Chapter Text
Prometheus lounged on a lonely hillside in Limbo. Absentmindedly, he fiddled with a tuft of grass, rolling it around between his fingers. Hell was, for once, quiet. The shades had been doing much with their newfound freedom, but had (largely) been staying in line. Several had been eager to show him their new orchard, and Prometheus was enjoying the rest of his lazy morning before he had to get back to work.
Which of course meant it was the perfect morning to be ruined.
“So I was poking around in the library….” Sisyphus started, as he crunched into an apple.
Prometheus groaned. If this was how Sisyphus was choosing to start the conversation, it was going be a long, long day. “What did you do?” he asked.
“Do? Nothing,” Sisyphus said with a grin. “But I found something. Look: a guide on Greek mythology!”
From over his shoulder, Prometheus could see a thin, brightly colored book in the shade’s hands. It looked, for all the world, like Sisyphus had brought him a children’s book. Prometheus blinked, then sat up. “What… why would you go looking for that of all things? You lived it. We lived it. Give it to one of the modern shades or something.”
“No but see, it had some great passages on some underrated gods and things-”
“Underrated?! THINGS?!! I am not a thing!”
“-and, to boot, it said this silly titan of foresight, or something, was the ‘father of humanity’.” Sisyphus’ grin grew larger, “So does that mean I have to call you ‘daddy’ now?”
“I…” Prometheus said as he stood up, face slowly turning red, his fists curling reflexively.
Sisyphus bit into his apple again, then tossed the core over his shoulder. It rolled down the hill, out of sight of the two shades.
“I am going to kill you. Slowly.” Prometheus said.
“Gonna take my liver out first?” Sisyphus retorted.
“Oh, fuck you!” Prometheus drew one of his axes and swung it in one smooth motion. With a laugh, the shorter man ducked out of way of the blade, the air humming as it passed over his head. Prometheus leveled slash after slash, growing angrier with every miss.
“You’d think with your powers of foresight you’d be able to see where I’m going,” Sisyphus taunted.
“Yeah? Dodge this,” Prometheus outstretched his hand. A bead of fire coalesced, then shot forward and rammed into the former king. Sisyphus flew backwards, tripping over his own feet before slamming into a tree.
Prometheus approached slowly, axe outstretched before him, “Done now, shade?”
It took a few seconds for Sisyphus to come back to himself, eyes blinking through the dizziness and pain. Still grinning, he said, “Yeah, you sure got me. Hah. Bet that felt good.”
Prometheus’ sense of satisfaction faded in an instant, replaced with a cold, uncomfortable guilt. He lowered his weapon, then sheathed it a moment later. “What do you want, Sisyphus?” He held out his hand to help the other man up.
Sisyphus took it and rose, still a little unsteady, to his feet. “Minos called a meeting,” he said. “He said something about it being urgent, and all shades and angels were supposed to return to the Hall of Judgment immediately.”
“What?” Prometheus said, alarmed. “The distortions have been quiet lately. Did they surge? Some new manifestation appearing?”
“No. Something about the Machiadynes,” Sisyphus said, looking hesitantly at Prometheus, “and something about a vault.”
All color drained out of Prometheus’ face. “We need to get to the Hall now.”
The halls of Limbo had been loud lately, buzzing with the unusual hum of shades living out their new lives. Every day, it seemed, a chosen few were released on special orders from the trio of administrators, recruited into their cause of returning order to Hell and freeing the denizens from the terror of the manifestations. Today though, as Prometheus pushed his way through the crowd, the old, heavy silence had returned, settling over the gathered souls like a shroud. Above him, ever stoic, the assembled host of angels the administrators had cobbled together watched on.
Minos sat above all but his angelic right-hands, dressed in his regalia of office and seated as his throne as Judge. Behind him stood Zade and Urielle, two of the angels who, in Prometheus’ opinion, had the worst view of the shades. Zade in particular looked tense, one hand curling and opening reflexively, as if he wanted to grab for his sword. Though Prometheus had long, long since been judged (and had made friends with the Judge himself), the effect was disconcerting to say the least.
Briefly, the two administrators made eye contact. With a dip of his head, Minos invited the titan up onto the dais with him. As he walked up the steps, Prometheus noted that Scylla was nowhere to be seen. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat at the observation.
“I’m glad to see you here,” Minos said to Prometheus once he reached the Judge. “I was worried something had happened to you.”
“Happened to me? Nothing can touch me, Minos,” Prometheus said. “But what is going on? A vault? Which one? No one even knows where they are.”
“Someone did,” Minos said.
“And someone is going to pay for it,” Zade interjected.
Prometheus shot a dark look to the angel. Zade turned his head to the titan, face hidden behind his mask, but Prometheus couldn’t help but think the angel was trying to challenge him.
“This conversation is between me and the Judge. If you have an issue, I can discuss it with you, later,” Prometheus said. Zade’s fingers twitched, hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword.
“Zade,” Urielle cut in, “let’s get into position. Please. No more good can come of this now.”
Minos nodded to the angels in agreement, and the two administrators watched as the pair took off into the air. They came to rest high above the crowd, drawing the attention of more than a few shades. As Prometheus looked over the edge of the dais, his eyes were drawn to the shade he came with, tucked into a corner and yet still surrounded by other souls. Despite the commotion, Sisyphus was still looking at him, eyes guarded and face unreadable. For some reason, it made Prometheus’ skin crawl.
