The Darkness Deep As
Chapter One
Author's Note - So I haven't written much of anything in a few years… I saw an image today of Hades and Persephone and it sparked something it me that hasn't been sparked in a very long time. So I wrote a little something and found I liked it. This is, as you'll likely easily be able to tell, heavily influenced by the story of Persephone and Hades. I'm really not sure where I'm going with this. So hopefully you enjoy it, reader, it felt nice to write something again after so long.
The sun broke the horizon with the exuberance that it always seemed to break the horizon with - that sudden brilliance that made the nocturnal cringe and the diurnal grin. Its rays spread out across the land with practiced ease as the shadows of night were chased away to hide in corners and nooks until the sun made its grand exit and they were free to dance once more. As the land began to heat under the sun's rays a single bare foot rested on the soft grass of a valley. The other foot joined a moment later, attached to a pair of long slender legs draped with flowing white fabric. The girl moved fleet-footedly, her long golden-blonde hair loose and wild as she moved among the flowers. Her movements were almost a dance, a lazy smile on her face as she soaked up the rays of the sun.
Her steps stuttered as she noticed a flower among the multitude. It drooped lower than the others, its blue less vibrant and its petals wilted. She clucked softly as she slid to her knees and reached out, her fingertips stroking the petals. "There now," She breathed gently, "that's better isn't it?" The colour of the flower began to brighten as she smoothed her fingers over it. The girl smiled and the song began before she even realized she was singing it, the notes drifting out across the valley. In truth the song didn't make any sense and it wasn't a masterpiece, but it was pretty and it did the trick. The flower in her hands was upright and healthy once more, just as bright and cheery as its companions.
Christine pushed to her feet once more, smiling to herself as she brushed the dirt from her hands and continued on her jaunt. She didn't notice as the air began to chill, didn't look behind as she pranced on to see that the flower she had just taken the time to repair had fallen once again this time with all of its companions following suit. A sudden swath of death had cut through the valley and it raced up behind her so fast she didn't have time to notice its approach until her next breath puffed visibly into the air before her. Christine froze in place, the smile on her face fading away as she looked up and then back.
Less than ten feet away stood a man swathed entirely in black, a long cloak spilling out behind him fluttering in the suddenly bone-chilling gusts he had brought along. Upon his head a circlet carved of something black and polished to a shine, and upon half of his face a mask that looked rather like half a skull. A silver chain glittered at his throat, disappearing beneath his black tunic, the only splash of colour other than that chilling white mask.
It wasn't hard to recognize him. Although she had never seen him in person, Christine had heard tales of the man who ruled the underworld.
The man who ruled death.
The Phantom.
She felt her heart beginning to thunder in her chest and took a shaking breath, staring at him as she took a step back. He matched the step with one forward and she drew a sharp breath, "why are you here?" Christine couldn't help a rush of pride when her voice not only didn't break, it managed to sound stern and brusque.
It was nothing compared to the Phantom's voice. When he spoke she felt as though he were standing right beside her, his words almost had a life of their own. "Can't a man be out for a stroll?" She was relatively sure he was not what she would define a man to be. Men didn't call Hell their home. Men didn't rule the dead. Christine had no idea how to respond, his answer so absurd it left her with nothing to do but continue to gawk at him as she shifted, hugging her arms close against the chill that the Phantom had brought with him. "I heard you singing," he continued softly and Christine wondered why that statement gave her chills.
"I'm sorry if I disturbed your…ah… stroll." Christine responded faintly as she moved away again only to watch him make the distance up just as quickly. "I hardly even noticed I was doing it."
"I wasn't disturbed." the Phantom responded quickly, still watching her with a gaze that was beginning to make her very uncomfortable. As if she weren't threatened enough by his mere presence.
"I think I hear my father calling," Christine blurted abruptly, done trying to understand why he was speaking to her and what he wanted. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know. "I had better go see what he wants. Enjoy your walk." She turned and took off at a jog, hoping doing so quickly would surprise him enough that she would be able to outpace him.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist before she got more than three steps and she nearly came off of her feet, his powerful grip unyielding. "I don't hear anyone calling," he responded casually, as if his hand weren't made of steel and keeping her rooted to the spot. "What happens to be your name?"
"Let me go, please." Christine responded as politely as she could, voice shaking as she clenched her teeth.
"Your name." The Phantom repeated as if she hadn't spoken.
"Christine," She muttered finally, tugging at her wrist futilely, his grip still unyielding.
"Christine," He repeated, somehow able to say her name in a way that made a chill rush down her spine. "Are you not going to ask mine?"
"I don't have to," She shot back, "I know who you are."
