Chapter Text
Goodbye, father.
The seeping green glow of Tartarus gleams along Stygius's edge, acidic. Zagreus hovers over the threshold of the balcony, leaning out over the courtyard below.
To hell with this place, he swears. He thinks of Nyx, thinks of her calling in favors for him, despite everything. Thinks of the few snippets Thanatos has ever told him about the sky, of the mother who just might be waiting for him. Hope is a fragile, dangerous thing. But maybe, just maybe, it can be enough.
He jumps.
His first run is, quite frankly, abysmal.
For all of his training with Achilles, there is a stark difference between a practice spar and whatever the hell kind of chaos this is. He dodges directly into the path of a witch projectile, takes the full brunt of a charging lout, and steps directly onto a trap plate more times than he'd like to admit. He knew that it was astronomically unlikely that he'd make it out on his first try, but. Still. This is downright embarrassing. He feels like he should send an apology letter to Athena for wasting her boons like this. Maybe tack on a gift basket too.
Charon gives him a sympathetic rattle as he races by.
By the time Zagreus finally stumbles into Megaera, the conclusion of the fight is long foregone. Even so...
"...I'll have to go with the painful way." Stygius is slick in his hands from his own blood, but he palms it anyway.
He pretends it isn't pity in her eyes as she snaps her whip towards his throat.
"In my domain, you either find your place, or learn your place. There's work enough to go around, believe me."
I'll find my place all right, Zagreus promises himself, just have to get out of this damned house first. He drags himself out of the Pool of Styx, and may or may not accidentally snort ectoplasmic blood up his nose. Hypnos does him the small dignity of ignoring his spluttering entrance, at least. He waves as Zagreus passes him, cheerful as ever, but there's a strain beneath his smile. The milling shades press themselves closer to the walls.
There's something shaking in his chest as he walks down the great hall towards the throne. Zagreus has no idea how his father's going to take this. It's a long time coming for anyone who knows him, but that...well, that doesn't actually matter, does it? Zagreus thinks that he could make it through his room and back out to Tartarus, if it came down to it. He's fast. Fear is for the weak.
"Back already?" Hades drawls out, a shadowed silhouette behind the towering desk. Zagreus remembers being younger and always craning his neck, peering up past stacks of parchmentwork and gems. Even now, he has to look up to meet his father's gaze.
"Stupid boy." Zagreus tightens his jaw. "I told you nobody gets out of here, whether alive or dead. Though, how was your wanton ransacking of my domain?"
"Greetings, father. My ransacking was a delight, thank you for asking. So, I'll just be on my way again." Fear is for the weak.
"Be on your way indeed," Hades growls, and slams a fist on the desk. Zagreus pointedly does not flinch. Fear is for the weak. "What do I care? You shall never reach the surface. Go, see for yourself."
Hades turns back to his parchmentwork, a clear dismissal.
Well. That was honestly much better than he'd been expecting. Zagreus makes his way to the other corners of the house, passing along his thanks where it is due. He'll get out of this house. To hell with this place.
His next few runs are much the same.
He gets hammered by thugs and all manner of wretches, gets caught by blows he's too slow to dash out of, still steps into those fucking spike traps more often than not. He doesn't make it past Megaera even once. His father has a cutting remark prepared for every time he gets sent back.
It's the most alive he's felt in ages.
On every return he pours darkness into the mirror, spends keys unlocking more weapons. He loves the steady weight of Coronacht in his hand, but by the gods is he bad at using it. Aegis proves much more fruitful, and he swears he's getting closer to beating Meg. He's lasting longer, and there's a focus in her eyes now when they fight.
He's not entirely sure how he feels about the Olympians yet. They seem nice, for the most part, and Zagreus is under no illusions about how long he would last without their help. But Hades takes after his brothers, and he's spent too much time chatting with shades to truly believe in the benevolence of gods. There's a restlessness under his skin even as he accepts their boons, the discomfort of knowing he holds a debt unpaid.
They're a boisterous bunch, but sometimes the noise just makes him flinch. Zagreus finds himself cautiously sticking with level-headed Athena and the quiet competence of Artemis. It does wonders for his aim, if nothing else.
Zagreus finds a kindred spirit in Sisyphus and Bouldy, at least. The shade is always pleasant company, with mild-mannered advice and smattering of coin or darkness. Zagreus promises to keep an eye out for his contract, even if he's quite determinedly forgotten every single thing his father has ever tried to teach him about underworld administration.
The rhythm of dying settles into his skin, but the rhythm of battle settles into his bones. He's getting farther. He can do this.
