I sacrificed my life for all. To be condemned here within the confines of the Underworld. Alone and yet surrounded by all.
The only thing that matters to me is gone. My soulmate. My love. My queen. My everything.
This is how Zeus wanted it. How the Fates allowed it.
He wanted me to rage and suffer and despair. I know that I am playing into his hands by feeling these things, by acting on them, but I cannot stop. The pain is too great.
He will pay. They will all pay.
“Hades,” the Fates cry out again, their tone demanding this time. I do not look at them although my body stills. I reach for another soul and destroy it without registering any of its features. This soul barely had any fight left. Perhaps it had been tortured enough.
“You act as if Persephone is gone forever.”
“She very well might be,” I spit in the direction of the Fates. I cannot make out their features clearly, but I can see that they judge me. That they find me lacking. As losing my mind. As evil. “There must have been a way where she did not need to leave.”
There must’ve been, the thought hisses in the back of my mind.
There is silence. Nothing but silence between us.
I turn away and reach for another soul. This one is strong and determined and tries to wrench itself out of my grasp. I will not let it go. I dig my fingers in and pull with all my strength and all my wrath. It splits with an anguished howl.
A small, quiet part of me points out that it is my anguish the soul has died for. That what I feel is heartbreak, not a thirst for blood.
I do not listen. I cannot listen. What else do I have, if not the power of death after life? What else do I have?
Nothing.
“You gain the attention of war,” the Fates say, stepping closer. It is a brave thing to do when my hands are not my own. When my strength is not my own. When my only wish is to destroy, so that the realms around me can be as broken as I feel. I do not dare to look at a peaceful scene. I do not want to look at things that are whole and untouched. I want my vision to reflect the carnage inside me.
“Hades,” they warn, “the attention of war,” they repeat.
I’m always gaining the attention of some entity that wants to torture me. And yet I have always taken it in my stride. I cannot hide. I have never been able to hide.
I could not even hide from Persephone, who saw me. And touched me. And let me love her.
And walked away.
She had to walk away. I know that. No matter how many times I remind myself that I know, it does not help.
Not tonight. Not when my heart has been torn from my chest just as surely as I tear these souls apart. I did not know my heart could be shredded like this.
“Demeter has not stopped,” the Fates say.
I whirl around, breathing hard, and force myself to focus on them. They stand by the banks of the river, and suddenly I cannot bear the sight.
I find myself standing in the shallow water, chill seeping into my feet.
While the Fates watch, I slosh out of the river and leave.
I am not aware of traveling along the path, nor am I aware of descending into the caverns where souls are punished. I only come back to myself when I find a screaming, bloodied soul and split him into ragged pieces.
When I look up from my work, the Fates are watching, expressions impassive.
“She has not stopped,” they repeat.
“I know that!” My head aches. A mother’s pain is brutal, and I feel it etched in the souls I hold in my hands. It is my doing. I need more to ruin. I need more to destroy. I need more to end, since I cannot end myself. “I know. The souls are Demeter’s doing.” I gesture to the remains at my feet. “And this is mine. Do you have a point? I am growing tired of waiting to reach it.”
“You wish for war. We have warned you, Hades. Zeus will win.”
