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They say a God is made for their purpose, but that doesn’t mean they know exactly what they’re meant to do right out of the womb, or forehead, or wherever Dionysus had been born from.
Hermes had been raising a commotion since birth, hence the title God of Trickery. He was fast and could go just about anywhere in no time flat. Zeus had taken one look at his wings and decided he would be the God of Swiftness too, and herald of Olympus.
And he loved his job, he really did! But there was something… missing. A little itch, at the base of his skull behind his left wing. Some little part of him that screamed to be fulfilled. But that scream was wordless, so he didn’t know what it wanted of him.
It was particularly loud today as he was whizzing to and from the battlefield with messages for Ares.
He could barely hear Ares’ thanks for delivering his messages over the droning in his ears. (Ares was always on good terms with Hermes, probably because he was one of the only gods in the family that gave the war god any damn respect).
“My kin, are you feeling alright?”
That definitely caught Hermes’ attention.
“Right as rain, boss!” Hermes’ smile pulled extra tight over his face.
Ares looked at him skeptically, even as he was cleaning his blade in preparation for the next battle, “Your mind is not here.” It was not a question.
Hermes knew that lying to Ares was an idiotic idea, so he took a deep breath, “I have this little… tickle, in the back of my brain. It doesn’t go away and it makes me want to do something, but I can’t tell what? And that probably sounds insane, boss, but it’s always loud over battlefields.”
Ares had that-not-quite-smile on his lips that meant he was very interested in what was being said, “Interesting. Would you suppose it’s some sort of latent bloodlust?”
“Oh, no, no,” Hermes shook his head, “I mean, love your work, bro, it keeps me busy, but I don’t think I could do any of the war stuff you do.”
“It’s not for everyone,” Ares conceded, “Perhaps you’d like to observe from afar, see if you can pinpoint what that calling is for.”
Hermes mentally thought over his schedule. There were always places to shave off time here and there.
“When’s the battle going to start?”
“War’s not as strictly scheduled as you are,” Ares let out a huff of laughter, “But I’d estimate tomorrow at nightfall, if the two sides are to avoid a siege.”
“Tomorrow night, gotcha boss!” Hermes sped away, his scarf trailing behind him like a flaming comet.
~~~
The next day’s deliveries were made faster than normal as Hermes knew battles could last a while, and there was no way he’d get behind on his duties while trying to figure out what that buzzing was.
He was back on the battlefield ahead of schedule, just as planned. He was silent as a featherfall as he pushed open a tent flap, alighting down just as Ares was fitting his helmet over his head.
“Hiya boss,” Hermes said casually. He dressed a bit differently for the occasion, given the circumstances. He had his golden helm on, wings poking through the protective helmet and his adamantine sword at his hip.
“Are you ready, my brother?” Ares leveled his red gaze at him, and Hermes could see he’s quite nearly in ‘war-mode’.
“I’m going to stay mostly above the action, if you don’t mind,” Hermes admitted with a smile, “Watch you in your element and all.”
“Do whatever you need to unlock this aspect of yourself.”
Hermes glanced out of the small tent flap, out at the warriors ready for battle. The buzz in his head is just a small tingle, but he knew it would get louder once the battle commenced.
~~~
Hermes was no stranger to bloodshed, and he certainly wasn’t squeamish about it, but he sure was glad he was up here in the air, unseen by mortal eyes.
Ares was making a massive wave of destruction, his very presence invigorating those around him until the field in which they fought was littered with bodies and blood.
The buzzing is becoming unpleasantly loud now, and Hermes decided to swoop down to try and identify what about the battle was calling out to him.
Staying clear of Ares’ storm of bloodshed, Hermes skims the ground near the back of the line, where one on one combat is less prevalent.
There are some archers protected by the front lines, and Hermes stays low enough to the ground to not get hit by them.
He let a little of his influence touch the mortal warriors closest to him and they become quicker and more agile than ever, but that does not satisfy him.
There's a keening scream behind him and Hermes shudders, looking over his shoulder. The Keres, he had almost forgotten about them.
Goddesses brought on by the vicious deaths of mortals on the battlefield, they were hungry for the souls of the recently fallen.
He’s never watched them work, all talons and wings swooping down on new souls, mouths open and clawed hands outstretched.
The world goes silent for a moment as Hermes watches them drop down.
His mind screams and suddenly Hermes is moving faster than even he can process, dropping down to intercept the Keres.
Not a single thought ran through his mind as his instincts kicked in, wings pressed in as he plunged towards the ground.
There’s a short moment where Hermes thinks to himself, “Wait, what am I doing?” before he’s grabbed the soul that was about to be the Keres next meal.
It felt right somehow, holding this little bit of mortal soul in cupped hands.
It’s soft, nearly insubstantial, and Hermes is holding it tight to his chest as he pulls out of his nosedive and shoots up past the Keres.
Enraged to have a meal stolen from them the Keres are after him now, and it’s all Hermes can do to keep out of their reach. They’re fast, but he’s much faster, and the scream in his mind has words now.
GET THEM GET THEM GET THEM
He’s not one to question his instincts, not when they’re screaming this clearly. He wheels back around, aiming for a group of dead soldiers left behind in Ares’ wake.
Holding out his hand he scoops up their souls, trying to be gentle as he shoots back up, nestling the souls like he would a baby.
There’s no consciousness to these little wisps of green, Hermes can tell that much. They’re newly born things, fragile yet full of energy. He lags in the air, wanting to grab more but not having enough arms for it.
