He was cold. Mind-numbingly, bone-chillingly cold. His toes were frozen, his fingers ice. He couldn't see two feet in front of his face, and he stumbled along in the dark. His hand smacked something hard, and his palm stung.

He never should have come here.

He'd lost his weapon, a pitch black, foot-long knife, a little while back, when he'd been ambushed by a pack of feral hunters who had been living out in the woods for far too long to be healthy. He'd managed to shake them off his trail eventually, when the snow covered up his tracks, but it had taken both his energy and his sense of direction. Now, in ink-black darkness—which was usually where he thrived—he traveled, blind and frozen, defenseless in the wildest territory in the States. Holding his hand inches from his nose, he examined the dark amber gash on his palm.

There was a reason that Alaska was called the Land Beyond the Gods.

He knew he was vulnerable; he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. Had he been anywhere else, he could have shadow-traveled, or even snapped his fingers for a fire. Here, all of those powers were useless, kept at bay by ancient forces even older than the Fates themselves.

It was in times like these that Hades wished he was a demigod. Demigods were not bound to the Ancient Laws like he was, and were thus not restricted in Alaska or any other such place. Sure, he might have had less power, but at least he would have something.

Of course, he could have sent a demigod to do this task, but Hades severely doubted that the quest would be approved. He knew he was not welcome on Olympus, that the others did not trust him. It was likely that they wouldn't even believe him when he told them of the rumours he'd heard, or the recent activity in Tartarus. They'd chalk it up to him being paranoid, and then Zeus would keep a closer eye on him to ensure that he didn't "disturb the peace", and the job would never get done.

Besides, with the rumours he'd heard, no demigod would be strong enough to survive. It would be a suicide mission.

And so Hades trudged along, his immortal body becoming increasingly cold and stiffening up. The night was becoming darker; he could not see Artemis in her chariot tonight, and the snow and trees were so thick that the stars were invisible. He needed a shelter desperately, but he knew that the only way he'd find one would be if he happened to trip over one.

Funnily enough, that was exactly what he did, only it wasn't a shelter that he tripped over.

It was a deep hole in the ground, likely made by woodland hunters, with no net to ensure that the prey could not climb back out.

But it was the bottom of the hole, nearly fifteen feet below the surface, that made Hades realize that he was in trouble.

A sharpened wooden spike impaled his bicep, just as another went through his calf. Hades gritted his teeth, but that did not stop his loud curse of pain. That was his grave mistake.

A tunnel that he hadn't seen (gods damn the Ancient magic, he should have sensed that) opened up, and out crawled the last thing he had wanted to see.

A cyclops.

His mouth curled into a sneer. "Well look a' tha'," he snarled. He yanked Hades up by the ankle (bloody-fucking-Tartarus that hurt), grinning in sick glee as the spikes were forcefully torn from the immortal's limbs. He raised him up so that their faces were level. His breath smelled worse than the blood-soaked Fields of Punishment.

"Fresh meat."

:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:

Normally, Hades liked the underground. It was dark, and there weren't many people there. However, this underground smelled like a mix of urine and rotting flesh. The dirt wasn't rock solid, but it was just hard enough to leave scrapes when the cyclops had to duck under a low-hanging ceiling.

Yes, the dirt tasted like urine and rotting flesh too. Hades felt a brief flash of pity for anyone who had to sleep on the ground before remembering that these were monsters and probably liked the smell.

Finally, the narrow tunnel ended at the top of a large cavern that could have easily housed the residents of Elysium comfortably. To get down to the floor, there was a set of narrow rocks that served as stairs and no railings. The cyclops switched hands, and Hades really did not appreciate being dangled over the side of said stairs like a sack of apples.

Although, he did get a good look at something that made his already frozen blood run even colder.

The rumours were true.

Hundreds of monsters lined the cavern; cyclopes, empousai, dracanae, and dozens of others that Hades couldn't care to name. There had to be at least five hundred of them, and they were all looking up at him, teeth glistening.

The cyclops thrust him high into the air. "Dinner time!"

All at once, there was a terrible shriek, like a thousand nails on a large chalkboard, and in that moment Hades wished more than anything in the world that he could move his arms to attempt to block it from reaching his ears.

The first dracaena reached him and raised a clawed hand to his face. Haes winced in discomfort as the talons raked down, opening three new gashes into his cheek. She recoiled, and Hades's pain-addled brain couldn't figure out why, not until she screamed, "STOP!"

In perfect unison, the monsters froze, peering at the dracanae in curiosity (and some disappointment).

The dracaena swept a hand towards Hades's bleeding face. "This is no mortal! The god Hades has decided to bless us with his presence tonight! See the ichor on his face, weakened by the spells of Alaska!" she yelled, and she was met with a loud approving roar. She raised her hands to quiet the agitated monsters, and they reluctantly obeyed.

"Why don't we give him a little parting gift, shall we?" she asked, flashing a positively wicked smile at Hades. The uproar returned tenfold, and the cyclops holding Hades's ankle was nearly trampled to death in their enthusiasm.