"Oh?" He sounded amused, his visible eyebrow raising as the corner of his mouth cocked up, "I hadn't realized we were already acquainted."
"Everyone knows who the god of Hell is," Christine retorted as she pulled, "let me go!" She was beginning to panic now, not sure why he was touching her and frankly glad the myth that the Phantom's touch alone could kill was untrue. Unless she was already dead and just didn't know it yet. That thought only served to increase her panic and her heart thudded in her chest so hard she was afraid it might break her ribs.
"Oh, I see." His eyes narrowed, and at this distance Christine was able to see his eyes clearly. She had never seen a human with golden eyes before, his gaze as intense as a cat cornering prey. She felt very much like a mouse.
"Please, sir," Christine tried another tack, "I need to go back to my father. Please let me go."
"Oh, now I'm a 'sir'." He was toying with her, and she didn't like it, "I'm flattered." He tugged and Christine stumbled closer, "you have the loveliest singing voice, Christine, has anyone ever told you that?"
"Once or twice." She replied tersely, flexing her fingers. His grip on her wrist slipped away as abruptly as he'd grabbed ahold of her and she let out a breath of relief. The girl didn't dare to move yet, realizing she was beginning to tremble in the cold - her dress was made for summer, not this unexplained winter.
"Sing for me." He commanded it with the ease of a man used to commanding, and being obeyed.
Defiance swelled in Christine's chest; she didn't appreciate the Phantom's attitude. She sang for the trees, the flowers, the birds. She didn't sing for spoiled gods who were toying with her. "No." She shot back with as much power as she could muster.
It was obvious, and obvious quickly, that the Phantom didn't like being told no. His lips pressed together and his gaze darkened. The man who had seemed intimidating but harmless seemed to grow and expand even though physically neither happened. "It was not a request, child." His voice made Christine's knees try to give out and a chill went down her spine.
"I don't care." Where was this coming from? He just wanted her to sing. She didn't know why she was fighting him on it. But she wasn't about to give in now and give him the satisfaction of knowing he scared her. He did, of course, she was just unwilling to admit it. "I won't sing for you."
"You won't?" It was a quiet voice he was using now, and Christine swallowed as she found that quiet voice frightened her more than shouting and ranting would have. She had never met the Phantom before but she knew he was dangerous. She wished he hadn't noticed her, wished it with all of her heart. Hoped maybe he would storm away. The chill had grown worse as his mood darkened and she began to shiver harder, watching his cloak whip as the wind caught at it. The girl shook her head no finally. She wouldn't. What could he do to her?
Well. A lot, probably. But he was in the living world and he wasn't the lord of the living. He was the lord of the dead. So he could frighten her, but what could he really do? He couldn't kill her. That would be interfering with the living and it was not within his power. She didn't think her refusing to sing was worth him facing the wrath of the fates for interfering with the living. She felt fairly certain in that.
When his fingers locked around her wrist again, she felt less certain of it. Not sure what he intended to do Christine lashed out at him, trying to surprise him into letting go so she could run. He let her hit him, the strike connecting with his chest and likely hurting her hand more than it did him. "Let me go!" The words were just as useless as her attempt to fend him off physically had been. Christine could bring flowers to life, she could make a seed become a tree in a day… but she couldn't defend herself against the god of death.
"I don't think I will." He began to move without warning. The way the man moved was impossible; he went from completely still to moving at a full clip without an in-between. With no warning Christine was scrambling behind him as he hauled her through the field, flowers wilting with each step he made. The sight of her carefully tended valley withering away hurt her more than the grip on her wrist did and Christine gave a cry of protest as she stumbled behind him. "I believe I'll be going down once more," He commented without looking back at her, "into that darkness deep as hell - but I don't think I'll be going on my own. Oh no. You don't want to sing?" He twisted around and gave her a grin that made her stomach turn to ice and the shivering suddenly wasn't just because she was cold. "We'll see about that, Christine."
"No!" She responded with an edge of panic. "No, I don't want to go down- I can't go down - I'm alive! I can't go there, I'm not dead!" That was the rule, wasn't it? The dead went down below, they went to the darkness. The living couldn't go down there. It wasn't possible.
"And if you're damned lucky, perhaps you'll stay that way." The Phantom laughed as he dragged her.
"I'll sing," Christine blurted, "I'll sing. Please stop!"
"You had your opportunity," the Phantom responded without looking back, "you want to tell the lord of hell no? You think I'll just let you walk away from that? And here you thought you knew who I was." A chariot came into view, as black as the Phantom himself. A wisp of a man in the driver's seat, Christine had to squint to bring him into focus as if he weren't really there. Two massive steeds that seemed to be made of smoke and fire pranced nervously at the front of the carriage and Christine leaned back as hard as she could, resisting going any closer.
