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You can do this. You can do this.
The familiar corridors of your house, now barren and empty, surround you as you feel Stygius shudder with power in your hand. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’ve done this a million times before, yet, somehow, this is also feels like your first time ever. Right, so the house is in danger. Big deal. It was also considered to be in great danger, “You’re gonna destroy this house, Zagreus”, yeah, thanks for the heads-up, Meg, when you got yourself busy with trying to leave once and for all, and yet nothing happened to it – the House of Hades, standing tall and imposing as ever, to this very day. And yet…
You take a deep breath. Right, the intruder. The one Father’s told you about. Sure, it was a little disheartening to learn Father would have you stand what is essentially guard duty, but then again, after all is said and done, especially done, thanks to your new-found job, you’re basically the best he’s got, aren’t you? Even if you’d argue that Cerberus is performing his guard dog duty just fine, more than fine, you suppose Father might be concerned more about him than you. Or he just doesn’t think the job important enough to bother him, and, mind you, Cerberus should have his well-deserved rest, no qualms here. Figures. Well, if it’s for Cerberus’ sake, rest assured, you’re more than happy to oblige.
You can do this. You can do this.
How hard can this be, really? Convince the intruder to turn around with your disarming and endearing charm, and, if that doesn’t work, vanquish them and be done with it. Although, Father did mention something about them coming back… Well, vanquish them some more, then, after all, Time is something you have in abundance. You feel like your Father a bit, admittedly. Standing here in the middle of the hallway, Stygius in hand, just… Standing guard. Waiting for them to come. It feels a little stupid. You wonder if your Father’s ever considered just coming for you in the ever-shifting chambers of the Underworld instead of standing there in the snow for god-knows-how-long, just like you are considering going straight after the intruder now. Then again, your Father has always had a flair for the dramatics, the capes, and all. Whatever. It’s fine.
You can do this. You can do this.
You’ve just got your Mother back. You’ve just got your family back. You’ve just proven to not be an utter disappointment of a son, after all. You’re not going back to how things were. You’re the prince of this blasted realm, of this blasted House, and you’re not letting anything happen to it. And that’s why…
You can do this. You can do this.
There’s a girl running, barging, really, into the hall of your House, unannounced and looking more lost than one probably should while breaking in on private property. You would know, you think. Might this be a well-developed shade seeking refuge in the House? You already open your mouth to greet her, when her eyes suddenly lock on yours, and–
“Zagreus? What are you doing guarding the entrance to the House of Chronos?”
You’re taken aback, admittedly. Paradoxically, the least weird thing about this must be the fact that she knows your name. A lot of people know your name, now that you think about it. Especially in the recent days. The whole House of Chronos talk, on the other hand…
“Chronos? What are you–”
Oh. Right. Your task.
“Oh, oh, okay, I get it. You must be the intruder Father’s warned me about. I'll have you know that all my time ransacking this domain and killing my Father over and over again very much did not go in vain, so if you wanna back down, we can both go our separate ways and everyone stays happy.”
The intruder looks at you with a shocked expression.
“Zagreus, I– It's me, Melinoë! Your sister! Take a look around, can't you see what's going on?”
“Sister, huh.”
And really, what kind of idiotic ploy is this? Why would anyone in hell ever think this would work? You do not have a sister. Never had and never will, if Father’s to be believed.
“Well, if you're quite finished lying straight to my face and as I can see considering your immediate escape, shall we?” You smile. “Unfortunately, I cannot promise to be gentle.”
The intruder loses, of course. She does put up a fight, though. She’s good. Trained, dedicated. Some sort of witch? Nothing than cannot be beaten by thousands of hours spent rushing through the Underworld again and again, beating the God of the Dead to dust and whatnot, fortunately, so you prevail, naturally. Stygius cuts through her midsection, her shoulder, her side, again, and again, and again, as her red-black-blue-green? eyes flash, not daring to leave you, even when it’s time for her to retreat, and her black-brown-blonde? hair streams in a whirlwind as she rotates, again and again, the flames of her candles lighting up the hall. She’s quick, too, but seems preoccupied, somehow, making it even easier for you to strike. She says something, you think, but the only thing you can hear is your blood rushing in your ears as you dash away, feeling the flames, not of the intruder’s weapon’s and not of your own, but a completely different kind of flames licking the exposed skin of your arm. You’re only flame-resistant not flame-proof, after all. Should be manageable enough to avoid if the intruder does end up coming back, you think.
“Ugh! Return to shadow, now!”
