Hades knit his brow in concentration. The wind was difficult to control. Flying, much like shapeshifting, was not one of his godly talents. Perhaps it could have been, in the days before he and his brothers' shares of the world had been divided; but that was long ago, and he was of the earth now, of fire and stone, and the sky did not enjoy his presence.

A memory gripped him. He was on a plane, a Hercules C-130 military transport. He had his unloaded rifle seated on his lap. He was nineteen years old. Turbulence rocked the plane, and he shut his eyes.

"Scared, private?"

Sgt. Stevens was grinning at him. Twenty-three years old, but with the hard lines of a middle-aged man around his mouth. Logan gulped. "No, sergeant."

"You sure?" Sgt. Stevens' amused eyes darted down to Logan's trembling hands. "You look pretty damn scared. You ever been on a plane before, Private Black?" The plane rocked again and Logan gripped his rifle tightly. "No, sergeant," Logan said, trying to keep the moan from entering his voice. He was going to be sick.

Sgt. Stevens peered at him thoughtfully. "Relax."

Suddenly, Logan was thrown violently forward in his seat; it felt like he had been in a car crash. He sucked in a breath and cursed. "Feels like we're gonna drop out of the sky, sergeant."

He heard Sgt. Stevens' warm laugh, and it calmed him. "It's just turbulence, kid. We're riding the air like...ha, like leaves on the wind. Ha ha."

Like leaves on the wind, Hades thought, frowning. Air currents pulled at his legs, threatening to throw him dangerously off course. Ice formed at the edges of his eyelashes, and he had to blink them away furiously in order to keep his vision clear. His body flushed with sweat; his lungs burned with the effort of staying in the air. He called forth his bident into his hand, gritting his teeth as his palm burned in protest. "Damn you…" he growled. It was no use; he could call forth no weapon, and the more he tried, the more painful his headache grew.

Harsh laughter settled upon his shoulders, and he knew then that he had found Demeter's place in the whirling clouds. "Brother," she said, her lip turning up, "I never knew you could fly."

"Nor I you, sister," he ground out, facing her. His control of the wind slipped, just for a moment, and Hades felt his stomach drop as he plummeted several thousand feet into the air beneath. He heard her chuckle above him, and threw her a hard glare in response. Lightning flashed, blinding him, and when his vision returned, he saw the Old Man, sitting at his desk smoking a cigar.

"You know, Logan, you remind me of someone I once knew." Logan watched the Old Man carefully, examining the cool nonchalance with which he carried himself. "How's that, sir?" he asked.

The Old Man smiled, tapped the ash off his cigar. "No need to call me 'sir.' You're not in the military anymore, and I'm not your commanding officer."

Logan flushed, swallowing hard. "Sorry, si—I mean, Viejo. Force of habit." The Old Man chuckled, discordant and twisted, and Logan felt his heart begin to pound. Exhaling around his cigar, the Old Man said: "It's funny to think that such a long time has gone by...and yet you're still very much the same in many ways."

Logan cocked his head to the side. "I'm not sure I understand."

The Old Man's smile twisted up his face, and Logan had to fight with himself to keep from shuddering. "Oh you will, in time...Hades."

"Hades!" Demeter shouted, wrenching him from the memory. She had Zeus' lightning in her hand. "Do you really wish to challenge me, when you can't even keep yourself together?"

"Challenge you?" Hades sneered, glaring up at her. "You misunderstand me, dear sister. I've not come here to challenge you—I've come here to end your life." He called forth a black blade, and this time, his palm did not protest. Stygius was not his most preferred arm, but it would have to do.

Demeter laughed, aiming a crackling bolt of Zeus' lightning at him. "You will try," she said. The lightning tore at him immediately, through the rain and the clouds, and Hades pressed his teeth together as he barely managed to parry the direct blow. Stygius simmered in his hands, radiating the heat of primordial thunder. That was too close, he thought.

"That was too damn close, sergeant!"

Sgt. Logan Black chuckled, grabbing his lieutenant in a rough hug. He was twenty-two years old, already on his second deployment. Will was fifteen, looking at universities to apply to, and thought the world of his older brother. Logan was trying to set a good example. "Sorry, sir. Gotta let them think they can win once in a while, though, right?"

