Lament of the Asphodels - Chapter 36: That Final, Spitting Head
Title: That Final, Spitting Head, Chapter 36 of Lament of the Asphodels
Author dracox-serdriel
Artist: LiamJcnes
Word count: 2,700
Rating/Warnings: For rating and full warning, please see the primary post.
Note: Written as part of Captain Swan Big Bang 2016.
[see Chapter Notes]
Killian shouted until his voice went hoarse calling for Emma, even though he doubted anyone could hear him. The walls around him were crafted from the smoothest marble, with neither hole nor blemish, save for the beautifully hewn windows twenty feet up. Even if he had his hook, there was neither foothold nor knot with which to scale the height before him.
Exhausted, he surveyed the cavernous holding with wearier eyes, forcing himself to recognize this place for what it was: his tomb. He had been buried in a monument of sorts, laid to rest in a glass coffin much like the one that encased Snow White while she was under the thrall of the Sleeping Curse. Someone ignorant to Prince Charming's upbringing or Snow White's tumultuous survival as a bandit would mistakenly see this as an honorable but humble goodbye to a man beloved by their daughter. But he had known them, and their dedication and respect for his everlasting repose moved him deeply. They had provided fine stone and glass for his remembrance, and they dress him in garments befitting pirate and prince alike.
Though he, like any true sailor, hoped for a burial at sea, Emma's plan to restore him to this life required his body's preservation, lest his miraculous return come to a far-too-early end in some watery abyss as soon as he attempted to draw breath.
Killian felt a surge of gratitude toward Snow and Charming as he realized that they kept this monument to him until the day they died, waiting and hoping for her to return. His heart clenched at the thought, plagued by the guilt of costing two good people a lifetime with their beloved daughter. They never would've lost hope, but he knew even they must've hated him for his part in all this. After all, he was the reason their daughter was buried before them.
The pain doubled when he remembered Henry. She had missed his entire life toiling away in the Underworld to rescue him. How could the lad ever forgive him? How could she ever forgive him?
Memories of his time in Storybrooke flooded him, and though many filled him with gladness, they ebbed away with sorrow. Not that long ago, he could scarcely recollect his own brother, let alone those he befriended in Storybrooke. Yet now that his true history was his to review at his leisure, he wanted nothing more than to forget, even if only for a little while, for the memories were more bitter than sweet.
He collected himself by pacing. Emma had made her own choices, and self-loathing had no power to alter history. Charming and Snow were his friends, nigh his family, and they supported Emma's quest to save him, as did Henry. All he could do now was cherish the life he had with her. He owed it to her and every one of them besides.
Killian wondered why they had buried him without his hook. Charming had once told him that, in his kingdom's tradition, they laid warriors to rest with their weapons and often with things of great personal value, such as missives of love or a prized ring. Surely that meant he should have not only his hook but his cutlass and baubles as well.
Then he recalled a story Snow White told him. Her father had been buried with a crown of solid gold set with diamonds the size of chestnuts. At the funeral, it adorned his head, but before they interred him in the Royal Family's Mausoleum, they stowed it in a concealed compartment. Her family taught her it was to ensure those they loved entered the next life unburdened, but she admitted that she had always suspected it was really to deter grave robbers.
He inspected the glass coffin, but for obvious reasons, it offered little in the way of concealment. He turned to the rise upon which the casket rested. Like the room itself, it was solid and flawless marble for all the eye could see. But then again, if the eyes could see it, it would be a poor place to hide something. He closed his eyes and palmed the surface, gliding his fingers across every inch of its surface. Sure enough, touch found a notch that his eyes missed, and when he leaned his weight into it, a small click sounded.
His eyes opened as a drawer rolled out. It fit seamlessly into the top of the rise, its only visible points concealed by the casket that covered it. It held his brace, hook, and cutlass, as well as the fine leather jacket Emma had given to him as a gift. He pocketed the pouch that contained his rings and necklaces. The rest he donned.
When he had awoken, the rays of the sun had poured in from above, illuminating the entire space, but now they had begun to fade. He had done all he could to distract himself from the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, still buried with no means of escape. How long could he survive in this place without food or water?
And more importantly, where was Emma Swan?
It didn't feel right to perch upon his own coffin, so he sat in the corner and cast his eyes up at the windows, as if he might will them closer for staring. The only real entertainment he had was watching the shadow spread, their ever-changing patterns delightfully playful.
At least it was a beautiful way to pass the time.