And just like that, she disappears. Tsch. You finally let yourself breathe, and you have to admit that it was a little intense. Well, no matter. You’ll learn. You’ll do better. If there’s one thing you’re good at, after all, it is learning and doing better. Or maybe you’re just extremely stubborn. Probably both. You’ll just keep waiting, then. After all, Time is still something you have in abundance.
She comes back, of course, just like Father’s warned you. And you’re ready, of course, just like everybody expects you to be.
You can do this. You can do this.
Your head kinda hurts, admittedly, and your grip on… Coronacht? this time, right, is not as steady as you’d like it to be, but it’s fine. Nothing a little practice can’t fix. And so, here a little practice comes, right to you.
“Back for more already?” you say. “I’m gonna have to warn you that Coronacht here hasn’t had a real practice target for quite a while, aside from the various wretches of the Underworld, so it might get a little bloodthirsty. Nothing unusual for a legendary semi-sentient Titan-slaying weapon from the dawn of time, but if you decide you wanna turn back after hearing this, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
Her expression twists into something borderline painful as you say ‘Titan-slaying’ and you’re not sure why.
“I’m not turning back, Zagreus. I’m here to save you.”
“Save me. What, you mean, by barging into my House, scaring all our shades to death, err, second death? to a point where they’ve all disappeared from these halls without a trace, alarming my Father so much so that he thought it was necessary to put me on guard duty and pointing at me with that not-so-friendly-looking witchy magical staff of yours? Sure, I don’t see why not! Come on, then.”
You fight, again. It’s a little hard to breathe and you’re not quite sure what’s causing it (this static in the air from the witch’s attacks, perhaps? Yes, that must be it), but you pay it no mind. Lightning strikes your back, even though you’re pretty sure you’ve gotten nowhere near the intruder, and it almost brings back memories of Lord Uncle Zeus bestowing you with his blessing, a revenge curse of sorts. You know better, of course, than to assume Olympus to be helping, what, some witch your Father’s probably angered in some way some time, being, well, himself? Right? It might not hurt to talk about this to Father, though. Later. After this is dealt with.
Admittedly, you cannot really recall the witch wielding this kind of power last time, but, to be honest, you cannot really recall last time all that well either. Was she fighting with this same staff last time? Yes, yes, it must be it. It’s a staff, stupid boy, of course she can use all sorts of magic with it. Blasted witches. A spell burns your skin as you’re distracted and it tingles painfully with energy as you let out a suppressed grunt. You have to focus. You have to focus, blood and darkness, it’s the House’s safety on the line! Your family’s safety!
You can do this. You can do this.
“Ugh, no!”
You defy death, and, oh, she’s really done it now. Or, you’ve really done it now? You’re getting sloppy. Time to collect yourself. Time to show her what you’re made of, time to prove her wrong! You’ve always had a knack for proving everybody wrong, so fight! Win! Protect your blasted family!
“Father!” you call out, and even though you cannot hear your Father’s booming voice around you (must be the… The heat of the battle getting to you, really), you can feel yourself swallowed by darkness, veiled in shadows. Kind of like Nyx’s power, it’s always felt like, but different. Fiery, you think. Assertive. Just what you need right now.
You strike your foe from the behind, all the Heart-Seeker’s arrows hitting her back, and she can’t hold on anymore. You think it’s your chance, come on, strike, kill her, when–
“One… last… chance!”
She defies death, and you’re left speechless for approximately a second before resuming your striking, again. She somehow got… No, but… Isn’t it…? But it cannot be, right? Death defiance, it’s… Something that only runs in their family, right? So how in hell…
Before you can finish this thought, though, you’re somehow already done. You don’t remember being that strong, even with with Father’s blessing, admittedly, or, for that matter, where this all-consuming, deafening ticking sound came from (your vision becomes blurry for a second, well, even more blurry than it already is, you should say), but maybe you’re misremembering things. This appears to be a recurring theme with you these days.
“Return to shadow now!”
And she’s gone again. You’ll get her next time, you’re sure of it. Though it is really concerning how…
You’re standing here in the house hall again, waiting for the intruder. Something is different this time, either about the House or about you, or about… All of this? You can’t quite put your finger on it and it fills you with unease. You’ve been feeling… Anxious, almost, since you stepped foot into the hall today (tonight?), and the reason is right there, just out of reach, but you just can’t remember. Was it her weapon? What was it again…? Or, or maybe, her spells? Something about them, something’s changes last time? Was that it? Everything’s a blur, and for some reason, it’s hard to breathe again, even though the witch and therefore the reason you must’ve absolutely logically and rationally related to her is at the moment absent.
You can do this. You can do this.
