Disclaimer: I don't own Trials of Apollo

The ichor warning is back for this chapter!

HADES XXI
Trust The Ears of The God of Music

Hades had not intended in confessing his inadvertent fondness for his nephew, but after the warm – bordering on scorching hot, although never painful – essence had fluctuated with sadness, despair and self-loathing, of all things, he had found himself unable to keep his silence. He had known that Apollo was far more than the foolish clown he liked to play, but to feel it, so raw where it tangled with his own essence in a way that reminded him of small, nervous children hiding behind their mother, almost afraid to trust, had startled- no, shocked him.

Then again, Zeus was about as good at being a father as he was at being a brother, so perhaps it should not be a surprise that part of Apollo hesitated to trust his own family. Hades himself would be a hypocrite if he said he trusted most of them.

He didn't fully trust Apollo, either, trusted no-one completely, not even his wife who parted from him for half of each year nor the Chthonic gods creeping around the Underworld, each with their own agendas despite their general obedience. However, he trusted his bright nephew more than most; Apollo didn't flee from him, didn't dismiss him out of hand or straight up ignore his existence. Apollo listened to him, allowed him to vent about woes their brethren simply laughed at, if they even paid attention at all.

Apollo was kind, in a way Olympus didn't allow its occupants to be, and once Hades realised it was no act to catch him off guard and throw back in his face a century or several later, he had begun to appreciate that small flame amidst an ocean of derision and deceit. His words had not been a lie; he had no desire to see that small flame extinguished by the horrors of Tartarus.

Hades had not been able to explain all of that to Apollo – it would have been too much, a level of exposure that ran beyond indecent and into mortification – and had taken the loophole offered by his nephew's open-ended why to avoid further baring his innermost thoughts and feelings.

As Apollo had not pressed for further details, he presumed that his nephew, too, did not wish to face those depths and was, if not content, at least able to continue with only the information offered.

Of more pressing concern was Styx's curses. Of the two, the voice was the lesser evil, not least because while Apollo had proven multiple times that his voice held a power that Tartarus could not fully disregard, it was not his primary weapon. His nephew's loss of his archery prowess was far more concerning, but Apollo had made no move to summon his bow or refill his empty quiver, even after Hades had done what he could to mitigate the curses of the goddess.

Apollo was not a one-trick god; Hades had heard tell of his speed and of his wrestling. Hermes and Ares both had never forgiven the sun god for their respective defeats, and those stories had made it even as far as the Underworld and Hades' ears. That still did not make the loss of their ranged offense any less potent.

They were not far away from the prison, now. There was still no sign of the gleaming brass fortress on what passed for a horizon in the depths of the Pit, but Hades knew it did not lay too far up from the merging of the rivers, which they were only somewhat below, and now the correct side of. The raging of the Acheron was a near-silent call on the edge of his hearing, too far away to have any effect, but close enough to be there, to remind Hades of how it felt to be torn apart straight down to his essence.

How Apollo had found the strength to pull them both clear, Hades did not want to ponder. He suspected that was a trail of thought that would meander too close to the mortal trials Hades knew little of.

He was well acquainted with how much torment the mortal body could endure before it broke. He had seen souls finally pushed over the edge too many times not to.

No, that was not a thought he wished to pursue any further.

Hades instead cast his thoughts and attention to their surroundings, searching for any signs of approaching threats. Two injured gods would no doubt be a temptation to any monsters that caught sight of them, although so far in the depths of Tartarus, beyond where even most monsters ventured, they would be not just tempted, but also likely powerful enough to present a true danger.

His only consolation was that he and Apollo were both on guard, and that with the large expanse of visibility, nothing would be able to catch them unawares. Regardless, he was not keen to linger longer than necessary.

"We should probably keep moving." Clearly, Apollo's thoughts ran along similar lines, as his nephew's broken and rasping voice reached Hades' ears.

"are you fit to continue?" Hades asked in response, glancing over his shoulder at his nephew to assess his condition. His voice sounded no less rasping than immediately after he had pulled away from their mutual healing session, and Hades wondered – feared – that it would improve no further until Styx was satisfied.