"I have no idle time to spare with you, boy! Have you observed the parchmentwork upon my desk? Go play with Thanatos, or Hypnos, or the dog. I need to finish this!"
The tension in the house is at an all-time high as half the members quietly help him commit treason while the other half pretend not to notice.
Zagreus tries his best to alleviate what he can—there are few things a couple bottles of nectar can't smooth over, and his heavy bias towards nectar rewards eventually pays off, netting him a small fortune of the drinks.
What he doesn't expect are the keepsakes slipped to him in return.
The shimmering shawl from Nyx clashes horribly with his toga colors, but even Hades's glare isn't enough to stop him from wearing it through the house. His situational awareness isn't nearly good enough for him to use Achilles's bracer yet—something Achilles himself is well aware of, judging from the silent laughter in his eyes as he hands it to him—but it goes in the spot of honor in his cabinet.
Zagreus laughs out loud when Hypnos just grins and tosses him a pouch of straight up gold. He makes a point of pausing to chat whenever he returns from the pool after that, even if Hypnos's advice never helps.
It's nice, to have a tangible reminder of everyone's faith in him weighing down his pockets.
He never gives a single nectar to his father.
(In the end, when he finally beats Meg, it's with Aegis in one hand and Cerberus's old spiked collar haphazardly wrapped around his other wrist.)
"Why am I never proud of you? Don't take it personally, boy. I'm never proud of anything. Pride is perhaps our family's worst trait. See how many mortals are with us, because of it?"
A little pride's all right, in Zagreus's humble opinion. He's pretty proud of getting past Tartarus, even if it takes a few more nectars to smooth Meg's ruffled feathers.
(Not that he knows what that expression means, never having seen a bird and all.)
Zagreus knows that Megaera wouldn't go easy on him. She's far too sharp-edged for that, her anger too vicious, brutal in a way that echoes his father at times. So clearing Tartarus means that he's getting better, means that this is possible.
There's pride in Nyx's eyes every time he dashes past her, just a little stronger from the mirror. There's pride, silently supportive every time Achilles clasps his shoulder and reminds him don't overcommit on the thrust, lad. It's even in the corners of Megaera's slanting smile, you get past me again like that, you best go all the way.
The heat of Asphodel soon becomes a well-worn backdrop. The leaping acrobatics of the bombers is just the newest challenge, and Zagreus catches himself standing in lava far too many times to count. The glare of Phlegethon make his eyes ache, but it's a welcome change from the gloom of the house.
He meets Hermes for the first time, and nets a lambent plume for his troubles. The messenger god's boons make him feel like he's eaten twelve too many sweets and sends him into a jittery rush. It's honestly kind of fun.
It's progress.
Asphodel's bombers, wave-makers, and witches have granted Zagreus a deep appreciation for Athena. He really should send her that gift basket.
Eventually, a judicial application of Exagryph's bombardment and Skelly's tooth tucked above his heart is enough to finally get him past Lernie.
Eurydice is an absolute riot, and Zagreus finds himself sticking around for a snack and chat more often than not. He finds Orpheus in the house, plucking despondently at his strings, and he tells Zagreus his sorry tale in between dirges. It's almost odd, to be able to speak to someone else who went through the same journey out of the underworld, even if there was far less fighting and more singing. Orpheus, for his part, just looks at him with knowing eyes and tells him don't look back, no matter what. When you leave this place, don't look back.
He ends up running messages between Orpheus and Eurydice, and it only takes a little bit of absolutely fucking up before they forgive him for meddling. And if he spends a bit more time between attempts trying to weasel out the location of a contract, well, that's his business, isn't it?
"Family? Death is your only family. Death, and I. Best get accustomed to the both of us."
No. Not on your life.
Elysium is beautiful. It's the closest the underworld comes to replicating the world above, he's told. He wonders if this is what his mother's domain looks like: green, as far as the eye can see. He tries not to imagine what his mother might be like too much, in the end—bad form to put too many expectations on a person like that.
(He hopes she's kind.)
The exalted shades here are better fighters, clearly once warriors of their own renown. Zagreus only makes it a couple rooms in the first time he reaches Elysium, and soon developes a newfound hatred for flame wheels and butterflies. The Lethe snakes its misty way through the chambers, and Zagreus can barely spot his fishing points amidst its glow. Zagreus gets sent back home more times than he can count, still blinking the afterimage of verdant green out of his eyes.
