Odin sat at the bar, sipping on his favorite brand of ale. He watched as the major news network anchors discussed the recent nor'easter that had sprung up over Massachusetts, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Looks like a bad storm," the bartender said, cleaning a glass.

Odin scratched his beard, suspicious of the storm's origin. Certainly, the work of an irate kinsman—but who? And to be so blatant, especially when tensions with the New Gods were running so high! It was capricious and arrogant, to think that they could make such a display without Media latching onto it, and leading the vicious god right to them. Foolish, he thought. "Indeed, quite a bad storm."

"Need me to close out your tab?" Odin nodded; he would not be drinking more tonight. His cell phone rang and, sensing who was calling, he answered. "Morozko."

"Hail, Odin. Have you seen the news?"

"I thought perhaps you might have had something to do with it, my frosty friend."

Dark laughter on the other line. "I prefer to keep to my own lands, thank you."

Odin sipped on his ale. "As do we all. Though time has changed us, all the same."

A pause. And then: "Whom do you suspect now?"

Odin thought, looking at the great eye of the storm through his familiars, Huginn and Muninn. The power of the storm was great and old—very, very old, older than even himself—and engendered by a righteous fury. Yet there was sadness there, too: a deep sense of melancholy that Odin could only understand as grief. He reflected on the last time he had felt such a wild force, and could not recall one. A long, long while, it seemed.

Very few of his kin remained that were so ancient, and not yet in slumber—and fewer still who would recklessly spotlight their presence in such a way. He frowned, thinking. "An Elder God, like ourselves."

"I sensed as much."

But who? Huginn and Muninn pushed further into the swirling clouds of the storm, and there, he saw her. His frown grew deeper. "Oh, dear."

"How now, Odin! That does not sound good…"

"Aye, it is not," Odin sighed, taking one last sip of his ale. He returned his gaze to the television, and the swirling storm that took up its screen. "Seems like good Lady Demeter is quite angry."

Odin could hear Morozko clearing his throat on the other end of the line. "I had thought it strange to hear my name, invoked with power, there."

Odin sighed once more, leaning back in his stool. "I can only guess as to why."

"Seems like one of our Greek cousins is no longer asleep. You can also see why I prefer to stay within my own lands."

Odin handed the bartender his tip. "Would that we could all have the luxury, my friend."

Morozko chuckled, the sound as cold as the depths of winter. "What will you do now?"

Odin stepped outside into the brisk fall breeze. He put on his hat and wrapped his scarf around his neck. "Pay our cousin a visit," he said, clicking off the line. He whistled an old Germanic tune as he disappeared into the night.


Someone was holding her. Stella tried opening her eyes, but they felt so heavy. What happened? She turned her head, groaning into what felt like a man's chest. She managed to get her eyes open, for just the briefest of moments, and looked up at him in the darkness. His face was a blur. "Who…?" she slurred, reaching up to touch his cheek. He held her wrist; she could feel his lips kiss her palm.

"Rest," she heard him say. "I am not going anywhere."

Her eyes shut, the call of sleep too potent to ignore, and she pressed her body closer to his as a fierce and sudden cold scalded her flesh. She felt his arms grow tighter around her.

In her dream, she ran from a man in black armor. He raced after her in an imposing golden chariot, wreathed in dark flames. He was gaining on her; soon, he would catch her. His chilling laughter curled around her, its violent mirth only growing louder as she tripped on a branch and lost her footing. The wind next to her shifted; she was nearly in his embrace. She kept running.

His great hand wrapped around her waist, powerful and unyielding. She did not scream, even as he crushed her back to him; she would not give him the satisfaction.

"I have you now, sweet goddess," he whispered. His hand was splayed against her belly, feverishly warm and possessive. He kissed her neck, and she sighed. "You could not keep me away from you forever." She could hear the smug smile in his voice.

"Do you really mean to take me like such a brute?" she exhaled, grabbing his hand and moving it lower, pressing herself back against his groin. "Honestly, Hades, for a king," she continued, enjoying the sound of his rough groan in her ear, "you can be so...uncivilized." He barked a discordant laugh, the sound coming from deep within his chest, sharp as clashing bronze. The earth split before her eyes: a rich and menacing cavern, daring her to enter its depths, pulling her forward.

