The stench of iron choked the air.

Blood clung to his hands—dark, sticky. It dripped from his fingers, a slow, steady rhythm against cold stone.

Alcides blinked. The scene did not change.

His bare feet stood submerged in something warm. His home—ruined. Shadows flickered across shattered walls.

Corpses lay broken. Torn apart.

His hands trembled. A breath hitched in his throat.

"What…?"

A choked sound shattered the silence. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the crimson pool.

His children.

"NO!"

His scream ripped through the night. His fingers clawed at the empty air, grasping for something—someone. Names poured from his lips, frantic, pleading, but only silence answered. A silence deeper than any abyss.

Then… he saw her.

Megara. He crawled toward her. Her chest still rose and fell—barely.

"M-Megara..."

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her lifeless eyes found his… then dulled.

Alcides reached for her face—then stopped.

His fingers were covered in blood. His breath hitched. His throat burned. Something inside him splintered. He slammed his head into the ground.

Once.

"AAARGH!"

Twice.

Warmth trickled down his forehead.

Three times.

"GIVE THEM BACK!"

Four.

"KILL ME INSTEAD!"

Five.

The world blurred into red.

His strength drained away, and he collapsed, gasping like a wounded beast. His vision swam, drowning in tears and fury.

The fire in the heart flickered weakly, casting twisted shadows over lifeless bodies.

Why… why was he still alive?

A whisper slithered through his mind.

"Because you were meant to be."

The voice was not his own.

His breath shuddered. A chill crept up his spine, curling around his throat like a phantom's hand. It felt distant, yet… familiar.

He reached for his sword. The blade gleamed—wet, red.

Slowly, he rose to his feet.

Without looking back, he stepped through the ruined doorway and disappeared into the night.

The abyss awaited.

The scream still echoed in his mind. A guttural roar, raw with grief and rage.

Iphicles' heart pounded.

"What was that…?" his wife murmured sleepily.

He didn't answer. He already knew.

Throwing on his cloak, he bolted from the house, bare feet slamming against cold stone. His brother's home wasn't far.

Then the stench hit him.

Death.

His stomach lurched.

Each step grew heavier, as if his body already knew what his mind refused to accept.

Then he saw it.

His breath caught.

The walls, the floors, the ceiling—painted in red. Shattered remains. Chaotic footprints. Small bodies… unrecognizable.

His legs went out. His hands dug into the floor.

And then… Megara.

Her dress was torn. A dark pool spread beneath her.

But his chest… still moves.

A strangled sound tore from his throat.

He scrambled toward her, yanking off his cloak, pressing it to the wound with shaking hands.

"Hold on. Hold on, please—"

Hot blood seeped through his fingers.

Megara's eyelids fluttered. Her lips quivered. And then… nothing.

Iphicles froze. His hands, still pressing against her, refused to move. His mind refused to process it.

Megara was gone.

His body convulsed, and a sob wrenched from his throat.

Then a sound made his skin prick.

A low, hollow rasp—barely a breath.

He turned.

His wife stood frozen in the doorway, hands over her mouth.

Terror. Disbelief.

And behind her—more figures. Neighbors. Staring. Whispering.

Iphicles' vision blurred. A single thought pierced through the storm in his mind.

"Where is Alcides?"

Then the wind howled.

He looked up. Throw a window

His stomach dropped.

A lone figure stood at the edge of the cliff.

Sword in hand.

Motionless.

Iphicles shot to his feet.

"ALCIDES!"

He ran. The ground was slick, the wind cut his skin, but he didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

Reaching the cliff's edge, his breath hitched.

Alcides stood at the precipice, eyes fixed on the abyss below.

Jagged rocks waited like open jaws.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Iphicles gasped.

Alcides didn't turn.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"I woke up to screams..." His eyes were distant. Hollow. "I came to your house and..." His breath shuddered. "I saw it. The blood. The bodies. And I thought…"

Iphicles swallowed, chest heaving.

"Were we attacked?" I have scraped.

Alcides blinked slowly.

Then… a quiet, broken chuckle.

"No."

He turned, just enough for Iphicles to see his face.

Blood smeared his skin. Dark lines streaked his forehead, his cheekbones, his mouth.

His eyes held no rage. No sorrow.

Only emptiness.

"I happened."

Iphicles' breath left him.

"No..." He took a step back. "That doesn't make sense."

Alcides tilted his head, like a father explaining something obvious to a child.

"I always was, Iphicles. A ticking bomb."

Iphicles opened his mouth. No words came.

"Say it," Alcides whispered. "Say it while looking at the blood on my hands."

Iphicles couldn't.

His mind screamed for another answer. Anything. But the massacre was undeniable.

His brother wasn't lying.

"Alcides…" he croaked. "Don't do this."

Alcides looked back to the abyss.

Ificles edged closer.

"You're a son of Zeus," he said. "You could survive the fall… and it'll only hurt more."

Alcides scoffed.

"I'm counting on it."

Then—laughter.

Soft. Mocking. Condescending.

It didn't come from Ificles.

Ificles stiffened. His head darted around. But Alcides knew.

The laughter slithered into his mind like a viper.

Memories surfaced.

Snakes in his crib.

Apollo's voice—calm, distant.

"The queen wants you dead."

Alcides clenched his jaw.

It had been her.

All along.

From Olympus, Zeus watched in silence, seated upon his throne of clouds and thunder.

Beside him, Hera smiled.

She lifted a goblet of wine to her lips, taking a slow sip.

"What's wrong, my love?" she purred.

Her gaze flickered to the mortal world below.

"Worried about your little bastard?"

End of Prologue