She didn't understand why he was doing this. It couldn't have been so important for him to hear her sing. He had refused her belated agreement to sing- what was his goal?
Christine abruptly realized and was surprised it had taken her so long. He hadn't come up here for a walk. He hadn't happened upon her singing. He had to have come for her.
But why? What did he truly want from her? What did he stand to gain by dragging her to hell? Perhaps her father was his intention. Perhaps he wanted to hurt her father. It was the only thing that made sense. Christine wasn't important, but her father was a god like the Phantom himself. She knew from the stories that the Phantom resented the other gods for their freedom to walk in the sunlight, for being able to drink and laugh together on Mount Olympus while he was relegated on his own to rule the dead. This had to be his way of lashing out.
"Please," Christine attempted as they came to the carriage. She didn't have a chance to continue as his hand released her wrist only for both of his hands to wrap around her waist and hoist her up, tossing her into the carriage with ease. She hadn't expected such a thing and wasn't able to stop herself as she fell to the floor of the carriage. The Phantom didn't seem bothered by it, he followed her in and stepped over her to settle onto a bench, slamming the door to the carriage shut with a resounding bang.
For a long moment she could only hear her own heaving breaths, the Phantom just a shadow in the darkness of the carriage. Then she heard the crack of a whip and the carriage surged forward. She twisted, pushing herself up and feinting for the door. "Don't you dare." That was all it took to make her freeze. As frightening as the Phantom had been when she'd been standing with him in the field, in the darkness he was the definition of terror. Christine hadn't dealt with fear like this before. She'd had nightmares, like any person, but they had been dreams. This… this was real, and she had no mechanisms for coping with the level of fear that burned in her chest.
So she sat. She didn't try for the door, she just sat on the floor of the carriage in stunned silence, helpless to do more than that.
The ride seemed surprisingly fast, Christine supposed it was because they must have gone through some manner of portal. Hell wasn't located on the mortal plane after all. Just minutes after the ride began the carriage jerked to a stop and the Phantom stood. Her breath caught in her throat when he moved and she watched him silently as he moved to open the door and descend the carriage stairs. When he turned back his eyes glittered in torchlight, almost seeming to glow, focusing on her. His hand stretched out, palm up, waiting.
Christine had a feeling if she declined to descend the steps on her own, he would drag her out. She took a deep breath and reached her hand out, resting her palm in his. His hand was far larger than hers, and his skin incredibly pale next to her own golden-tanned skin. His long fingers closed around her hand and he tugged, pulling her to her feet. Christine came down the steps on her own, surprised when he let her. She had a feeling declining his hand would have resulted in a less gentle exit from the carriage.
She twisted to look around as her feet hit the stone floor. They were in a cavern of some sort, the way they'd come a long black tunnel. Ahead was a small dock, torches lining the walls up to that dock. The Phantom released her hand and began to walk. She hesitated by the carriage for a moment, looking down the other tunnel again. Was it worth trying to run? She looked up at the figure driving the carriage, it seemed it had solidified into an old man who looked back at her with black eyes and a blank face. She swallowed hard, pressing her lips together, and walked after the Phantom before he had to come get her. She assumed he would, and didn't suppose he would be pleased about it.
They reached the dock and the Phantom stopped midway through. After a moment's pause Christine moved past him, looking into the water. It was unlike any water she had seen before. Instead of reflecting the torchlight it almost seemed to emit a glow of its own, and it almost looked like something was moving. She leaned closer, trying to figure out if she was seeing the shadow of a fish. An arm went around her waist at the same time as a hand came out of the water and swiped for her, a face that appeared stretched and melted rising out of the water with it for just a moment, screaming silently. Christine did one better and very much screamed with sound. "Hush," the Phantom's voice was almost gentle and he pulled her back from the water, his arm firm around her waist, "if you touch that water, your soul will fall in and you will die. That would be a devastating end to our adventure, wouldn't it?"
Adventure. Sure. Christine jerked to pull away and he let her, the girl moving away from the water until her feet were on solid stone once more. The river Styx. She had heard stories about the water, and how it would kill a living soul who touched it. She had just never envisioned it quite like that.
She heard splashing and looked toward the water again, watching as a long boat glided into view. The man holding the pole looked at them silently, he was a rotund gentleman with long blonde hair tied back at the nape of his neck and a full beard. He seemed to be wearing some sort of flowing robe and wasn't quite opaque. He frowned when he locked eyes with Christine and shook his head no as he pointed at her. She remembered hearing the ferryman would not take a living soul. Perhaps she was in luck.
