Disclaimer: I don't own Trials of Apollo.

HADES VI
Apollo Throws A Temper Tantrum

Tartarus was an inhospitable as Hades recalled from his previous visit, if he could call the experience of sheer terror and the overwhelming presence of something greater than even he and his two younger brothers combined something as mundane as a visit. Unlike the mortal world, unlike even Olympus and Hades' own Underworld, Tartarus did not change.

Mortals advanced, changed things with their beliefs and forced their world to fit to their new ideas. Olympus, the gods themselves, were not immune to such changes, although they were far, far slower to adapt. Most thought that they had not changed at all, beyond the Roman affair, but comparing Olympus to the unyielding nightmare of Tartarus…

Tartarus was a stalwart of consistency. Of darkness, of horrors even the gods never wanted to encounter again.

Beneath the feet of his form, glass shards reached up, biting through with no reverence who he was, the power he yielded. Uncaring; down in Tartarus, there was no worship, no acknowledgement. He was no more worthy of honoured treatment than the lowest, most grotesque monster.

In fact, he thought ruefully, in the eyes, mind, essence of Tartarus, gods like him were likely considered less worthy.

Beside him, a beacon of brightness that stood out harshly against the dark oppression of the Pit, Apollo shifted in place. No doubt, the glass shards were tearing his feet apart just the same.

"Cheery place," his nephew commented, but there was no levity in his voice. If Hades had not already learned that Apollo had been to Tartarus once before, he might have been caught off guard at the sun god's inability to at least pretend to be unbothered, or at least wondering at the lack of spontaneous poetry regarding their dismal surroundings.

As it was, he understood.

What he did not understand was how Apollo had convinced himself to return, even with the threat of his son's life on the line.

"I do not care to stop and admire the scenery," he said instead of voicing any thoughts. "There is no point wasting time on something so unnecessary." Fear was not an emotion that usually affected a god, but Tartarus held nothing but bad memories.

Last time he had been here, his companions had been twice as many, and more powerful. It still hadn't been enough.

"Did you have a plan?" he asked, scanning their surroundings. Monsters were moving around, nothing powerful enough to challenge a god but still present, still observing them, and he resisted the urge to wither them away. It would mean nothing, down here in the hub of their respawn. "I assume you did not intend on blindly traipsing across the Pit with no aim in mind, simply hoping for the best." He let scorn drip into his voice – it was the sort of thing Heroes did, demigods and mortals with no mind for consequences, or a bull-headed belief that consequences did not affect them. Apollo should be above such nonsense, but considering the whispers that had reached the Underworld of his mortal trials, there was the chance that such mortal naivety might have affected him regardless.

"Find Bob," Apollo answered immediately. Hades glanced across at him to see his golden eyes – less Phlegethon and more scorching sunlight now, as though his rage had been abated by their arrival and his son's apparent security – also surveying their distant, and gathering, audience.

"I highly doubt Bob" - Hades could not keep the distaste for the name out of his tone - "is the source of the voice summoning my son."

"But Bob is the likely key," Apollo countered. "Even though I agree he is unlikely to be the summoner, he is almost certainly the bait."

Hades thought to the ill-advised friendship his son had struck with the amnesiac titan and how determined Nico had been to save him from his fate at the hands of Tartarus. He had to admit, Apollo's reasoning made sense. Regardless, "your plan is to knowingly walk into a trap?"

The sharp grin Apollo flashed his way was blinding in its intensity. Past the light, Hades detected a sharp edge to it, near-feral in a way that brought to mind the seven brothers that had entered the Underworld on the same day, accompanied by their seven sisters, all bearing arrow wounds.

"The trap set for demigods," he said.

Knowing the inhabitants of Tartarus, Hades did not think that made much of a difference. Still, Apollo was – irritatingly – correct that with nothing but a flimsy prophecy (Hades did not like prophecies, never had done and certainly never would for as long as they continued their trend of nonsense and encouraging heroic idiocy, let alone their involvement in the loss of his loved ones) and the suspicions of the demigods whose places they had taken, they had no other leads to go on.

"Let's not waste time," he said, silently conceding to his nephew's plan. "Lead the way."