What that meant for Apollo's archery skills, he did not wish to contemplate.

"Fit enough," Apollo replied. "Are you?"

Hades assessed himself. The curses from the Arai had all but entirely faded through Apollo's intervention, and he felt no concern about a relapse. As long as they evaded the Arai, there should be no further issues.

"I am," he said, and felt his nephew pull himself to his feet behind him.

"Then we should keep moving," Apollo said. "I can't say I want to stay in the Pit any longer than necessary." That was a sentiment Hades fully shared, and he needed no further hints to pull himself to his feet in turn, casting another glance at the expanse of membrane surrounding them before facing his nephew.

Apollo's hand was twitching, as though it missed the feel of a bow nestled in its palm. From the slight furrows in the handsome god's otherwise perfect face, Hades suspected it was not just the hand of the god that missed the weapon.

When the bow haltingly materialised in Apollo's palm, Hades had to resist making any indication of relief. Apollo had no such reservations, and relief broke across his face much like Hades faintly recalled clouds breaking apart to reveal the sun behind them again.

"Can you use it?" he felt compelled to ask. Apollo's expression shifted into something complex, and Hades watched his stance adjust infinitesimally, changing the way the god stood in a single fluid moment until Apollo was standing with his bow at full draw, an arrow materialised from somewhere resting on the string.

It looked reassuring, but Apollo made a dejected noise as he released the tension without firing the arrow.

"Use it, I suppose," he admitted, sounding like his mouth suddenly had too many teeth for its size and choking his voice up even further than Styx's curse. "Use it well is… another matter entirely." There was resignation in his voice, but also a hint of bitterness. Hades had never found himself bereft of his own domains before – weakened, certainly, and he could recall the time before the claiming of his domains, when he was simply a god and not a god of something, with no degree of fondness – so he could not empathise with Apollo's plight. He could, however, bring enough conceptual thought to the possibility to at least feel some sympathy for his nephew – but it would do neither of them any

"That will have to suffice," he said, pitching his tone to convey some degree of acknowledgement that the situation was not ideal – that Apollo was upset. Fortunately, his nephew was no fool, and did not attempt to argue futilely as he placed the arrow back in the near-empty quiver at his side and took a small step forwards, shifting his weight back out of his shooting stance.

"Maybe it'll come back more in time," Apollo muttered, sounding less than hopeful about it.

"Perhaps," Hades agreed, more with the ideal than any real hope himself, either. "The prison is this way." He didn't bother to add the caveat that he was not completely certain, nor orientated. While true, he did recall that they needed to be further up the slopes of Tartarus, away from the deepest depths and the eventual inevitability of Chaos at the end of things.

Having spent so long descending through the Pit, it was a relief to finally be headed upwards again. His own domain was still far above them – and Apollo's were even further way, barely a concept to Tartarus – but moving towards it, rather than further away, felt right.

Apollo followed his lead, lapsing into silence not for the first time since they had entered Tartarus, and it was no less disconcerting than the first time, although Hades could understand it, this time. Just because some of his voice had restored did not mean the rasping husk was pleasant to listen to, and for Apollo, whose voice had always been beautiful even in simple conversation, it was no doubt torturous.

He also, Hades observed out of the corner of his eye as they walked, his nephew a bare half-step behind him, appeared to be focusing on replenishing his quiver, despite his far reduced archery skills. Each arrow took time to appear, worse than even against Orion. It was abundantly clear that Apollo would not be able to fire off arrows indiscriminately in a confrontation – each shot would have to be carefully measured, and with Styx's curse also affecting his ability to shoot, there was little guarantee that they would hit the intended mark.

Or any mark at all.

The prevailing silence of his nephew was not, however, enough to distract Hades from the first signs of Apollo noticing something. His head raised from where he had been watching his quiver as he walked, and his fingers began to once again tap out a rhythm that was becoming familiar to Hades after multiple performances as eyes of fire scanned the landscape ahead of them intently.

