Vengeance is a Dish [Greek myth AU, Zagreus + Jason, PG-13]
Title: Vengeance is a Dish
Fandom: Greek Myth AU
Characters: Jason, Zagreus, Demeter, Zeus, Kore, Hera, Melinoe, Aphrodite, Hades, Apollo
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for Hearts_blood for the prompt "Demon Tongue." I wrote this to be a little bit disturbing; maybe it'll deliver!
Summary: The halls of the dead are cold and dark and the floor feels like ice as he takes a horrified step into the black.
The halls of the dead are cold and dark and the floor feels like ice as he takes a horrified step into the black.
He did not expect to end up here.
He was a hero, a brave man who helped the world and was damned handsome about it. He should be in Elysium, supping on nectar and winding pretty nymphs around his attractive fingers. He should get rewards, he should receive love.
He should not be standing in a darkened palace. The scaled usurper perched before him on a cold throne.
“What is the meaning of this?” He snaps.
…And finds that the usurper is perched before him on a cold throne with a cold glance. One that strikes him to the bones and almost peels back his skin. He staggers back from it; barely resists the urge to put his hands to his stomach and repress the festering wound that he’s sure lurks there.
But there’s nothing, “where’s the whore?”
And so he must sneer, as the scaled usurper tilts a freezing head at him, “isn’t she usually with you? I demand to see her!”
When the usurper speaks it is like a hiss, “you have no right to demand anything, Jason.”
Like a slap, harsh across his face and sending him tumbling another few steps back.
He regains himself halfway across the room; stalks forwards with the haughty grace that has always attended him, “I am a hero; I have committed glorious acts many times and-“
…Until now, as the usurper tilts his head again and he suddenly feels like a shuddering child before an angry snake, “the old gods committed glorious acts in their youth; do you know that?”
Yes.
“All of them, in the first glorious war and just after,” the usurper muses as the cold fact scrapes another imagined wound, “Zeus freed his siblings, Poseidon tamed the ferocious gods of the sea, Hera established her rule over the titanesses, Aphrodite bred love, Apollo created music…”
But-
“But,” the usurper nods coolly, as Jason presses his hands harder against the phantom of his wound, “Zeus turned to selfishness, Poseidon became a drunkard, Hera was consumed by jealousy, Aphrodite learned cruelty, Apollo withdrew into selfishness… And they all hurt so many folk.”
His eyes redirect to Jason; who cannot help the gulp sticking in his throat like a stone.
“You have hurt so many folk.”
No… He has to nod.
“You are just like them,” the usurper muses, scales sliding over his face as he sits all the higher and studies his prey like a snake would study a trapped rat “…And we punished them for being just like you.”
No.
“Punished them, with their worst fears.”
No.
“Would you like to see their fears before you are trapped yourself, Jason?”
No-
--
Zeus is strapped to the coldest cliff in the underworld. He is naked and his hair has been allowed to grow long. His face is a mask of pain and blood speckles his bare belly and offered testicles. He looks like a sacrifice, chained to a rock like so many maidens were before.
“Under the reign of Zeus no maidens were allowed to live in peace,” a voice whispers; ringing faintly of summer in his ears, “many were forced to do things they had no wish to; the lucky ones were those who escaped with only a jeering comment upon their appearance.”
There is a flutter of feathers. A look up confirms it: an eagle floating high in the dark sky.
“He ruined many, many lives.”
Closer, closer…
“And you idolized him for it.”
He looks away, looks away as swiftly as the eagle lands on Zeus’ stomach and twists around with its cruel beak…
--
And stumbles; landing with his knees scraping the ground and Zeus’ castration screams still echoing in his ears. He claps his hands over them, but still it echoes! Spiralling down and down into his brain in this ever so cold place.
“We could treat you to that, Jason,” the usurper muses, still cool upon his throne, “an eternity chained to a rock; your precious testicles collected every day by a just eagle…”
He heaves in a breath… “Fuck you.”
“I will take that as a no,” the usurper doesn’t even twitch, scales still calm even as Jason feels a frost settle into his bones, “we must show you another, then.”