At that, Apollo hesitated, golden eyes scouring their surroundings again, and Hades frowned.

"What is the problem now?"

"I thought…" the sun god murmured, almost to himself, before shaking his head. "No. It can't."

"Save your nonsense for when we leave the Pit behind us," Hades scolded. "We have a prison to visit."

"Don't you mean find?" Apollo asked, meeting his eyes in clear askance, and Hades' eyes narrowed in realisation.

"You don't know where it is," he said flatly. It was not a question, despite Hades' disbelief that Apollo hadn't even worked that out before throwing himself down in his son's place.

Apollo fidgeted slightly, fingers tapping out a sharp rhythm against his bow. "I can't say I took the grand tour," he said after a moment, voice sounding just a little further away than it ought to.

His plan had been for he and Nico to wander around Tartarus near-blindly until they found it? Or perhaps hope that Nico had seen the prison during his ill-advised experience in the Pit? Hades found something in his essence starting to swirl with irritation.

"Perhaps it's fortunate that someone who has accompanied you," he snapped, making no real attempt to curb any venom that slipped into his words, and Apollo grimaced, clearly hearing the unspoken scolding. "It is this way." He strode forwards, towards the scorching line of fire that was the Phlegethon. Behind him, he sensed Apollo start to follow, the unnatural warmth of the sun where it had never dared go before at his back.

The watching monsters still skittered around, none yet bold enough to approach but clearly interested in their presence. They were inconsequential mosquitos, irritating but ultimately harmless; no doubt Tartarus himself was already well aware of the two gods traversing his body. If he chose to intervene, it would be at a moment of his choosing and Hades and Apollo would have little choice but to try and survive if that occurred.

It was not far to the Phlegethon from their arrival point. For mortals, perhaps the journey would have been agonising, but for two gods it was nothing worse than an unpleasant walk, glass biting at their feet only for the wounds to reseal before even a single drop of ichor could leave their forms. The worst bit about the short journey to their first obstacle – not that the Phlegethon constituted as much of one, compared to what lay ahead – was Apollo's seeming distraction as his pace kept slowing, before he shook his head and continued onwards.

Hades had known before they'd arrived that the sun god would struggle far more than him, so far beneath the earth and removed almost entirely from the bulk of his major domains, but if Apollo was already faltering mere minutes after arrival, then he would need to reassess his estimation of his nephew's power. Each pause seemed to last a fraction longer, the first a mere split second but latter ones encompassing seconds before Apollo resumed walking, each time seeming less surefooted than before.

Just as they reached the banks of the fire-water river, its scorching cold-fire licking out towards Hades' face, the warmth at his back faltered once more, and his fraying patience with the stuttering pace reached its limit.

"Apollo," he snapped, turning sharply around to face the sun god, "has sitting in a chariot all day every day stripped you of your ability to walk for any length of time?"

His nephew didn't even look at him, intently scouring their surroundings with a tight grip on his bow. Despite his faltering pace, now that Hades was scrutinising Apollo more closely, the younger god did not actually appear to be affected overmuch by the separation from his major domains. Instead, it appeared almost the opposite, an aura of sunlight increasing to near-scorching in the inverse of the frigid heat of the river Hades now had behind him.

"I'm not imagining it," Apollo said quietly, a conviction in words that seemed to be more aimed at himself than Hades.

"Imagining what?" Hades demanded, glancing in the direction his nephew was looking. He saw nothing that should concern a god – more monsters milling around, lurking at a distance but not yet brave enough to assault them, but no greater danger – and returned his gaze to Apollo's face.

Burning eyes landed on him with a sharp intensity that he would not admit caught him off guard. Since their arrival in Tartarus, Apollo's fire had faded back to his usual warm golden flames, but suddenly it appeared as though the river behind him had once again taken up residence in the essence of the god before him. Orange, the colour of fire-water, of healing that caused pain, of blistering heat so hot it was icy cold, bore into him, and the sudden overflowing rage of Apollo crashed down around him.

"Uncle," he bit out, the honorific harsh and detached in a way Hades had heard it only a few times in his millennia of existence. The furious orange flames danced in Apollo's eyes, promising danger to whoever had crossed the wrathful side of the god. For reasons Hades could not fathom, that ire seemed to have selected him as a target, for all that he failed to see what he could possibly have done to offend Apollo so greatly during their action of walking unimpeded across a small part of Tartarus' skin. They hadn't even spoken.

