Alex Anderson The Last Son of Zeus (2 page)

As the world came rushing back to Hector, he heard more pounding on the door. In all honesty, it had probably never stopped. Hector stood there, staring at the pulsing door as if he was starring into the pits of Hades itself. In a way, he supposed he was looking into the depth of Hades since his killer stood on the other side. Or to be more accurate, his deliverer.

With one last furious pound, the door exploded inward. Splinters flew around Hector.

"Hector ..." Achilles stepped through the broken doorway. The whites of his eyes were a stark contrast to the Trojan blood that covered the massive Grecian from head to toe. With each step he took down the narrow stairway, drops of blood spilled onto the ground. At times, it even fell in streams.

Achilles stepped within three feet of Hector and looked left to right, scanning the room. "Where are they?"

Hector shrugged. "Not here."

Achilles spotted the tunnel on the opposite side of the cellar then focused his gaze back upon the Trojan. He pointed his sword at Hector's throat. "You killed my beloved. For that, and that alone, I have killed more sons of Troy than even Athena could possibly count. Their deaths were neither painless nor swift. In fact, I suspect some of them are still dying in pools of their own blood and urine as we speak. All of this...every single bit of it...I have done...because...of...you. Not Agamemnon but you. With one swing of your blade, you not only killed my beloved, but you also killed your city. It is now burning around you as her children cry out into the night, praying Zeus will deliver them from their pain, which--I assure you--is great."

Hector considered everything the Grecian said and took another long drink.

Achilles's eyes grew wide. "Well? Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"Only this," Hector threw the wine jar to an unseen corner of the cellar. With the sound of breaking ceramic still echoing through the room, Hector made two swift steps and came nose to nose with the Great Achilles, descendent of the mighty
Zeus ...

And belched in his face.

Enraged, Achilles raised his sword and swung. Hector raised his own sword behind his body and to the left of his head, blocking the Grecian's blow. The echo that resounded through the cellar made Hector's ears hurt as he made three quick steps away from Achilles.

Achilles looked at his sword. "Not many men can boast they have blocked the blade of Achilles."

"I'm not like 'many men.'"

"We shall see."

Achilles and Hector lunged at each other, swords held high.

Hector made three swift strikes to Achilles's chest and neck, but the Trojan blocked them all. In turn, Achilles answered Hector's advance with a powerful overhead swing, which Hector deflected into several large jars of wine.

The wine rushed from the exploding jars and covered the warriors as their swords met four more times. Hector was about to swing low at the knees when Achilles sent his foot flying into the Trojan's chest.

Hector barely had enough time to register what had happened before the force of the kick sent him flying through the air and into two more barrels of wine.

The red liquid flooded all around Hector. He struggled to pick himself up. "I see the Grecians are as wasteful with wine as they are with their women."

Achilles stepped closer to Hector and kicked pieces of a broken barrel out of his way. "Or as the Trojans with their soldiers."

Hector looked up at him and made a confused face, "What?"

Achilles spread his arms. "The reason for my being here proceeds the slaying of my pupil. If you had not sought glory on the battlefield with the sons of Greece...if you had not sought the conquest of one of her most beautiful daughters...if you had not brought that daughter to the shores of your land...I would not be here. I would not have slain over three hundred of your men in single combat. I would not have brought siege to your city and all of those you hold most dear, and--most importantly--I would not be about to sever man's link with the gods, plunging them into possible darkness for all of eternity."

The last part of Achilles's statement cut through Hector's alcoholic haze. "Sever...what in the gods are you talking about?"

Achilles raised his sword. "Poor Hector--you do not understand. But don't worry ..."

Achilles' sword made a sickening wet sound as it separated Hector's head from the rest of his body.

"You were not made to."

Achilles turned and ran down the tunnel. The lifeless head of Hector seemed to watch him go, the confused look forever frozen on his face.

~ * ~

"Hurry, you cow!" Paris screamed as he tugged even harder on Helen's arm. "I swear I can feel the Grecian's very breath on the back of my neck!"

