The mark brought no pain, but bright golden ichor pooled from the wound; stained Hades’ sweat-soaked, feverish skin. 

The nymph cried in triumph. His pale pink eyes glowed as he lunged at Hades with too much enthusiasm. 

With ease, Hades stepped aside at the last moment; his right arm swung. The gore-splattered short sword he held found a home in the nymph’s side, and Hades burrowed it deep. 

The creature screamed and dropped his javelin. He tumbled to the ground. 

With another sure swing, Hades cleaved off the nymph’s head. An unimpressive shower of the soft green, thick fluid that flowed through the veins of all wood nymphs sprayed Hades’ chest.

Hades continued further into the battlefield. He hacked and hit other nymphs, monsters, and ipotanes (the cruder, awkward half-horse, half-human cousins of centaurs that everyone had believed extinct before the war) as he raced to the center of his enemy’s camp. 

There, Coeus, Hades’ uncle and leader of the creatures that outnumbered Hades’ army three to one, stood outside his demolished tent. The Titan laughed as he killed the few centaurs and panes that had worked their way through the fighting crowd to reach him.

As Hades watched his troops fall to Coeus’ blade or the weapons of the Titan’s army, his anger and frustration at his nephew Ares grew. 

What had the unwanted bastard been thinking, charging into Coeus’ campsite when their army hadn’t gotten into position? 

Was the imbecile that eager to die? 

Did Ares not realize that he may have given the Titans another victory by indulging his impatience? 

Hades had opposed his nephew’s involvement in this mission to ambush one of Cronus’ strongest generals. He’d told Zeus that Ares had a dangerous obsession with war. The godling couldn’t comprehend a plan that relied on stealth and subtly to succeed, let alone follow the instructions to accomplish it. Ares was nothing better than an attack dog, a point Hades had tried to explain to his brother to no prevail. 

Zeus refused to see all wrong with his putrid seed. 

After hours of Hades protesting, Zeus had threatened to take Hades off the mission. The threat had silenced Hades. Like all Zeus’ generals, Hades wanted to destroy Coeus because the Titan aimed to destroy the gods. 

Yet the god had an alternative reason. Hades longed to repay his uncle for the harm he’d caused Hestia.

Several days ago, Coeus had waylaid Hades’ eldest sister while she’d traveled to gain favor with a group of panes in the hope the tribe would join the gods’ cause. Hestia had escaped, though the result was her bloodied, bruised, and broken in too many places to count. 

Before Hades had left Mount Olympus, she’d been strong enough to leave her sick bed for brief periods of time without vomiting or falling unconscious.

The last of the centaurs, an aged one named Wloor (Hades’ friend for years), fell as Hades reached his uncle. The tight control over his emotions lessened, and Hades stabbed at the Titan. Coeus dodged Hades’ attack and doubled back to hit his nephew with a giant fist. The Titan’s knuckles connected with Hades’ chin. 

Hades lost his footing and dropped to his knees on the blood-soaked grass. 

The god’s head rang from the punch and his vision blurred, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—succumb to the injury. Hades fought past his discomfort and dived at Coeus’ legs as the Titan bent to drive his sword into Hades’ throat. 

The Titan’s blade nicked the battered chest armor Hades wore. 

Hades hit his uncle’s legs and forced Coeus on his back. The Titan lost his grip on his sword. 

The god crawled on top of Coeus, where his composure crumbled. Hades smashed his fist, still clamped around his sword’s hilt, into Coeus’ broad, tan face. 

The sensible side of Hades fought against his current actions. He was as bad as Ares, if not worse. Hades didn’t have the luxury of exacting bloody justice. Too much was at stake for this nonsense.

His arm didn’t falter. 

Instead, a sick, hot joy pooled in Hades’ stomach as he beat his uncle. For the first time in a while, Hades noticed the scents of battle—the metallic, sour, gut-churning awfulness—and it sent a wild chill down his back. The god cackled; the harsh, mad sound carried over the battlefield. 

In moments, Coeus’ face became a twisted, bloated pulp (though not as horrible as what the Titan had done to Hestia).

The Titan struggled, grappled with his empty hands, but nothing stopped Hades. He didn’t register Coeus’ blows; wasn’t aware of his own body. A spell of revenge had him in its grip, and only the Titan’s death would break Hades free from it. 

After what was both an eternity and a heartbeat’s length of time, Coeus’ fighting lessened. Genuine fear clouded the Titan’s intense yellow-red eyes. His busted, swollen lips parted, and Coeus uttered a pathetic, soft cry that ended with a moan. 

The noise annoyed the god beyond explanation, and Hades rammed his fist into the Titan’s mouth.

At once, and without reason, Hades’ all-consuming bloodlust vanished. He thought clearly for the first time in too long. He gazed at the Titan and decided on mercy, not for the Titan but for Hades.

To murder his uncle as he wanted, he’d be no better than Cronus. 

Hades drew back his hand, prepared for the hit that would end it all. 

Coeus screwed his eyes shut. 

A force slammed into Hades’ left side, and he toppled off the Titan. Hades landed sprawled on his back, and the red sprite that had knocked him over leaped on top of him. The burly, heavily muscled creature dug into Hades with fingers tipped with flames; seared Hades’ skin. 

The god roared as the sprite worked small holes into his upper arms.

While the sprite burned Hades, he bent closer to the god’s face. When he was a breath-length from Hades, the sprite opened his small, black-lipped mouth. Hades watched as a glow flared to life in the creature’s throat. Clogging smoke wafted from the sprite’s mouth and blinded the god.

Hades had moments to act before his head was melted from his neck. He brought his knee back, and it connected with the creature’s testicles. 

The sprite squealed and clamped his jaw shut. 

With a mighty shove, Hades flipped the sprite off him. His sight still bleary, the god reached for the sprite and brought him close. He wrapped an arm around the creature’s throat and yanked to the right. 

A satisfying, quick snap followed, and the sprite went limp.

He tossed the dead creature aside, and Hades scrambled to his feet. He searched for his short sword, found it next to a severed arm, and snatched it. The god surveyed his surroundings, in vain hope to spot Coeus.

Much of Hades’ army continued to fight. Pride puffed out Hades’ chest as he gazed at the brave soldiers that didn’t grow overwhelmed by the size of Coeus’ army. In certain parts of the Titan’s camp, Hades’ army was winning their minor battles. 

Halfway across the field from where Hades had abandoned Coeus, the god saw the Titan. Coeus hobbled, a destroyed shell, as he hurried for a readied chariot. 

The Titan knocked aside two ipotanes as he reached the chariot. He hopped in the back and grasped the reins that connected to a bridled green and black hippogriff.

Hades contemplated chasing after the Titan but by the time he reached the area, Coeus would be long gone. All the god could do is watch as the Titan snapped the reins and ripped a cry from the beast’s sickly yellow beak. 

The chariot raced across the battlefield. The hippogriff’s huge wings flapped; knocked aside both Hades’ and Coeus’ troops. It launched itself and the Titan into the sky.

Most of the Titan’s troops noticed their leader’s departure and followed his lead. They fled their campsite in droves. 

Some of Hades’ soldiers pursued them, but most let them retreat. 

Hades released an irritated sigh. He shook his head but busied himself helping his troops defeat the what remained of Coeus’ army. 

When that task completed, the god tended to the wounded and gathered the dead to burn. 

Though it upset many of his soldiers, Hades grouped the enemy’s dead into a separate pile that he dosed with oil and lit. They deserved the same proper sendoff as his army. Most hadn’t been horrible, just on the wrong side of the war.

As he turned from the burning bodies, the god noticed a familiar sandaled foot crushed underneath a beheaded, molted green drakon. He shifted the deceased beast’s scaly carcass aside to find Ares. 

The godling’s breast armor missed sizeable chunks from the front, and the monochiton underneath was little more than shreds strung together by a few pieces of thread. The drakon’s sticky black blood coated one side of Ares’s head and plastered his dark brown hair to his gorged right cheek. A rainbow of drying blood covered his toned legs and arms. The godling’s eyes were shut, and the few patches of his clear, visible skin were as pale as a drowned corpse. 

Hades kicked his nephew in the side (he ensured his sandal wedged into a puncture mark). “Are you dead?”

Ares’ eyelids drew back and exposed his red-brown colored eyes. He coughed, and a wheezing rattle followed; told Hades many of Ares’ ribs were broken. He groaned and half-heartedly swatted at Hades’ foot. 

“Help me,” he said. 

Hades kneeled beside his nephew. “I’d rather you rot here. You deserve no better for what you’ve done. This mission failed. Soldiers we couldn’t spare perished, and Coeus escaped.” 

“I had a shot and took it.” Ares managed one of his petrifying glares. “It’s your fault this happened.”

 

“My fault?” Hades laughed. It kept him from strangling his nephew.

“Yes.” Ares’ color brightened as his denial strengthened. “I could have killed Coeus and captured his lieutenants, but something hindered me.” An idea sparked anger in his eyes. “You had it planned for me to mess up.” 

“I did now?” Hades mused, curious to hear Ares’ delusions. They’d amuse him, but he’d also like to know what lies he’d have to defend himself against when his nephew bawled to Zeus. 

“You and those ugly bitches that are so hungry for cock they come to your sorry ass for release. They’ll do anything you want, even betray Zeus.”

“Ridding the cosmos of your existence isn’t much of a betrayal, and the Fates wouldn’t waste their time arranging for something your idiotic behavior will cause any way.” Hades smiled. “But I’ll let them know your theory. I bet it’ll get a chuckle from the ladies.” 

Terror gripped Ares’ face. 

Hades laughed again, patted his nephew’s destroyed cheek until Ares shouted obscenities, and stood. He turned from him and headed for a group of his soldiers that tended the wounded. 

“Help me!” Ares screamed. 

The terrible noise made some nymphs and sprites shake. 

Larasa, an impressive young water nymph who’d joined the war to avenge her family’s slaughter, took a step toward the ass masquerading as a godling. 

Hades gripped her bony shoulder and shook his head. 

“But…” Her eyes (they shimmered like the sun on a rippling stream) darted to Ares. 

“If he wants to make it home, he’ll tend to himself,” Hades announced, loud enough to be heard by his entire army.

Many nodded their agreement and flashed the godling looks full of bitter contempt they wouldn’t have chanced if Ares weren’t so badly hurt. 

“Yes, my Lord,” Larasa said and allowed Hades to turn her back to the more important task at hand. 

Everyone else followed suit and left Ares to moan until he either died or pulled himself together.