Disclaimer: I don't own Trials of Apollo.

HADES XIV
Apollo Makes the Sound of Fear

Clang.

Orion's hunting knife swung up, blocking Hades' strike, and he frowned. There was a tremble in the blade, fear not so easily dismissed when the Helm was active, although Hades had to keep its full power in check so as not to incapacitate Apollo, whose pale face was clearly not just due to the sheer volume of golden ichor in places that were not inside his nephew, where it was supposed to be.

Gods did not experience blood loss the way mortals did – the loss of ichor was not fatal, or at least Hades had never heard of a god losing enough to die – but the precious golden liquid was still important to their reserves of power and the godly feats they could do. Apollo wasn't shaking, not even from fear, and his reflexes seemed to be as sharp as ever as another arrow hurtled towards Orion, forcing the giant to disengage from where his blade was locked with Hades' in order to bat it away, but his quiver was empty and it seemed an eternity before a new arrow materialised in his hand. He'd been comparatively slow in summoning arrows throughout their time in Tartarus already but this was practically glacial for the god of archery.

He was also the god of healing and ought to replenish what he'd lost faster than most, but Hades was conscious that he was going to have to be the primary offensive force against the giant, regardless of whose bane Orion was. Apollo had clearly proven that he could outsmart Orion, based on both the giant's own words and the fact that Apollo and presumably Asclepius had managed to escape an earlier encounter, but the severe injuries the younger god had received while the giant appeared mostly unharmed also lent credence to Orion's boast that Apollo was not his match.

Hades slashed at the giant once more, irritated when Orion again managed to fend him off despite the fear permeating through him and the fact that the Helm was rendering Hades invisible, and then a third attack proved beyond a doubt that, somehow, Orion was detecting his movements.

No doubt in time he could wear down the giant, but this was not a battle he wanted to allow to drag on any longer than necessary – a confrontation of this calibre was powerful enough that it could alert and potentially even attract other, powerful, opponents, and Hades would rather get through their mission with the least fights possible.

He temporarily fell back, away from the giant to instead hover – still invisible – immediately behind Apollo.

"Find a way to defeat him," he ordered. Apollo flinched, almost imperceptivity but enough to tell Hades that, unlike Orion, he could not detect him while he was invisible, which brought a flicker of a thought to the back of his mind to be addressed in a moment. "I will not let him pass."

It was not a boast, but a statement of fact. Objectively, he was stronger than the giant, even if the covenant that he required a demigod to defeat him meant that he was frustratingly unable to win, no matter how great the power gap between them was. Orion would not pass him unless he allowed it.

Even if the giant could track him.

Hades allowed the seed of a thought to swell and grow as he headed back into the fight, not waiting for any acknowledgement from his nephew. Apollo, for all he acted otherwise, was not a fool and would understand it was their best option to finish the fight before they gained too much unwanted attention.

Some was, sadly, inevitable.

Orion had taken his brief respite as a chance to materialise more arrows and retrieve his bow, and Hades had to hack two arrows before they whistled through his intangible self and slammed into his nephew behind him. Then, he stepped around to the side of the giant and slashed again.

Once again, the hunting blade caught his swing, and Hades regretted that he had to be tangible in order to make contact with others, because Orion's blade was far, far too fast.

It was also purely reacting to his attacks, as though it was the attack rather than Hades he could detect, and the seed of suspicion continued to grow.

With the archery and good looks, the connection to Apollo was blatant, yet Orion was not just Apollo's bane, but Artemis', too, which meant he must also have aspects of the goddess to oppose. Archery was no doubt for both of them, but he was certainly also a hunter to rival the huntress and, it appeared, hyper-vigilant to anything that might treat him as prey – such as an invisible Hades.

Arrows whizzed towards Orion, who was once again forced to disengage from Hades in order to deflect them, and Hades refused to let such an opening pass, pressing the giant back and forcing him to dodge rather than parry.

From there, the tone of the battle was set. Hades pressed Orion, refusing to permit the giant to try and get past him to Apollo, despite that being his clear intent – Orion, like Apollo, was clearly no fool and knew that he was not a match for Hades, despite Hades' unfortunate handicap without a demigod present. Apollo, however, was the most vulnerable of the three – no protection from an irritating covenant, as well as being the weakest. If there was anyone who could lose, it was Hades' nephew.

Arrows flew, golden ones passing though Hades' invisible, intangible self while black ones were knocked out of the air.

