A Bloom So Deadly: Hades and Persephone Retold

The Path

Ares was one for action. And every moment of inaction was always part of a greater plan. He had never felt so utterly useless in all his long life.

His mother had left Olympus and returned to the mortal world with him and Demeter. He could not stand their inability to act, could not stand how all they could manage to do was toss around ideas on how they might retrieve Persephone, all the while sitting around doing nothing. It grated against his very being.

She had been gone a week. And though he did not feel sorry for what he had done (Persephone was his afterall), a week of her absence had brought one ugly realization that sat as a knot in his chest: he missed her.

And worse than that: he could not stand the thought of her in pain at the hands of his uncle. Ares had not known of his uncle's prophecy in the beginning, but his decades spent with Persephone and Demeter had revealed it. Over and over he had to swat away images of her face crumpled in pain.

Ares had a keen understanding of pain. He was the God of War, afterall. Over his many years there had been many prisoners and many methods of pain and torture. Ares knew, from experience, how far he could push a person before they broke. And he knew Hades did not have that experience. How would anyone, except for himself, know Persephone well enough to know when to stop? It was his place to hurt her.

The thought of Persephone in that dark place, screaming in agony until she was broken to pieces, made him furious. Even though gods were nigh impossible to kill, he would take great enjoyment in at least stabbing Hades when he finally got to her. Not even for his own selfish rage at having her stolen right from underneath him, but for her.

His little one.

What a disgusting notion that she affected him so.

He needed her. Not just for his own grand plans. He needed her to fill the empty ache that had settled in his chest, that was making it difficult to think. Not even Aphrodite, with their long-standing affair, had ever caused such a gnawing in his gut.

He would get her back and then he would win her back, with apologies and promises of a better tomorrow and whatever else it took. And she would never leave him again. He would make sure of that.

The wind howled around him and a wall of dust bit into his skin as it cut by. Demeter was not controlling her emotions well. A week in and already the mortals were finding their crops starting to fail. And the dust was something he had never seen the likes of before.

Ares did not know what he was looking for alone out in those fields. It wasn't as if he would stumble on an entrance to the Underworld. But he could not just sit still in that house while his mother tried to reason with Demeter.

Useless. He was useless to do anything to get her back and it made him want to rage.

Overhead, something flickered for just a moment and then was gone in a flash. Hermes. Headed right for the house. Did he, perhaps, have news? Ares started for the house, pushing crops out of his path with such ferocity that he might have been a bull charging through them.

In the house, he found Hermes. The boy gave him a nervous glance before turning back to Hera and Demeter.

"What is this?" Ares asked, stepping fully inside the house and letting the door creak shut behind him. He crossed his arms and stared at the three of them in turn. "Is there news? Why wasn't I summoned at once?"

His mother gave him a gentle, but tight smile. He knew that she loved him. He also knew that she thought him a monster. "There is no news," she told him. "We have called Hermes here to ask him to deliver a message."