Hades had almost fallen foul of ignoring Apollo's warning signs once. It was not a mistake he intended on repeating.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You don't hear it?" Apollo replied, voice quiet but filled with an intent that ought to bode ill for whoever had crossed the god.

Hades had been unable to hear anything except their footsteps echoing against the taut membrane of Tartarus for some time. The cries of the Acheron had faded away into nothing shortly into their advance, leaving a notable gap of sound, and nothing substantial had broken that silence since.

Apollo was the god of music, for all that Styx had targeted that domain as part of her vengeance. It made sense, Hades realised abruptly, for his hearing to be keener than even most gods'.

"I do not," he confirmed, assessing the way Apollo's face had clouded over in an expression not too dissimilar to those he had worn when he had deemed Hades a threat to Asclepius – except, this time, the death-promising glare was not settling on him, but rather a nebulous point ahead of them. "What do you hear?"

"A voice," Apollo told him, his own rasp low and fierce. "Calling for help."

There was the possibility that a soul that should not have been sentenced to Tartarus had ended up there by mistake – certainly in the past year of mortal reckoning, entrances to the Pit appeared to have been opening directly into the Overworld with a frequency that almost guaranteed innocent souls falling foul of its chasms. There was the possibility that whoever Apollo could hear, they had nothing to do with his son, nor the titans and giants furious and scheming within the Pit.

Hades dismissed those possibilities instantly. Apollo would not have worn such a furious expression if the voice belonged to an innocent party. Even if he could not identify the owner of the voice, there was something about the apparent cries for help that his nephew did not take kindly to.

"Calling my son." It wasn't a question, but Apollo nodded regardless, confirming Hades' instant suspicion.

"By name," he said, then, "I recognise the voice."

Hades did not know whether to hope it was Iapetus, foolishly requesting his son's help, or if his original instincts were correct and the voice's owner was a giant, rather than a titan. Were it Iapetus, he would be justified in punishing the titan severely, no matter his intentions. Summoning Nico into the Pit was unforgivable on all accounts.

Alcyoneus, however, would be a difficult battle, comparable to Apollo's original encounter with Orion in Tartarus as best Hades could approximate.

Regardless, this was not a confrontation that Hades would allow them to pass by – not that Apollo appeared any more inclined to so, judging by the way he had a hand in his now-bristling quiver, and a look so bright it was dark on his face.

Apollo had always treated Nico well, and held him in high regard, even before the demigod had become romantically involved with the god's own son. Hades was well aware that it was almost entirely down to the actions of the Twins that Nico, at least, had survived long enough to reach Camp Half-Blood for the first time (Artemis had failed to protect Bianca, yes, but with the pain of grief muffled into an ache, Hades was at least aware that his niece had tried).

It was true that Hades himself held no thoughts for William's potential trip to Tartarus beyond the effect it would have on his own son, but it was equally true that Apollo cared for both demigods, even if his original plan had presumably still included Nico's return to the Pit.

Even if it was Alcyoneus, Hades would not allow the calling to continue, and he was confident he could trust Apollo to share in that opinion.

"Lead the way," he ordered, drawing his sword from its sheath.

There was no verbal response from his nephew, but an arrow was nocked to the string of the golden bow in his hand, before Apollo inclined his head purposefully, indicating a direction that was slightly off to one side from their original route, across the slope of Tartarus rather than further up it. If Hades had his bearings accurate, it was towards the delta where all five rivers mingled.

The so-called Delta of Despair, as he had told Apollo what felt like eons ago, before the Acheron and the Arai had torn them both apart. He supposed that was an appropriate place to hold the confrontation.

There was no thought about passing by, about doing anything other than marching in the direction of the voice with the full intent of annihilation. It was true that their aim had been the prison itself, but that had always been a proxy, an approximation of the most likely place to find the source of the voice summoning his son to the depths of Tartarus.

Now they had found the source of the voice, the prison was of no concern to him.

Apollo led the way, heading directly where his inclined head had indicated. Neither of them spoke, and Hades strained his hearing, searching for the first distant sounds of a voice, of the voice.