Ichor spilt, Orion's skin splitting open as the points of arrows caught it in passing and gaining trails of gold down his face, his arms, every exposed patch. Hades caught him more than once, too, but never more than a glancing blow – the giant's reflexes were too fast, his reactions appropriate for the bane of two of the nimbler Olympians, and whatever antithesis to Artemis' hunting he had seemed inclined towards preventing himself being prey.

He was also swift.

Hades had said Orion would not get past him, and they were words he stood by, but whenever the giant had a moment's reprieve from both his and Apollo's attacks, he was pressing forwards, the bane of the swiftest god (even Hades had heard about Hermes' defeat in a footrace), bow in one hand and vicious knife in the other as he tried to open another deep wound in Apollo's form.

More than once, Apollo had flinched back, out of the way, as though he feared that Orion would pass Hades, and the older god reminded himself that even Apollo could not see him, did not know where he was and therefore had no way of knowing for certain that he would always be there, blocking the knife and pressing back against the giant. Even though he was.

Orion's mocking grin had disappeared a long time ago, replaced by a vicious scowl of fury as he leaked more and more ichor. That, at least, was some degree of victory – Orion felt threatened by their combined forces, despite the lack of a demigod in the vicinity looming over all of them.

But it wasn't enough.

The giant was not retreating, did not even be appearing to consider the potential to disengage and bide his time for later. That seemed rather un-hunter-like of him, but there was nothing Hades could do about it except keep fighting, keep pushing, and find a way to keep him down – or hope that Apollo could come up with something.

So far, there were no pearls of wisdom on the subject coming from his nephew, who was continuing to fire arrows into the fray, a barrage far too slow to be worthy of the god of archery but unfortunately understandable considering both their location and his wounds. Hades could not spare the attention to check how quickly Apollo was healing, but between Tartarus and his bane, it was no doubt far too slowly. The too-long pauses between arrows only confirmed it.

Orion was also fast-healing, and unlike Apollo was clearly drawing strength from being in Tartarus as his wounds kept sealing up, leaving fading trails of ichor across his skin as the only evidence they had existed. His laser eyes – Hades had wondered, briefly, if Hephaestus' technology was enough to surpass the Helm of Darkness, but dismissed the thought within less than a second; Hephaestus was good, but he was not an Elder Cyclops – seemed focused almost entirely on the younger Olympian, other senses guiding his defences against Hades' attacks.

Then the battle changed. A new edge to Orion's stance manifested, a shift that had Hades on fresh alert and slashing forwards with the certainty that he needed to stop whatever was coming.

He stopped the first knife.

The second skipped past, hidden until the last possible second by the first.

Apollo would shoot it down, Hades reasoned as he pressed his attack; it was only a projectile, his nephew could handle that with ease, even in his current condition.

Except he heard no sign of an arrow colliding with a knife.

Instead, Orion's laser eyes lit up, a flash of vibrant red that certainly meant nothing good, and behind Hades, something hit the ground.

He couldn't afford to look, but he glanced anyway.

Apollo was down, pushing himself up with arms that trembled as a fresh wave of ichor flowed onto the surface of Tartarus and looking worse than Hades had ever seen him. The bone-handled blade was buried in his throat, straight through the jugular, and it still wasn't enough to kill Apollo, not by a long shot, but it was concerning.

Hades barely had time to register the half-manifested golden arrow on the ground beside the god before he was drawn back into combat with Orion. The giant had gained a major advantage and there was no doubt that he knew it as he kept lunging forwards, his focus on Apollo appearing to be almost single-minded, save for his near-instinctive blocks of Hades' own attacks.

It was no longer a case of simply holding Orion in place as he waited for inspiration to strike – either himself or Apollo, he hadn't been picky. Now, Hades was forced to the defensive, with no other possible explanation save that he was whole-heartedly defending his fallen nephew.

He could sense the flickering aura of Apollo behind him – still very much alive, still conscious, but weak and struggling nonetheless – but couldn't turn to look. Instead, he prompted the Helm to stop holding back and allowed a fierce aura of fear to surround him, feeling somewhat regretful that Apollo, too, would be receiving the full blast but knowing that he would need everything he had to keep Orion away from his nephew long enough for Apollo to find his feet again.

And, more importantly, finally come up with a way to eliminate Orion as a threat to them, both now and for the rest of their time in Tartarus. Hades refused to be hunted for the duration of their mission; he was no weak prey and he would ensure Orion knew it.