"Hell yeah, gotta raise that morale before you crush it completely!" They were playing flag football in the hot Iraqi desert. The sun beat upon each of their backs, relentless and angry. "Sir…." Logan nodded his head towards the approaching captain, wiping the sweat from his brow. His lieutenant turned around, and both men greeted the captain in unison: "Good afternoon, sir." The platoon stood silent, waiting. Another mission; another chance to face death. Some welcomed it; others, rightfully, feared it. The seconds ticked by. They waited.

"Afternoon, boys," the captain said. "Lt. White, I'm tasking you and First Platoon with a recon patrol. You'll be taking route yellow; Second and Third will be on routes red and green."

"Rah, sir," Lt. White said. "What's the company's mission here?"

The captain paused, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck. "Movement to contact. Get your men ready."

Lt. White looked at Logan, and he was smiling, thirsting for blood. Logan swallowed hard, his body humming in anxiety and fear. "You ready to go get some, sergeant?"

"Kill," Logan responded, though he had never felt less motivated in his life.

That night, Logan led a squad of thirteen men through the small village that sat at the end of route yellow. A man started running as soon as he saw their approach in the darkness, and Logan shouted: "Follow him, follow him! He's getting away!"

And so Logan's squad followed the man into his small house, kicking down his door, pointing their guns at his terrified family. The wife started screaming; the children were crying. The man tried saying something in English, but it was broken, and Logan couldn't understand him. "Shut up!" Logan shouted. "Shut the fuck up!" There was a gunshot. The woman fell. No, Logan thought, desperate. No!

Lightning surged through Hades' body, slamming him thousands of feet, hard, into the frozen ground. The earth erupted around him as the wave of energy from his impact shook buildings and toppled street lights. Several car alarms went off and a fire hydrant burst open. He heard people screaming in their homes as pain shot like bullets through his head and ribs. He could feel liquid beginning to fill his lungs. He groaned. Smoke wafted in front of his eyes, and he shut them.

"You ever been in love, Logan?" Chelsea was a gift for him, as the Old Man said, for his birthday...and for a job well done. She sat astride his lap, fiddling with his tie.

"Can't say I have."

"No way, such a handsome stud like you?" She looked up at him with big, blue eyes. "You think you could love me tonight?" He exhaled hard from his nose, feeling hot and uncomfortable. Her searing hand was pressed upon his groin, rubbing him there, trying to make him hard. "Oh, what's the matter, baby?" she asked him, cupping his face. "Am I not your type?" He shuddered. She was blonde, buxom, and gorgeous; he could get hard for her—he should get hard for her. And yet— "I've just got a lot on my mind right now...darlin'."

He had killed a man that day. And worse? He had enjoyed doing it. It wasn't like the first time he had taken a life, when his stomach crawled up his esophagus and out his mouth; and it wasn't like the second or third time, either, when his hands wouldn't stop shaking, and he had to run to a priest to ask for forgiveness for a sin he couldn't fully confess. No, this time...this time he killed a man, and it was quick, and it was easy, and Logan "Hades" Black savored the violence: the light leaving his target's eyes, and the fear he saw there, so potent and delicious. I am the Master of Death, Logan thought, holstering his pistol. And you are my new subject.

"Oh, poor baby," Chelsea said, sliding down his torso, pulling him from his thoughts. Undaunted, she kept rubbing his dick through his slacks. "I'll make you forget about it all," she said, unbuckling his belt, and sliding his zipper down. She gazed up at him, taking him, still soft, into her mouth, and he threw his head back against the sofa. "Fuck," he hissed, and he heard and felt her laugh around his slowly hardening cock.

Demeter's laughter stirred him awake. "Little brother, it seems that your arrogance and pride will once again be your undoing." She was standing over him, at the edge of the crater, which was rapidly beginning to fill with rain and hail. He stood, against the protesting, broken bones of his still-healing ribs.

"Perhaps," Hades said, smiling tightly. He could feel the breaking earth beneath his feet: its brutal, unyielding power, calling out to him. Some of his strength was returning to him, ever-so-slightly, and ever-so-slowly.

"You fool," Demeter snapped. "We are both connected to Gaia—or have you forgotten, Hades?"

