Page 18 of His in the Dark

HADES

I don’t acknowledge Minox when he appears at my side. Although his dark shadow and presence are felt, he isn’t needed. Minox knows better than to interrupt me when I’m involved in a task such as this.

The pleading and scarred man bound to the X cross is my task of the moment, and I’m heavily involved. My choice; I needed time to think. I need a physical release as well. I’ve never cared for touch before her.

Persephone has changed me, and I struggle with my own impulse and desires.

Now, she consumes my mind so wholly that fucking her would only serve to distract me from the things I have seen and the consequences those things will undoubtedly have.

I bring the whip in my hand down on the man’s flesh in five more measured strokes. He screams and pleads but so did those in the Earth realm. And he did not heed the warning. He did not give mercy. Each stroke is duly earned from the soul before me. As above, so below. The pain he brought to others is to be given back to him now.

The righteous justice and balance given is a balm to my soul although it doesn’t ease the burden of my thoughts for my queen.

Minox waits.

He is a patient companion, but even his patience is not endless.

“Zeus knows,” he says, between strokes.

My muscle tense as a chill runs down my spine.

I deliver one last blow—the man bound to the X screams, his voice ragged and on the verge of giving out—then hand the whip off to the man at my other side. He has waited, stoic and silent, for even longer than Minox, and is ready to accept the whip. He does not waste a moment in taking my place. The whip cracks across the man’s flesh. Another scream.

Although the man delivering the blows silently weeps. He is next. He so willfully hurt others. Now he will do so again with the vision of himself taking the blows. Then he will receive the pain all over again. There is no heaven in this arena. It is only hell for all who enter this place.

“Is that so?” I question lowly and listen to the sharp whip in the air followed by the strangled cry. The noise seems to become mute as Minox confirms Zeus knows I’ve acquired Persephone.

I take in Minox’s words against the backdrop of my life.

There are 166,000 deaths per day and each of those souls enter the Underworld. Morally righteous souls. Evil souls. Innocent souls. Pained and sorrowful souls filled with regret. Those who welcome death after a life of agony. And those who are at peace and simply accepted what was to come.

I oversee all of them, because both hell and paradise fall underneath my rule. They are both here in the Underworld, which makes them my responsibility. Every soul. Every heaven. Every hell. There are protocols and ease of placement for most. Some require my talent of torture. Those who lived especially heinous lives.

Even those who simply witnessed and did nothing. A thousand years reliving every moment they could have lived a righteous life.

The boundary between paradise and eternal suffering is far less firm than most would suspect. There is grey as far as the eye can see. One’s lifetime of a hero is another’s view of a villain. The balance is what is necessary. And I provide that.

Paradise exists in the Underworld. Elysium exists in the realms of the dead.

Persephone is my Elysium.

Drawing myself out of my thoughts, I survey the realms around me. The whip rises and falls in a steady rhythm, just as it should. Souls enter from across the river and await judgment. Once judgement has been passed by the three demigod ministers Rhadamanthys, Minos, and Aiakos appointed by myself, those souls take their rightful places. Whether they reside in paradise or suffer in hell or return to mortal life again, they all find a place.

If I am required they will inform me. Both of these men deserved special treatment.

I turn away and fall into step beside Minox. I find it difficult to think when I am standing still, so we set a brisk pace.

Zeus knows .

“How exactly did he come to his conclusion?” I ask. I’m not so naive as to think he wouldn’t suspect that I would steal her in the night given our talks. But to know - to know is a very different thing.

“I believe word may have gotten to Hekate,” Minox says calmly. “The army of the dead has her gratitude. If she were to ask, they would not lie, my Lord. And Persephone’s scream was heard clearly. She has ventured down the halls as you wished which has lead to whispers.”

A grunt of acknowledgement leaves me as I clench my fist at my side, turning the thin skin on my knuckles white.

Anger rises, hot as the fires of hell. I crave to rain it down on the armies of the dead. I want to find the soul who whispered in Hecate’s ear and make them regret it for all eternity.

But I cannot punish them for such acts. For she is a Titan and the mother to all. Their obedience to her is necessary. Although it is very much like a betrayal to myself, if I chose to disregard Hekate.

