"The advantage to weapons like your long pointy spear is it keeps your enemies at the far end of it. And that's further away from you, boyo." That had been the advice that had been give to him by the talking skeleton who was apparently on payroll to stand around and be used as a target dummy. And Zagreus had taken his advice and so armed himself with the eternal spear Varatha, once wielded by his father when the old man was committing his own acts of patricide in his youth.

Unfortunately it turned out that the Ghost of Sparta did not respect things such as 'reach' and 'not throwing those vicious blades at you from spear-length'. Zagreus died with a blade the rough size of his thigh through his throat, and pulled himself out of the Styx in the House of Hades in a foul mood.

"Wouldn't you know, I have some cough drops around here somewhere-"

"No thanks, Hypnos," Zagreus snapped, marching back to his room. He was going out there and he was taking Coronacht the Heart-Seeking Bow and he was going to stand at the other side of whatever gods-forsaken room he stumbled across that psychopath in and he was going to ask him what his problem was!

Naturally, this time he didn't stumble into the madman and made his way to the looming frontage of the stygian chamber of the Furies. The spectral boatman Charon was there, with his usual assortment of overpriced wares and secrets born from the surface world. Like gems in the darkness, the boons of the gods gleamed with divine power, waiting for him to accept them.

However, one thing above all else drew the eyes of the ravenous prince of the Underworld.

"Gyros and fries… oh, wait, what meat is it?"

"Chrr," intoned the skull-faced figure.

"You know, mate, since I started coming here, I always like it when you do chicken. Have you ever thought of lowering your prices? Fifty obols is midnight robbery when you're only charging the dead one obol to cross the river."

"Hrrrr."

"It's true, I do keep on paying your very-fair-and-not-at-all-rip-off prices. Though, what is a chicken? Still haven't ever seen one."

"Hrrrrrrrr."

"Oh, sort of like a bat?" Zagreus said, paying him for the meal. He dug in. "Y'kno'," he said with his mouth full, "no on' e'er 'ells you how 'ungry dyin' ma'es 'ou." He swallowed. "'Specially when you keep on doing it. I think my last meal gets lost. Has the white-skinned angry asshole caused you any problems?"

The purple light shining from Charon's eyesockets intensified, and he exhaled a writhing, darkness-laden mist. "Chhhhhhhhh," he said firmly.

"I dunno. He might be dumb enough to try."

"Hrrrrr."

"Well, if you're sure." Zagreus blinked. "Also, wait. You sound like you know who he is."

"Hnnnnnnnn-hrrrrrr."

"Well, be like that. You never tell me anything. I bet you won't even tell me which of them is waiting for me." He nodded to the door behind which the Furies lurked.

"Khhhhhhhhhrgh."

"Yeah, thought so." Zagreus finished off his meal then stretched, bouncing on his toes. He checked his quiver, drawing an arrow which trailed pink light. "Aphrodite was nice enough to bless my bow this time. Do you think she ever gets cold?"

"Hnrrrrrgh."

"Ah, I guess your paths don't cross much." He settled his shoulders. "I bet it's Alecto this time."

It was not. No, waiting for him was Megeara; pale, one-winged Megaera, First of the Furies who torment the sinners of Tartarus endlessly. Megaera of the thirsty whip, whose tongue with the same cruelty. Also, perhaps more pertinently, Zagreus's ex.

"Hmmph," she said, husky voice soft from where she waited at the centre of this grand room, guarding the exit from Tartarus. "Haven't seen you in a while. I even wondered if you'd realised you were never getting out."

"Ah, Meg, I didn't realise you'd missed me this much. I do like our little play-dates." And no, that wasn't a lie. "No, there's a new guy wandering around Tartarus. He's really quite dangerous. Shouldn't you put aside your attempts to stop me and go after him. The inmates shouldn't be roaming around, killing the son of Hades. It's bad for discipline."

She shook her hair out, running her hands over her savage whip and coiling it between her fingers. "Zagreus, if a mere shade can kill you, you'll never get to the surface."

He'd show her. But while she was here… "Actually, given your job here, you might've heard of him. What do you know of a gentleman called the 'Ghost of Sparta', Meg?"

She stiffened up, eyes narrowing, bright pink lips pursing. "That shade is bad news, Zagreus. Keep clear of him."

"Ah ha! So you do know about him!"

"He's someone who falls under the responsibilities of all three of us. And that's all I'll say on the topic."

"Huh." Zagreus nodded, committing that to memory. "So he's an oathbreaker, someone who commits crimes due to his passions - I bet it's rage, he's an angry man - and a murderer. Well, I think he deserves all three of you, and I wouldn't want to get in the way of your important job, so I'll just be going and-"

"Do you really think that'll work?"

"I had to try, Meg." He gave her his most winsome smile. "No hard feelings?"

"Plenty."

But while chain-wielding psychopaths with a fondness for eye-gouging were a problem that Zagreus had not managed to find his way around, Megaera was. He left her bleeding body riddled with arrows as the Styx claimed her. From there, he proceeded forth into burning Asphodel and conquered it, venturing up into Elysium where he met his demise to a surprising number of bright pink soul-eating butterflies.

But on the plus side, at least he hadn't seen any ashen-skinned madmen this time and he'd also managed to plunder enough wealth from his father's domain to be able to afford those towels.