The murky smell of rotting carrion hung on the air as the short, scrawny man scrambled across piles upon piles of bones. He had journeyed a long way from his small provincial town, through valleys and caves, across mountains and rivers. No matter what manner of beast had stood in his path, he had evaded it. There had been gypsies, vandals and the threat of the Ottomans around every corner. He wasn't a physically strong man, nor a very imposing one – he thanked God for every safe passage, every narrow escape.
But now he was here.
A thousand screaming souls echoed to his right, and to his left, a hulking man continuously pushed a boulder up a hill. The demure Frenchman stopped to observe him. Every time the massive brute would get the weighty object to the top of the hill, a slick patch of moss would force the rock to tumble all the way back down to the bottom. Somehow, as if rehearsed for hundreds of years, the man knew to get out of its way, and with a heavy sigh, tread back down the slope, slightly less eager to try again.
Madness was everywhere. Creatures with the bodies of birds and the heads of women, a three-headed hound the size of a stallion, an eyeless ferryman – but he saw peaceful places, too. The fields in the distance looked to contain an endless summer, with golden bands of sunlight kissing the lush, green meadows and the endless river, which had heard the ferryman refer to as Styx, turned from a murky black to a cerulean blue. It was the same color as the eyes of his best friend and the plain country dress of his should've-been betrothed.
A slick, popping noise erupted beside him. "And whoooo might you beee, husky boy?"
"I'm not husky!" The Frenchman had dropped a considerable amount of weight due to both exercise and worry, and his clothes hung loosely over a somewhat gaunt frame.
Another pop. Another voice. "Ahhh, but you were, weren't you, mister? So fat, so rolly, the butt of everyone's joke, even the man you traveled to Hades to bring back!"
"Stop it, stop it!" He spun around. In front of him were two beings, one short and definitely packing on the pounds, red as the rage that was slowly building up inside of him. His partner, who took the appearance of a slim, spike-headed imp, cackled maniacally. "Take me to him!"
"To who, Pain?"
"I dunno, Panic. Maybe he wants to see the Cyclops."
"I bet he wants to meet Pandora!"
The Frenchman slammed his foot into the ground, nearly breaking his toes with the amount of force contained behind it. He reached into his pack, brandishing the glowing green mirror he had retrieved from his best friend's corpse. But the rage dwelling with him was not merely aimed at the mischievous demons in front of him, but also at the villagers who laughed at him, who told him he was as crazy as Maurice, the court at Prince Adam's, who laughed at him and mostly, the fact that his friend's tavern, the one that been in the LeGume family for almost three hundred years, had been turned into the little town's first library.
Library. That had been the last straw.
They told him he'd never find the corpse.
He had.
They told him he was mad. Even she had called him that, and she was the reason for all this.
He was.
They told him it was pointless. They told him at his friend's funeral, that his grief was pointless, that it was best to move on. They didn't get it, no one got it! He didn't HAVE any other friends; as a matter of fact, he didn't have anyone. How he had wept on his friend's grave, how he had longed to hear that booming voice, the braggadocios air that only he commanded, his flowing black mane, his boots stomping around the tavern. He held the mirror as a gladiator might hold a sword, as a soldier might aim a gun.
The mirror glowed an eerie dark green, and flashed with a bolt of lightning and an accompanying clap of thunder that started the small demons. But that satisfied him, he reveled in it. Those who tormented turned to look at this little man, and the tormented praised his coming, for thirty seconds without torture was akin to a cool drink of water on the tongue of a desert traveler.
His face, his voice lit up the sudden silence. From his black marble throne, the Lord of the Underworld heard the little man's scream, causing him to spit out his ambrosia all over his ebony robes.
"Take me to Gaston!" Pierre LeFou's eyes glowed as green as the mirror, and the ominous, viridian lightning flashes in the distance, as the thunder-clapping overhead, to the right ear, echoed 'Gaston'.
The Lord of the Underworld smirked coolly at LeFou. He had been watching the traveler for quite some time, ever since he learned that the enchantress had not gone to retrieve her magic mirror. It was quite a powerful mirror, one that had never been used to its full potential. It could not only show the living, but the dead, the immortals, across planets and planes of existence, crossing universes and untold boundaries. This pipsqueak had used it to find the River Styx, to intimidate his ferryman, to gain access to a world where most mortals would fear to tread.
All for Gaston LeGume? Hades had to know, he had to ask.
"Well then, Mr. LeFou. What is it that an overworked, underpaid flaming head god can do for you?" He asked, sipping his chalice sardonically.
"I want my best friend back."
Hades nodded. "Why? From what I've gathered, from people I've talked to, including the requested himself, he was never very nice to you." The immortal donned a pair of bifocals and a list appeared out of thin air. "I see – physical abuse, emotional abuse, undue physical labor, unpaid servitude – this guy didn't even let you drink for free at his bar!"
"I want my best friend back."
"Why? Your mother's here, your father's here, heck, we even have Attila the Hun, who, despite his reputation, is not as terrible a friend as Gaston!" Hades sarcastically chuckled at his own joke.
"No one's my best friend like Gaston." LeFou ran his hand through his matted hair, combing out ashes and sulphur. "When I was six years old, my mother, my father, my sisters – they all caught the Plague. No one wanted to take me, to give me relief, quarantine as they died. But Gaston did. Gaston stood up for me to the town, to his own parents – he insisted they take me in, even when it was in his own best interest not to.
"It wasn't a one way street. We were friends, but Gaston was different in private. He was personable, he was likeable – he had to put on his persona for the public, that's what they expected. That's the Gaston they wanted. But that was not my best friend. So, you see, I don't have anyone else. I need him back. You have to give him back to me. That blasted prince won't even apologize to me, won't even look me in the eye. He's a murderer, he should be here, not Gaston! Why, did you know that the prince, who ignored us for decades, now expects us all to pay tribute to him? Our little provincial, monetary tribute! With our chief source of revenue turned into a library!
"Only Gaston can stand up to Prince Adam, only Gaston can speak for the town. Things haven't been the same since. I need to fix them."
Hades tapped his chin, and Pain and Panic stood bawling in the corner.
"And the Academy for Best Supporting Actor in a Dramatic Role goes to…"Pain handed Panic an envelope.
"Pierre LeFou, for the Tragedy of My Best Friend! Come on down and accept your award!" Canned applause played in the background, but LeFou remained unimpressed.
Hades ignored the duo, as he often did. "Well. Looks like we need to strike a deal, Mr. LeFou. I will return your friend to the world of the living. On one condition."
The Frenchman nodded. He didn't expect this to come without a price. He stood stoically, silently, waiting for the dark lord to present his bargain. He honestly didn't care what it was, or how much it might take away from him. LeFou knew coming into this there might not be a way to win; he was just happy he had made it this far.
"If I return Gaston to the town, he will have no memory of dying. He will have no memory of anything that has happened to him six months before he died. Most importantly, if I, Hades, the Unconquerable Lord of the Underworld, breathe anew life into Gaston LeGume, he will have no memory of you, Pierre LeFou. You will have to start all over again: he might not want to be your friend this time around." Hades explained carefully.
"And what do you gain from this?" LeFou knew that couldn't be the only catch.
"The rose. Prince Adam's rose. I want it."
"Why?"
Hades scoffed. "Since when do you get to ask questions? Just bring it to me. You get Gaston, I get the rose. Win-win for everyone!"
It was LeFou's turn to scoff. "No fair, you got to ask! Why can't you get the rose yourself, you're a god, aren't you?"
"I can't directly be given a gift of such immense power, it has to be gifted to me. I don't write the rules, but I do have to follow them." Hades sighed, his flame-hair lowering and his shoulders slumping. He seemed to almost melt into his throne. "Look, you wanna know the story? The whole story? Fine! The enchantress that visited Prince Adam the night he was turned into the Beast…that was no ordinary, run of the mill Cruella DeVill. That was Atropos, one of the Three Fates who determine life on this planet. She's the one who controls when the thread of life is cut.
"See, I can't make that decision, I don't pick when someone dies – I merely rule this stench-filled, gaseous pit of despair. And quite frankly, I think it's time I outsourced a bit, ya know? Really bring a little bit of Hell to Earth, haha. But seriously, little man – if you gift to me the rose from the Atropos's personal garden, I will finally have the power to decide when people die, and more importantly, the power to end the reign of the gods. For never again will some insolent fool challenge Hades." He glowed a pleasant red, happy with his deal.
"I accept the terms." A contract appeared in front of LeFou, and he scribbed an 'X' on the blank line.
"The rose and the memories for your pal." Hades grinned widely, showing off his shark-like teeth. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. LeFou. Oh, and one more thing I may have forgot to mention. Quid pro quo, fine print, you know the drill…"
LeFou glared, his eyes beginning to glow green again. "What else is there?"
"Gaston's coming back…" Hades had to stifle a laugh. "…but not…entirely…as a human. Make sure you hide the garlic and the holy water, cuz Gaston LeGume, your very best friend, is coming back to you as a bona-fide, certified vampire. Trust me, you'll need him that way."
Before LeFou could protest, a cloud of black smoke circled around him, and he faded out of consciousness.