I made the decision long ago that Hekate would not suffer as the other Titans did. She is the first witch, capable of both good and evil. But like I, she recognizes balance and cycles. She sided with myself and Zeus in the battle against the Titans. Standing strong, a single Titan against the rest. She freed all realms from the damned reality. We could not have won without her on our side.

The army of the dead is made up of spirits of the unavenged or wrongfully killed who long for retribution. Hecate leads them from the Underworld back to the Earth realm on Deipnon, which is the last sliver of the moon before it begins anew. A single night the army of the dead return for justice. She aids in terror but also peace.

I should not punish them for such acts. Not those souls. Not those who have already fallen under another’s hands and guidance.

For I also knew granting Persephone freedom would lead to knowledge. It is of my own doing that she is here and of my own doing that Zeus became aware.

“And Demeter?” I question.

“It appears it is only Zeus and Hekate for the moment, my Lord.”

“And does he send word?” I ask.

“For her immediate return or else war will ensue and death of a scale unknown before will come.”

My heart races in my chest. My pulse shoots to my temples and pounds there, too. Minox’s words are finally sinking in. This is a threat I cannot ignore.

And yet…

I cannot let it cloud my judgement. It is already doing so, and it cannot gain any more ground.

“My Lord?—”

“Leave,” I snap at Minox. The anger cannot be quelled. It rises within me to a dangerous degree. How dare he threaten me. How dare he insist she leave me!

Minox bows his head and departs in the other direction without hesitation.

I go back to the X on the wall and hold out my hand for the whip. The man who had taken over for me gives it back mid swing. Bowing his head and stepping back. His dark eyes are bloodshot and his skin tear stained. I channel all my anger into torturing the bound man, who means nothing to me. I would torture infinite souls if it meant keeping my realm secure.

All the souls I have tortured did not count.

It is my responsibility to make this man—this soul —pay for his mortal misdeeds, but the blows I land on his back have nothing to do with his sins.

They have everything to do with the looming threat of losing Persephone.

I have had enough of being threatened. I spent enough time alone in the dark to progress through all the stages of fury, and when I walked free, I found myself here. In cold, ruthless anger.

Anger that now burns, nearly singing my flesh with its power. It is distorting my thoughts. The rage will translate to action, and I cannot let it guide my hands.

Except for right now. In this moment. In the cell of another’s hell I release my rage recklessly.

Whose sins did I pay for through all those years in isolation? What right does Zeus have to hold his dominion over my head? No right.

He is not in control of her! She is mine! I nearly scream in fury but the blows are delivered in heavy silence that suffocates the room. One after the other with no pause. The screams no longer come with each blow. The man to my left drops to his knees on the floor, cowering and pleading for mercy.

There is no mercy here. There is only justice.

I breathe in and out and focus on the blows. Blood pours down the soul’s back. His screams break as his voice gives out. It will return. That is the beauty—and the horror—of souls in the Underworld. They are made to spend eternity in whatever place is deemed appropriate for them. I could whip this soul down to his bones, and his flesh would reappear, ready for me to peel away again.

I feel a presence enter behind me, but I do not look at her. Soft footsteps. My body stills at the realization. My heart pounding, a thin sheet of sweat lining the back of my neck.

My queen.

If I look at her, I will tear apart the Underworld before Zeus can touch it. If I look at her, I will destroy everything before anyone can take it from me, and that is not what I have been charged to do.

“I know what you’re capable of,” Persephone says, raising her voice to be heard above the screams and sobs.

I raise the whip. Bring it down. Repeat this three times.

I do not look at Persephone, but I feel her hesitation.

Perhaps it is not hesitation. Perhaps she is only observing me. Perhaps she knows that I am not myself. Perhaps she knows, despite her fears about her captivity, that I am… Not well.

That sends something like anger—hot and uncontrollable—through my body. I ignore it.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ve never been quite all right , my queen.” My own honesty shocks me. It disgusts me. I did not mean to give it to Persephone so easily. I did not mean to lay myself bare. “Go,” I tell her. “I have work that must be done.”

With a heavy arm, I whip the man again although my rage wanes and in its place creeps in fear. He finds his voice once again, and his screams rend the air.

