Hermes watched as the man dodged Hercules's blade. Triton danced several feet away, using his water like a weapon as he fought with great determination. Pan shifted beside his father, his green eyes watching every movement. When they had been preparing to face Ambrose, Hercules and Triton had asked for a chance to get back at him. They wouldn't kill Ambrose and his men, they said, but they needed to fight. Hermes agreed, and now they were fighting.

Ambrose stood away from his soldiers, his keen brown eyes watching every dodge and twist of the cousins. Hermes kept his eyes on the tricky chemist. If he made any move to shoot something or jump at the two boys, Hermes was ready. Behind the man, huddled in a group, were the gods, now turned to mortals with no powers. Hermes could pick out Zeus and Hera with ease; they watched Hercules with terrified eyes, afraid of what Ambrose would do to him. Near them cowered Poseidon and Amphitrite, staring at their own son and silently egging him on. The others were quiet, their cheeks hollow from lack of food, their eyes frightened as they kept glancing at Ambrose.

Hermes stared at their helpless, mortal forms, memories trying to push forward. He wondered what he was doing, saving their lives. They had destroyed him when he was young, laughed and taunted and fought with him, all to please Hera. Each of them had wronged him in some way or another.

Aphrodite had said she loved him, but all she loved was his manly beauty. After birthing two of his children, she had scorned them. Tyche and Hermaphroditus had never been the same. And then she had cursed her own son to be a hermaphrodite, both male and female, against his wishes.

Apollo had cursed his beloved Dryope, forced her to become a tree that could never laugh or see the sun again. All because she refused to satisfy his lusts. And many years later, the god of the sun still hadn't learned, not if Cassandra's curse was anything to go by.

Ares had been a close friend, one of the few who was kind to him outside of the gazes of Zeus and Hera. Then he had instigated a war, and his beloved Chione was killed. Autolycus and Angelia had lost their mother, and when Hermes had gone to Hades for her soul, he discovered that Ares and Hades had planned the war and that Chione was one of the intended victims. From that moment on, all Hermes felt was bitterness at the loss of his second lover by the hands of another one of the gods, one who was supposed to be his friend.

The stories were varied, from Hephaestus marrying Aphrodite to spite him and destroy his heart, to Hades refusing to give up the soul of his lover. From Artemis trying to destroy Pan when she discovered him in the forest, calling him an abomination of nature, to Athena devising a scheme for Hera to demean him. All to please the queen of the gods and stay in her favor.

And then there were the other two. The ones who had destroyed his heart and mind and made his life a terrible existence. Zeus and Hera. The one had raped his mother, the other had tried to kill her. The first had shown no affection for him because the second hated him with the passion of a jealous wife. He hadn't asked to be born. He hadn't asked to be brought into this terrible world, an outcast simply for being. And for an instant, he truly considered turning away and leaving them to their deaths. But his eyes turned back to his little brother and his cousin.

Hercules hadn't asked to be born into such a dysfunctional family. Triton hadn't chosen to be conceived by Poseidon and Amphitrite. They both were so young, not yet embroiled in the terrible drama that surrounded the Olympians. And they loved their parents. It wasn't right to starve them of the love and affection they needed to grow and thrive. It didn't matter that Hermes himself had never received those things. He could make sure that they had them. And that thought soothed his anger, helped him to fight back the rage and pain that had threatened to destroy him. His eyes sought out Ambrose again, and just in time.

In an instant, Ambrose dashed forward, barreling toward Hercules with something in his hand. Hermes sped out to meet him and stood between his cousin and little brother and Ambrose. Ambrose yelped and stepped back, his gaze traveling up and down the newcomer. Hermes kept his gaze on the clever human, his entire body taut as a bowstring, his silver eyes flashing like lightning. But the man frowned.

"You're not Pan," he said slowly. "He's a satyr. Are you Autolycus?"

Hermes's eyes darted to the gods, whose expressions were pinched with pain and confusion. He could practically see the memories coming up from the lake of forgetfulness that he had carved out of their mind and filled in with their memories. His lie was over. There was no going back now. Another chapter in his life was over forever. So gathering his courage, he stood tall and spoke in a commanding tone.

"I am Hermes! Son of Zeus and Maia! I am King of the gods in my father's place! And you will cease this insurrection or face the wrath of Olympus!"

Ambrose shook his head. "You're not Hermes. You look nothing like him."

"I look nothing like the Hermes the gods forced me to become. This is who I really am, and I will change for no one ever again. Now, stop this foolishness so we can talk like sensible men."

Ambrose's face turned into a snarling mask. "If you are a god, the only way this will end is with your death!"

With a shrill whistle, soldiers came pouring from the forest. Hermes ignored them. His focus was on Ambrose alone. His children shot from their hiding places and began to fight, aiming to wound instead of kill. Hermes stared at Ambrose, waiting. The mortal drew his sword and poised himself, ready for battle.