He couldn't have been idle for more than half an hour before he heard a thunderous crash. He was on his feet in an instant, his heart pounding hard in his chest. The noise meant that anyone or anything could await him outside, but there was only one person who could make his heart race like this.
"Swan?" he called. "Swan!"
"Killian!"
Hearing her voice was like the sun on his face or the sweet tang of rum or even the lingering scent of the sea.
"Killian! Take cover!"
Glass shattered as Emma's foot collided with one of the windows. He stepped quickly to the other side of the room to avoid the cascade of shards. A makeshift rope ladder unfolded as it fell into the room.
His Swan was bloody brilliant.
Climbing was never an easy task with his hook, but nevertheless, he made short work of it. His leather jacket protected his arms and torso as he pulled himself over the rake of edged glass into the brisk dusk air. Seconds later, he felt hands brushing the clinging shards from his hair and back before they dropped to his hips and spun him around.
Hearing her voice was a blessing, but seeing her face was the salve that cured a thousand wounds. He crushed her body against his, so strong was his embrace. Then her lips were on his, and the world vanished but for him and her, flooded with moonlight and passion. It was more than enough to overshadow the fact that he had just climbed out of his own grave along with all the sorrows he had contemplated there.
Killian would've happily lounged in her arms forever, and no doubt he would have, had it not been for a strong but playful nudge at his shoulder. Their kiss broke apart, and Emma's head nestled against his chest as he turned to see none other than the glorious Pegasus, his wings and coat a brilliant white against the green and gray of the graveyard.
"Bloody hell, Old Boy," he mumbled. "I never thought I'd lay eyes on you again."
"He was my ride out," Emma explained, looking up at him with her cheek pressed against his jacket. "I remember asking the ferryman for a lift, and then... I was on the other side of the river, alone. I went looking for you and found him instead."
"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, the words escaping his lips before he had time to consider their weight. "Right at the end, love. I thought..."
"We made it," she said. "We're home."
"Aye, and it's nearly dark," he said. "Perhaps we should see what's become of Granny's since we last were here."
Emma's brow furrowed, but she said nothing.
"Swan?"
"I flew over Main Street to get here," she explained. "It was empty."
"Perhaps they were all at supper," he suggested. "Or perhaps there was some manner of social event. Or some evil sorcerer to battle."
"So, still Storybrooke?" Emma asked.
"Aye, love. Shall we?"
Pure, unbridled euphoria swept through Emma as Pegasus leaped into the air. She had worried that Hades had returned her while exploiting some loophole to keep Killian in the Underworld despite the many trials they had endured. She clutched at him to strengthen the reassurance that only his presence could bring, relishing the sensation of his heartbeat against her skin, the rhythm in perfect tandem with her own. It seemed unreal, holding on to him again in this realm, more so than flying through the clear night sky.
Though she wouldn't vocalize her doubts, a persistent nagging shadow lingered in the back of her mind. She had expected things to feel... different somehow. Emotions should feel more acute or tactile sensation, more real. But as it transpired, the Underworld was an impressive facsimile of this one, seeming as true and solid as a Land without Magic. For all she knew, Charon had ferried them to another part of the Underworld that was fashioned after Storybrooke to fool them into staying. How would they know the difference?
No. She didn't know how, but her heart told her that they were really and truly home. And no matter where they were, they were together.
Pegasus touched down with a clatter that echoed ever after, filling the eerily noiseless thoroughfare. Before, Emma had only glimpsed in passing, but even then she felt how empty it was. It was only now, as she stood among the buildings that once comprised her home, that she really saw it for what it was. Every window, eave, and door was boarded up as if a particularly potent hurricane lurked on the horizon. The only exception was Granny's, which at first glance appeared unmarred by time, though a more careful look revealed covered furniture and a fine line of dust. Out of habit, Emma grabbed the handle as if to open it. To her surprise, a ripple of power poured through her like a surge of electricity, a tiny spark that warned of a stronger, more dangerous surge to be provoked upon further contact.
She yanked her hand away. Someone had spelled the door shut, and she imagined whoever did also cast a shield of protection. Her natural reaction to her curiosity was to investigate further, but before she could reach out and touch the glass, Killian's hand was over her wrist, gently halting her.
"Love," he said, concern evident in his voice. "You pulled you hand away, as if burned."
She blinked several times trying to clear her mind. She had yanked her hand away because of the magic, but it hadn't hurt her. She turned her palm up as if to prove it, but instead she revealed inflamed skin that began to blister at the edges, as if seeing it and thinking it made it so.