No-
--
Hera is tethered to a wall in the lowest depths of the underworld. The chains around her wrists are dark and never-breaking. The chains around her ankles are caked with blood. Her once perfect skin is now beastly; furred and wrinkled and warped by hatred.
He looks for a trace of the patroness he once knew so well.
…He finds no such trace.
“We did not do much to Hera, our once bitter queen,” a soft voice muses, carrying the regal tones of spring as he listens to the grunts of a beast bounce off the walls, “she was already eaten by jealousy; already consumed by hatred…”
He frowns.
“We simply took away her powers of preservation,” watches, and knows that the sentence is just as brutally red eyes fix upon him, “and allowed the true Hera to emerge.”
He looks away, from such dreadful bondage…
--
Finds himself coiled into a shuddering ball upon the cold underworld floor. His nails digging ugly grooves into the palms of his hands. His body still shaking, juddering across the floor.
Eventually he manages to calm it, manages to look up at the usurper on his terrifying throne…
“Fuck you.”
“You’ve already said that,” the usurper hisses softly, eyes glinting faintly in the cold light, “perhaps you want another.”
No-
--
Poseidon is chained to a table. The atmosphere around him is oppressive and dry, crushing the lungs even as it dries the throat. A lean closer reveals a pack of cards, endlessly shuffled in the old god’s hands. He does not look up at the proximity.
“This man once sought to make me his unwilling mistress,” a calm voice states, as he watches the endless shuffle of the clicking cards, “he was not willing to wait, he was not willing to try to seduce me as a equal. He simply wished to take and take and laugh when his frothing belly was full.”
The man keeps shuffling, his beard almost tangled to the floor.
“This man once cheated my father out of the heavens and earth,” the calm voice continues, as he tilts his head in fascination, “tossed aside an earlier chance at peace for his own greed and drunken obsessions.”
There is no water on the table.
“He learned for them.”
There is nothing, nothing, pleasurable on the table for a former god.
“And you will learn too.”
He looks away, the soft counting of the constant cards ringing in his ears…
--
Ringing, as he heaves on the floor and clings with his fingertips. He half feels as if he is barely there, barely sticking onto the world that he once knew through the terror that now eats him alive. The fall that now threateningly lurks at the corner of his eyes.
“Another?” The cold voice asks from far away.
No, he thinks queasily.
No-
--
Aphrodite is barely seen at first, you have to peer into the circle of mirrors before you can spot her. Kneeling in the middle of them, coiled into herself like she just wishes to fade away and not have to face the things that lurk.
“This woman once thought herself the most beautiful in all the land.”
If you look closer, past her undeniable beauty, you can see something else. If you search closer, past the nightmares that lurk in this narrating horror, you can catch a flash out of the corner of your eye.
“But, in truth, she was cruel and selfish. Always wanting the world to dance to her whims and throwing a fit when it didn’t.”
A flash of something dark; something coiled and nightmarish in the reflection.
“She hid it behind her beauty.”
A flash of a monster.
“She can no longer hide,” a pause, as the lurking beast uncoils itself and bares its teeth to the left of his mind, “you can no longer hide.”
He looks away, looks away from the rearing nightmare of truth…
--
His nails draw reluctant blood.
“Another?”
No-
--
Apollo is a tree. He sits in a field in the middle of the underworld and no nymphs frequent his bark. His leaves are green. His body is firm. His roots hit the ground like some powerful, handsome drill…
“This man turned many nymphs into creatures,” a solemn, kingly voice intones.
But it does not change a vital fact.
“Tried to trap my son into a far worse form.”
He is a tree.
“He was appropriately punished for it.”
It is a living nightmare.
“It was his worst nightmare.”
He turns away; to gather his thoughts before utter, lurking insanity can grasp with scarred claws…
--
“We are not merciful to those who will not learn, nor to those who will never learn.”
It is cold here.
“We are not merciful to those who hurt us.”
It is dark here.
“We have shown them their worst nightmares; played out in eternal form…”
He is not sure if he should be scared.
“We shall show you your worst nightmare, played out in eternal form.”
He is not sure if he remembers.
“Goodbye, Jason.”
The halls of the dead are cold and dark; but the floors slowly warm as he rises to his insubstantial feet and drifts away to a land of such forgetfulness…
He is not sure if he remembers his name.