"I have not forgotten, dear sister, but make no mistake: you are on my turf now."

"Turf?" Demeter slid down the side of the crater, tutting her tongue. Lightning crackled furiously in her hand. This would be their arena. "You are still sounding like a gangster, even now. I cannot imagine that my daughter enjoys hearing you speak this way."

Hades huffed out, twirling his blade, assessing its weight and balance. Its power coursed through him: the power of the Styx; of the Underworld; of shades, and sorrow, and punishment. "You've no idea what she likes or dislikes. You didn't then, and you certainly don't now."

"And you do? I can smell her on you, you know—lilac coats your skin just as much as ash and death. I wonder, Hades, why are you here now, and not with her?"

Hades stopped spinning Stygius; darkness burned through his senses, enveloping him. "I already told you, Demeter: I am here for your life…" He smirked, sensing the presence of his friend and servant,"...and Death quickly approaches."


Odin watched his three ancient kinsmen from his place upon the edge of the crater. His heart began to drum; the swarm was very quickly approaching.

"Thanatos," Demeter spat, flashing her eyes to Death, "this doesn't concern you. My little brother and I have unfinished business."

"Forgive me, dear Lady," Death said, bowing, "but the New Gods are on their way, and we must leave. Please, end this storm."

"I do not fear the New Gods!" Demeter shouted, lifting her bolt of lightning into the sky. "And I do not fear Death—I will take everything away!" She threw down the bolt, and an explosion burned through the air: a great wave of power fueled by grief and rage, warring with each other. Muninn cawed into Odin's ear. They are here, he thought, panic gripping him. Hurry, Thanatos. Hurry.


Hades held his blade against the force of Demeter's lightning. The power was incredible, setting his teeth on edge, but he blocked it, and sent the blow flying back to her. The rain came down harder, and, no longer focusing on shielding himself from the storm's effects, Hades felt his suit and shoes become water-logged and heavy. To his left, Thanatos writhed on the ground, his black wings charred and smoking. Before him, Demeter swayed forward, her clothes burnt to a crisp. "I...will...take...everything...away…" she panted.

Hades rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. "Not before I turn you into fire and ash."

She screamed and ran forward, calling down lightning and hail from the sky. He lifted his sword in his hand, causing sharp spikes of earth and fire to erupt from the ground near her feet. She somersaulted over his newly-formed obstacle, landing directly in front of him, and striking with her lightning-blade towards his neck. He ducked in time, but only just; he could feel the wind shift right above his hair. Countering, he stepped inside her guard and grabbed her wrist tightly.

"You are mine," he growled, pulling her to him.

She laughed: haughty, proud, and undefeated. "And you are a fool, little brother." Her knee kicked up to his groin, striking with the power and force of lightning. The pain was immediate, shooting up from his bruised testicles throughout the rest of his abdomen, and he was forced to double over and dry-heave.

"Tch," he heard Demeter say. Lightning crackled loudly by his ear as dizziness threatened to make him fall to his knees. "Pathetic. To think Father was bested by you."

Father, he thought, shutting his eyes.

"Hey, kiddo, do you...you want to talk about your pops?" Richard Black placed a comforting arm around his shoulder. He was thirteen years old, sitting on a park bench after being suspended from school for hitting a teacher. You're cursed just like your criminal daddy, she had said. You'll be in jail by the time you're fifteen, or dead—and either way, the world ain't gonna mourn your loss.

Logan shook his head. "Don't see the good in talkin' 'bout him."

Richard Black sighed. "Believe it or not, Logan, talking about these things can help. Can help a lot, actually."

Logan sniffed. His eyes felt hot. "Not when you're no good."

"Do you think that you're no good, Logan?"

Logan wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffed again. "My Daddy was no good." Oh god, he was crying. Thirteen years old and crying, like a baby. "And Sister Marge said I'm just like him." That he came from a bad seed; that he had a demon inside of him. Logan Anthony Astarita, son of Horatio Anthony Astarita: bad blood, cursed blood. Evil and rotten to the core.

"Come here," Richard said, hugging Logan tight to him, kissing the top of his head. "You're not your father, son." Logan cried harder, shaking as he let the tears flow out of him. "You're not your father, and you don't ever have to be like him."