He does eventually find Sisyphus and Orpheus's contracts between runs—he can't believe they were with the house contractors, of all things—and the newfound ease in Sisyphus's shoulders when he finds him makes it well worth the effort. Orpheus sings more freely now, and Zagreus picks at his lyre in his room when he needs a break from fighting. He's not great at it, but Orpheus promises he'll get better.
The good mood is bolstering, but it hardly lasts. Hades thunders more around the house now, brow set, as Zagreus nears ever-closer to the surface. The shades have taken to clustering around the azure drapery Zagreus installed on a whim, pale green bodies blending against the curtains. Even the chatter of the lounge doesn't dare break above a low murmur. Zagreus hasn't seen Dusa duck down from the rafters in days.
Hypnos has the bad luck of falling asleep at his post within Hades's line of sight, and the following vicious reprobation is so harsh it makes Zagreus's ears ring. Even Nyx, self-sworn to keep her distance from Hypnos, thins her lips into a dangerous line, and the cold of her glare could freeze the Phlegethon over.
Zagreus feels sick to his stomach that this is his fault, of course there are consequences for defying the master of the house—but he never imagined they would fall on people other than him.
Hypnos only manages a shaky smile for him the next time he crawls out of the pool, no advice in hand (even though Zagreus had died a particularly stupid death to lava), and Zagreus feels like he's failed, somehow. Jumping down the ledge has never felt more like a betrayal, but he can't, won't stop trying.
(He slips more nectar Hypnos's way, spends time with him during his breaks in the lounge even if Hypnos mostly just naps. Zagreus drops entirely too many diamonds on a revolving prism-sphere, but it's worth it to see Hypnos's face light up. Eventually Hypnos shoos him off, back towards the dim landscape of Tartarus, because you need to get back to escaping, right?, and it feels something like solidarity, like forgiveness.)
In the end, he's not as overly worried about the other cthonic gods—he has some faith in Nyx, if it really comes down to it, if nothing else. But gods aren't the only ones helping him in his quest.
"Achilles, I...sometimes I fear that Father, if he learns that you've been aiding me, that he will..." Zagreus pauses, unsure how to speak around the plain truth in the manner that their house is so fond of. He spots his own expression in the mirror looming over the West Wing, looking young and uncertain and unable to protect anyone.
"...Not be generous with you," he finishes lamely.
But Achilles just gives him his signature wry smile.
"Don't worry about me, lad. Your father's still getting caught up with work that I created for him in my mortal days. Besides..." he trails off, a mournful, resentful cast to his face that Zagreus rarely sees, "there's nothing more he can take from me. We have a mutual arrangement, he and I."
Zagreus looks up his teacher, his mentor, who's always picked him up after scrapes, with kind words to spare, and far more patience than any of the gods in this house have ever had for a godling with too much energy.
"...I hope you're right," he murmurs.
"Why do you bleed like mortals do? An aberration, nothing more! And nothing to be proud of. I suggest you keep it to yourself."
Megaera's sisters really are something, Zagreus muses. Just when he thought he had Tartarus nailed down.
It's a little embarrassing how much it actually stings when Alecto calls him trash god, but Zagreus shoulders on. He's certainly heard worse from his father.
In the end, it's not so hard to beat Alecto or Tisiphone. He's genuinely gotten better at fighting: no longer dashing in blind panic, doing this thing called 'actually aiming' when he casts, and most of his swings even connect now. Achilles would be proud.
Even so, he's very much limping by the time he gets to Elysium. Alecto's rage is nothing to sneeze at, and it adds up. He wishes, a bit stupidly, that his memories of the people in this place won't all be stained by violence against his person.
So his stomach sinks when he hears, for the first time since he started his escape attempts, the bell tone announcing Death.
"...Thought you could just get away from me, did you?"
"Thanatos," Zagreus greets him cautiously. He slowly switches his hold on Stygius to a two-handed grip. He's gotten better at fighting, yes, but he's certainly not nearly good enough to beat death. Maybe after another small eternity of tries, after time to memorize his attacks and tells. Certainly not right here, right now, blood slicking down his side. "I figured it was only a matter of time before father sent you after me to do his dirty work."
"Zagreus," Thanatos pauses, expression flickering into something conflicted before it smooths over. "Is that really why you think I'm here?"
Zagreus hopes his face isn't too obvious in its conveyance of well, yes, what the hell else would you be here for.
And Thanatos—huffs out a breath, the equivalent of a laugh on anyone else. "Let's see how many of these exalted champions you can send back to their dooms, unless you'd rather I would send you back to yours." His eyes, citrine-gold, gleam. "Here come your father's forces."