Gently, ever so gently he puts them in his messenger bag. These are the most important packages he’s ever carried, and Hermes feels his heart swell with pride.
The moment is shattered by the screams of ferocious Keres, and adrenaline shoots through his system as he is now enemy number one.
They’re approaching at all sides, and Hermes does the only logical thing to him.
His wings all fold in on themselves and he plummets like an arrow to the ground.
At the last second he stops his fall, staying as close to the battlefield as he dares, snatching up souls before the greedy Kere can devour them.
He’s laughing now as he moves, he’s never felt so alive. The battle is stalling around him, and he looks up to see why.
Ares is staring at him, the ghost of a smile on his features that tells Hermes he’s quite pleased.
Hermes spins as he approaches Ares, sword dripping with mortal blood. A few mortals had actually managed to hit Ares, as evidenced by the droplets of gold on his skin.
“My kin, it seems like you have found a new calling.”
“I did!!” Hermes’ cheeks are flushed gold and he puts the rest of the souls in his bag, making sure they’re not crushed, “Thank you, Ares.”
Ares is taken aback by this, blinking owlishly before replying, “Of course.”
Hermes hears another screech behind him, but this time Ares moves faster, launching himself forward with a war cry.
He has a Keres skewered on the end of his sword before Hermes has turned around.
“Are you allowed to do that??” Hermes is shocked. It’s not a small trifle to kill another god, even if they are bloodthirsty terrors.
It was not the first time, nor will it be the last,” Ares growls, eyeing the Kere circling above.
Hermes knows they only have eyes for him, and his precious cargo.
“You should keep moving! They won’t leave until the battle is over!” Ares shouts at him and Hermes doesn’t need to be told twice.
Hermes never cared for sides, and he certainly doesn’t now, grabbing whatever mortal soul he can save from the ravenous Kere.
He can’t get all of them, and he feels a bit of a pang as he sees them sink their teeth into soft green light.
But he collects many, and each one he does feels like victory of the sweetest kind.
Ares is standing on the battlefield when it’s all over, watching as the wounded are treated and battle plans are reassessed. The side Ares has chosen won, as they often do.
Hermes hovers next to Ares, hugging his messenger bag close to him, but making sure not to squish it.
“What do I do now?? With the souls I mean,” Hermes’ eyes are just a touch wild, as is Ares’. Battles were exhilarating to both the half-brothers, it seemed.
“Master Thanatos shall be here soon, to collect those who succumb to their wounds after the battle, ask him then.”
Hermes nods many more times than necessary, looking down at the soft green glow in his bag.
Ares leads him into his tent, where he starts to rid himself of gorey armor and clean his blades.
“You’re looking a bit worse for wear yourself, my brother,” Ares pointed out, and Hermes jumps, looking down at himself.
It’s true, his normally pristine white chiton has green, brown and even dark red stains on it from flying so close to the ground, and his scarf had gotten wrapped around him.
He doesn’t want to put down the messenger bag, but he does make an effort to smooth back his hair and untangle his scarf. Not much he can do about the chiton for now.
“I must’ve gotten a bit overzealous,” Hermes admits sheepishly.
Ares laughed at that, a single bark cutting through the air, “Such is the nature of war.”
Suddenly, there’s a terrific Guh-Dong and Ares grins, flashing just a bit of teeth as the tent is flooded green and Death Incarnate is standing in front of them.
Thanatos is an imposing figure, hood still pulled up even though it is well into the evening, dressed in all black and wielding his scythe. Hermes wonders why he also has a sword at his side, but he knows better than to question Death.
“My lord,” Ares actually bows to Thanatos, and Hermes would too if he wasn’t still holding his bag. He dips his head in respect instead.
Thanatos nods in acknowledgement, “My disciple, I see your battle went well.”
“Yes, I was quite successful,” Ares looks to Hermes, who’s half frozen in awe, “My lord, I believe Hermes has something he’d like to bring to your attention.”
Thanatos turns golden eyes on Hermes and he snaps back to himself.
“Right, yes!” Hermes suddenly feels very small. Thanatos is ancient, much older than he is, and will be here long after he’s gone, ‘I… Well I’ve always had this urge, you see, a little itch at the back of my mind I can never shake, and I finally learned what that urge is saying.”
He finally opens the bag, the soft green glow illuminating Thanatos’ shocked face.
“I saved them from the Keres, Lord Thanatos, I just. Don’t know what to do from here,” Hermes admitted with a small laugh, “I’m very new to this, only figured it out a few hours ago in the middle of a battle.”
“You found your calling as a psychopomp?” Thanatos has his hand raised towards the souls, as if to caress them.
“It would seem like that, boss!”
Thanatos shakes himself out of his reverie, biting the inside of his cheek, “Do you know the way to the temple of the Styx?”
Hermes thinks for a half second, head tilted to the side, “Why yes I do, boss! Never had a reason to go down there though.”
“Now you do,” Thanatos nods to himself, “Deliver these souls to Charon, he will be waiting. We shall have to hash out the details with Lord Hades later.”
“Right on it!” Hermes puts back on his bag, “Is it safe to carry them in my bag?”
“For now that will be alright, in time you’ll learn how to keep souls you reap bound to you to hand off to Charon.”
“Thanks, Lord Thanatos!” Hermes is grinning again, “Thanks again too, bro!”
He doesn’t stick around for their answer, already speeding away to the Temple of Styx.
Hermes the psychopomp.
It was the perfect calling for him.