It was difficult to judge how long it took – not that Hades particularly cared about tracking the passage of time at that moment regardless – but the voice reached his ears before any of the vocal rivers' distant cacophonies. Hades spared them no heed as they screamed on the very edges of his hearing, not after hearing the low, rumbling tones akin to the earth tearing itself apart and cascading together again.

He had suspected – more than suspected – that his bane was the true source of the summons plaguing his son. The giant was crafty, and vengeful – Hades was somewhat surprised that Nico was the one he had attempted to lure down, when the demigod that had proven to be a significant issue to the giant was a different person entirely, but it was also true that she would likely have recognised the voice and not been deceived.

Nico, on the other hand, had never directly interacted with Alcyoneus, and also showed clear guilt over Iapetus' fate within Tartarus. Undoubtably, he was the easier, the softer target, to the giant's mind.

Hades' essence churned at the mere thought of it.

He shared a look with Apollo, a glare that wasn't aimed at his nephew but broadcasted that he, too, was now in earshot of the giant begging Nico for help – to fall into the trap and be torn apart by if not Alcyoneus himself, at least Tartarus and its various inhabitants. Apollo matched the glare with his own, a mutual understanding that Alcyoneus had gone too far and that neither of them would stand for it.

In his hand, his sword vibrated, his anger pulsing through the Stygian Iron and causing the dark metal to deepen, indescribable patterns of void swirling across and through its presence, yearning for something to absorb and eliminate from existence entirely. Considering how Orion had withstood its effects, reducing it to no more than a regular sword, it was highly doubtful that Alcyoneus himself would be so easily downed, but that knowledge did nothing to sate his desire to see the giant disappear from existence forever more.

Alongside Alcyoneus' voice – pitch raised a little from the voice that haunted Hades' recall, no doubt in a further attempt at deception but still unmistakable to the one he was born to oppose – the rushing of water gradually entered his awareness. Hades judged that the Delta could not be far, and raised the hand not holding his sword in a gesture for Apollo to halt.

There was no point in the pair of them entering the Delta together, alerting the giant to his approaching doom. The moment Apollo paused, meeting his eyes in silent askance, Hades activated the Helm, disappearing from sight and tangibility. His nephew's eyes widened, focusing on where Hades stood for a moment before flickering around, taking in their surroundings and, Hades realised, a futile attempt to find where he had gone.

Apollo would be no match for Alcyoneus – even if he had his full archery prowess, Alcyoneus was one of the most powerful giants, and even taking into consideration that Orion was specifically crafted to oppose him and his twin, Apollo had struggled badly against the weaker giant. Hades was not so overconfident as to assume he could defeat Alcyoneus single-handed – such thoughts would be foolish in the extreme; it had taken the combined strength of himself and Herakles the first time – but Apollo would be of little help in close quarters.

He would leave it up to his nephew to determine how best to intervene, given his current limitations. The brief thought flickered through his mind that Apollo would stay back, out of the fight, but it was banished almost immediately. If there was something about his nephew Hades had learned since their time together in the Pit, or perhaps remembered was the more accurate term – it was that Apollo did not back down, even when he was nominally outmatched.

Sure enough, as he slipped forwards, cresting a ridge of membrane and finally laying eyes on his bane for the first time in millennia, he caught sight of Apollo shifting where he stood, creeping forwards on silent feet and raising his bow.

The Helm united Hades with the shadows; even in Tartarus, it held its effect – in fact, Hades suspected the deep darkness of the Pit drew out degrees of shadow that not even the Underworld could emulate. With his back to him, Alcyoneus had no way of registering his approach until it was too late, Hades' sword raised and ready to run him through as he increased his size to match the giant's stature.

It wouldn't be enough to kill the giant, but it would set the advantage in Hades' court, pinning Alcyoneus on the back foot – so to speak – as their confrontation continued.

Giants could not see through the Helm. Hades recalled the discord he had sowed between Giants and Titans alike during the wars clearly enough to recall that. Orion's hunting instincts had allowed him to react to the attacks, but even he, with his keen eyes combined with Hephaestus' technology, hadn't been able to see Hades.

