Chapter Text
Tartarus kept his pace, armored feet marking his way in measured clicks. The groans of wretches accompanied his walk through his prison. He could hear the cries of the Erinyes’ work. Good. Green halls lit his way. Traps echoed around the winding corridors. The damned dead contained within the ever shifting halls. Megaera and her lovely sisters took care of the mortals.
He took care of the rest.
Fallen gods, titans, monsters, and any manner of beast requiring his unwavering touch. Warden and executioner in these halls. A familiar orange sigil burned just ahead, the Underworld’s appointed ruler appearing before him. Not his ruler, but one in his own way. Tartarus gave a short bow.
“Hades.” He greeted. “What brings you to my darkened halls this night,” he paused, “or is it day? Never can tell down here.” He chuckled at his own musings. A huff from the king was his own laugh.
“Tartarus, I have an odd request.” He arched a brow. Rarely did they interact since Titanomachy. His prison held those troublesome fiends, making way for a better era. Perfect? Not at all. Better than those fools. Then again, the current gods weren’t much better. Perhaps they’d be deigning his halls next. His ruler had but to declare it so and he would act under her permission.
“My son, Zagreus, is acting rather foolish.” Hades began, frustration plain in his tone. “He must pass through your halls to reach the Surface he’s so desperate to reach. Your wretches are permitted to tear into him, if you would allow the lesser ones such action.”
“You want my damned,” He said slowly, because surely as Phlegethon was hot he heard wrong, “to kill your son.”
“The boy won’t die.” Hades huffed dismissively. “He comes back through Styx, as we all do. Reborn anew and just as hardheaded.” Ah, a godling then. He couldn’t recall his own youth well. Father adorning him in armor and gifting him his long staffed labrys, Krisis. “For all his foolishness, I would rather him not be in true peril. Thus, your lowest of the damned to entertain this childish fit of his.” His fingers drummed against Krisis' handle.
“I can spare some of my wretched.” A smile pulled at his lips. “They would likely enjoy a change of pace from their torment. Very well, my lesser wretched are disposable at your discretion.” He shifted his weight. “You never told me you had a son.”
“And you never deliver your reports to the house.” Hades countered. “Megaera delivers them all.” Tartarus sighed. This realm was his namesake. He was bound tighter than most Chthonic. Only able to leave to drag in new prisoners the other psychopomps couldn’t wrangle. That, or his ruler’s decree. None had come since Titanomachy.
All in all, it was home. It was his prison. Inside and out.
“Thought I wasn’t welcome.” He admitted. “Nyx isn’t too terribly fond of me.” She and Father never got on but so well. A tense peace the pair held. She thought herself above it all, claiming the Underworld as her own. Not so. Only half. The other was his father, Erebus. Where Nyx was bound closer, Father was freer.
“Nyx is professional, above all else.” Tartarus rolled his jaw. Nyx wasn’t the only problem. In truth, he was aware the goddess would opt to ignore him. Was how she dealt with any problem not worthy of her direct action. Fine by him. No, the larger problem, was well. Hmm. How to put it? Ah yes.
The members of the house wore his grandchildren’s corpses.
No, Typhon had not been a good son. Horrible. Reprehensible. All his former lover’s doing. He hadn’t a shred of time to spare, much to his shame. Perhaps things could have… no. Regardless, he was still his son, by night’s end. Imprisoning his volatile soul burned horridly through him. He had to. He was too monstrous. For the gods and mortals. His soul rested in this prison as well, ever thrashing and screaming. Cursing his father and foes, demanding freedom.
He could never let him go.
Even still, those monsters adorning the house were his grandchildren. Their skulls and bones painted and dressed up like decorations. Their souls were never properly formed by his mad son. Turned to ash upon being slayed. Never knowing love or peace, only oblivion. They never even had a chance, where his son very much had. Blood and darkness, his old ally wore one such skull plainly on his shoulder!
Hades noticed his violet gaze. He shifted his body, the larger skull out of view to show smaller ones. Tartarus grimaced. He would rather not dwell on what could have been. Still, the bones were in poor taste, even for the tormentor of the damned.