As soon as the first fist connected, Hades was gone, and in his place was a shell, an empty husk. The world grew dim, the monsters becoming dull blurs of colour drowning in a sea of brown, and the roar faded to a muted hum.

He didn't know how long it lasted; he honestly couldn't have cared less, since no one would pay any attention to him anyways. He'd tried many times, and learned his lesson eventually. He knew that no one would come.

When it finally ended, all he was aware of was a faint voice shouting (stay away, he thinks) and a world showered in gold.

:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:

Hades detests sleep.

Ever since he had offended Morpheus a couple centuries ago, Morpheus liked to surprise him in his dreams.

So he'd been too busy to write him an invitation to a gala that Persephone was throwing for all of the Underworld gods, get over it.

The god of dreams couldn't do it often, since Persephone would find out and Hades didn't sleep very much anyways (he could go without sleep for months, which irked Persephone to no end), so on the off chance that he was both alone and asleep, Morpheus would take the opportunity to make him miserable.

This was no exception.

He dreamed of that day, all those years ago, when he and his brothers received their domains. He'd gotten to choose last, because Zeus would never have let himself choose anything but first, and it was common knowledge that he favored his other brother by far.

He'd never wanted the Underworld, but he never had any other choice.

He saw Zeus's face, beaming with pride, and Poseidon, ever the sweet younger brother that he was, was glaring pointedly at Zeus. Almost as if he'd known that Zeus had rigged the selection. Hades knew of course, but he couldn't say anything. Zeus would deny it, and the gods would surely side with him rather than that creepy one who always stood in the shadows. It was inevitable, just as it was inevitable that Zeus would kick him out of Olympus (and the family, but that went unspoken).

He apparently didn't "fit in with the decor".

Please.

Even if he didn't fit in, Zeus should have allowed him on Olympus. He should never have been banished. Again, he saw Poseidon with that little glimmer of sympathy in his eye. Not pity. It was never pity with Poseidon.

It was one reason that Poseidon was Hades's favorite sibling (besides Hestia of course, because no one could not love Hestia). Hera had always been a little too uptight and strict. Demeter never stopped talking about grain and cereal and was always trying to shove the vile stuff down Hades's throat.

And everyone knew how much Hades disliked Zeus. He could never hate him—they were still brothers, after all—but there was definite resentment. Resentment that Zeus chose fucking furniture over him, his flesh and blood. Resentment that Zeus felt he had to cheat Hades when he should have known that Hades would have accepted any of the domains and probably have tried to trade with his younger brother to ensure his happiness because that's what brothers do.

Poseidon, Fates bless him, had tried, but Hades had declined. He knew how pleased his younger brother was with the sea; he couldn't take that away from him. He couldn't let his happy, carefree brother be crushed by the Underworld. So he'd tried his best to take it in stride, doing everything he could to get the Underworld ready for its first residents.

Since then, he'd been as happy as one could expect. Marrying Persephone was the highlight of his immortal life, even if he only got to enjoy the marriage for three months out of the year. Poseidon always made sure to Iris Message him on the weekends and they tried to meet up at mortal restaurants whenever their domains would give them a break.

And then of course, some time around the 1940's, Zeus had to stick his abnormally large nose into it.

He was jealous of their relationship. He wanted Poseidon (not Hades, never Hades) to spend more time with him, and take him to restaurants and play games with him. It was always about what Zeus wanted.

Poseidon had worn a look of such distaste that Hades immediately jumped in. He'd tried to explain that it was Poseidon's choice who he spent his time with (he might have slipped an insult or two into that sentence), and Zeus had absolutely flipped his shit. What happened next was something that Hades just wanted to erase from the course of history and never speak of again.

Zeus declared war.

He'd brought his children into it, and Hades had been forced to retaliate after one of Zeus's sons had killed one of Hades's daughters. Poor Poseidon was caught in the middle, trying to support both sides, as if they could all go back to being brothers instead of enemies. Hades had known it was a hopeless cause, and had tried to tell his brother so, but Poseidon stubbornly didn't listen. Hades had lost his temper, and (unbeknownst to him at the time) one of his children coincidentally killed Poseidon's favorite child.

Poseidon had immediately assumed it was Hades who had told his child to commit the deed. All of the evidence had pointed to it, so Hades wasn't surprised when Poseidon had joined Zeus's side. Eventually, Hades's children surrendered to Zeus, and he had forced him to swear an Oath to never have demigod children again.

Secretly, Hades knew Zeus would never honor the Oath. Poseidon might, but if he met just the right girl...

Since the end of the war, Hades hadn't spoken to his brother. Poseidon refused to answer any of his Iris Messages, electronic messages, and even a handwritten letter. Images assaulted his mind of Poseidon furiously swiping through an Iris Message and tearing up his letter.

Just as Poseidon threw the last shred of paper onto a fire, Hades's vision went black.

And then he opened his eyes.

How was that readers?

P.S. The chapter title is from Angels Fall by Breaking Benjamin