"Would you have me any other way?" His hand was beneath her chiton now, his fingers leisurely exploring the wetness of her vulva, back and forth, back and forth, in a gentle dance. He drew lazy circles around her swollen sex, humming with delight at the wetness he found there. She felt his other hand clamp around her neck, softly squeezing, the horses' leather reigns lightly kissing her skin—she gasped. "I do not think you would."

She felt the heat of his arousal pressing insistently through the cloth and leather of his pteruges skirt, unrelenting as he rocked himself against her now-bare ass. "My mother will cause a row over this," she warned, shutting her eyes as one of his fingers pushed inside her. The sensation was new and strange—different from her own hand, and the teasing kisses he would often give her there—but welcome. He slid in a second finger, pushing her cunt apart, and she hissed in pain, feeling very much like a blooming flower whose petals were being pried open too early. He made a sound, one of irritation, perhaps, and softened the pressure of his touch. "Losing our courage, are we, little goddess?"

No. She refused to be cowed or bullied by him. In answer, she rocked her cunt onto his hand, feeling sparks of sharp pleasure overtake the pain. "Never."

"Hmm," he rumbled, unmistakably smug and pleased with himself. He curled his fingers, tittering darkly as she shivered from the sensation. "I will remember this spot," he said, kissing the shell of her ear. She could feel the self-satisfied smile pulling across his lips, and, trying to break his arrogant sense of control, she quipped: "My mother will raze the World Above to smoke and ash in search of me." His fingers stopped moving, though his other hand twisted, like a snake, tightly into her hair. She waited. The burning magma-light of the cavern was beginning to dissipate. She could feel her heart drumming. Perhaps it had not been so wise to goad him—

Suddenly and violently, he shoved her forward, bending her body at the waist. The hand in her hair twisted deeply around her locks and tugged back harshly, forcing her to crane her neck towards him. Hot tears formed at the edges of her eyes, but she would not shed them. "Aye, and she would be a poor mother if she did not," he whispered, his breath hot and ragged on her neck, "given what I am about to do to you." His voice was rough, and she could tell he was on the edge of losing his control. It would take just a little push.

"Oh?" Her voice, by contrast, was light and innocent; teasing. "And what exactly is that?"

"I am going to take your life," he answered, his grip in her hair only growing tighter. She could no longer see the way: all light was gone, consumed by the shadows of Erebus. "I will make you mine." He nibbled on her earlobe, causing her to shiver.

"I do not—" she huffed out, trembling at his touch, "appreciate the idea of being possessed like an object."

His laughter wrapped around her, an embrace of smoke and ash. "Yet you will be my equal, in all things: hold the command of my army, the adoration and fear of my subjects—"

"And you?" she asked, moaning against the strain of his rigid, unyielding grip.

"And I," he said, kissing her neck, "will offer you the world." He held his free hand out in front of her, and in the darkness of Erebus, she could see the faint glow of a pomegranate sitting in his palm. "What is it you want, little goddess?" The fruit split open, revealing its ripe, blood-red seeds. She swallowed. "Riches? Power? My body?" He rocked against her, and her eyes fluttered shut at the press of his arousal on her swollen cunt. "All this, I will offer to you: a chance to live...deliciously, with me. You need only eat the seeds." The seeds sparkled in front of her, their red juice illuminating and coating his hand. "What say you, my sweet flower?" Queen of a realm, she thought. Excitement gripped her. The final realm. She reached out her hand, pulling six luscious seeds from his palm. Yes. She would take it.

"I want…"

"Tell me."

"I want...everything!" she shouted, panting. She could feel his hot lips curl into a smile against her skin. One by one, she pressed the seeds into her mouth, and he yanked her back so that her torso was flush against his. He twisted her neck to face him, and she felt his hot lips kiss her, moaning deeply as his searing tongue entered her mouth, playing with the seeds he found there, forcing her to swallow them. Her fate was now sealed. "So it shall be yours," he said, releasing her. His ragged breath tickled her nose. She wanted him, here and now, in the presence of shadows and darkness. Only then would her transformation be complete.

"Then claim me," she huffed, grinding her ass against his still-clothed cock, hoping that his resolve would finally—finally—snap. He snarled like a beast in response, and his right hand tore the rest of her chiton off with savage ferocity. He kicked her legs open roughly. "As my queen commands," he ground out.