(Zagreus absolutely does not lose several precious minutes staring slack-jawed at Thanatos effortlessly clearing his way through crowds of greatshields. Of all the small acts of defiance in this house, he never expected the most dramatic one to come from Than.)
(This is also the day he finds out Thanatos is a filthy kill-stealer.)
The battle is fast with help, and the feeling of fighting with someone instead of against someone makes Zagreus's chest ache something fierce. But good things don't last, especially down here, and soon enough it's over, just him and Thanatos standing in a silent glade once more; him a little bloodier, a little more beaten down, and Thanatos as unruffled as ever.
Zagreus waits. He doesn't show it much, but it seems this house of immortals has taught him some measure of patience after all. Indeed, Thanatos breaks the silence first.
“You left, without so much as telling me goodbye. I suppose you knew I’d catch up to you sooner or later, is that it?" He chuckles, bitterness seeping around the edges of his words. "No escaping death, and all?”
Zagreus considers the question; he really does. Somehow, it's not so surprising that Than is the first one to express hurt at his leaving—death is more sensitive than he lets on.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet but his resolve is firm.
"I left when it was necessary, Than. I thought of you and hoped you'd understand. I have to do this." Please, please understand.
Thanatos studies him with unreadable eyes. Finally, he sighs and turns away.
"That's more motivation than I've ever heard from you. Well, if you won't say it, I'll say it." Thanatos gives him a grim, but not entirely insincere smile. "Goodbye, Zagreus."
The bell toll marking his exit seems gloomier than usual, somehow.
Zagreus decides that he must be hanging out with Orpheus too much if he's getting this maudlin.
"What have I wrought, that such a witless, careless brat would be my progeny?"
Get out of my head, Zagreus grits. He flings a succession of casts at a butterfly ball with perhaps more force than strictly necessary.
Elysium has rapidly lost its charm and turned into a obstacle. To hell with this place indeed. Zagreus can reach it well enough, can even last a fair while into its fields, but making his way through it is proving to be an entirely different matter.
Theseus might just be the least pleasant champion Zagreus has ever had the misfortune of meeting. He has no idea how respectful Asterius can stand the man, but to each his own, he supposes. Zagreus doesn't usually mind the charnel churn of dying at various hands, but Theseus is proving an exception. For the first time in a long time, he splashes out of the Pool of Styx with genuine irritation in his chest.
Still, Zagreus refuses to be anything like his father, so he stays as polite as he can, even if only out of spite. It's annoying to bite his tongue, and he doesn't always manage it perfectly; but there's a quiet regard in Asterius's eye that helps him meet his own eyes in the mirror later.
"Watch where you step, you oaf! My House is not a sty through which to track your filth!"
I'll have to be more careful, Zagreus thinks, gleefully smashing his way through another pillar. He takes out a cobwebbed arrangement of urns—ooh sandwich. Dusa's fantastic. The absolute best.
After a childhood tip-toeing around the many, many priceless and fragile heirlooms infesting Hades's realm (and inevitably breaking them anyway), this mayhem feels remarkably cathartic. Wanton ransacking is great. Everyone should give it a try.
(It feels, in its own petty way, like justice for a little godling hiding behind the shadows of the halls, too afraid to even move after being berated again for his clumsiness. Zagreus wonders what his child-self would think of him now. He hopes he'd be proud.)
He's covered in bruises, ashes, and his own blood. The sandwich tastes like victory.
Elysium isn't all bad. He stumbles onto morose Patroclus, and gods damn he needs to figure out how to get his hands on more of those premium rations. It's a good day when he doesn't have to beeline for the Kiss of Styx bottles, and actually gets the chance to snack on jerky.
After running between Orpheus and Eurydice for so long, Zagreus figures he can recognize the look in Patroclus's hollowed face. It's the same one reflected in Achilles's, after all. It takes some concentrated cajoling and strategic application of nectar, but eventually he wheedles the story out of them both.
(It takes quite a few standoffs against Lernie, but the clack as he drops the required diamonds onto the house contractors' table just might be the most satisfying sound he's ever heard. He thinks this until he hears Patroclus laugh for the first time, Achilles hovering by his side. It's nice, to know that his rebellion might help someone else, even if only a little. )
"Sulk in your chambers all you like, for I care not! I have eternity to finish with this work, so your assistance is entirely unneeded."
You don't need me and I don't need you. It's becoming something of a mantra now. Zagreus is clearly unnecessary to the workings of the house. He can make Hades unnecessary to him too, soon.
