A Touch of Chaos (Hades x Persephone Saga Book 7)

Theseus watched as Cronos and Prometheus battled in the sky. The appearance of the Titan God of Fire was a surprise, enough for Cronos to lose control over the illusion he was using to entrap the gods.

A wave of anger twisted through Theseus, and he summoned his lightning bolt. Its powerful heat wafted over him. If he was not invincible, it would have melted his skin from his bones. He turned in the direction of Hades, who had just manifested before Persephone, but as he took aim, they vanished.

Another surge of fury tore through Theseus. He pivoted to see Damian locked in a vicious battle with Hephaestus. Theseus lifted the lightning bolt and aimed for the god, but Hephaestus must have sensed the attack, because he raised his hand, and the bolt was swallowed by a stream of fire that shot from his palm. Fortunately, his magic was quickly extinguished when Damian impaled him with his spear.

Hephaestus gave no pained cry. He only grunted and fell to his golden knee. Damian tore the weapon free and reared back, preparing to stab him again, when Hecate appeared, blasting the demigod with a ray of black fire.

Theseus summoned his lightning bolt again, but the Goddess of Witchcraft, whose eyes glowed with an ethereal light, met his gaze. The blazing magic in his hand flickered and then faded, and a strange cold enveloped him. He tried to summon the bolt again, but all he could manage was sparks.

He gave a frustrated cry and drew his sword.

“What did you do, witch?” he demanded.

“Do you not know?” she asked. “If Zeus dies, so does his magic.”

Theseus lowered his brows, at first confused by the goddess’s words, but then the reality of what she was saying hit. He ground his teeth so hard, he thought they might break.

“I will murder you, witch.”

She smirked. “Then murder me,” she said. “But know that I will cling to you, even in death. You will never know peace, not in your waking hours or in sleep.”

As she spoke, he could feel something overcome him, a deep and terrible madness. He buried his face in his hands, nails biting into his flesh. “Do not offer me your prophecy, witch. I am already destined to win.”

“I am not giving prophecy, you idiot,” she said. “I am cursing your ass.”

Then she was gone, taking Hephaestus with her.

The only ones left battling were Cronos and Prometheus, whose magic shook the earth with each deafening strike, but even that came to an abrupt end when the Titan God of Fire vanished.

For a few seconds, Theseus and Cronos stared at the spot where he had been, a shared anger thickening the air between them. Prometheus was a traitor, to both Cronos and Zeus. He had loyalty to no one, save mortals. Theseus had not known that the Titan had escaped the Underworld. He had been in another part of Tartarus entirely, chained to a rock while an eagle feasted on his liver.

Cronos met Theseus’s gaze from the sky.

“I will have vengeance against the other Titans as I will have vengeance against my sons,” said Cronos. “Consider our alliance formed.”

Theseus would have liked to celebrate, but he was too angry. He turned his gaze to the sky, catching sight of Zeus. He had left him suspended there as a reminder to the mortal world of his power. Now, he teleported to the god and saw that there was a gaping hole where his heart once beat.

Theseus’s rage boiled over, and he lifted his blade, hacking at the God of the Sky, carving pieces of his flesh from his body and letting them fall to the earth.

It wasn’t until he was finished that he saw how many had gathered to look up at him from below, not only Impious but Faithful mortals who had yet to seek refuge within Hades’s obsidian tower.

As he lowered to the ground, splattered with the blood of Zeus, he declared, “The King of the Gods is dead.”

His words were followed by deafening cheers and a chant that dissolved his doubt.

“All hail Theseus, King of the Gods.”

Theseus’s body crawled with the threat of Hecate’s words, and he was eager to shed their weight. She might have murdered Zeus, but that did not diminish the prophecy of the ophiotaurus, and now he was assured of Cronos’s alliance. He would win this war and would reign supreme over a world of his creation. Everything he’d planned for had come to fruition.

When he returned to the House of Aethra, passing the high wall surrounding his mother’s residence, his servants waited on the porch, bowing as soon as he appeared. They would not meet his gaze, and he knew it was because they had witnessed him cutting Zeus to pieces.