"Oh, Hades," she giggled, relishing the power and control she held over him, "so forcef— " she stopped speaking: the word died on her tongue, turning into a moan as she felt his cock push inside of her, splitting her apart and filling her. Yes, she thought. She exhaled a shaky breath. He was inside her now, and she could feel his cock throbbing with need, seeking the friction of her body. On instinct, she rocked her hips against him, rolling them slowly, adjusting herself to the strange feeling of invasion and discomfort his body inside her had created. He hissed in response, a high pitched keen she had not thought him capable of making, but he did not move inside her, not yet. She repeated the movement, gasping in surprise at the new pleasure she discovered; she felt his cock twitch and grow even harder within her.

"Wanton girl," he growled. His strong grip was in her hair again, and he pulled on it savagely, exposing her neck to him. "Only you would be so reckless to provoke me." She shut her eyes as he moved out of her slowly and then pressed back in, the strange sensation of his cock sliding inside of her, once again, bizarre and overwhelming. She said his name and he bit the hollow of her neck, making her gasp. His free hand snaked down and fondled her breasts, and a wave of pleasure tore through her. She pushed her hips back against him, earning a stifled curse into her skin.

"Kore no longer," he said, his voice nearly cracking as he steadily escalated his pace. The cool armor of his cuirass beared down against her naked back. They were still encased in darkness, but that did not matter. She could feel his hot mouth on her neck and his cock moving inside of her with increasing urgency.

"Maiden no more," she agreed, panting, experimentally squeezing her cunt around him. That earned her a hiss, and for a terrifying moment, she thought he might have lost control of the chariot...only to realize that he had purposefully tried to frighten her for challenging him. Annoyed, she squeezed herself around him again and he chuckled darkly, lacing his words with venom. "You are...so dangerous." He was all around her, encasing her in his iron will.

His other hand released her hair and began to work exclusively on her clit, rubbing around the hood in small circles. A new wave of pleasure pulsed from her sex through the rest of her body; her breath hitched. She pushed back on him, folding her hand atop his. She poured her power into the touch, and he cried out. "I am your queen," she said.

"Yes," he agreed, shivering as she continued to touch his hand, burning his skin with the power she commanded over life itself. "Yes, you are my queen," he breathed, tenderly kissing the mark he had bitten into her neck. "As I am your king."

"From this day—" she pushed against him, urging him to increase his pace; she was close. He groaned. She poured all the power she had into her touch; into her cunt that sheathed him. A gift of power; a god's embrace. On this day, he did not claim her—rather, it was she who claimed him.

"To the end of days!" he cried out. He shuddered as he came, holding her tightly as she followed him there. Before her eyes, the resplendent kingdom of the Underworld began to materialize: the glittering white Fields of Asphodel; the shining meadows and gardens of Elysium; the imposing dark figure of his palace...and the burning lands of Tartarus that lay beyond. "Welcome home," he whispered into her ear, "Dread Queen Persephone."

She woke with a start, and saw his blue eyes burning in the darkness, watching her. A heady mix of feelings and memories rushed through her mind. She swallowed hard. "I saw you die."

He opened his arms, leaning forward in his seat. "And yet I live."

Her eyes darted to her ankle, which was wrapped in a cast. She wiggled her toes, finding no pain. The memories continued to burn through her mind, scalding her in their intensity. She shut her eyes, clenching her fists as she remembered the sight of him collapsing in the snow; him collapsing in the dirt after a giant lanced a spear through him—and other deaths besides. His weight dipped onto the bed, and the warmth of his body radiated near her feet. His rough palm caressed her shin.

Persephone's eyes shot open. "Did I say you could touch me?"

In the darkness, he flinched, like she had burned him, and he pulled his hand from her leg. "You are angry."

"Should I not be, after all your lies?" The memories, ancient and new, began to overtake her senses. She held her stillborn son in her arms while her once-mighty husband withered away to little more than skin and bones.

"No. Your anger is justified." He sighed, moving to stand. "And I see that I am still upsetting you. I will take my leave."

"Hades." He froze. "Did I give you permission to stand—or to leave?"

He glowered at her, his expression hard as granite. "You did not."