Styx is a whole new kind of hell. Poison and snakestones and vermin. He knows the unpredictability of the satyr sack's location is going to drive him up a wall in the near future, but it's infinitely preferable to ever fighting Cerberus.
He pours his last coin into Charon's hands, snaps up some Titan's Blood as an impulse buy by the register. He eyes the towering white-gold doors.
Showtime.
It's not that Zagreus didn't expect this on some level. He could call it inevitable. Fated, even.
But the sight of his father, standing with his back to him in the snow, sends a bone-deep dread through his system.
The air here is brisk, colder than he's ever felt. The lack of solid earth above his head feels dizzying, almost disorienting, like a lack of pressure.
His father does not turn to acknowledge him. "I never grew accustomed to the air, up here. It gusts senselessly, whichever way it pleases. I suppose you must prefer it to the stillness of the air below."
Zagreus gathers his nerves. Fear is for the weak.
"You know, you're right. The air up here seems pretty good so far. But I will reserve judgment till I've had my fill. I have to say, though, Father: The Helm of Darkness suits you. I'm touched you'd dust it off on my account."
"It should not have had to come to this. For all your antics with me and around the House, I always kept my temper, have I not? Unlike you."
Zagreus wants to laugh, or maybe break down into screaming tears. But he does neither, and his voice comes out surprisingly level, even to himself.
"Well, let's see. You've berated me repeatedly and often. You've lied to me. Mustered your wretched forces to kill me, over and over. But, sure, I'll grant you that you've always kept most of your anger bottled up. All that's about to change, then?"
"We're gods, boy. Killing one another is our lot. Although, I always thought I was above it. I told you that you cannot leave this place. It seems I must enforce my rules myself." Finally, he turns. The helm hides his face. Zagreus isn't sure if that's better or worse. "I'm sending you home, now."
That place has not been home for a long, long time now, Zagreus thinks, and then the fight is on.
Zagreus bolts upright out of the Pool of Styx, shaking, choking. It's every nightmare he's ever had. He can still feel the shape of a spear cracking through his ribs.
He can make it through Elysium, for the most part—occasionally he still dies at the stadium, but he's getting better. He can make it through Styx too; the issue is making it through with health and defiance.
"...The sea...the heavens and the earth. All of this belongs to my brothers. We are their kin by birth. But we are foreigners in their country."
"No. No more mournful speeches. Now get out of my way."
"You impertinent brat. Fine. Impulsiveness runs in the family."
"Shut up!"
His blood is boiling and it steams where it splatters on cold snow and another spear point wretches through his gut—
—back to the pool.
"My brothers and my sisters and myself. We too wanted to slay our parents. The Titans. Bastards. And worse."
"And you succeeded. Chopped up some of them into many tiny bits, and sprinkled them throughout the pits of Tartarus so that they can't regenerate! Or so I hear. Inspiring, really!"
"We had no recourse at the time, save to collaborate. Developed a specific plan, and saw it through. And, the Titans...? You think me cruel, yet know nothing of cruelty. But, here, you want something to hate, then have it!"
Great, Zagreus thinks, generational trauma.
To hell with this place.
"Ah, but there you are, boy, finally. Despite my knowing you are always late for everything, here you've outdone yourself by quite some time."
"Oh—Shut up, and get your fork, and burn away that regal cape, and let's get to this, then. I'd no idea you had all these capes to spare. Must have a whole entire storage chamber full of them."
"Your mockery of me may temporarily embolden you, but achieves nothing useful, in the end."
He lingers, just for a moment, at the threshold of the door; Cerberus's shed fur curling and lifting in the gentle breeze. He's afraid of stopping too long, of letting the aches sink into his skin, because if he stops now he's not sure if he'll ever get back up again.
"What shall it take for you to stop this foolishness?"
"It'll take you getting out of my blasted way!"
"You cannot talk to me that way!"
"And you cannot treat me this way!"
"I'll treat you as you deserve."
Hades collapses to his knees, shield flickering.
"Get up," Zagreus snarls.
A swing, telegraphed, but he's too far within its radius to dash out of it—a flourish of divine energy shoves him down, a dodge by the skin of his teeth (thank you Hermes)—he takes the momentary space to flick out another cast, guided by Artemis's hand—
It's on a run exactly like every other that came before it when finally, finally.
Hades falls, and he doesn't get back up.
Zagreus's ears are still ringing from the impact of taking a spear-handle to the temple. He's bloody and bruised and maybe going to pass out. He's still standing. The Styx drags his father away, and Zagreus is still standing.