Page 36 of The Trickster's Heart

In a flash of blinding light, Hermes readjusted his grip on his staff, flew backward, and swung the staff forward like a weapon of mass destruction. He hurled it through the air at Zeus.

Hermes screamed in anguish as his body moved of its own accord, thoughts of Hercules flashing through his mind as the staff collided with Zeus’s shoulder. A mighty cracking noise split the air and mixed with Zeus’s screams. When the light ebbed away, the throne had shattered into a thousand pieces, and Zeus was lying in the rubble, clutching his left side.

Hermes stood in the air above him, power crackling over his skin like flames. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, and he held onto his staff with a white-knuckle grip.

“Fuck yes!” Dionysus cheered, jumping to his feet. He looked up at Hermes with an utterly delighted expression.

“I’ve been waiting the better half of an eon to watch you do that.”

Hermes didn’t respond, his magic almost taking control of his thoughts and actions. Dionysus unsheathed his harpe again, walking towards Zeus while he flipped the blade in his hands like it was a toy.

“Hermes,” Dionysus prodded softly. “Hermes, snap out of it.” He looked up where Hermes was suspended in midair, staring down at Zeus as if he was still debating whether to crush the god’s skull.

“Hermes,” Dionysus pleaded again. “Hercules needs you.”

“What?” Hermes snapped out of his daze, some of the color returning to his eyes.

“Hercules.” Dionysus pointed towards the door. “I’ll handle the big guy here.” Dionysus kicked Zeus’s foot. “You go make sure that Hercules is okay.”

“Hercules,” Hermes was still in a daze of his own creation, but his face twisted in concern then softened as he looked towards the door.

“Go to him,” Dionysus demanded again, pointing towards the exit with his harpe. “Go.”

“You’ll handle him?” Hermes confirmed, looking back down at Zeus with nothing but contempt.

“Oh,” Dionysus purred, “I most certainly will.”

Dionysus slowly licked the scythe protrusion at the end of the sword, as if he was tasting the remnants of harvests past. He turned to Zeus, and his mouth curled in a smile.

“I know every barrel, every cup, every drop of wine that you have plied men and women with, gods and mortals alike, for your own heinous crimes,” Dionysus trailed the tip of the harpe up Zeus’s leg, grinning like a maniac, “and I think it’s time you paid your bill.”

Hermes vanished in the blink of an eye, hurtling through the heavens on his way to Hercules’s side. The sound of Dionysus’s laughter and Zeus’s screams followed him through the clouds.

* * *

Hermes went straight to Mycenae, scouring every road that led towards Eurystheus’s palace. Panic flooded him as he searched, terrified with every passing second that he would be too late. Finally—finally—Hermes spotted Cerberus, sitting on the side of a well-traveled road. Fear seized in Hermes’s chest as he realized that Cerberus was stamping his paws anxiously, looking to the left and right.

In front of the great hound was Hercules, crumpled in a heap on the ground.

“No, no, no,” Hermes cried, dropping like a fallen star to the earth. He plummeted from the skies, streaking light behind him, and he hit the dirt with such force, the ground shook. Cerberus whined in relieved acknowledgement of Hermes, trotting up to him and nosing at his chest. Hermes’s heart seized when Hercules barely acknowledged the interruption.

Hercules’s body was coated in a sheen of sweat; his face was pale, and his lips looked cracked and dry. His hair was matted against his forehead, and his breath was shaky, coming out in slow, wheezing pants.

As Hermes ran to Hercules, a dull, pinging sensation sparked to life inside him. He froze on the spot, suddenly terrified to pull Hercules into his arms. The wings on his sandals started moving of their own accord, trying to take Hermes to Hercules—and with a shattered cry, Hermes realized why.

His gifts as the psychopomp were taking over, and they were encouraging Hermes to take Hercules to the Underworld. Hermes never felt true, genuine fear until that moment. Everything in his life had been somewhat transient, and there were very few things that he was afraid of losing. When he looked at Hercules, barely conscious on the ground in front of him, it was as though an endless supply of terror cleaved his body in two.

He desperately searched the area for Thanatos, and when he didn’t see him, only then did Hermes allow himself to rush forward and drop to his knees.

“Herc,” Hermes whispered, moving over to him and pulling Hercules’s head in his lap. He brushed some of the curls off Hercules’s forehead, pressing his palm to the overheated skin and cursing.

“Hercules.” Hermes shook him a little more forcefully, and his eyes blinked open. His gaze was glassy and unfocused, but he managed to turn his head and look up at Hermes.

“Oh, Hermes.” Hercules sounded excited to see him, and it stabbed Hermes in the heart. “Are you taking me back down to the Underworld?”

Hercules didn’t seem scared; he was almost at peace, and that terrified Hermes even more.

“N-no,” Hermes hiccupped, tears slipping down his cheeks, “not yet, anyway, and I don’t ever intend to. Now, no, no… Look at me.” Hermes patted Hercules’s cheek as he started to nod off. “Stay focused. Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

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