The wicked grin was back, a flicker of self-satisfaction on the giant's face even as he kept trying to pass Hades, kept trying to finish the job he had started with far too much of what seemed like success, and Hades hated it. He was used to disrespect – his brothers, much of the rest of his family, giants and titans and others who would oppose the gods – but this was more than simple disrespect. This was disregard, the cockiness of someone who fully believed they were superior to the point of dismissing those around them.

Orion fully believed he was winning this fight.

Hades refused to lose.

One of his strikes caught the string of Orion's bow, slicing cleanly through and causing the ends to recoil violently against the giant's face. He hadn't been using it much, mostly because Hades had not granted him the space and time to do so, but it was still enough to once again wipe the arrogant smirk from Orion's lips.

Tension gone, the bow seemed to shatter, and Orion discarded it on the ground without a second thought. Instead, a third hunting knife leapt into his hands from somewhere in his quiver, leaving him with two blades to Hades' one.

Hades' sword was the far superior of the two, however, and he remained relentless in his attack, waiting for Apollo to drag himself to his feet again and finally come up with a way to defeat his bane, because inspiration on the matter was clearly evading Hades with practised ease.

Perhaps if he managed to hack him into enough pieces and then scattered them across the Pit, Orion would be unable to reform by the time they were done with their mission and out of Tartarus. It had not succeeded so far, but Hades had no intentions of giving up.

Behind him, he could feel Apollo's essence straining, as though the god was trying to pull off one of his more powerful feats despite the amount of his ichor glistening across his body and pooling around him on the surface of the Pit, none of it where it was supposed to be - inside his form. What he was hoping to achieve, Hades had no idea, but he was too busy keeping a violent giant back, hacking and slashing at his limbs in an attempt to sever them and begin the process of disassembling Orion's body.

For his part, Orion seemed more determined than ever to get to Apollo. Perhaps he considered whatever Apollo was attempting to do to be a real threat, but Hades was careful not to pin his hopes on that. In his condition, it was unlikely that Apollo would be able to succeed at whatever it was he was trying to achieve and Hades could not rely on the younger god to pull through.

Then Apollo began to sing.

His voice was not as strong as Hades had heard it before, but it was not as weak as his condition implied it ought to be, and the familiar tones of his nephew's singing voice washed over both of them.

It was not one of his modern menaces, to Hades' relief. He did not recognise the song, although he was aware he had only ever heard a small selection of the god of music's vast repertoire, but it had the sound and tone of an ancient Hellenistic epic, if not older.

More surprising than Apollo's sudden inclination to burst into song – which, under normal circumstances, would be no surprise at all – was the underlying sound beneath it. Hades had not noticed it to begin with, either because Apollo had begun his song unaccompanied, or because it had been too quiet to catch his attention, but there was an undercurrent of some instrument or other.

Orion turned near incandescent, pushing forwards with a fresh wave of viciousness born of what felt like desperation, and Hades focused all of his attention on keeping the giant back, away from Apollo and whatever he was doing that seriously threatened Orion.

Even so, Apollo's music was never something that could be simply ignored. He could be known to sing about anything, from great battles to the ideal cut of a chiton, and yet no matter how ridiculous the subject matter, it seemed to insist that everyone in earshot pay attention.

He was singing about fear.

Hades felt it coil up his back, whispering and hissing, reminding him of Kronos' stomach, of his last trip to Tartarus, of other moments he had no desire to ever recall again.

Music was never something to be underestimated; Hades himself had faced the power of music before, in Orpheus as he forced his way into the Underworld with nothing but song and almost succeeded in getting back out again. It was simply common sense that Apollo could evoke and manipulate emotions to his choosing with nothing but his voice, and perhaps whatever instrument he chose to accompany his singing, but Hades' previous exposure to music had always been other emotions – grief, sadness, regret, love, celebration, happiness.

He had never heard Apollo focus on fear before.

It was not as potent as the Helm – nothing was as potent as the Helm at full power – but the effect it had on Orion seemed to be just as great, if not greater. Hades didn't know why that was, if it was because he and Apollo were linked in that irritating way their banes had, but any cockiness had been stripped away from the giant in a sudden shift.

Now, Orion was desperate, his swings losing precision but getting more and more vicious as he pushed and pushed and pushed, even more disregarding of Hades as he threw himself in the direction of Apollo and his music with the frenzy of one whose sanity had suddenly disappeared.

Hades dismissed his invisibility to stand firmly – visibly – in the giant's way as he lunged, driving him back with his blade and making deeper cuts as Orion's blocks became sloppier. Sadly, for reasons Hades wasn't certain on but could perhaps make an educated guess, the Stygian Iron wasn't able to absorb the giant's essence and eliminate him from existence for ever more, but it was still a wickedly sharp blade and Orion's skin split with no resistance beneath it.