She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood, breaking the cast that encased her ankle. She placed her hand on his shoulder, pushed down on it, and—arrogantly—he resisted her. "Kneel," she ordered.

"As my queen commands." Seething, he lowered himself before her. She ran her hand along his shoulder, up to his neck, and cupped his cheek. She could see his breath as his chest heaved; the room was quite cold.

"Zagreus is alive," she said, the revelation and trueness of the statement twisting in her stomach. Her son, alive: a beautiful, devastating truth.

"Yes." She ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the thickness of it, the softness of it. His eyes fluttered shut, his nostrils flared. "What did you do?" she asked.

He told her. A pact: a sacrifice of himself—and others. She stared at him in disbelief. "How...how could you?" she stammered. Anger boiled in her veins. She was his lover, his wife, his queen...and yet he had not bothered to tell her of his plan.

He looked away from her, ashamed. "It was the only way." In response, she materialized her favorite stygian dagger, and held its edge flush to his neck. "Was it, Hades?" she asked him, forcing him to look back up at her. He gulped, and the stone of his throat bobbed, drawing ichor. He glared at her, hot fury burning in his eyes. Good. She matched his fury with a scowl of her own.

"Yes." His voice remained stoic, though his harsh scowl betrayed his true feelings. "Everything I did, I did for our son—and for you."

She pressed the edge of the dagger further into his neck, and he hissed. "Yet you failed to consult me. Why is that?" When he did not immediately answer her question, she cut him deeply, and he winced. "Hades."

"Because you wouldn't speak with me!" he shouted, flinching again as the dark stygian blade sliced through the sensitive skin of his neck. "You hid away from me," he continued, grimacing in pain, "from everyone! I had to rule the realm again on my own. And I—I...needed you."

Persephone remembered: she spent days upon days in her chambers, leaving them only to weep by their son's grave. She spurned his touch; she had learned that to try and make life with a death god was folly. They grew distant from one another, and he slinked back into the shadows of their kingdom, where he watched her and yearned after her love from afar. Trembling, she pulled the dagger from his neck, examining his wounded flesh as it slowly stitched itself back together. "You kept this from me," she said, her once-furious molten anger quickly cooling to a softly glowing ember. She had missed him. "You should not have."

"I know…" he said, his shoulders sagging as he looked down at her feet once more. "I am...sorry." He pressed his head against her stomach and again she wound her fingers into his hair. "Forgive me," he pleaded. "Forgive me, Persephone. Please."

Power flowed through her at his utterance of her name. Her body hummed; she was, slowly, beginning to feel whole.

"I will..." she said, trailing off. He shivered at her words, trembling in fear and anticipation of what she would say next. "...In due time." She heard him stifle a cry of anguish, sobbing against her. As her power returned, so did her anger with him. "But first," she said, hauling him up to his feet by his tie and then forcing him back down onto his bed, "I will punish you for your deeply insulting transgression against me."

Straddling his hips, she pinned his arms above his head, and burned off her hospital gown with the black, cleansing flames of the Underworld. He arched a brow at her, confused at her sudden shift in mood. "Persephone?"

"I am still angry with you."

"Aye, I can see that." He nodded his head in the direction of the blade she still held, precariously pointed at his heart. She smiled down at him, slicing off his tie as she cut open the buttons of his blazer and shirt with the tip of the dagger, revealing the hard, quivering planes of his muscles beneath. He squirmed, shutting his eyes and panting as she traced shallow cuts into his skin, opening his old scars. She could feel his cock swelling against her, and her smile grew as she leaned down to kiss his ear. "But I still love you," she said, placing the dagger aside. He shuddered underneath her, rolling his hips up ever-so-slightly.

"And I love you," he said, his voice cracking with strain. She could feel him struggling to break her grasp, fighting to embrace her, but she kept him pinned down with a power greater than his brute strength. "Let me hold you," he begged, desperate. "Persephone, please." She did not listen; only when she reached her destination, would she release him.

"And I've missed you," she said, crawling up his torso, breathing ancient words into his skin. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking friction, and finding none.

He groaned. "I've missed you, too, for so long—"

"So I will take my pleasure on you," she said, moving to hover above his head. His eyes opened at the heat of her closeness, and she could see lust and rage burning there, warring with each other. She smiled down at him, hooking her thighs past his broad shoulders and positioning her wet, dripping cunt over his face, "until I deem you worthy of my forgiveness."