The pain was so acute that she screamed, and her cry went on and on and on, unfading and uncurbed. He was suddenly all around her, as if trying to contain her agony and her wail, and she flinched away, stumbling backwards and crashing hard on her side, unable to break her fall because she was cradling her injured hand.
The ground jolted her back to her senses, so when Killian joined her seconds later, she didn't recoil from his support.
"Magic," she blurted, somewhere between a curse and an answer to his unasked question.
"Swan?"
"Protection spell," she added for good measure.
She turned away from the stinging in her hand, and the pain eased slowly, as if ignoring it speed her recovery. She took a steadying breath as she relaxed in Killian's arms, and she sank into his warmth and protection. She closed her eyes and let the feeling of safety wash over her, and their shared heart fluttered in response. They gasped at the mutual sensation, and her eyes snapped open in time to witness the pure elation on Killian's face, like he was standing at the prow of his ship in the fresh morning air. His eyes met hers, and his lips followed. It was like drinking that first draught of cool water after being stranded in the jungles of Neverland. She escalated it, using the kiss to tell him everything she couldn't find words for, so wrapped up in him that she didn't even feel it as her magic healed the wound on her hand and the bruise on her hip.
Killian pulled away and cupped her cheek, as if trying to examine her face for some sign that she was all right. She supported his hand with her own to reassure him. Then he helped her back to her feet.
Storybrooke was a ghost town, but it still felt like home.
"Perhaps we should find another place to lay our heads," he suggested.
"Yeah, it looks like someone boarded up everywhere else," she replied. "Hopefully they didn't spell every building, too."
She tugged his arm and, by virtue of habits that even the Underworld could not change, led him to her parent's loft. Luckily, the boards proved little hindrance to their entry. Even Pegasus slipped inside with ease, though the steed set off to a loft of his own on the other side of the building before Emma finished magicking the boards back in place, just in case there was something out there that needed to be kept out.
The interior was gray with dust, and she was surprised to find that the door to the apartment was open, though it felt like no one had been there in years. The loft itself was empty, save for the covered dining room table. It seemed smaller now without her parent's furniture or fancy, and she wondered what had become of them when she failed to return home.
Killian scrounged through the cabinets and produced a can of black beans so old the expiration date was faded beyond reading. He continued his search in the other apartments and discovered a few more cans and a box of saltines that had expired many years ago, but as far as Emma could tell, they were still good.
Meanwhile, she looked through anything that she could find in the loft, hoping to find a calendar or diary or anything that could tell her what year it was and what happened to her parents. She found nothing but a few grocery lists in her mom's handwriting, which she tucked into her jacket pocket, unwilling to part with them. It was all she could do to stop herself from sobbing over them.
Emma activated the stove. There was no electricity, so she had to used magic. But Killian managed to make them an oddly satisfying meal of beans and vegetables on saltines. Afterward, when they went looking for a place to sleep, they came across Emma's bed. It was odd, as her parent's bed and Henry's bed were both gone, so why was hers here? Had they kept the loft forever in the family name, awaiting her return? Or was the thought of returning to remove it too much for them?
She choked on the thought, but she didn't want Killian to see, so she busied herself with the linens she discovered stored under the frame. At least they'd have a proper bed to sleep in tonight. He assisted her with the sheets, but they were barely halfway through when a hideous, rumbling roar spilled out from high above them.
They abandoned the blissful domesticity and raced to the window to see a great beast in the sky with the leather wings of a bat. Its eyes glowed red the darkness, but they paled in comparison to the fireball that erupted from its mouth. The illumination lit up the creature's face, which was startlingly human, as well as its lion-like body.
"Bloody hell," Killian said.
"I guess we know why everybody left," Emma remarked.
<<< Previous:
Chapter 35: The Eleusinian Mysteries
Next: >>>
Chapter 37: An Elegy to the Erinyes
or, the Labors of Heracles
Artist: LiamJcnes
Primary Post: Lament of the Asphodels
Chapter Notes
The Greek hero Heracles was tasked with slaying the Lernaean Hydra, a many-headed dragon. Whenever he cut off one of the beast's heads, two more grew back in its place, but he soon discovered that searing the stump after decapitation prevented the creature from growing two more. Unfortunately, the Hydra had one immortal head that could never die, so after Heracles cleft it from the body, it still hissed and snapped at him. He buried it deep under a heavy rock to prevent it from harming anyone else.