Fandom: Greek Myth AU
Characters: Jason, Zagreus, Demeter, Zeus, Kore, Hera, Melinoe, Aphrodite, Hades, Apollo
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for Hearts_blood for the prompt "Demon Tongue." I wrote this to be a little bit disturbing; maybe it'll deliver!
Summary: The halls of the dead are cold and dark and the floor feels like ice as he takes a horrified step into the black.
The halls of the dead are cold and dark and the floor feels like ice as he takes a horrified step into the black.
He did not expect to end up here.
He was a hero, a brave man who helped the world and was damned handsome about it. He should be in Elysium, supping on nectar and winding pretty nymphs around his attractive fingers. He should get rewards, he should receive love.
He should not be standing in a darkened palace. The scaled usurper perched before him on a cold throne.
“What is the meaning of this?” He snaps.
…And finds that the usurper is perched before him on a cold throne with a cold glance. One that strikes him to the bones and almost peels back his skin. He staggers back from it; barely resists the urge to put his hands to his stomach and repress the festering wound that he’s sure lurks there.
But there’s nothing, “where’s the whore?”
And so he must sneer, as the scaled usurper tilts a freezing head at him, “isn’t she usually with you? I demand to see her!”
When the usurper speaks it is like a hiss, “you have no right to demand anything, Jason.”
Like a slap, harsh across his face and sending him tumbling another few steps back.
He regains himself halfway across the room; stalks forwards with the haughty grace that has always attended him, “I am a hero; I have committed glorious acts many times and-“
…Until now, as the usurper tilts his head again and he suddenly feels like a shuddering child before an angry snake, “the old gods committed glorious acts in their youth; do you know that?”
Yes.
“All of them, in the first glorious war and just after,” the usurper muses as the cold fact scrapes another imagined wound, “Zeus freed his siblings, Poseidon tamed the ferocious gods of the sea, Hera established her rule over the titanesses, Aphrodite bred love, Apollo created music…”
But-
“But,” the usurper nods coolly, as Jason presses his hands harder against the phantom of his wound, “Zeus turned to selfishness, Poseidon became a drunkard, Hera was consumed by jealousy, Aphrodite learned cruelty, Apollo withdrew into selfishness… And they all hurt so many folk.”
His eyes redirect to Jason; who cannot help the gulp sticking in his throat like a stone.
“You have hurt so many folk.”
No… He has to nod.
“You are just like them,” the usurper muses, scales sliding over his face as he sits all the higher and studies his prey like a snake would study a trapped rat “…And we punished them for being just like you.”
No.
“Punished them, with their worst fears.”
No.
“Would you like to see their fears before you are trapped yourself, Jason?”
No-
--
Zeus is strapped to the coldest cliff in the underworld. He is naked and his hair has been allowed to grow long. His face is a mask of pain and blood speckles his bare belly and offered testicles. He looks like a sacrifice, chained to a rock like so many maidens were before.
“Under the reign of Zeus no maidens were allowed to live in peace,” a voice whispers; ringing faintly of summer in his ears, “many were forced to do things they had no wish to; the lucky ones were those who escaped with only a jeering comment upon their appearance.”
There is a flutter of feathers. A look up confirms it: an eagle floating high in the dark sky.
“He ruined many, many lives.”
Closer, closer…
“And you idolized him for it.”
He looks away, looks away as swiftly as the eagle lands on Zeus’ stomach and twists around with its cruel beak…
--
And stumbles; landing with his knees scraping the ground and Zeus’ castration screams still echoing in his ears. He claps his hands over them, but still it echoes! Spiralling down and down into his brain in this ever so cold place.
“We could treat you to that, Jason,” the usurper muses, still cool upon his throne, “an eternity chained to a rock; your precious testicles collected every day by a just eagle…”
He heaves in a breath… “Fuck you.”
“I will take that as a no,” the usurper doesn’t even twitch, scales still calm even as Jason feels a frost settle into his bones, “we must show you another, then.”
No-
--
Hera is tethered to a wall in the lowest depths of the underworld. The chains around her wrists are dark and never-breaking. The chains around her ankles are caked with blood. Her once perfect skin is now beastly; furred and wrinkled and warped by hatred.