All the while, Apollo continued to sing.

The sound moved, as though the younger god had finally managed to make his way to his feet again, and Orion let out a bellow of an injured – dying – animal. Hades did not turn to look behind him, not even when the sound approached, old words in a tongue not spoken by any deceased soul to have arrived in the Underworld for several centuries singing of things that provoked nothing but the deepest, most crawling fears the mind could conjure.

Then there was gold in his periphery, the gold of ichor glittering across the body it decorated, but also the spun gold of hair, the blinding gold of the sun, the gold of Apollo. From what Hades could determine without turning his head away from Orion, who lunged again, more a rabid animal than an intelligent being, and was once more driven back by Hades' blade, Apollo was far from healed. The golden ichor still covered his form liberally, and the bone handle of the hunting knife still protruded from his throat. His face was too pale, and arms trembled despite the surety of the fingers on whatever that thing in his hands was.

It was not an instrument Hades recognised, but that was hardly relevant. What was relevant was that Apollo had managed to put Orion on the back foot in their fight, and Hades had every intention of capitalising on that fact as much as the Fates allowed.

The next slash of his blade felt different as it made contact with Orion's form. The subtle resistance that had served as a constant reminder that the giant could not be killed had gone, and Hades saved the questions for later as he brought his sword back before driving it forwards, just as the giant made another frenzied lunge for Apollo.

Whatever Hades had expected to happen, it wasn't for Apollo, still singing, to grasp the unfamiliar instrument tightly before swinging it up and, with a sudden burst of light as his form grew to match the giant's height, smashed it down on Orion's head.

Less than an instant later, Hades' sword rammed straight through Orion's armour and buried itself right to the hilt against his chest, the blade directly through the giant's heart.

Orion stopped moving.

One moment, and then another passed, all three of them seemingly frozen in position, before the giant slumped forwards, boneless.

Hades stepped to one side, withdrawing his sword in a single, smooth moment, and watched him crash to the ground. Spiked black hair was matted with gold, the skull seemingly caved in from Apollo's blow, and more ichor oozed from the exit wound from the tip of Hades' sword in his back.

Not one to take risks, Hades slashed down and clove the head from the body, confused but certainly not complaining when it rolled a pace away before the giant disintegrated into ash.

That appeared to be Apollo's cue to crash to his knees, the younger god's chest heaving as though he was struggling for breath, despite being a god who didn't need such frivolous things. He was coated in ichor, which was steadily dripping down to the sharded surface of Tartarus, and shaking in a very un-god-like manner.

The instrument in his hands more closely resembled a mangled invention of Hephaestus' than something that ought to be capable of producing the emotion-inducing music Apollo had drawn from it during the battle.

Hades had several questions, but he was all-too conscious that the conflict had drawn the eyes of every monster in the vicinity, and that Apollo was giving off the impression of a god brought down low – an easy kill, to the monsters of Tartarus. It didn't matter that he had just brought down a giant – not just any giant, but his own bane – with those wounds. Monsters were opportunistic, and even the stupidest amongst their number would know that this was the weakest they would ever see a god.

"Stand up," he ordered his nephew, shelving the questions until they were out of their current situation – it was not a predicament, that would imply that Hades couldn't eliminate every single monster before they could even approach. "This is no place to rest."

"I know," Apollo replied, his voice quiet in a way that implied exhaustion. Hades was not surprised; the amount of ichor he had lost certainly justified that, let alone whatever feat he had pulled off – presumably summoning the instrument from the Overworld – in that condition. Despite his words, however, he didn't rise.

Hades recalled his struggle in the middle of the battle, when Orion's knife had struck his throat – there was no sign of the blade now, clearly disintegrated along with its master and leaving a waterfall of gold spilling down Apollo's chest. His condition was nothing short of bad, even for a god, and he found himself moving before the thought had completely coalesced in his mind.

He moved to stand directly next to Apollo, whose hands appeared to be locked around the instrument. This close, the tremor in his legs as he tried to get his knees to co-operate were visible, but it was clear that his final blow against Orion had taken a considerable amount of his strength. Hades didn't let himself wonder if it was the physical exertion or the mental toll of the encounter.