Well, no matter. You’ve fought in much worse conditions and won by the skin of your teeth, right, Father? And anyway, the intruder doesn’t make you wait that long before she reappears before you wielding something that looks like a…
Your breath hitches.
“Zagreus?” she asks, clearly noticing. Concerningly. Mockingly.
“Where did you get that?”
It’s a scythe. No, it’s– It’s not just a scythe, it’s–
Your words come out ragged and raw. The purple gem embedded into the blade eyes you threateningly. “Than’s scythe. Where did you get that?”
Something akin to realization flashes through her face. Then her expression is, for some reason, worried, sorrowful almost, and it makes you mad, as she scrambles for words to respond with. What can she even say to this?
“Zagreus, I– Will you believe me if I say that I just happened to find this in my training grounds with no prior context or no relation to Lord Thanatos whatsoever?” Than’s name on her lips feels wrong, and it fills you with rage, but also fear. She looks like she doesn’t believe it herself.
Than. Than, he– Gods, you must check on Than right now, you must– Come to think of it, you haven’t seen Than for a couple days, or so it feels like, because everything in your mind is a mess running ablaze at the speed of light right now. Surely, surely, it couldn’t be so easy to go against Death, Than is strong, Than is capable, blood and darkness, Than is– Than is not here now. You don’t know where he is, and you don’t know how he is, and you don’t know how she– But this must be an indication, right? This must be an indication, and– It’s your fault. You couldn’t protect him. You were given one blasted job and you couldn’t even– No, no, this is wrong, you cannot think about this right now, blood and darkness, you have to fight! You have to fight and win and find Than and– You clench your fists and Malphon (how did you not notice it before?) responds with bloodlust.
“No, I don’t think so.”
You fight again. Needless to say, you’re careless. You try to keep yourself under control, you try to remember the witch’s tactics, but your memories emerge muffled and confusing, and the swings she takes at you with Than’s scythe don’t help you concentrate. You know this scythe, you know how it acts, you’ve seen it take countless lives (deaths? You still aren’t sure where shades land on the dead-alive spectrum) thousands of times, but–
This is different. The way the blasted intruder wields it is unlike everything you’ve ever seen from Than, it’s– Crude, it’s tasteless, it’s wrong, wrong again, and you strike, and strike, and strike again, because you have to win, paying no mind to the pain or the blood or– Gods, who even cares?
Deep down, you know it feels wrong. You know that, under normal circumstances, you would never react this way. Blood and darkness, you’ve trained yourself to ignore the righteous anger, the sheer pain and frustration of facing your father, you know the best way to overcome this is to keep your blasted cool, you know, but– Something is wrong. Something is fundamentally wrong, the intruder, the air, the–
You don’t have time to think about it as the blade lands right into your chest as you’re busy catching your breath and trying to figure out what in hell is even going on. You cough up blood. It would hardly matter any other time, but right now it makes breathing even harder than it already is, and you choke, and you feel like you’re drowning–
You defy death. And then, immediately, you attack, attack, attack knowing it’s wrong, knowing your technique is off, knowing that this isn’t you, but you feel like a caged animal, a guard dog forced to face a wolf, as the witch dodges all of your strikes effortlessly, as if she knows it’s coming, as if she’s studied you countless times already, as if–
What time is it that you’re facing off against her?
“Father!” you shout, again (again?) and become unseen, ready to approach her from the back, but as you land a hit–
“Darkness.”
And she disappears. Darkness. Darkness, just like your Father said, just like he would disappear into thin air, just like you did just a second ago, and you don’t understand–
And she strikes you in the back. Again, and again, and you try to collect yourself, but your movement is so slow and languid and it’s so cold (you think of the surface and of facing against Father – it was cold there too, cold, much like this) and you feel weak, somehow, and, but you have to endure, you have to win, you have to find Than, and–
“No, no!–”
You can feel your blood run rapidly, and it’s cold, but your blood is hot, red, just like the blood splashed all over Twin Fists, except it’s not yours and–
The blade of Death takes you. Somehow, it feels comforting. Everything fades for just a moment and then…
“Zagreus!”
You hear someone call out for you. You don’t know this voice, at least you don’t think you do, but what you do know is that you feel awful. Your head hurts and it’s hard to breathe and your body shudders with pain and it feels like death – almost, but not quite, because the Styx won’t take you, wash away the blood you’re sure you’re covered in, and you’re not exactly sure what that means, except…
You open your eyes.
“Zagreus, are you all right?”
In front of you, you see a girl. Her mismatched eyes – a green one and a red one, just like yours, but different – follow you closely and her bright blonde hair, just like your Mother’s, sticks to her forehead as she’s trying to catch her breath.