Author dracox-serdriel
Artist: LiamJcnes
Word count: 2,700
Rating/Warnings: For rating and full warning, please see the primary post.
Note: Written as part of Captain Swan Big Bang 2016.
[see Chapter Notes]
Killian shouted until his voice went hoarse calling for Emma, even though he doubted anyone could hear him. The walls around him were crafted from the smoothest marble, with neither hole nor blemish, save for the beautifully hewn windows twenty feet up. Even if he had his hook, there was neither foothold nor knot with which to scale the height before him.
Exhausted, he surveyed the cavernous holding with wearier eyes, forcing himself to recognize this place for what it was: his tomb. He had been buried in a monument of sorts, laid to rest in a glass coffin much like the one that encased Snow White while she was under the thrall of the Sleeping Curse. Someone ignorant to Prince Charming's upbringing or Snow White's tumultuous survival as a bandit would mistakenly see this as an honorable but humble goodbye to a man beloved by their daughter. But he had known them, and their dedication and respect for his everlasting repose moved him deeply. They had provided fine stone and glass for his remembrance, and they dress him in garments befitting pirate and prince alike.
Though he, like any true sailor, hoped for a burial at sea, Emma's plan to restore him to this life required his body's preservation, lest his miraculous return come to a far-too-early end in some watery abyss as soon as he attempted to draw breath.
Killian felt a surge of gratitude toward Snow and Charming as he realized that they kept this monument to him until the day they died, waiting and hoping for her to return. His heart clenched at the thought, plagued by the guilt of costing two good people a lifetime with their beloved daughter. They never would've lost hope, but he knew even they must've hated him for his part in all this. After all, he was the reason their daughter was buried before them.
The pain doubled when he remembered Henry. She had missed his entire life toiling away in the Underworld to rescue him. How could the lad ever forgive him? How could she ever forgive him?
Memories of his time in Storybrooke flooded him, and though many filled him with gladness, they ebbed away with sorrow. Not that long ago, he could scarcely recollect his own brother, let alone those he befriended in Storybrooke. Yet now that his true history was his to review at his leisure, he wanted nothing more than to forget, even if only for a little while, for the memories were more bitter than sweet.
He collected himself by pacing. Emma had made her own choices, and self-loathing had no power to alter history. Charming and Snow were his friends, nigh his family, and they supported Emma's quest to save him, as did Henry. All he could do now was cherish the life he had with her. He owed it to her and every one of them besides.
Killian wondered why they had buried him without his hook. Charming had once told him that, in his kingdom's tradition, they laid warriors to rest with their weapons and often with things of great personal value, such as missives of love or a prized ring. Surely that meant he should have not only his hook but his cutlass and baubles as well.
Then he recalled a story Snow White told him. Her father had been buried with a crown of solid gold set with diamonds the size of chestnuts. At the funeral, it adorned his head, but before they interred him in the Royal Family's Mausoleum, they stowed it in a concealed compartment. Her family taught her it was to ensure those they loved entered the next life unburdened, but she admitted that she had always suspected it was really to deter grave robbers.
He inspected the glass coffin, but for obvious reasons, it offered little in the way of concealment. He turned to the rise upon which the casket rested. Like the room itself, it was solid and flawless marble for all the eye could see. But then again, if the eyes could see it, it would be a poor place to hide something. He closed his eyes and palmed the surface, gliding his fingers across every inch of its surface. Sure enough, touch found a notch that his eyes missed, and when he leaned his weight into it, a small click sounded.
His eyes opened as a drawer rolled out. It fit seamlessly into the top of the rise, its only visible points concealed by the casket that covered it. It held his brace, hook, and cutlass, as well as the fine leather jacket Emma had given to him as a gift. He pocketed the pouch that contained his rings and necklaces. The rest he donned.
When he had awoken, the rays of the sun had poured in from above, illuminating the entire space, but now they had begun to fade. He had done all he could to distract himself from the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, still buried with no means of escape. How long could he survive in this place without food or water?
And more importantly, where was Emma Swan?
It didn't feel right to perch upon his own coffin, so he sat in the corner and cast his eyes up at the windows, as if he might will them closer for staring. The only real entertainment he had was watching the shadow spread, their ever-changing patterns delightfully playful.
At least it was a beautiful way to pass the time.