The Phantom flipped a pair of coins at the man, rolling his eyes, "she comes too, or you go in the river yourself."
That marked the end of the debate, the ferryman pocketed the coins, frowned at Christine, and then bowed to the Phantom. The king of the underworld held his hand out and Christine shook her head no, stepping back, "I don't want to go."
He frowned and sighed, "this is not a debate, child. Come now, this gentleman's time is valuable."
"I won't-"
He interrupted her petulant argument, "you are going on this river one way or the other. You will either be safely ferried atop, or you will be swimming."
Christine's eyes widened slightly at the very clear threat. She wholeheartedly believed him. She hadn't figured out what he wanted with her yet, and he seemed just vindictive enough to do it. She reluctantly came forward and despite herself clutched his hand as he helped her onto the boat, scrambling to sit in the center far from either side, huddling there. The Phantom came to stand behind her, arms crossed as they began to move. Christine shivered still in her summer dress, hardly daring to breathe. She wondered if droplets of the water would kill her too, or if she had to be submerged. She hadn't asked those important questions before now. Without warning something heavy dropped onto her shoulders and she stifled a shriek. It took her a moment to realize the Phantom's cloak was draped around her. It cut the chill dramatically and despite wanting to pitch it overboard she found herself tugging it closer and clinging to the fabric.
The ride over the river took far longer than the ride to the dock had. She had always though crossing the river was a simple matter of going from one side to the other. In truth it was a trip through caverns and winding tunnels, mostly lit by the glow from the water, the air cold with death.
When they finally reached the end, another dock, she let the Phantom help her from the boat numbly. She could hear cries now, piercing shrieks, and it made her entire body tremble with something other than the chill. The Phantom walked ahead and she scrambled to keep up, realizing as they went that they were walking on a road paved entirely with skulls. Charming decorator, the lord of Hell.
The screams and wails intensified as they went and she began to feel her stomach churning, panic rushing through her chest. She didn't want to see this. She didn't want to hear it and she didn't want to see it. The Phantom's cloak dragged behind her, too long for her, snagging on skulls. She had managed to keep in the realm of calm this whole time, the surreal situation one she felt she could almost manage without panicking. But when the cloak snagged another skull just as another wrenching scream went through the air her resolve broke and she felt the hot tears spill down her cheeks. She whimpered, her heart thudding in her chest as her head began to spin.
"Christine?" It was the Phantom and she let out a disgruntled growl, throwing the cloak from her shoulders and without warning - even to herself - bolting from the path. "Christine!" She heard his shout behind her as she ran. She ran through dead, brittle trees the limbs snagging at her dress and her hair, one whipping her across the face and leaving a stinging line on her cheek. When she touched her fingers to it they came away red. That only brought more panic and fueled her run. She didn't know what she was trying to accomplish. She was already in hell. She had nowhere to go. She would have to swim the river Styx to get back as far as she could tell. It wasn't likely the ferryman would take her back without the Phantom's bidding.
Leaving the path also had the unfortunate side effect of leading her to some of the sources of the wailing. Abruptly she cleared the trees, and Christine ran headlong into a clearing with bodies scattered about. They were bound and screaming, the skin flayed from their bodies. Some fully, some in process. There were two immense creatures all in black and hooded, too large to be men although she had no idea what they could be. Their eyes burned red from within the hoods and they turned on her, the interloper interrupting their work. Her stomach made a valiant attempt to climb out of her mouth and Christine wondered where the next cry had come from for a moment before realizing it had come from her own mouth and she could still taste it on her tongue. Her eyes focused on the wicked blades in the hands of the not-men, blood and…something else… on the metal. Her knees buckled and she fell before she could stop herself, landing on the same traitorous knees that had just dropped her.
"No," The Phantom's voice rang across the clearing and the two not-men stopped their advance instantly only steps away, retreating from her. "She is not to be harmed." The Phantom clarified to ensure they didn't double back. Christine didn't look up as he approached, unable to even worry about his response to her running. "This is why you stay on the path." His voice was at her ear now and he scooped her up as one might a frightened child, one hand began her back and the other under her knees. Christine wanted to fight him. Wanted to tell him to let her go and she could walk and she was pretty sure she hated him. Which was a very new emotion for her. She could only guess that she was feeling it, Christine had never hated anything before. Not even the bee that had stung her once while she was trying to help the plant it was on grow and accidentally put her hand on it.
She couldn't say anything of the sort, however. She couldn't even fight him. She realized the odd too-hot feeling that had overcome her was a prelude to a faint. She realized this just as the world lost its definition, got sort of black-dotted and the edges went dark… and then everything went black.