“Still have the bones.” He commented idly, more interested in Krisis' handle. Hades sighed. An old argument between them. Out of all the gods who came to the realm of Night and Shadow, Hades was by far his favorite. His irksome brothers lacked any form of restraint or self-control. All too happy to throw any problems in the pits with no second thought.
How many had Zeus condemned now? Souls that slighted him by a hair’s width. Titans who did nothing more than choose no side. To not choose made them wicked to him. Likely would have tossed Selene and Helios in the pits as well, if not for him needing them. Why, he even once had poor little Death running around to take particular mortals. How petty.
‘King of the Gods’ indeed. A shame none would invoke his lady. She would straighten out the prideful god. If he did not heed her call, then he would answer to Tartarus’. But no god was foolish enough to invoke her. They prayed she stayed away from Olympus forever, free of her divine decree.
“You won’t ever let it go, will you.” He wasn’t asking. Hades asked him a great many things in the early years of his rule. Not so anymore. Little godling grew up. Now his own was.
“I’d have a better time at moving on if you and your house weren’t decorated with them.” Hades curled inward, ever so slightly. Tartarus found himself chuckling. “Besides, children of Erebus aren’t welcome much of anywhere. Gods fear us.” ‘As they should’ went unsaid.
“None of you acted against us!” Hades seethed, then composed himself. Seemed he couldn’t let some past things go either. Ah well. It was as he told his prisoners, eternity was a long time. The barest slight of a smile pulled at the warden’s lips. “For the aid given, you three have been treated worse than the titans with lighter punishments.” Sad part, he wasn’t wrong.
“We aided out of necessity.” He admitted freely. “Souls needed to be ferried in mass. Death, so young in his duties, was not enough. Achlys was skilled enough to teach him to mastery. He even taught that Olympian, Hermes.” He turned on heel, continuing his rounds. He could hear the singeing steps of the ruler behind him. A smile tugged further at his lips. Some things didn’t change.
“I had a prison to hold the wretched and offered it openly. Metis had her strategies to free you and others from Chronos’ stomach. If not for her, no rebellion would have happened.” He laughed coldly, recalling his kind sister. Too kind for her own good, in the end. “We all know what happened to her, don’t we?”
Zeus killed her. Over a damned prophecy at that. One, that in the end, didn’t happen.
His fingers gripped Krisis merrily. One day the king of the skies would fall. Elysium did not await him. Oh no. Tartarus’s prison did. Then again, many gods would find themselves shackled in his halls. Oh, but the lord of thunder would have his personal attention. For his torment of mortals, of gods, and most importantly, the murder of his precious little sister.
He could forgive his son’s demise. He was actively against any form of peace and went out of his way to cause ruin. His son started that fight over his lust for power and conflict. Metis? She did nothing of the sort. Quite the opposite.
She was peaceful, kindly, and clever. Aiding the gods when they were losing their rebellion against Time. For all her efforts, she was to be crowned queen for her aid and battle plans. Instead, Hera sat on her throne, her daughter knew nothing of her, and her soul was shattered. Broken in exchange for saving her unborn daughter’s life. A shame Athena would never know the love her mother held for her.
Or her relatives below.
“We do.” Hades replied somberly. Father withdrew from all affairs upon his youngest’s death. He only spoke directly to his remaining two children and Nyx. Not another soul. Achlys took it hard, practically attached at the hip with Metis. Tartarus felt a part of him die with her. Unable to defend her in life, he would avenge her death one day.
Achlys stopped ferrying souls. Father withdrew. And Tartarus? He carried on. He had no choice. His prison could not fail. He was a prisoner just as much as the wretches within. He may be able to leave for short periods of time but never for long.
“The wretches are yours to command.” He came to a stop, a wall ahead. From here, he would go alone to the depths. “I must bid you farewell as my special prisoners require my attention.” Check bindings. Torments. No escape.
“Then go.” Hades hesitated. “And perhaps stop by the house some time. There are less bones about. The boy’s been redecorating, for some unholy reason.” Krisi felt heavy for once in his hand. Maybe. Maybe not.
“I’ll see.”