind.  Usurper!  You stole the loyalty of my subjects, destroyed my hall, and killed my truest friend.  Hermes fell back as he sprang up, towering over him.  "It was through your weakness that the dread Beast worked his evil upon the Living Lands.  And rather than being content with the destruction of Olympus alone, you conspired with him to overthrow the Underworld as well.  His voice rose to a scream.  The ruin of the entire world lies upon your head!"

But. . .it’s not my fault!  A sob entered Hermes’s voice as he began to wail aloud.  "He made me do all dose awful things.  His voice rose to an anguished pitch.  Even more tewibble, he has wrecked my wuv-wee wenovations!  Uncle, do you have any idea how wong it took me to pick out all of those complimetawee colors?  He is a monster!"

Hades stared at him.  You are right.

And another thing—  Hermes broke off in mid-sentence, goggling at the dark visage of the taller god.  What did you say?  I am wight?  His voice dropped to a shocked whisper.  "But how can dis be?  I am nevah wight!"

Hades frowned and turned away, lifting his gaze to look out from the gray hollow where he had woken.  A sense of unease filled his being.  His anger at Hermes was misplaced, and he knew it.  The vision that had come to him in his death stupor was at the heart of his upset.

To think that it was but an echo of my death at his hands, he muttered aloud, shaking his head.

Well did he recall that fateful day when Zeus released them all from the gut of Cronos.  The belly of their hated father had been cut open as he slept, and he and the rest of his siblings had been spit forth from the gaping wound.  He had been consumed first, and so had emerged last.  It had also been the first time that he laid eyes upon the young Zeus as he stood by with his great spear.

That day Gaia had reforged the World, forming the great Balance.  Cronos had been overthrown, and realizing the flaw of unitary rule, she had divided the cosmos into three realms: the Undersea, the Living Lands, and the Underworld.

I never wished him ill, but he was not fit!  Hades’ tone became soft.  I should have been foremost. . .

His companion’s brows arched at his words, but he was wise enough to remain silent.  Hades’ eyes glowed bright as he took in the surroundings.  We are far from the Keep!  How come we to be here?  My last memory was of the battle in the throne chamber.  He glared at Hermes.

Yes, and you were a tewibble burden to carry too, thank you very much.  Hermes’s mouth pursed primly.  You bettah go on a diet, Uncle—even yaw shade is weighted down with sorrow.

Hades made a rude noise.  Then why did you bother?  I have no need for your assistance!  His associate sniffed and made no reply.  He ignored him, peering down into the valley.  It seemed that they were not far from the river Lethe.  He could see a bend of its unmistakable milky-blue waters off in the distance.  Nearer at hand, the land was nondescript and empty, with little to recommend it.  Behind them, the rocky highlands continued in ever-mounting gray hillocks.

Hermes uttered a heavy sigh and moved a few paces away from him, sitting down on the ground and tracing one slender finger in the dust.  The ever-present wind continued to blow, and he noted how its searching fingers seemed to pass through his form rather than around it.  He began to feel put out. 

Am I truly to spend the rest of eternity in this insubstantial state?  What will I do?  The reality of his endless non-existence began to weigh upon his mind.

Why? he cried aloud.  Why did you bring me here?  The last time we fought, I destroyed your body with my fire.  The time before that, you blinded me and cast me into Tartarus.

Hermes looked up from his tracing.  Yes, and what’s yaw point?  He made a dismissive flourish.  "Now we are both dead.  If I had weft your shade in da great hall, you would have become a slave to dat