“Why them Minos? Their aggression could so easily be their undoing,” Prometheus said, turning back to the other administrator.
“I could say the same of you, my friend,” Minos replied, with a glint in his eye. Prometheus figured he might even have gotten a smile, had the circumstances been less grave.
“Seriously though, what happened? Which vault?” Prometheus asked.
With a sigh, Minos said, “The one off of Violence. The Cthonian.”
Prometheus paled, “That’s impossible. That vault is buried. Beyond buried even. Nothing could even get there, let alone get in.” After a moment, he added, “or, Hells, get out.”
Minos grimaced, “Believe me, I would’ve agreed with you yesterday. But I saw it myself, after the old warning wards began to ring. It seems they were the only defenses the thief didn’t disassemble… or destroy.”
“What was taken? Any of the weapons?” Prometheus asked, concern rising.
“None of those, thankfully. Though, in retrospect, I don’t know if the thief thought half of them were weapons.”
“True enough. Nyx’s cloak, at the very least, no one would think to take. I’m glad none of the others got out either,” Prometheus shudders, the memory of those arms rising unbidden.
“Plus, you know how their nature works: they adapt to their wielder. And if they weren’t meant to be wielded by that soul….” Minos sighed, “Still, we are left with more than enough work now.”
“And Scylla?”
“Scylla and I have already talked," Minos answered. "She’s going to focus on the manifestations for the time. I was hoping you’d be willing to divert your attention to this matter for a while?”
“Whatever you need,” Prometheus answered.
Minos nodded. Another angel drifted over to the dais, “They’re all here sirs.”
“Good,” Minos said, “Close the doors.” With a heavy thud, the entrances to the chamber were sealed, and pairs of angels took up defensive positions around the room. Many of the shades jumped at the noise, and even moreso by the posturing from their angelic counterparts. Immediately, arguments and shouts started to echo in the chamber, and Prometheus saw more than one spell begin to be cast.
Sisyphus, Prometheus also noticed, stood up a little straighter, but still didn’t take his eyes off the titan.
Minos stood, his regalia settling around him. He raised his hand, asking for silence. It took a few moments, but begrudgingly, the shades and the angels settled down.
“Souls. Angels. Thank you for gathering today,” He started. “We, the administrators of Hell and our direct agents, have discovered a crime we believe perpetrated by one of the shades present here today.”
Minos took a heavy breath as the clamor started again. “Please,” he shouted, and then continued as the room quieted down again, “Please. Let me finish.”
“By now, you all should have heard of the Machiadynes: of the overthrow of one pantheon for another, and the consequential reorganization of the afterlives in response. The last of these, the Great Machiadyne, saw the end of the Greco-Roman pantheon and their replacement by God and his angels. It saw our modern organization of Heaven and Hell.”
Minos pauses. The words settle heavily over the crowd, as Prometheus figured they would. Some of the shades look shocked. Others, Prometheus notices, seem lost in their own memories. He doesn’t fault them for it; he has lived through three Machiadynes, and the horror and pain of each is etched in his brain.
Minos continues, “However, after each Machiadyne some relics of the past order remain. In his wisdom, God and his angels thought it best to hide those relics, but cut off from any soul or divinity that might wish to exploit them. They placed the relics into hidden, labyrinthian vaults, and then hid the vaults past the ordered edges of Hell and Heaven, anchored such that those pocket realms would never drift away.”
“By all intents, methods, and means, those vaults are entirely inaccessible.”
“However, yesterday one of those vaults was broken in to, and one of the relics within was taken: the relic of Eris, the Apple of Discord.”
The noise from the crowd surged again, bolstered by this revelation. Prometheus could barely hear snippets of their conversations, and he didn’t like where it was going: accusations of irresponsibility, of the angels being unable to protect the shades, of Heaven accusing an innocent for this crime. The angels didn’t like it either, and Prometheus watched as they, almost instinctual, began to fall into battle lines.
Visions of possible futures flitted over the titan's eyes. Portents of violence danced in front of him, of carnage in the hall. He gripped the dais’ banister, preparing himself for combat.
With a ringing bang, Minos slammed his gavel onto his desk. Nearly every shade gathered had heard that exact noise, and every shade gathered knew what it meant.
“Silence in the hall!” Minos roared, “Angels, back to your positions. Shades! Shades, calm yourselves. Please. I have not yet passed judgment. And you all deserve to know what is happening.”
The shades lowered their volume to a low murmur. Minos seemed to have regained control of the room, if only just.
The Judge continued, “The Apple has the ability to incite chaos and violence wherever it ends up. Eris once used it to ignite the Trojan War, and ever since its one and only use it has been banned from ever being used again. Were its power to be activated today, it would undoubtedly bring ruin and carnage to Hell or Heaven.”
“We do not know why a soul has taken such a relic. We do not know what they intend to use it for. But I, and the angels, are in consensus. Only a soul freed from their judgment could enact such a plan, and only one who has lived through the Great Machiadyne could possibly have knowledge of the vaults. And of those gathered today, the freed shades, only one has the means, knowledge, and character to enact such a plan.”
All futures coalesced into one in front of Prometheus eyes in an instant, giving him only a few seconds of forewarning. He groaned in spite of himself.
“Angels,” Minos ruled, slamming his gavel down again, “Seize Sisyphus, King of Ephyra.”