Hermes took a deep breath and let it ease out. "If that is your wish, so be it."

Ambrose growled and lunged forward. Hermes parried the gleaming sword, spinning away. Blow after blow rained down on the god, and he parried and dodged, dancing away from the edge of the sword. All of his focus was narrowed down to this point in time, and one thought overshadowed everything else: don't kill him. Hermes knew Ambrose hurt from the gods' selfish actions. He knew that he dreamed of revenge and wanted to inflict as much pain as possible. He knew because he had felt that same way for decades before he'd learned the truth. Pain only leads to more pain, and if you double the heartache, there is no soothing balm for anybody. So he fought to tire the man out, not to destroy him.

For an hour, they weaved and danced. Hermes never wavering from his determination to end this peaceably. His sons and daughters took out the soldiers one by one. Hercules and Triton triumphed over thirty men. And still Hermes fought, his heart quivering as he saw the slow realization that flashed over Ambrose's sweaty face. He wouldn't win. There was no way he could outlast Hermes. And he was resolving to die instead of face whatever cruel punishment the god was sure to curse him with.

In a single instant, the fight was over as Hermes struck the sword from Ambrose's trembling hands. The man fell backward and stared up at Hermes, gasping for breath. There was fire in his eyes, and Hermes held the tip of his sword to the man's throat. He was barely winded from the long battle, and he stood there, silver eyes looking like a thunderstorm.

"Are we quite through with this?" Hermes demanded. "Can we talk like men?"

Ambrose stared at him, confusion working its way onto his face. He didn't understand what was going on. And the mortal gods didn't either. It was Ares who broke the silence.

"Finish him, Hermes!"

Hermes slowly looked up at the gods. He took his sword, raised it up, then plunged it into the ground. He passed Ambrose and stepped up to the gods. Their looks of excitement and glee faded, replaced by unease. And then Hermes did something he'd always wanted to do. He spoke his mind.

"Do not order me around, you pitiless murderer. Your wars have killed millions of humans, and for what? To fill Hades's realm with humans who were killed too soon? But those humans didn't matter to you. They're only mortals, isn't that right? Their struggles for life and love and happiness don't matter to you. To any of you! You're the most selfish, backstabbing monsters that have ever lived. You're incestuous freaks of nature who revel in drink, food, sex, and power without a single thought of those whom you abuse to get what you want. You don't deserve to live, and you should have never been born!"

The mortals that had been wounded and defeated stared in surprise at Hermes. To hear a god speak of his own kind that way was shocking. Ambrose in particular thought he must have misheard, but Hermes stood rigidly, his eyes spitting fire as he stared at his kin. Ambrose hesitated then spoke.

"Do you mean that we will talk and you won't curse me?"

Hermes turned around. "I have never cursed a mortal. That is a petty thing to do, and I refuse to stoop so low as to inflict a torture to somebody who will either kill themselves out of agony or be forced to endure punishment for a single mistake for the rest of time."

Ambrose stared at him, searching the god's face for any sort of deception. Hermes was the god of thieves and liars. But the anger in Hermes's expression was not false. He trembled with rage as he distastefully looked back at the bound mortal gods. The gods also looked surprised, as well as frightened. Something was different about Hermes. It was like a faint scent or a shadow made of light. But it was distinct, and it was there. And Ambrose finally realized why Prometheus, Atlas, and the others refused to help him. Hermes wasn't like the other gods. He cared. So the mortal made up his mind.

"I will talk with you. But not here. Not in front of them."

Hermes relaxed and smiled. "Excellent. Hercules?"

"Yeah?" The boy was leaning against a tree with Triton.

"Would you and Triton assist Pan and Tyche and tend to the wounds of those you've beaten? And get water. I'm sure they're thirsty. Auto, you, Hermy, and Angelia make some food and feed them. I'm going to have a conversation with Ambrose."

Ambrose listened in wonder to these instructions. It astounded him that Hermes was willing to order a demigod and six gods to take care of mortals they had defeated in combat. He watched in astonishment as Pan strode over to a wounded soldier, picked him up with great care, then hurried him to a goddess to tend to him. The others began to build a fire and Triton waved his trident and a pool of fresh, clean spring water appeared for the thirsty men.

Hermes walked over to the pool and filled a skein that he counted from thin air. After capping it, he walked over to Ambrose and held put his hand. The mortal stared at the face above him, filled with compassion and kindness beyond anything he could have ever expected. Then he reached out and allowed Hermes to pull him to his feet. Ambrose followed Hermes away from the mortal gods and the immortal gods. Hercules flashed an encouraging smile at him. Then he disappeared from sight. And Ambrose was alone with a god, which was one of his worst nightmares. He hoped that he'd made the right decision.