And you could have it all... my empire of dirt...
The edges were cracking. The anger was all right; the wrath was good. But behind it there was Something Else, grief too deep to plumb, which her subconscious had lost the ability to block. Her form disappeared from her riverbank, then fire-blossomed in front of Moros' Underworld home. She could tell her brother was not here. It didn't matter. He'd hear her... He always heard her.
"You never told me," she hissed at the great dark structure where Moros lurked most of the time. "How could you sit by and watch me and know what it did to me, all the while aware that it wasn't the end, that there was still more for her? For me? I could have been prepared, you could have let me know, you could have found a way to at least give me a hint, but this? This? After I finally laid my doomed daughter to rest, after finally accepting her death, this? Brother, I needed to know, I needed you. I needed you. And you WEREN'T THERE!!"
She wanted to keep on yelling at him, even if she couldn't feel his presence here. But now she couldn't avoid anymore; the bites of too many losses were eating her, even through the rage. They wanted to resurrect Amenomi. And then they wanted to destroy everything that Amenomi ever was. All because of Hades. And Moros had never warned her. Moros let this come to her without any warning. Without so much as a subtle hint. Somewhere ugly and raw inside her, a voice was whispering: "You were right to distrust, you were right to try to protect yourself, you were right, Styx, you were right." And being right felt. so. wrong. She viciously dashed streaks of liquid black away from her cheeks with the tips of her fingers, then stooped down and picked up a rock.
But hurling it as hard and as fast as possible did not relieve the pressure in her chest. Watching the stone hit the wall of Moros' temple did nothing, either. She scrabbled for more rage, mindblowing, gutwrenching, emotion-razing rage, and it was there, just there but it wasn't coming nearly fast enough to cancel out the Something Else. She tried again, and then again, throwing one sharp rock after the other and attempting to ignore the fact that her face was wet. Styx didn't sob, she didn't. She never did. But this was just too much. Too much by far. She needed.... needed... She didn't even know what she needed, but there was too much hurt, too much mistrust, too much everything inside her, and she didn't know how to get it out before it took her over and changed her into something she wasn't.
Home was where she had just quite literally ripped Amenomi out of her life forever. Her sanctuary was here, with Moros, but he wasn't here, and even if he was, she would only want to beat him and never stop. He betrayed her. He wounded her. He made her hurt even worse, when all he had to do was just tell her. She didn't know where to go where she could be alone and safe and---
--- No, she did know. The fires around her feet winked out. A moment later, she was gone completely from the Underworld.
On the mortal plane, there was a place the locals insisted was haunted by 'a raven-haired wraith who had only green flames for eyes.' Sometimes a caustic river ran down one particular slope in this place, a river that wasn't always there. One firefly night in May, a Judas Tree sprung up and grew with unnatural rapidity. The blossoms, when in season, were more vivid than was right. And this is where the sometimes-river terminated. No one dared to approach it. Sometimes the sound of keening over the branches of the bitter orange trees there would drown the sound of the wind. It was a place of safety to Styx. She found a strange sort of comfort there, the kind of comfort found in mortal graveyards for humans who mourned. And she was always, always alone there, with the dryad-ghost of love that she and Phobos created here.
The River came tonight down that slope with rapidity, the darkness of night cloaking its approach to Their Tree. But when Styx pulled her corpus from that water and stepped onto the winter-frosted grass, she was not alone. Not by a sight.
Humans. Humans! They dared to come here? They dared?! They were armed, torches, shotguns, pistols, even pitchforks... There was a holy man there, as well, resplendent in the robes of his office, clutching their holy book. At first, Styx believed them to be attacking Their Tree, but in the flaring light she realized their true target. A snake, so much larger than the last snake she'd seen, was twined within the hibernating branches. It was injured, perhaps badly, because it wasn't moving away from the blows that the humans were raining viciously upon it. She could see the blood smeared over the some of the branches of Their Tree, and under it, the unseasonal buds of Their Flower, but the swell of rage, utter and complete, drove any thought of it from her mind.
Some of them had seen Styx' unnatural entrance, and were withdrawing. She didn't care that they saw, here in this place reputed by the locals to be haunted. She only cared that they were here, violating this place with their presence, and she was going to make them pay. She was going to make them ALL pay. All of them. Now. Now. Now.
Without words, she struck. Wave after wave of visible black hatred rolled from her form, targeted for those encroachers who dared to come to her only place of solace. Brother turned against brother, priest against his flock, father against son. The blood was glorious. But it was not enough for Styx, no, it wasn't enough. She herself launched into the fray, finding the closest body and tearing, beating, biting, kicking, utter feral attacking. Someone was screaming out rage and pain and destruction, but Styx didn't realize who. She didn't pay much attention to it at all.
And then a sharp, heavy crash sounded behind her. Something hit her left shoulder and back, one great impact along with scattered smaller ones. It didn't hurt, not really, as the nerves in her shoulder shut down in shock, even before her form was sent spinning toward the trunk of The Tree. She landed hard on the earth under those stretching branches, face down and stunned. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what it was. The wavy blackness of her attacking Hatred had receded on impact, but as she rolled over and got herself up on her feet again, the pain kicked up in earnest and a different sort of blackness began its insidious descent. Her right hand went out and batted at it (her left hand wasn't obeying her), but the action didn't chase it away. She saw the Spaniards angry and closing in. But only through a slowly growing mist of gray.
"You never told me," she hissed at the great dark structure where Moros lurked most of the time. "How could you sit by and watch me and know what it did to me, all the while aware that it wasn't the end, that there was still more for her? For me? I could have been prepared, you could have let me know, you could have found a way to at least give me a hint, but this? This? After I finally laid my doomed daughter to rest, after finally accepting her death, this? Brother, I needed to know, I needed you. I needed you. And you WEREN'T THERE!!"
She wanted to keep on yelling at him, even if she couldn't feel his presence here. But now she couldn't avoid anymore; the bites of too many losses were eating her, even through the rage. They wanted to resurrect Amenomi. And then they wanted to destroy everything that Amenomi ever was. All because of Hades. And Moros had never warned her. Moros let this come to her without any warning. Without so much as a subtle hint. Somewhere ugly and raw inside her, a voice was whispering: "You were right to distrust, you were right to try to protect yourself, you were right, Styx, you were right." And being right felt. so. wrong. She viciously dashed streaks of liquid black away from her cheeks with the tips of her fingers, then stooped down and picked up a rock.
But hurling it as hard and as fast as possible did not relieve the pressure in her chest. Watching the stone hit the wall of Moros' temple did nothing, either. She scrabbled for more rage, mindblowing, gutwrenching, emotion-razing rage, and it was there, just there but it wasn't coming nearly fast enough to cancel out the Something Else. She tried again, and then again, throwing one sharp rock after the other and attempting to ignore the fact that her face was wet. Styx didn't sob, she didn't. She never did. But this was just too much. Too much by far. She needed.... needed... She didn't even know what she needed, but there was too much hurt, too much mistrust, too much everything inside her, and she didn't know how to get it out before it took her over and changed her into something she wasn't.
Home was where she had just quite literally ripped Amenomi out of her life forever. Her sanctuary was here, with Moros, but he wasn't here, and even if he was, she would only want to beat him and never stop. He betrayed her. He wounded her. He made her hurt even worse, when all he had to do was just tell her. She didn't know where to go where she could be alone and safe and---
--- No, she did know. The fires around her feet winked out. A moment later, she was gone completely from the Underworld.
On the mortal plane, there was a place the locals insisted was haunted by 'a raven-haired wraith who had only green flames for eyes.' Sometimes a caustic river ran down one particular slope in this place, a river that wasn't always there. One firefly night in May, a Judas Tree sprung up and grew with unnatural rapidity. The blossoms, when in season, were more vivid than was right. And this is where the sometimes-river terminated. No one dared to approach it. Sometimes the sound of keening over the branches of the bitter orange trees there would drown the sound of the wind. It was a place of safety to Styx. She found a strange sort of comfort there, the kind of comfort found in mortal graveyards for humans who mourned. And she was always, always alone there, with the dryad-ghost of love that she and Phobos created here.
The River came tonight down that slope with rapidity, the darkness of night cloaking its approach to Their Tree. But when Styx pulled her corpus from that water and stepped onto the winter-frosted grass, she was not alone. Not by a sight.
Humans. Humans! They dared to come here? They dared?! They were armed, torches, shotguns, pistols, even pitchforks... There was a holy man there, as well, resplendent in the robes of his office, clutching their holy book. At first, Styx believed them to be attacking Their Tree, but in the flaring light she realized their true target. A snake, so much larger than the last snake she'd seen, was twined within the hibernating branches. It was injured, perhaps badly, because it wasn't moving away from the blows that the humans were raining viciously upon it. She could see the blood smeared over the some of the branches of Their Tree, and under it, the unseasonal buds of Their Flower, but the swell of rage, utter and complete, drove any thought of it from her mind.
Some of them had seen Styx' unnatural entrance, and were withdrawing. She didn't care that they saw, here in this place reputed by the locals to be haunted. She only cared that they were here, violating this place with their presence, and she was going to make them pay. She was going to make them ALL pay. All of them. Now. Now. Now.
Without words, she struck. Wave after wave of visible black hatred rolled from her form, targeted for those encroachers who dared to come to her only place of solace. Brother turned against brother, priest against his flock, father against son. The blood was glorious. But it was not enough for Styx, no, it wasn't enough. She herself launched into the fray, finding the closest body and tearing, beating, biting, kicking, utter feral attacking. Someone was screaming out rage and pain and destruction, but Styx didn't realize who. She didn't pay much attention to it at all.
And then a sharp, heavy crash sounded behind her. Something hit her left shoulder and back, one great impact along with scattered smaller ones. It didn't hurt, not really, as the nerves in her shoulder shut down in shock, even before her form was sent spinning toward the trunk of The Tree. She landed hard on the earth under those stretching branches, face down and stunned. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what it was. The wavy blackness of her attacking Hatred had receded on impact, but as she rolled over and got herself up on her feet again, the pain kicked up in earnest and a different sort of blackness began its insidious descent. Her right hand went out and batted at it (her left hand wasn't obeying her), but the action didn't chase it away. She saw the Spaniards angry and closing in. But only through a slowly growing mist of gray.