He couldn't have been idle for more than half an hour before he heard a thunderous crash. He was on his feet in an instant, his heart pounding hard in his chest. The noise meant that anyone or anything could await him outside, but there was only one person who could make his heart race like this.
"Swan?" he called. "Swan!"
"Killian!"
Hearing her voice was like the sun on his face or the sweet tang of rum or even the lingering scent of the sea.
"Killian! Take cover!"
Glass shattered as Emma's foot collided with one of the windows. He stepped quickly to the other side of the room to avoid the cascade of shards. A makeshift rope ladder unfolded as it fell into the room.
His Swan was bloody brilliant.
Climbing was never an easy task with his hook, but nevertheless, he made short work of it. His leather jacket protected his arms and torso as he pulled himself over the rake of edged glass into the brisk dusk air. Seconds later, he felt hands brushing the clinging shards from his hair and back before they dropped to his hips and spun him around.
Hearing her voice was a blessing, but seeing her face was the salve that cured a thousand wounds. He crushed her body against his, so strong was his embrace. Then her lips were on his, and the world vanished but for him and her, flooded with moonlight and passion. It was more than enough to overshadow the fact that he had just climbed out of his own grave along with all the sorrows he had contemplated there.
Killian would've happily lounged in her arms forever, and no doubt he would have, had it not been for a strong but playful nudge at his shoulder. Their kiss broke apart, and Emma's head nestled against his chest as he turned to see none other than the glorious Pegasus, his wings and coat a brilliant white against the green and gray of the graveyard.
"Bloody hell, Old Boy," he mumbled. "I never thought I'd lay eyes on you again."
"He was my ride out," Emma explained, looking up at him with her cheek pressed against his jacket. "I remember asking the ferryman for a lift, and then... I was on the other side of the river, alone. I went looking for you and found him instead."
"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, the words escaping his lips before he had time to consider their weight. "Right at the end, love. I thought..."
"We made it," she said. "We're home."
"Aye, and it's nearly dark," he said. "Perhaps we should see what's become of Granny's since we last were here."
Emma's brow furrowed, but she said nothing.
"Swan?"
"I flew over Main Street to get here," she explained. "It was empty."
"Perhaps they were all at supper," he suggested. "Or perhaps there was some manner of social event. Or some evil sorcerer to battle."
"So, still Storybrooke?" Emma asked.
"Aye, love. Shall we?"
Pure, unbridled euphoria swept through Emma as Pegasus leaped into the air. She had worried that Hades had returned her while exploiting some loophole to keep Killian in the Underworld despite the many trials they had endured. She clutched at him to strengthen the reassurance that only his presence could bring, relishing the sensation of his heartbeat against her skin, the rhythm in perfect tandem with her own. It seemed unreal, holding on to him again in this realm, more so than flying through the clear night sky.
Though she wouldn't vocalize her doubts, a persistent nagging shadow lingered in the back of her mind. She had expected things to feel... different somehow. Emotions should feel more acute or tactile sensation, more real. But as it transpired, the Underworld was an impressive facsimile of this one, seeming as true and solid as a Land without Magic. For all she knew, Charon had ferried them to another part of the Underworld that was fashioned after Storybrooke to fool them into staying. How would they know the difference?
No. She didn't know how, but her heart told her that they were really and truly home. And no matter where they were, they were together.
Pegasus touched down with a clatter that echoed ever after, filling the eerily noiseless thoroughfare. Before, Emma had only glimpsed in passing, but even then she felt how empty it was. It was only now, as she stood among the buildings that once comprised her home, that she really saw it for what it was. Every window, eave, and door was boarded up as if a particularly potent hurricane lurked on the horizon. The only exception was Granny's, which at first glance appeared unmarred by time, though a more careful look revealed covered furniture and a fine line of dust. Out of habit, Emma grabbed the handle as if to open it. To her surprise, a ripple of power poured through her like a surge of electricity, a tiny spark that warned of a stronger, more dangerous surge to be provoked upon further contact.
She yanked her hand away. Someone had spelled the door shut, and she imagined whoever did also cast a shield of protection. Her natural reaction to her curiosity was to investigate further, but before she could reach out and touch the glass, Killian's hand was over her wrist, gently halting her.
"Love," he said, concern evident in his voice. "You pulled you hand away, as if burned."
She blinked several times trying to clear her mind. She had yanked her hand away because of the magic, but it hadn't hurt her. She turned her palm up as if to prove it, but instead she revealed inflamed skin that began to blister at the edges, as if seeing it and thinking it made it so.