Alcyoneus – a creature of the Underworld, of the darkness and shadows, Hades' opposite and equivalent, in a body whose revived form had been reconstructed by Pluto's own daughter – turned, black opal eyes boring straight into Hades' own. The gigantic staff in his hand slammed into Hades' blade, turning it aside and deflecting the stroke harmlessly past.

"Hades," the giant greeted, dropping the fake pitch. His voice rumbled around the Delta loudly, the sound akin to a collapsing cavern. "Marvellous!" The staff swung back around, the intangibility of the Helm somehow doing nothing to stop its collision with Hades' side, sending him crashing sideways.

Dazed, and caught a little off guard himself at how little Alcyoneus appeared affected by the Helm, Hades pushed himself back off the ground. His bane didn't seem interested in hitting him while he was down, instead those black opal eyes bored straight into his with rabid, hungry delight.

"I thought I would have to content myself with destroying your children," the giant loomed, leaning on his staff. Dark red hair liberally threaded through with gemstones of every type fell across his shoulder as his solid silver teeth bared in a manic grin. "But it seems Hades himself has fallen into my trap."

Hades threw himself to the side as the staff whipped around again, lightning fast, and deflected it with his sword as it swung too close for comfort. Alcyoneus laughed, an awful grating sound not too dissimilar to Styx's original curse on Apollo's voice, and Hades slashed at him with his blade.

His actions were rushed, hurried in a way millennia had taught him he shouldn't fight, but on the back foot, unable to determine why the Helm was failing to work on his bane when it clearly concealed him from his nephew in the direct opposite of Hades' ideal preference, and facing the real threat of one of the most powerful giants, it was difficult to find the opportunity to recentre himself as Alcyoneus pressed forward, holding the same advantage Hades had intended to have.

The arrow that glanced off of the brassy shoulder powering the staff startled him almost as much as Alcyoneus.

The giant paused, glancing around their surroundings to no doubt find the source, and Hades took the opportunity to pull himself back up to his full, giant-equivalent, height, and adjusted the Helm on his head as his thoughts took advantage of the split second of Alcyoneus' distraction to reorganise themselves.

Invisibility was doing him no favours; it would be disorientating Apollo, whose aim was clearly suffering dreadfully – the arrow hadn't even made a dent in the metallic sheen of Alcyoneus' skin, and Hades was certain the shoulder had not been where Apollo intended to hit, either – and the giant could see through it with ease. More than that, he was also managing to counter the intangibility it gave Hades, and Hades had no way of telling if that was specifically relating to Alcyoneus' attacks, or if it also opened him to unexpected friendly fire from Apollo.

Given that Apollo's aim was obviously dreadful, the chances of ending up on the receiving end of a arrow were far higher than the usual zero (wayward, at least. Intentional arrows were another matter entirely, but Hades did not think Apollo would shoot him, not while they were in Tartarus and united against a common enemy – and he liked to think not even otherwise). Hades cursed Styx for her choice of retribution – he and Alcyoneus were in theory equally matched, but Tartarus favoured the giant and Hades' only ally was his nephew. Having his nephew's greatest offensive skill stripped from him did not put them in a good position.

Fear would also likely impact Apollo far worse than the giant, so with a displeased frown, Hades let the Helm's power fade away, bringing him back into the visible realm.

Alcyoneus laughed again, sharp like raw diamond, no doubt sensing weakness, and pressed forwards again, ignoring Apollo much the same way Orion had ignored Hades.

Hades could not expect Apollo to forcibly draw Alcyoneus' attention towards him in the same way – the younger god would not be a match for the powerful giant by himself even at full strength, let alone with two of his domains compromised – but he hoped Apollo would continue to find at least some methods of assisting, despite his limitations.

He didn't dare look away from Alcyoneus to see what Apollo was doing, however. Not when the giant was pressing forwards, staff spinning and whistling through Tartarus' miasma with all the skill of a master wielder. Hades stood his ground, however, his recentred mind putting an end to any desperate defensive flailing.