Persephone does not leave. I can still feel her behind me.

She does not speak, either, but her judgement is there, burning into me like her eyes burn into my flesh. Will it never fucking end? Will I ever be free?

I grit my teeth until it hurts, but I cannot keep the words in.

“You judge me. I judge them. It is my purpose.” I hear her quick inhale, but I do not stop. “You would do well to remember your purpose, my queen.”

“Fuck you,” Persephone says breathlessly.

“You weep for mortals like your mother.” I do not contain my own judgement. “But you fail to acknowledge the righteousness of the other side. Of death and darkness. You fear it!”

“Do not mention her name when you’ve betrayed her so,” Persephone shoots back. Her engagement—her attention—is even and soothing, although it scorches me. Her eyes dart over my expression, her head held high. There cannot be one without the other. One cannot know comfort without knowing pain. For me, they will always be bound together. Even now, the idea of being comforted by her—the idea of accepting her attention, and her touch, even demanding it—rips into me like claws.

“It seems you’ve found your strength, no?”

“More like my anger.” Her voice trembles with her words. I do not think it will tremble forever. I think she will find yet more strength, and perhaps for her it will be uncomplicated. Perhaps it will feel like power without the past on its heels. “And I shall take it with me so in my absence you mustn’t suffer it.”

Her voice infuriates me. Her presence in this place turns my vision red. Or is it my presence that I find so unbearable? I don’t want to be here, torturing this soul. I want to be in my rooms, in bed with Persephone. I want to be somewhere that Zeus can never find, and can never see, and cannot know about.

I have finally found my heaven and all I can see is him taking from me once again. I will not allow it! And worse, I cannot tell her for it would give her hope. Surely she would fight harder if she knew help was coming. I do not wish her to fight me. I need her to love me.

I bring the whip down harder than I ever have on the soul’s back. There’s too much blood to see the wound I’ve left.

“Leave me,” I order Persephone.

“I’ve been trying,” she says, her voice low and dangerous. The statement is a dagger to my heart.

I thought it was hot before, but I was mistaken. The heat that flares between us is hotter than my fury. It’s hotter than the fires that torture deserving souls. It’s hotter than anything, and threatens to melt the Underworld into a sick conglomeration of heaven and hell, all of it blended so there is no telling where Elysium once was.

The ground shakes, splitting under my feet. It is a warning. The pressure is reaching into the very foundations of the Underworld. The tension will pull until it breaks us apart. There is far too much power building in Persephone, and far too much anger building in me, and the two will meet.

That is guaranteed.

The only question is whether we’ll survive it.

“I said leave ,” I grit out, and the cold core of her fear gusts through the heat that’s built in this space. It was hot before— the man on the X cross has not earned a cool breeze, and will never earn one, so long as I am here. But my anger has set the air boiling. Persephone’s righteousness is like a match to a pile of dry tinder. This heat is different. It is a harbinger of power that’s bigger than both of us. And still, I feel her fear in it. A cold, lonely fear, as if she is seeing me for what I am. For what I could still become. “ Now .”

Persephone steps forward, into my line of sight. Her eyes are wide—she is afraid—but her chin is up and her hands are in fists at her sides. She’s beautiful like this. She’s so close to taking her power for herself, and still she insists on her suspicions.

Her knowledge?

Fuck. This was not how any of this was supposed to unfold. I had control over my realm and control over my plans for Persephone, and now it is like the strings of fate—out of my reach.

I won’t let that happen. I can’t let that happen.

But even the smallest glimpse of her is enough to turn me feral. I want to throw the whip away and crush her to me. I want to cover her mouth with mine so she can say nothing else. I only desire to work pleasure into her body until she is mine. Until she understands that she’s mine .

And she’ll never go back to Zeus.

This is her realm now, if only she would see that.

The ground shakes harder under my feet. Persephone glances down at the ground, her lips parting slightly. How much more will it take to make her understand? I wonder if she will break now. Cry. Beg.

But instead Persephone presses her lips together and lifts her chin. “I will go.”

As she turns, more words break free. “Don’t ever threaten me with your absence,” I order her. “You know not what you do.”

Then I turn my back to her. I cannot watch her leave.