And then, you remember. You remember your baby sister and holding her close to your chest, so tiny and tranquil, you remember Chronos, your Father’s father, the Titan, appear in the House unannounced and– You remember your sister coming into this exact hall, and you remember fighting her, again and again and again and again and again, and killing her, and–
You look around and all you can see is gold. And the Titan’s sneering likeness everywhere. You feel sick. And then immediately–
You turn back to the witch. Your sister. “So you… So you really are my sister? Melinoë?” your voice cracks. “Oh gods, I… I’m so sorry, I…”
You fought your sister. You killed your sister god-knows-how-many times, you called her a liar when she introduced herself as such, you’d never even met her, and now you have, and you’ve already–
“Zagreus! Listen to me,” she says urgently, and your eyes lock on hers, mirrors of each other. You feel sick. “It’s not your fault,” she says softly, woefully, yet so incredibly gently, and you fail to see how you deserve it. “You’re being forced to do this! The Titan, Chronos, he wants you to wallow in your guilt! Whatever you’re thinking right now, it’s not true!”
Her tone is almost pleading and your heart breaks with sorrow, guilt and love, love that you never gave her, love she was robbed of by the Titan, love you kept repeatedly stealing from her as your Arms struck her flesh again and again, and she could have never, ever, not in a million years deserved it, especially from her stupid, useless brother who’s somehow just become Chronos’ guard dog, because he kicked Cerberus out, and– The Lethe, it must’ve been it, Chronos has– Blood and darkness.
“No, I…” your voice comes out raspy. “Melinoë, you don’t understand, I’m the blasted prince of this realm, no, I– I’m your blasted older brother. I was supposed to keep this House safe, and… I was supposed to keep you safe. I… Gods, this was so obvious, of course you... We even have the same eyes...”
You let out a laugh. It sounds like a whine.
“Gods, Father must be so disappointed in me.”
Melinoë, your sister, falters. Her breath hitches, and then she takes your hands in hers, squeezing tight, looking at you with that mournful expression still. You shudder, and then you squeeze back, with all the power you have left.
“The Witch of the Crossroads kept me safe, Zagreus,” she starts. “She raised me and took care of me and trained me so I could take the Titan down. And I– I managed to, but…”
“But he keeps coming back,” you finish. Your Father and his siblings had to cut the Titans down to pieces so that they wouldn’t put themselves back together, after all, and even then… You remember defying death. You remember your Father defy death. You look at Melinoë and you remember her defying death. After all, defying death seems to be in your blood.
Your sister nods. “I thought if I just kept coming here and vanquishing him, then eventually… But then…” She looks guilty, somehow, and you think that she’s the last person who should be feeling any guilt for what’s happened.
You start shaking, suddenly, and it feels even worse, pain rushing throughout your whole body, and it’s like dying on the surface again and so much more at the same time and– You know you can’t stay long.
Your sister, who tightens her grip on your hands, must know that as well.
“Mel, I…” your voice is trembling. “No, l-look at me… I was… I was in charge of safety in this House, and now… And now everyone… F-father, Mother… Than… Meg… Achilles… They’re all gone, and… And I don’t even know… Where they are… And it’s all my fault, and…”
That’s not what you’re trying to say. You grunt, trying desperately to collect yourself, to start again, to say what really matters, and–
“W-what I mean is… Look at you, Mel… You’re so… Big, now… Slaying the Titan even once is... No small feat. I’m so… I’m so proud of you, Mel.” By the end, you’re whispering, rasping, grasping for air, but you’re smiling to her, because that’s what your sister needs, that’s what Melinoë needs, she needs to, she has to know that whatever it takes, you, you’ll always be proud of her.
You can only catch your sister say: “No, wait!” – as you feel the familiar, all-consuming waters of the Styx enshroud you. You hold onto her until the end, until you can no longer feel her touch, until you no longer see her desperate face, until–
“There is… No… Escape…”
“I’ll be back for you,” is the last thing you hear.
The familiar corridors of your house, now barren and empty, surround you as you feel Stygius shudder with power in your hand. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’ve done this a million times before, yet, somehow, this is also feels like your first time ever.
You can do this. You can do this.
There’s a girl running, barging, really, into the hall of your House, unannounced and looking more lost than one probably should while breaking in on private property. You would know, you think. Might this be a well-developed shade seeking refuge in the House? You already open your mouth to greet her, when her eyes suddenly lock on yours, and–
“I’m back for you, Zagreus.”
Ah. Must be the intruder Father’s warned you about. Well, you can do this, thank you very much, so you will face her. Again, and again, and again, if you must. After all, Time is something you have in abundance.