Instead, he pressed forwards in turn, the inky darkness of Stygian Iron leaving voids in its wake as he fought back, no longer panicked but in control as he pushed back, planting himself firmly against the ground and refusing to be driven any further backwards despite the giant's efforts.

Alcyoneus' body was a strange thing. It was alive, in the same bastardised fashion that anything could be considered living in Tartarus, but it was not constructed of flesh and ichor, unlike the rest of his giant brethren. Instead, it was an amalgamation of precious stones and metals, fused together into a humanoid structure – completed by the typical gigantic serpent feet, which bore his weight well and provided an unfair degree of evasion as they bent and folded in directions ordinary legs never dared to mimic.

Hades – and Pluto perhaps even more so – had always considered that a great insult. That his greatest bane, the giant created specifically to oppose him, was constructed entirely of his own domains, yet remained outside the realm of absolute control despite his best efforts. There were things he could do, gemstones and precious metals scattered throughout Alcyoneus' hair which could be yanked back and tangled, but it was negligible, and frustrating. He could feel the diamond cluster which made up Alcyoneus' heart, in this form, but he couldn't reach them, couldn't yank them out from within Alcyoneus' control and pull him apart from within, dismantling his body from the innermost workings outward.

Frustration was not a new feeling against Alcyoneus; it had been millennia since he had last faced the giant in person, having chosen to contribute to his brethren's assault on the giants from the safety of the Underworld, rather than provoke Zeus' wrath for some no doubt inane reason – his brother had been on edge quite enough during the entire revival of the giant affair and Hades did not care to become a target through whatever bastardised logic Zeus summoned. He'd felt Alcyoneus there, of course – it was impossible to miss the feeling of his own bane – but he had not come face to face with him even as he'd split the ground open beneath his feet and thrown him straight back into the Pit.

He could have gone without seeing him a while longer.

Hades seized the gemstones flying around in crimson hair, gesturing with his empty hand and throwing his arm out to the side. A part of Alcyoneus that actually fell within his domain, that sang out to him like gems of his own, they obeyed his violent gesture and Alcyoneus' head was yanked viciously to one side.

Letting any advantage slip past untaken in this fight was a recipe for disaster, and Hades lunged forwards, his sword skating off of the vibrant hues of the god's gemstone body. He didn't allow Alcyoneus a moment to recover, hacking and slashing at the giant the instant opportunities presented themselves, seeking a way to break through the brass skin that kept turning away his blade.

A second arrow whistled past him, lodging itself in the mass of red hair. Behind him, he heard Apollo huff, and surmised that once again the arrow had not gone where Apollo had intended for it to go.

Alcyoneus made a distractedly irritated noise and yanked it out, losing some strands of red in the process, before pinning Apollo with a distant glare.

"Stay out of this, little sun god," he rumbled. "You have no power here."

He threw the arrow like a javelin, straight back at Apollo. Hades didn't allow himself to follow the trajectory with his eyes, didn't allow himself to be distracted as he knocked aside the staff and drove his blade against the elbow of the arm that wielded it.

Alcyoneus' grip slacked slightly, and Hades smashed into the same spot again, side-stepping as the giant snarled and lashed out at him with his other hand, whose fist was adorned with natural knuckledusters in the form of diamond and adamantine, sharp and solid materials that would break for nothing and cause a lot of damage even to Hades if they connected.

The damnable staff did not fall from his grip, Hades' forced evasion giving the giant a chance to re-adjust, and whirled around again.

It was made of metal, a dull iron that twinged only weakly against Hades' senses – the only part of his opponent that didn't shriek out ostentatiously, gloating at being a part of his domain and yet uncontrollable. No; while iron was of the earth, it was neither riches nor of the Underworld, and sat tauntingly on the edge of his domain, closer indeed to Hephaestus' forging. Alcyoneus had chosen it specifically, millennia ago, for that exact reason; Hades could not lay claim to it through his domains, could not yank it away from him or stop it.

It crashed into the side of Hade's jaw, clipping below where the Helm protected him, and the sheer force of it annihilated his jaw, splattering ichor everywhere.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari