The Smith God was a prisoner in his own forge.
And sitting on a throne of gears, watching us with a bored expression, was a man in winged sandals.
"You took the long way," Hermes said, tossing an apple into the air. "I was starting to get worried."
"Hermes," Kaelen growled, stepping forward.
"Ah, ah," Hermes waved a finger. "Don't look at me. I'm just watching the show. But the big guy?" He pointed at the Cyclops. "He has instructions to pulverize anything that isn't on the guest list."
He looked at Aria, his gaze lingering on her grey skin.
"And you, my dear," Hermes said softy. "You look like you're running out of time."
TEN
Aria
The heat in this subterranean chamber was entirely different from the dry, stale warmth of the ventilation shafts we had used to get down there. This heat was a physical weight, a crushing atmospheric pressure that tasted of copper, sulfur, and ancient ash. It pressed against the slick, sweaty parts of my skin that was still human and seemed to resonate, vibrating against the stiffening metal of my left side.
My lungs burned with every shallow, terrified breath, rejecting the thick air that smelled of ozone and divinity.
"Hermes." Kaelen stepped in front of me, his movement full of lethal grace. He lowered his sword, the dark steel humming, but every muscle in his body remained coiled tight, ready to snap forward. The molten gold in his eyes flared, swirling with agitated light as it reacted to the Messenger God’s casual, almost insulting demeanor. "Get out of the chair."
"You are so terribly demanding," Hermes sighed, lifting a vibrant red apple to his lips. He took a loud, wet bite, the crunch echoing obscenely in the cavernous forge. Juice ran down his chin, but before it could drip onto his tunic, it sizzled and evaporated in the blistering air. "You storm into a secure facility,interrupt my lunch hour, and start barking orders like a kennel master. Didn't anyone teach you to knock? Or did you leave your manners in the abyss?"
"We don't have time for your games," Thane rumbled, stepping up to flank me. He hefted his massive shield, the metal groaning as he positioned himself to my left, effectively creating a wall of armor and muscle between me and the god. "The Titan is waking up beneath us. The city above is dissolving into chaos. Step aside."
"I know," Hermes said, the amusement fading just enough for him to swallow the mouthful of fruit. He tossed the apple core over his shoulder into the molten pit bubbling behind the throne. The organic matter hissed violently and vanished in a puff of acrid steam. "Why do you think I'm sitting down here in the dark instead of sipping nectar on the upper terrace? The view up there is getting a bit, uh, apocalyptic. I prefer to keep my distance from the end of the world."
He stood up, lazily adjusting the straps of his winged sandals. I didn't think he looked like a warrior, nor did he carry the heavy, menacing aura of my monsters. He looked like a bored courtier, slender and sly, seemingly harmless.
But the power rolling off him was sharp, jagged, and terrifyingly fast. It felt like static electricity building before a lightning strike, prickling painfully against the hardening shell of my skin.
"Be careful," Elias warned, his voice tight with ancestral memory. He shifted his stance, his turquoise eyes narrowing. "He is the God of boundaries and transitions. He can cut the distance between his blade and your throat to zero before your heart beats once."
"I'm not here to fight," Hermes sighed, feigning hurt feelings. He leaned back against the brass lever of a massive gear assembly that ticked rhythmically in the wall. "I'm just thewarden. Zeus and Hera put the big guy in timeout," he gestured loosely to the chained, ruinous form of Hephaestus, "and told me to make sure he didn't make any more toys for the rebellion."
"Hephaestus is your brother," Flynn snarled, pacing restlessly at the edge of the group. He spun a dagger in his hand, the blade moving so fast it was a disc of steel. "He is our brother. Release him."
"Can't," Hermes shrugged, a gesture of exaggerated helplessness. "Orders are bound to my essence. Chains of command, quite literal ones. But... I can look the other way. I could be momentarily distracted."
He pointed a manicured finger toward the center of the room.
There, standing amidst the rising steam, was a nightmare of flesh and bronze. The Cyclops was fifteen feet of knotted muscle and scarring, towering over the forge like a living weapon. It held a blacksmith's hammer the size of a carriage, swinging it with idle, terrifying ease.
"I’m sure if you beat Brontes and crash the system, I’d be distracted for a while," Hermes said, a cruel, playful smile touching his lips. "But here’s the catch: you cannot kill him."
Kaelen scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive. "We do not have time for mercy."
"It's not about mercy, hothead," Hermes countered, his eyes flashing. "Look at his chest. Really look."
I squinted through the shimmering heat haze, wiping sweat from my eyes. Embedded in the Cyclops's sternum was a glowing bronze plate, pulsating with a rhythmic, wet light. Thick, translucent cables ran from the plate, burrowing into the floor and connecting to the massive bellows that fed the central fire.
"He’s the regulator," Elias realized, horror coloring his tone as he understood the mechanics of the cruelty. "They made him part of the forge. His heartbeat powers the bellows."
"Exactly," Hermes nodded. "If his heart stops, the fires go out. The Primal Anvil becomes a useless slab of cold iron. And your little statue girl," he winked at me, the gesture chilling, "stays a statue forever. No heat, no forging."
"So we have to subdue a fifteen-foot rage monster without using lethal force," Flynn summed up, his amber eyes tracking the Cyclops's twitching movements. "While protecting Aria, who currently moves with the grace of a brick wall."