Helen gave Paris a shove, and he fell onto the ground, letting go of her arm. "Know this, son of Troy, I may have been left in your care--pitiful as it may be--but that does not mean you will disrespect, abuse, or even look at me in a manner I find in any way displeasing, or Zeus take me..."

Helen trailed off as she noticed Paris's eyes grow round with fear. She knew she had a presence about her, but there was no way in Hades she should have been able to get that type of reaction out of man on her most frightening day, even half a man, like Paris.

Slowly, she turned to see the origin of Paris' latest found fear.

Achilles.

The Grecian made no attempt to hurry. He didn't have to. Achilles could have them both killed and gutted before Helen even had the opportunity to take a breath.

Unconsciously, Helen took a step back and pointed a trembling finger. "Achilles, you and my bastard of a husband may have owned me in life! But as sure as the sun shall rise, as sure as the heavens cast its nightly blanket over all that is, as sure as the beard of Zeus itself, you shall not take me in death! My soul will live on, even from the depths of
Hades,
I will smite you with words laced with venom! I shall curse you as only a ghost can curse! I will make your hair turn white with
fear,
your body turn soft from lethargy, and your manhood fall from disease! Curse you, Achilles!
Curse you!
"

Helen waited, an eternity it seemed, for the descendent of Zeus to elicit some sort of response. When one did not seem forthcoming--she almost started another string of curses until at last...he spoke.

"I'm so tired."

Helen fluttered her eyelids in response. Somewhere down the tunnel, she could hear Paris fumbling through the darkness, trying to escape with his cowardly life.

"Come again?" she said.

He sat down, dropped his sword, and looked at the ground. Trojan blood puddled around him. "Tired. Gods, I am--so--tired. The talking, the fighting, the learning, the loving--none of it's of our own volition." He looked at her. "Were you aware of that?"

Run
, Helen thought. His thoughts have been stricken by disease. Run now, while you can. Before he becomes lucid, before he realizes he is here to kill you.
before
he--

"It's the gods. We do--what they want us to do, we think how they want us to think, we kill who they want us to kill, and we bed who they want us to bed. None of it--not one single bit--is left up to us. And do you know why?"

Helen decided not to tempt fate any longer. She took a step back.
Run! Woman, run! Turn your body, move your legs and run! He will kill you! He will--

"Because it's the only way they can be entertained. The best stories, to them anyway, are the ones that have a predictable ending. And that's what we are...one big damned predictable ending."

Helen needed no further encouragement. She turned to run, but the iron grip of Achilles latched on to her ankle. Her jerked her leg down with one hand and seized her throat with the other.

"It's time for it to end. The senseless struggle, the futile sacrifices, the unquestioning faith in those who most surely deserve questioning. It has to end...it will end, and I shall end it!" His grip tightened and she lost all ability to breathe.

The look in the Trojan's eyes was that of a madman. She was almost positive he wasn't even talking to her anymore. In fact, if it hadn't been for his grip, he might have forgotten about her completely.

"Do you comprehend what I am saying, wench?"

Or, then again, maybe not.

No, I don't comprehend what you are saying, you twit!
Now, release me this instant! Do you hear me?! Release me this very instant!
Unfortunately for Helen, all that escaped her mouth was a type of guttural sound.

"What I am saying is that it all must end, and I, Achilles, shall be the one to end it!" his voice boomed through the cave. "No more gods, no more wars for war's sake, and--most importantly--no more influence over man! From now on, we make our own decisions! If another ten-year war is to be fought, then I shall make damn sure that it is fought because of us, not them!"

Helen saw spots in her vision. She felt a trace of spittle run down the side of her cheek as her legs started to give out from under her. Achilles' iron grip around her throat was the only thing preventing her from falling to the ground.

"It all ends now ..."

Helen's neck broke with a loud crack.