"As my queen commands," he hissed, wrapping his powerful hands around her hips. "I command it," she said, grinding herself into his open mouth; her eyes rolled back as she felt his tongue eagerly lapping at her folds, his calloused fingers pressing painfully into her the flesh of her thighs.

She rolled her hips onto his face violently, enjoying how his nose pressed against her clit each time she moved. His fingers dug into her skin in kind, and she knew that his vice grip would leave bruises.

She raked her fingers through his hair, and scratched his scalp hard enough to draw ichor when he plunged his tongue into her entrance, kissing her there as if he were kissing her mouth. She heard him grunt, saw the faint glint of amusement in his eyes when she glanced down at him, and squeezed her thighs around his neck harder in retaliation for his audacity; that glint of amusement flickered into irritation as he felt his breathing being cut off.

"You still...don't...understand...Hades," she huffed, shutting her eyes as hot waves of pleasure pulsed inside her with each new word she spoke. Her legs were shaking now, trembling with strain, and sweat was beading on her forehead. She cursed, and heard a muffled grunt from him; laughter, she guessed, intoxicatingly masculine—and also, at the moment, infuriating. Her hands grabbed onto his hair brutally, pulling on it, as he was so often fond of doing to her, and he only kissed her with more fervor, tonguing long-forgotten words of love into her folds, prying her open, and lapping at her clit like a man starved. She threw her head back, nearly cresting, "I...am... angry," she moaned, feeling her cunt pulse around his tongue. "With...you—" Her last word burned up into an incoherent cry, and the scalding heat of her orgasm coursed from her sex throughout the rest of her body, turning her insides and skin into fire and ash.

As she came back to herself, she found that he was still lapping at her, holding her tightly through the shuddering aftershocks of her climax. She moved off of him, overwhelmed, and he sat up, wiping his face with his forearm. They glared at each other.

"What more do you want?" he asked, furious. His eyes were dark, his voice rough. He was enjoying this, the bastard. She grabbed him by the throat, and he caught her wrist. She squeezed his neck; he returned the pressure. "To know I am your queen."

"You are…" he gasped, choking in her tightening grip, "my queen." His eyes were blazing.

Anger surged through her at his words. He had lied to her. She missed him; she loved him—but he had lied to her, hidden things from her. "Then I would have you worship me as one," she seethed, digging her fingers into his neck before releasing him.

He coughed as soon as she let him go, massaging where her hand had bruised his throat. She locked eyes with him, and she could tell he was no longer amused with her antics. He bowed his head towards her defiantly, never breaking his gaze. "And how does my queen wish to be worshipped?"

"With you on your back," she said, shoving him towards the headboard, "your body," she pressed her hands against his suit, burning it off, "and mind," she straddled his hips once again, feeling the hard flesh of his cock pulse with ichor underneath her, "open to me."

His eyes twitched and his mouth pressed into a thin line. She could tell he was grinding his teeth together, off and on, and she knew it was not due to the pleasure of her being on his lap. His hand reached out to her face. "Hades," she demanded, making him wince. Neither one moved. The seconds ticked by. "Do not deny me this."

"Fates," he cursed, grabbing the back of her head forcefully. "As my queen commands," he sneered, and he pulled her down into a crushing kiss. Persephone could taste herself on his tongue, equal parts bitter and sweet. She kissed him in return, ravenous, and rubbed herself on him like she was trying to possess him. Soon, darkness poured out of him and into her through their kiss, and she began to see and feel the world through his perspective: the near-overwhelming heat of her cunt as he pressed himself into her; the slick wetness of how she sheathed him. "More," she moaned, and she felt him shudder. "I want more." He had hidden himself from her for too long; far, far too long. "I want—all of you."

Darkness engulfed her vision, her mind. She saw his memories, raw and unguarded. The pain of losing Zagreus. The pain of...of losing her, as well. The grief and madness that overtook him, pushing him to seek out the Fates, to betray his family; the shame and the guilt he carried for doing so, then and now.