He looks for a trace of the patroness he once knew so well.
…He finds no such trace.
“We did not do much to Hera, our once bitter queen,” a soft voice muses, carrying the regal tones of spring as he listens to the grunts of a beast bounce off the walls, “she was already eaten by jealousy; already consumed by hatred…”
He frowns.
“We simply took away her powers of preservation,” watches, and knows that the sentence is just as brutally red eyes fix upon him, “and allowed the true Hera to emerge.”
He looks away, from such dreadful bondage…
--
Finds himself coiled into a shuddering ball upon the cold underworld floor. His nails digging ugly grooves into the palms of his hands. His body still shaking, juddering across the floor.
Eventually he manages to calm it, manages to look up at the usurper on his terrifying throne…
“Fuck you.”
“You’ve already said that,” the usurper hisses softly, eyes glinting faintly in the cold light, “perhaps you want another.”
No-
--
Poseidon is chained to a table. The atmosphere around him is oppressive and dry, crushing the lungs even as it dries the throat. A lean closer reveals a pack of cards, endlessly shuffled in the old god’s hands. He does not look up at the proximity.
“This man once sought to make me his unwilling mistress,” a calm voice states, as he watches the endless shuffle of the clicking cards, “he was not willing to wait, he was not willing to try to seduce me as a equal. He simply wished to take and take and laugh when his frothing belly was full.”
The man keeps shuffling, his beard almost tangled to the floor.
“This man once cheated my father out of the heavens and earth,” the calm voice continues, as he tilts his head in fascination, “tossed aside an earlier chance at peace for his own greed and drunken obsessions.”
There is no water on the table.
“He learned for them.”
There is nothing, nothing, pleasurable on the table for a former god.
“And you will learn too.”
He looks away, the soft counting of the constant cards ringing in his ears…
--
Ringing, as he heaves on the floor and clings with his fingertips. He half feels as if he is barely there, barely sticking onto the world that he once knew through the terror that now eats him alive. The fall that now threateningly lurks at the corner of his eyes.
“Another?” The cold voice asks from far away.
No, he thinks queasily.
No-
--
Aphrodite is barely seen at first, you have to peer into the circle of mirrors before you can spot her. Kneeling in the middle of them, coiled into herself like she just wishes to fade away and not have to face the things that lurk.
“This woman once thought herself the most beautiful in all the land.”
If you look closer, past her undeniable beauty, you can see something else. If you search closer, past the nightmares that lurk in this narrating horror, you can catch a flash out of the corner of your eye.
“But, in truth, she was cruel and selfish. Always wanting the world to dance to her whims and throwing a fit when it didn’t.”
A flash of something dark; something coiled and nightmarish in the reflection.
“She hid it behind her beauty.”
A flash of a monster.
“She can no longer hide,” a pause, as the lurking beast uncoils itself and bares its teeth to the left of his mind, “you can no longer hide.”
He looks away, looks away from the rearing nightmare of truth…
--
His nails draw reluctant blood.
“Another?”
No-
--
Apollo is a tree. He sits in a field in the middle of the underworld and no nymphs frequent his bark. His leaves are green. His body is firm. His roots hit the ground like some powerful, handsome drill…
“This man turned many nymphs into creatures,” a solemn, kingly voice intones.
But it does not change a vital fact.
“Tried to trap my son into a far worse form.”
He is a tree.
“He was appropriately punished for it.”
It is a living nightmare.
“It was his worst nightmare.”
He turns away; to gather his thoughts before utter, lurking insanity can grasp with scarred claws…
--
“We are not merciful to those who will not learn, nor to those who will never learn.”
It is cold here.
“We are not merciful to those who hurt us.”
It is dark here.
“We have shown them their worst nightmares; played out in eternal form…”
He is not sure if he should be scared.
“We shall show you your worst nightmare, played out in eternal form.”
He is not sure if he remembers.
“Goodbye, Jason.”
The halls of the dead are cold and dark; but the floors slowly warm as he rises to his insubstantial feet and drifts away to a land of such forgetfulness…
He is not sure if he remembers his name.