If Ariadne were standing here, she would hold my gaze, he thought. And she would refuse to bow.

It wasn’t that thought that brought him pleasure, it was what he would do to punish her for her defiance. He would force her to her knees and shove his cock so far down her throat that she choked around him.

The thought of how she would feel sent a thrill through him.

Suddenly, he was eager to go to Ariadne again, to see how she had changed in the hours since he’d left. Would she fight him again?

He entered the house and made his way to his bedroom, pausing when the noticed the door ajar. Instantly suspicious, he approached with caution, peering through the opening to see Helen leaning over Ariadne. A blade gleamed in her hand as she cut through the bindings on her wrists.

“Why are you helping me?” Ariadne asked. She spoke in a whisper.

“I have to,” Helen said. “I can’t…live knowing what he’s doing to you.”

Theseus doubted Helen even realized the irony of her words—though perhaps she soon would.

Theseus continued to watch, curious to hear what would be said.

Once Ariadne was free, Helen slid a backpack off and pulled out a bundle of clothes. She had come prepared.

“Hurry and dress,” she instructed. “We don’t have much time.”

“Where is he?” Ariadne asked.

Theseus found the fear in her voice amusing.

“The gods are fighting downtown,” said Helen. “But I don’t know how long he will be away. Theseus does not fight his own battles.”

Theseus’s teeth clenched at her words.

Ariadne said nothing as she pulled on the clothes. Helen drew a sheathed knife from her bag, tossing it on the bed.

Ariadne took it. “Where will we go?”

“They’re saying Hades has made Nevernight into a refuge. I will take you there.”

“What about you?”

“I betrayed his wife and queen,” said Helen. “I will not be welcome there.”

Theseus waited until Ariadne was finished dressing, until her eyes met Helen’s.

Then he appeared behind Helen, gripping her chin and the back of her head.

“You will regret that I chose to fight this battle,” he said, jerking her head to the side. The bones in her neck snapped.

He was close to tearing her head from her body, but Ariadne bolted for the door.

He released Helen and lunged for Ariadne, his fingers closing in the fabric of her shirt.

“No!” she screamed. She whirled to stab him, but his skin was impenetrable. Her hand slipped, and she cried out as the blade cut her palm. She dropped the knife, and it fell to the floor, along with fat drops of her blood.

Theseus grabbed her by the wrists and hauled her toward the bed, but Ariadne dug in her feet. The blood made her slick, and she slipped from his grasp. She seemed just as surprised as he was as she stumbled back and fell on her ass. He charged after her, and she scrambled to her feet. She reached the door and threw it open, racing down the hall.

He let her run, let her scream. He was keeping count of her transgressions, and later, he would decide how she was to be punished. For now, she was about to learn the consequences of leaving his room, because at the end of the hall was Phaedra’s room, and the door was open, broken and splintered.

He knew when Ariadne caught sight of her sister, still dangling at the end of the bed, because she froze and a different kind of wailing came from her open mouth.

Slowly, she made her way to the floor, unable to stand.

“What did you do?” she moaned. “What did you do?”

“I did nothing,” he answered. “Your sister chose this. She abandoned you. She abandoned her son.”

“She would never!” Ariadne seethed with a deep and guttural anger. She glared at him, and he felt the full force of her hate.

He could not help it, he chuckled and said, “Then you do not know her at all.”

Ariadne launched herself at him with a shriek. He could feel her nails scrape down his face, but he felt nothing. For a few seconds, he let her rage, but he soon grew bored and snatched her by the wrists, dragging her into Phaedra’s room.

He threw her on the bed, his hand around her throat.

“Fight this, and I will murder my son in front of you.”

“You wouldn’t,” she wheezed, her eyes watering. “He is your blood.”

“Try me,” he said. “I can have many sons.” He let his gaze fall to her stomach before he met her gaze again. “Perhaps there is already a replacement on the way.”

He smiled at the look in her eyes, a mix of devastation and disgust, but she did not fight him as he pushed her knees apart and took her on the bed from which her sister still hung.