"Come," he said, reaching down and hooking his hand beneath Apollo's shoulder, hauling him up and tightening his grip on his nephew's upper arm as the younger god shakily got his feet under him. As soon as he sensed Apollo was balanced, he released him and took a half-step away, reinstating his personal space. "Follow me."

Apollo needed to rest. Hades was well aware of that – he didn't even have the strength or wherewithal to clean himself up and dismiss the ichor staining his form, despite the weakness it projected to the hungry eyes watching them. For the briefest of moments, Hades considered dismissing the gold himself, but discarded the thought before it finished appearing. Changing another god's appearance was not something to be done on a whim. It was not, strictly speaking, something to be done at all. There was an intimacy to that action that went beyond even anything he had with his beloved wife, Persephone.

It was certainly not an intimacy to be shared with his nephew.

The younger god did not protest as Hades forged a path forwards, away from the lines of monsters seeking to leave for the Overworld, and fell into a half-step behind him. The mangled instrument remained clutched in his hands, and Hades decided to allow himself that one curiosity as they walked.

"What is that?" he asked, gesturing at it so Apollo knew exactly what he was referring to.

"This?" his nephew asked anyway, lifting it slightly. "This is the Valdezinator." Hades had certainly never heard of that instrument, and did not miss the similarity to the name of a certain death-defying demigod.

Demigod.

"Created by one Leonidas Valdez, I presume?" he observed, still unimpressed with the creator in question despite the realisation why it was that instrument, out of all of them, that Apollo had chosen to summon and wield against Orion.

"Yes." There was a hard edge in Apollo's tone suddenly. Hades ignored it.

"I did not know something crafted by a demigod would be enough to fulfil the covenant," he said instead. Apollo shrugged.

"It's as much help as we ever gave them in the war," he replied.

Hades couldn't deny that, and allowed the conversation to lapse away into silence. Injured, Apollo seemed content to let silence wash over them, too.

There was nothing to be done about the trail of ichor Apollo was leaving in his wake, so Hades discounted it from his considerations as he looked around for a part of Tartarus that would be appropriate to stop for a while. The jagged cliffs that marked the edge of the highest area of the pit were filled with craggy caverns, and once they were far enough from the Overworld exit for Hades' liking, he led Apollo straight into one.

The monsters that had made it their home were eliminated from existence before they could even register the presence of the two gods, and Hades turned to face Apollo, who was glancing around at their new surroundings.

"Rest," he ordered, and his nephew startled. "You look pathetic."

"What about the quest?" Apollo asked. His voice was still quieter than Hades was used to, with a slightly rough edge that sounded out of place against the otherwise melodic tones. "We need to-"

"You need to rest," Hades overrode him sharply. "As it stands, you will invite any cocky monster to try its luck, to say nothing of worse opponents. Orion is far from the strongest occupant of the Pit. Attempting to continue when you cannot even make yourself look presentable is the height of foolishness. We will take a pause here."

For a moment, it looked as though Apollo was about to protest, but then his shoulders slumped and one hand finally disentangled itself from the mangled metal – the Valdezinator, or what remained of it after its collision with Orion's skull – to cover the still-leaking wound in his throat.

"I see your point," he said after a moment, before sitting down on the floor of the cavern and leaning against the side. "Sorry."

Hades turned his back and looked out of the cavern's entrance. "Orion was your bane," he said after a moment. "Exhaustion is to be expected."

"You're not even injured," Apollo protested, and Hades rolled his eyes, despite knowing Apollo couldn't see the action.

"I am more powerful than both of you," he reminded him. "He was not my bane."

Silence settled between them. Content that the conversation was over, Hades set his attention to watching for anything that might approach, regardless of how little a threat they might be.

Then Apollo spoke again, his voice soft, almost as though he wasn't planning for Hades to hear his words. "That was the first time I've ever defeated him," he murmured. It sounded almost like a confession. "Neither of us have ever defeated him. He drives us apart."

Hades had nothing he wanted to say to that, so he pretended he hadn't heard, despite the fresh questions sprouting in his mind – if the Twins had never defeated Orion, who had?

Whispered confessions seemingly over for good, Apollo lapsed into a silence behind him again. The sensation of his essence seemed to slow, shimmering into something steady and calm, and when Hades glanced back out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the younger god's eyes had closed.

Good.

Content that Apollo was, in fact, doing as he was told – and should be doing – and resting, Hades let him be and returned to watching for potential danger.

They would move on once Apollo was sufficiently regenerated.

Are we getting somewhere? Is this... progress? Nah, don't be ridiculous - we're not even halfway through yet!

Thanks for reading!
Tsari