~ * ~

Achilles stood there for a moment, staring at the corpse of the last Titan. His hands still rested on her neck and heel.
This
...
this is choice
.
This is--

Startled by a whistling sound, Achilles turned his head away from the Helen's beautiful corpse. He saw nothing in either direction of the cavern, but then he
felt
something.

Pain, lots and lots of pain.

Achilles looked down at his chest and dispassionately stared at the arrow sticking out of it. After staring at it for several seconds, he fell to the ground. Through the darkness, he could hear the sound of a frail man carefully making his way through the cave.

"I did it!" Paris screamed as he danced around Achilles, thrusting his bow up and down in the air. "I slew Achilles! Me! No one else but me! I will be remembered forever and always!"

He stepped over Helen's perfect corpse, closer to Achilles.

"Songs will be
su
--"

Achilles's hand shot out like a striking snake and latched onto the weakling's ankle. Paris let out a yelp before Achilles pulled the boy to him. The two were face to face.

"Yes, cowardly Paris, songs
will
be sung, paintings will even be painted." Achilles clamped his massive hand around Paris' feeble throat. The young prince gasped for air. The Grecian could feel his life draining out of him through the wound Paris had delivered.
No, that's not right
, he thought,
I can feel BOTH of our lives draining away
.
This will be it. The all to end all. My life is taken, and with it
--Paris gasped for air once more--
all godly influence. Each shall be left
to their own,
and all shall be left to none
.

Shortly after Paris's life left his body, the light of Achilles followed.

Somewhere on Mt. Olympus the gods screamed.

BOOK TWO

THREE THOUSAND YEARS AND SOME CHANGE LATER...

"Fuck this shit," Cupid shrilled.

He scratched the back of his bald head even though it wasn't itching. Why did he have to come all the way out here in the middle of
Nowhereville
, Tennessee to check into this?

Because you were told to, you pathetic shit
.

Cupid hung his head. He was pathetic. He had been for over two thousand years. One, four and a half foot tall, trench coat wearing, pissed off, pathetic creature.

He pulled on the gold collar around his neck. God help him, it felt tighter every century and the heat sure didn't help. Things had to get better. Things would get better.

That's why he was here.

Many subdivisions dotted the map of McMinn, Tennessee. The particular subdivision his "employer" sent him to was a ritzy one, catering to middle class families that spent too much money or upper class families that, according to some, didn't spend enough.

Cupid furiously unfolded the piece of paper he'd been carrying since leaving L.A., ripping it in a few places as he did so. The sun reflected off the paper's white surface, forcing him to squint. "Nine six...five Belmont Avenue. Or is it a three?" He sighed. "Jesus fucking Christ. Is it too much to ask for a person to cinch up her shitty-ass writing long enough to write legibly?" Cupid shoved the piece of paper back into his pocket.

He eyeballed the nearest house. He had to do something pretty damn soon. He didn't exactly blend into the neighborhood.

Fuck it
.
I'll
check'em
both then go to the next one.
Six-three was right in front of him, so he decided to do it first.

He walked up the driveway.
I mean why me,
y'know
? I'm getting so tired of this. It's like every other day I have to do this shit.
He stopped at the door and rang the doorbell.
And you know what? She has a hundred, no--two hundred people she could send. But no! Always me. Always! It just isn't fucking fair!

I mean it's like she doesn't even give a goddamn about the way I feel.
He rang the doorbell again.
Is it too much to ask? Just once before she gives me one of these assignments, she could ask, "Cupid, do you feel like going out in the hot-ass sun today for another wild goose chase? I know it's tedious, and I know it's beneath you, but do you mind?" But does she ask that? No, she doesn't. She doesn't fucking respect me is why. A trained monkey could do this! A trained monkey!

The door opened right as Cupid felt a trickle of sweat run down his back.

"Can I help you?" a teenager standing in the ridiculously expensive doorway asked. His age looked to be around sixteen.

"Mark
Gallaway
?" Cupid asked in a bored voice.

The teenager raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

Kew pulled a shotgun from under his trench coat and blew Mark's head off.