Black tendrils of smoke caressed her skin, making her sigh. She saw all the lives he had lived: a poet; a knight; a mortal king, once or twice—and she saw the life he lived now. The men he killed; the glee with which he took their lives; and the brutal satisfaction he derived from being ruthless and untouchable. The heavy chains of guilt that wrapped around his heart.

His hands were on her hips, trembling as he pressed up into her, filling her completely. He was all around her, a cloud of fathomless black smoke, and she cried out. Kissing his neck, she poured her essence into him—her life into him—so that he could feel what she felt; see all her memories; and understand the soul-rending grief each of his deaths had caused her.

He sobbed, crying her name, seeking her mouth for comfort, and she obliged him, kissing him tenderly. Her heart broke at the pain her tenderness caused him: guilt lashed at every memory he had of her. She whispered his name, and it only made him hurt more; only made him angrier; only served to pull him apart further.

Slowly, his hips became more urgent, and she encouraged him, the simmering rage she found inside his heart spurring her on. She held onto his shoulders as she rode him. The rage was everywhere, all-consuming, she realized with a start, and her breath hitched. His hands gripped her tightly; he was close. She could feel the tingling of his climax starting to build, unfurling itself from the tip of his cock down into the rest of his body. She squeezed herself around him, and they both moaned.

"I am your queen," she said, kissing his neck. She poured her power into him, her love into him...and for the first time, she feared it would not be enough. She said his name, kissing it into his skin; a prayer.

"And I am your king," he answered, his eyes screwing shut, his words coming in labored breaths, "to the end of our days." He pressed up into her one final time, the sudden power of his orgasm breaking him apart as she made love to him. He held her tightly, as if he were afraid she would disappear from his arms.

The darkness he shared with her returned to him, and she shuddered in the cold it left behind. He kissed the top of her head. "I am sorry."

She smoothed back his hair and kissed his nose. "I know you are."

His eyes searched hers. She saw desperation there—and she saw the rage that her touch had failed to abate. "Do you forgive me?"

"Yes," she said, cupping his cheek. "But, my love, do you forgive yourself? This...fury inside of you. It frightens me, Hades. I...fear for you."

He sat up, gently pushing her off him. "I should not have let you see me like that."

Already, she could see him building walls around his heart. He was running from her. After all this time, running—hiding from her. Tears formed at the edges of her eyes, but she held them in. She would not cry. "Don't be ashamed—we shared the embrace of the gods…"

"It is a titan practice," he growled, standing up. He was not waiting for her permission, and it was apparent that he would not be asking for it, either. "Would that it had withered away alongside them."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Please, Hades, just talk to me—"

"And what would that solve?" he bellowed, glaring at her. "You have already seen everything!"

"Aidoneus," she breathed, moving towards him. She saw his fingers curl into fists. "I know I was lost to you, but I am here now. Do not carry this burden alone."

He blinked, and a war of emotions twisted across his face. "Spare me your pity," he said finally, stepping away from her. And so the wall had been built. She would not cry; she would not.

"Where are you going?" she asked him, watching him as he dressed, layer by layer, as if he were a mortal man. "Hades?"

His eyes flashed towards her, hard, and she saw a human man, angry and prideful. "Out."

Persephone looked towards the window: the storm had only grown stronger. She pressed her teeth together, holding her hand against her throat as she bit back a sob. "You are running from me."

"I need to clear my head," he stated, not looking at her as he walked out the door, leaving her alone in the darkness. No long after, in the wake of her husband's cold absence, Thanatos walked in, bowing low. He kept his eyes downcast from her naked form. "My lady."

"Thanatos, go follow him," she said, clothing herself with a wave of her hand. Her heart was pounding. She would not cry. "He is still...not fully himself."

"The king has requested that I stay here, in order to protect you."

"Has he ordered you to do this?"

Thanatos looked up at her, shaking his head, and she could see a mischievous grin pulling at his features.

"Then do as I command and follow him," she said. "And make sure he does not do anything rash."

Death bowed to her, disappearing in a cloud of darkness. She turned to the window, looking outside at the frigid waste of Empire City. Marie, she thought. Natalie. She crossed her arms, freezing in the cold air of his bedroom. She called forth a heavy cloak for herself, but its warmth brought little comfort. Hades, she thought. Lightning flashed; snow and hail rained down like bullets. Where will you go?