The pain was so acute that she screamed, and her cry went on and on and on, unfading and uncurbed. He was suddenly all around her, as if trying to contain her agony and her wail, and she flinched away, stumbling backwards and crashing hard on her side, unable to break her fall because she was cradling her injured hand.
The ground jolted her back to her senses, so when Killian joined her seconds later, she didn't recoil from his support.
"Magic," she blurted, somewhere between a curse and an answer to his unasked question.
"Swan?"
"Protection spell," she added for good measure.
She turned away from the stinging in her hand, and the pain eased slowly, as if ignoring it speed her recovery. She took a steadying breath as she relaxed in Killian's arms, and she sank into his warmth and protection. She closed her eyes and let the feeling of safety wash over her, and their shared heart fluttered in response. They gasped at the mutual sensation, and her eyes snapped open in time to witness the pure elation on Killian's face, like he was standing at the prow of his ship in the fresh morning air. His eyes met hers, and his lips followed. It was like drinking that first draught of cool water after being stranded in the jungles of Neverland. She escalated it, using the kiss to tell him everything she couldn't find words for, so wrapped up in him that she didn't even feel it as her magic healed the wound on her hand and the bruise on her hip.
Killian pulled away and cupped her cheek, as if trying to examine her face for some sign that she was all right. She supported his hand with her own to reassure him. Then he helped her back to her feet.
Storybrooke was a ghost town, but it still felt like home.
"Perhaps we should find another place to lay our heads," he suggested.
"Yeah, it looks like someone boarded up everywhere else," she replied. "Hopefully they didn't spell every building, too."
She tugged his arm and, by virtue of habits that even the Underworld could not change, led him to her parent's loft. Luckily, the boards proved little hindrance to their entry. Even Pegasus slipped inside with ease, though the steed set off to a loft of his own on the other side of the building before Emma finished magicking the boards back in place, just in case there was something out there that needed to be kept out.
The interior was gray with dust, and she was surprised to find that the door to the apartment was open, though it felt like no one had been there in years. The loft itself was empty, save for the covered dining room table. It seemed smaller now without her parent's furniture or fancy, and she wondered what had become of them when she failed to return home.
Killian scrounged through the cabinets and produced a can of black beans so old the expiration date was faded beyond reading. He continued his search in the other apartments and discovered a few more cans and a box of saltines that had expired many years ago, but as far as Emma could tell, they were still good.
Meanwhile, she looked through anything that she could find in the loft, hoping to find a calendar or diary or anything that could tell her what year it was and what happened to her parents. She found nothing but a few grocery lists in her mom's handwriting, which she tucked into her jacket pocket, unwilling to part with them. It was all she could do to stop herself from sobbing over them.
Emma activated the stove. There was no electricity, so she had to used magic. But Killian managed to make them an oddly satisfying meal of beans and vegetables on saltines. Afterward, when they went looking for a place to sleep, they came across Emma's bed. It was odd, as her parent's bed and Henry's bed were both gone, so why was hers here? Had they kept the loft forever in the family name, awaiting her return? Or was the thought of returning to remove it too much for them?
She choked on the thought, but she didn't want Killian to see, so she busied herself with the linens she discovered stored under the frame. At least they'd have a proper bed to sleep in tonight. He assisted her with the sheets, but they were barely halfway through when a hideous, rumbling roar spilled out from high above them.
They abandoned the blissful domesticity and raced to the window to see a great beast in the sky with the leather wings of a bat. Its eyes glowed red the darkness, but they paled in comparison to the fireball that erupted from its mouth. The illumination lit up the creature's face, which was startlingly human, as well as its lion-like body.
"Bloody hell," Killian said.
"I guess we know why everybody left," Emma remarked.
<<< Previous:
Chapter 35: The Eleusinian Mysteries
Next: >>>
Chapter 37: An Elegy to the Erinyes
or, the Labors of Heracles
Artist: LiamJcnes
Primary Post: Lament of the Asphodels
Chapter Notes
The Greek hero Heracles was tasked with slaying the Lernaean Hydra, a many-headed dragon. Whenever he cut off one of the beast's heads, two more grew back in its place, but he soon discovered that searing the stump after decapitation prevented the creature from growing two more. Unfortunately, the Hydra had one immortal head that could never die, so after Heracles cleft it from the body, it still hissed and snapped at him. He buried it deep under a heavy rock to prevent it from harming anyone else.