Refusing to be cowed by the younger god's fury, he kept his back straight and met those furious fire-water eyes head on as his nephew continued.

"Why can I sense my son?"

The words were a low growl, the sort that would raise the hairs of lesser beings, ones that had something to fear from a god as powerful as Apollo.

Hades was one of the few who was more powerful, but even he could not quite dismiss a feeling of unease, even as his expression morphed into one of faint confusion, and a small sprinkling of dismissiveness.

"You were the one to ensure he would not leave my palace," he reminded him. "If he woke-"

"No!" Apollo shouted, a short bark that made the glass around and beneath their feet clatter. His light sharpened into a blinding flash, not too dissimilar to the effect of his father's lightning. "Not Will."

Hades paused, finding himself in the uncomfortable position of not understanding what his nephew was trying to say. Outside of William, why would any of Apollo's sons have cause to be detectable within Tartarus? It was the last place any of them should ever-

Realisation struck much like one of his brother's thunderbolts, just as Apollo hissed the name.

"Asclepius."

Hades could not stop the displeased curl of his lips at the lesser god's name. Of all the children Apollo had sired across the millennia, several had at some point been a nuisance, but there was one who had been more than a mere nuisance, more than a whim of entertainment to break up the monotony of his role as god of the Underworld.

The creator of the Physician's Cure, the mere mortal who dared defy the order of things, to take back from Hades' own domain, from which there was no taking back. He had been furious, at the time, at not only the boy but also his brother, for snatching him out of the Underworld just before Hades could personally condemn him to the Fields of Punishment for his hubris and elevating him to godhood, removing him from Hades' reach forever. He had been appeased to some extent by the order that Asclepius would never again create the mixture, but being unable to personally punish the boy was a sore spot that had never entirely faded.

Then, Asclepius had done it again. Against the terms of his imprisonment, against the terms that bound him, and Hades' fury had unleashed, bolstered by the simmering resentment that had always lurked within his essence when the name reached his ears.

He had forgotten that its creation, its use, had not been discovered until after Zeus had already decreed that Apollo was to be punished, after the sun god had disappeared. One of the ingredients to the blasted tincture required the direct intervention of a Twin, Hades knew, and it did not take Athena's wisdom to determine which, but Apollo's fate had already been decided. Apollo, however, had not been the one to make it; that was all his son, and it was the son who had been dragged before the Council, and the son who bore the punishment.

Zeus had decreed, to Hades' rare agreement, that his comfortable prison in the Overworld had clearly not been enough. If he was going to continue to commit crimes against Olympus, then he could join the others who did the same. No-one had dared disagree, although Artemis had kept unusually silent during that particular council and Apollo, of course, had been absent.

There had been no fanfare as Asclepius was cast into the Pit.

It had not occurred to Hades that Apollo had not learnt of his son's increased punishment. It was understandable that he may not have been informed during his time as a mortal, but since his re-ascension to Olympus it had seemed inevitable that someone – likely Artemis, or perhaps Athena, or even Zeus himself – would have told him.

From the rage twisting Apollo's usually beautiful face into something dark and dangerous, not as unlike his father as Hades suspected he would like, he had somehow not been informed of the development and was piecing the facts together as he stood there, hemming Hades between his blazing sunshine and the freezing flames of the river.

Apollo was many things, but unintelligent had never been one of them, not even at the peak of his time playing the fool. Hades had not expected him to sense Asclepius – if he cast out his own senses, he could perhaps make out a muffled sensation of something a little too pure, maybe, for their surroundings – but it was immediately apparent that his hesitation and distraction since they arrived had been exactly that. Now, he was visually putting the situation together – not that it was particularly difficult. Apollo may have missed the sentencing, but he had not missed anything that had led up to that moment.

"Did this have anything to do with you?" Apollo demanded, stepping forwards. His glow was bright – too bright. Some of the closest, most inquisitive, monsters, disintegrated into dust. "It wasn't enough for him to be killed and imprisoned for eternity? He had to be sent here, too?"