Hades' eyes fluttered open, feeling the heat of Demeter's lightning burn across his cheek. She was about to gore him through the temple. Desperate, he plunged his stygian blade into the ground, breaking the earth around them, and shades erupted from its depths.

"Hades!" Demeter screamed, horrified as the spirits of the dead began to crawl out from the splintering earth beneath their feet. She called a chain of lightning down to the earth, but the shades were undaunted—for they were already dead. Terror gripped her eyes, and Hades felt excitement and power course through him at her fear. "What are you doing? Have you gone completely mad? "

Hades smiled, relishing the power of the Underworld as it burned hot and raging his veins. "I am the King of the Dead," he said, slowly stalking towards her as she retreated. "And I bring the dead with me."

The army rushed forward, their ghostly, wretched bodies overwhelming her, even as she called upon lightning; even as she called forth bludgeoning stones of hail. Hades watched and smiled, his dark glee growing ever brighter as he saw his sister become weaker and weaker, enduring a thousand different cuts and lashes from his valiant dregs, until she was forced to her hands and knees, and could no longer wield the lightning she held in her trembling fingers. With a dismissive wave of his hand, the shades of Hades' army returned to their dark abode, as if they were never there, and Demeter shivered.

Slowly, he walked towards her, savoring her fear. Standing beside her, he lifted her chin with the point of his blade. So graceful, his sister. A pity, he thought. "Any last words?" he asked, locking eyes with her.

"I will take everything away," she said. His nostrils flared, anger surging through him at her unbreakable pride.

He held his sword aloft, preparing to strike. Yes, he would take her life. The fire in him burned hot; boiling, boiling rage. "Not in this lifetime—" A rock hit his temple, breaking his focus. "What in the...?"

"Heads up, cousin!"

Hades' eyes darted up to an old man standing on the edge of their arena. "Odin," he snarled. "How dare you—"

"They're here!" Odin shouted, nodding behind Hades. Hades turned and looked up at the sky, a swarm of...creatures he couldn't identify. "Fates," he cursed.

"Best get a move on, little brother," Demeter said. He glanced down at her; she was fading away. "Before they pick up your scent and catch you. Until next we meet."

He snarled, slicing down at her disappearing form—and cutting only air. Gone; she was gone. The rage in him burned, and he screamed, overtaken and overwhelmed. Shadows burst forth from his body; his ears rang.

"Aidoneus." He felt a touch on his cheek, and the fire in him cooled, but only just. He blinked, and saw his wife in front of him, and the impending army of New Gods that was just about to reach them. "Y-you are here," he stammered, completely astonished.

"I am," she said, and she gazed up at him with love in her green eyes. He could see it. She still loved him; even after everything he put her through. She loved him.

"Persephone, I…" He gritted his teeth, struggling to blink back tears as she stroked his cheek. "I feel like I'm breaking inside. I don't know what to do with this anger, this pain—"

"Hush, my love." She stood on her toes, pressed their foreheads together. Around them, the storm had stopped, and Dawn's red light was beginning to caress the sky—yet he could hear the savage cacophony of the New God's cries as they grew ever-closer. She kissed him tenderly, and his breath caught, ashamed. "We must leave this place at once," she said, placing her hand on his chest. "Can you shadow-walk?"

His legs were trembling; his sword had vanished. He was beginning to feel more and more like a man again...a human one. Hades shook his head, sheepish. "I don't think I can walk at all. I feel...drained."

"My lord," Thanatos said, touching his shoulder. "I can carry you." Hades examined his friend, whose great, black wings still burned and smoked from Demeter's lightning strike. "Than, you can barely stand—"

"Husband," Persephone said, reaching up underneath his legs and ass, picking him up bridal-style. "I will carry you." His eyes went wide, and he was about to protest, humiliated, but the sudden chill that ran across his skin stopped him. He shuddered, feeling ill and exhausted. "Aye, wife," he said, resting his head against her shoulder. "You will...carry...me," he said, beginning to drift off into slumber.

"Dear cousins," he could hear Odin shout. "I hate to ruin this beautiful scene of love and acceptance—but the New Gods are about to descend upon us!"

A screeching mass of thousands was the last thing Hades heard before falling completely into Hypnos' halls.