Hades did not back down. "He broke his oath. He trespassed again in territory he had no right to touch."

"Because I told him to!" Apollo roared. The glass shards jumped at the noise, and several nearby monsters that had not been disintegrated by his divine light shattered into dust. "It was necessary for the Seven to succeed!"

"Valdez did not need to come back to life after his sacrifice," Hades disagreed. "His revival was completely unnecessary for their success. The dead should stay dead. Always." Death was not something that should be returned from, not under any circumstances. His realm might be becoming overcrowded, but that did not change the necessity that death remain a one-way ticket.

"Did you remind your son of that?" Apollo demanded, and Hades immediately bristled, because he wouldn't. If he crossed that line…

Hades would not be held responsible for his actions should Apollo, of all gods, go too far.

"Nico is aware of the rules," he said sharply, not even bothering to conceal his fury as it began to well up within his essence.

If Apollo noticed it – and he must have done, his nephew was not blind nor ignorant, however he might choose to act – he did not react, and for a moment, as his mouth opened, Hades felt certain that the line was about to be obliterated.

Apollo closed it again without saying a word. Fury rolled off of him in visible waves, the spectrum of light highlighting the Pit in ways Hades was certain it had never seen before, but he said nothing more. Unsure what that meant, what Apollo was thinking – what Apollo was going to do – Hades watched him in silence, his own fury still roiling through his essence, not wavering in the slightest in the face of Apollo's.

He was not expecting his nephew to turn his back on him, a sudden, sharp motion that was certainly a dismissal, and start to walk away.

"Where are you going?" he demanded. "The Prison is this way." Apollo did not stop walking, and Hades refused to follow him. "This quest was your insistence!" he reminded the younger god's back.

"My son is not staying down here."

"It is his punishment!" Hades shouted at the retreating form, still glowing vibrantly. "We came down here to investigate what was summoning my son and complete the blasted prophecy, not take side-trips."

Apollo didn't answer him.

"I am not following you," Hades hissed, his fury roiling. How dare the younger god dismiss him, after he'd gone out of his way to break certain Laws and accompany him on the quest their children were supposed to be doing? He was not Apollo's blind follower, Apollo was not his leader, nor his boss – no-one was Hades' boss, not even his youngest brother, however much Zeus liked to fancy himself as such.

"I didn't ask you to," Apollo said, voice quietened by the growing distance between them, the words eerily unwavering.

Hades would not have gone even if he did – he had no desire to see Asclepius, or perhaps he was aware that if he did see the Death Cheater, his actions would irreparably destroy whatever relationship he could claim to have with his nephew. Besides, he did not care what happened to that particular son of Apollo. The only child of Apollo he currently had any degree of consideration for was the one laying comatose in his palace, and that could be entirely attributed to William's relationship with Hades' own son, who would be devastated should anything happen to him.

Nico was the reason he was down here, he reminded himself as he watched Apollo continue to walk away, the sun god unfaltering in poise or determination despite their location. If Apollo wanted to take a futile detour then that was his prerogative. Hades did not have time to waste – his duties in the Underworld would be mounting higher and higher by the moment, and Thanatos could not cover all of it – and he needed to put a stop to whatever was trying to lure his last child down into the Pit.

He turned his back on Apollo, darkness swirling around him as his essence leaked out slightly from his physical form, a barrier against the miasma of Tartarus, and faced the fire-water of the Phlegethon as it barred his way forwards. Looking at it reminded him strongly of his nephew, out of sight and still no doubt walking away, but Hades did not relent.

The rivers of Tartarus were dangerous, even to gods, but while they ran through Tartarus they were also of the Underworld. Hades was not so much a fool to believe that granted him immunity – the rivers were old, as were their gods, and it was a lesson he had learnt the hard way last time – but it granted him something of a resistance.

This particular river was perhaps the most mild, one that tormented with the purpose of the victim's ongoing survival, and Hades stepped forward, into the flames as they seared so hot they were cold, leaving Apollo and his futile diversion behind.

He didn't need the sun god to navigate Tartarus.

He ignored the creeping thought that Apollo needed him.

Let the fun begin. And the screaming. I would apologise for this ending but I'm not actually sorry in the slightest.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari