Kairos 86: Jaws of the Wolf-God

The entrance of Hades’ palace laid open like the maw of a great beast. The rubies on the archway shone with bright light as Andromache cast spells on them, lifting one protection ward after another. Nessus and Thales assisted her by inspecting the doorway for non-magical traps, clearing the path ahead before the party could walk inside.

Kairos himself observed the scene from the shore, but he couldn’t focus on it for the life of him. His mind wandered off back to his brother’s gravestone in Histria, while his eyes glanced at the River Styx. Charon had long vanished from sight, busy gathering souls to transport deeper into the Underworld and collecting their coins.

Could he have been wrong? He ferried thousands of shades each day, and even gods made mistakes...

“Kairos,” Cassandra said softly at his side, while Rook looked at his best friend with concern. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“How can’t I?” he asked his former second-in-command. “Lycaon has my brother’s soul.”

Out of the party, only Agron looked as frustrated as Kairos. The minotaur hadn’t taken the news of his adoptive father’s fate well, and now sulked near the [Telchine Skiff].

“Maybe, maybe not,” Cassandra replied, though she didn’t sound like she truly believed it. “It could have been another god.”

Kairos shook his head. “Who else, Cass?”

“It would fit,” Sertorius said with cold certainty. “Remus, Romulus… It strikes me as Lycaon’s idea of a joke.”

“My brother’s bones are in Histria,” Kairos replied harshly. “Mother had his remains transferred from Lissala to the colony months ago. We have prayed before his grave for years, and he hasn’t stirred inside it. Rhadamanthe purified his body, and as Julia can attest, Romulus is very much a physical being.”

He refused to accept that his brother and that maddened legate of Lycaon were one and the same. It didn’t fit.

“Maybe there is no one underneath Romulus’ armor,” Sertorius pointed out. “An insane shadow animating an empty suit of steel and iron.”

“Why would Lycaon even raise my brother from the dead?” Kairos asked. He worried, rightfully, that the wolf-god had captured his brother’s soul; but to conclude that he was Romulus was a large jump. There were other, more likely suspects such as some of his mother’s uncles, cousins, or brothers.

“Good question.” Sertorius crossed his arms. “Who was your brother as a person? I never heard of his exploits.”

Kairos remained sullenly silent, so Cassandra answered for him. “When Captain Chron perished in a raid on Vali’s merchant fleet, his brother and my previous companion Panos took over the Foresight. Taulas was a young [Fighter] then, but a talented one.”

“How talented?” Sertorius asked with a raised eyebrow.

“A prodigy,” Kairos answered softly, still remembering all the bruises his brother gave him during training.

Cassandra nodded, a certain fondness in her gaze. Though she hadn’t been as close to Taulas as Kairos, he had been a comrade to her. “He was born with better stats than most, and mastering weapons came easily to him. We all thought he might become Travia’s newest [Hero].”

“What went wrong then?” Sertorius asked.

“He took a Quest to hunt a sea monster near the Eye of Typhon,” Cassandra replied, her gaze haunted as she remembered that fateful day. “A spawn of Echidna who harassed merchant galleys in the north. We hunted it alongside foreign mercenaries after its bounty, but when the beast was near-death—”

“Your alliance collapsed as everyone attempted to land the killing blow,” Sertorius guessed, with Cassandra nodding in sorrow. “Discipline broke down as each fighter attempted to gain the creature’s [Legend]. Typical.”

“A costly mistake,” Cassandra said with a sigh. “When the beast was dead, so were Taulas and a dozen others. I like to think he landed the killing blow as the creature sank its teeth into his chest.”

“It didn’t matter,” Kairos replied with anger. “He died all the same.”

The Travian King still remembered his mother’s expression after Panos brought back the bloated, dismembered corpse. She had cried when Histria perished, and took his father’s death with quiet dignity. But when she saw Taulas… Aurelia had looked as dead inside as her son on the outside.

Sertorius considered the tale. “True, I can see dozens of would-be champions of the wolf-god with greater feats than your brother. But if we assume he isn’t Romulus but that Lycaon still claimed his soul, then for what purpose?”

“Probably a necromantic ritual,” Cassandra said. “Souls have a metaphysical weight that they accumulate with time and memories. This is why they need to go through the River Lethe and forget their old lives before reincarnating. Ancient souls are usually too much for a newborn body to handle.”

“You have done your research well,” Sertorius complimented her.

“I descend from a priestess of Persephone,” Cassandra replied with a smile. “I have done my best to catch up to my heritage.”

And yet, she had missed the elephant in the room. Kairos glanced at Nessus, who had for some reason stopped examining the entrance to examine the werewolf corpses outside the palace. He had lived many lives, yet his body survived.

He might have been the exception that proves the rule though, as an incarnation of life.

Speaking of necromancy, Andromache had abandoned the archway to raise bones from the dead. “Are you discussing the dead without me?” the nymph asked as she rejoined Kairos, a werewolf skeleton rising behind her protectively. The creature lacked any will of its own, and yet it appeared quite fearsome. “I am offended.”

“I often forgot you gained the [Necromancer] subclass,” Kairos admitted with a smile as Andromache put an arm around his own. She glanced at Sertorius as if expecting him to argue, but the judge remained unflappable. “How is the entrance?”

“Booby-trapped, but I removed the magical wards. I leave the hidden trap doors to Thales’ capable hands.” The nymph caressed her animated undead’s skull with her fingers, as if it were a loyal pet. “Souls are precious indeed. Even as a [Hero]-Rank [Necromancer], I can hardly manipulate them.”

“What kind of ritual could they be used for?” Cassandra asked. “I learned that ancient [Necromancers] used them to predict the future or to create shadowy assassins, but maybe you know of others.”

“My mentor Euryale can bind them to craft powerful items, or as fuel to summon powerful daemons.” Andromache glanced at Kairos, noticing his foul mood. “I am sorry, my love, but I do not know what Lycaon intends to do with your brother’s spirit. He is not a [Necromancer] or even a [Spellcaster], so his abilities must differ from mine. I know, however, that Lycaon can hold souls in his stomach indefinitely.”

Kairos didn’t find that reassuring.

Agron chose that moment to emerge from his sullen reverie. “There’s one thing you haven’t considered. The worst case scenario.”

“I fail to see what could be worse,” Kairos replied with a snort. “But do tell.”

“That your brother wasn’t special,” Agron replied grimly. “That all wolfbloods’ souls go back to their progenitor when they die.”

The mere thought chilled Kairos to the bone, but thankfully Rook immediately found a counterargument. “Kairos’ sister passed on peacefully, and she was a wolfblood too!” the griffin pointed out, trying to cheer his best friend up.

“He’s right,” Kairos said, quickly banishing the subject. “If Lycaon grabbed the souls of all his descendants, Charon wouldn’t have transported Histria’s soul.”

But to the Travian King’s surprise, Sertorius’ eyes widened in a new emotion that his brother-in-law had never seen. A raw, primal emotion that he had thought the judge incapable of.

Fear.

“Not the Wolfbloods,” Sertorius whispered. “The werewolves.”

Kairos froze. “What are you implying?”

“Your brother was born as a wolfblood with exceptional stats,” Sertorius stated, his fists clenching. “It’s usually a telltale sign that the werewolf curse would have manifested in him in adulthood. That, or your sister avoided his grasp because she died of famine rather than violence since Lycaon’s divine portfolio covers death by murder or hunting.”

Ride with me, blood of my blood! Romulus’ terrible voice echoed in his mind with a terrible memory. This is our time, this is our moment! This is the last call to answer, the final hunt!

All who carried Lycaon’s blood were part of his pack, in life or death.

He will get Julia’s soul, and Mother’s too, Kairos realized in horror before glancing at Andromache. The nymph’s skin had turned pale, as the same dark thought crossed both of their minds.

Maybe even our children.

“And you didn’t notice?” Cassandra asked Sertorius in anger as she realized the ghastly implications.

“How should we have done so?” The judge shook his head, unsettled. “The dead have been silent since Queen Persephone retired from the land of the living, and [Necromancers] like the nymph are few and far between. If anything, Cassandra, I believe you are the only person among us who can check this theory.”

Cassandra’s eyes squinted in determination. “I can run a [Nekyia] ritual and try to interrogate the souls of wolfbloods and werewolves, if you have a list.”

“I will help,” Andromache said with a dark scowl on her face. She had escaped one curse, only to risk seeing her child suffer from another.

“But even if you are correct, Lycaon can’t have done that on a mass scale,” Cassandra argued. “Queen Persephone would have noticed a large number of souls failing to reach her realm, and she hates Lycaon more than anyone else for what he did to her family. That or the seal restricts him.”

The seal…

Kairos shivered as he put the two and two together. “Sertorius, stop me if I’m wrong,” he said. “The Senex maintain the seal binding Lycaon by acting as an artificial [God], whose existence is fueled by Lyce’s noble families. This way, the collective metaphysical weight of the assembly trumps Lycaon’s.”

The Lycean Judge nodded, his body as tense as a bowstring. He had already reached the same conclusion as his brother-in-law.

“Now, let’s imagine a situation where Lycaon slowly gathers souls inside his prison, their weight adding up to his,” Kairos continued, his allies tensing up. “How many would he need until he can ‘outweigh’ the Senex and break out?”

“Countless,” Sertorius replied, though his tone remained somber. “But the extinction of each family line weakens the assembly’s power, and his Beast Cult has culled more than a quarter of us across the centuries. Even if Lycaon needs specific conditions to claim a soul and can only snatch a few at once, we must assume he has had a steady supply since his imprisonment.”

Orgonos had warned Kairos that he couldn’t recreate the seal without breaking it first. The Senex could only grow weaker with time, while Lycaon’s power slowly increased. Even if they somehow prevented the wolf-god from claiming more souls, he might have accumulated so many over the centuries that it wouldn’t change anything. His Cult only had to get lucky often enough by extinguishing select Senex family lines, and the wolf-god would break his chains.

A heavy silence settled as the group digested the awful truth.

Lycaon’s escape wasn’t merely possible.

It was inevitable.

And considering Prometheus’ warnings, it would happen in Kairos’ lifetime.

This is the coming age, the last age, Romulus had said, when he visited the Travian King in his dreams months ago. The Age of Wolves! The wolf god shall break his chains and rise again! His pack shall roam the earth!

Andromache was the first to break the silence, her eyes blazing with rage. “Never.”

A cold determination filled Kairos’ heart, winds swirling around his spear’s tip. “My wife and mother’s souls won’t join Hades and his son inside Lycaon’s stomach,” he declared, “nor will any of my children’s spirits.”

“Agreed,” Sertorius assented with determination. “But what do you suggest? That we should find a way to reinforce the seal? Even I, a member of the Senex, do not know how.”

“Personally, I say we deal with Lycaon like all of our other foes.” Agron raised his Songaxe over his shoulder. “We kill him when he gets out.”

“Yes, exactly!” Rook agreed with a furious nod while Andromache flashed a predatory smile. “We kick his ass and then send him back to his doghouse!”

Though the challenge was great and Kairos preferred to talk rather than kill, the Travian King couldn’t agree more in this case. He would make Lycaon spit out his brother’s soul, and Hades’ son too while he was at it.

Cassandra was more down-to-earth, and far less enthusiastic. “Lycaon is a [God],” she pointed out. “One so powerful that Orgonos had to seal him because none of the New Gods could land a fatal blow. Even if we call upon his help and Queen Persephone’s, letting him escape would be a disaster.”

“It would destroy Lyce’s capital for a start,” Sertorius said. “Lycaon is buried underneath it. Though we have taken precautions in preparation for this day, hundreds of thousands will be at his nonexistent mercy.”

Agron scoffed. “Then we evacuate them before breaking the seal ourselves. If the wolf-god will escape on his own anyway, we better pick the moment he does rather than be taken unaware.”

“I haven’t said otherwise. Lyce has never been more unified under my influence and that of Dispater, but the fact remains that we are not powerful enough to face him… at least yet.” Sertorius glanced at his brother-in-law. “To defeat a [God], we need a party of [Demigods].”

Kairos gave a short nod. Their resources were stretched thin and arrayed against Mithridates in the east. As much as he wanted to free his brother’s soul… he would have only one attempt at it, and he needed to pick it carefully.

They also had other allies to call. Heracles had retired, but would relish the opportunity of fighting Lycaon if he ever escaped. Orgonos had sealed Lycaon once, and might join the battle if forewarned. Even Prometheus might have insight to offer.

Kairos was many things, but friendless wasn’t one of them.

“Would the Senex agree to undo the seal if we gather enough allies to defeat Lycaon?” Kairos asked his brother-in-law.

“Yes,” Sertorius replied. “The minotaur is right. If Lycaon will escape on his own whatever we do, the best option is damage control and keeping the initiative. Gather allies, secure our rear, lay a trap, and then spring it at the right moment.”

“Until then, Andromache and I can study the method Lycaon uses to claim souls,” Cassandra said, the nymph agreeing with a nod. “If we can prevent him from gathering more, we will have more leeway.”

Agron didn’t hide his excitement at the thought of fighting a [God], but Kairos noticed a hint of anxiety in his movements. The minotaur had committed many crimes, and his lifestyle had earned his mentor a one-way trip to Tartarus. Becoming an immortal divinity might be the only way for Agron to dodge his inevitable punishment.

But… What if the award of slaying Lycaon went to someone else?

Kairos was no fool. Lycaon had slain Hades and many other deities during the Anthropomachia, his power growing until the New Gods allied with his own descendants to seal him away. The Foresight’s crew had barely survived their few encounters with [Demigods]; and in Rhadamanthe’s case not without casualties. Kairos’ chances of prevailing in the battle with his monstrous ancestor, let alone slay him, were small.

And yet, the world was trapped in a cycle. Sons overthrowing their fathers, younger generations casting down the old from their thrones.

Was this the next iteration of this endless play? The Fate System had heralded a new age of myths, giving birth to [Heroes] to replace those lost in the Anthropomachia. Two of the Calamities that Prometheus foretold were remnants of the Old World, and even Mithridates intended to make use of a relic Poseidon left behind.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Kairos wouldn’t fight Lycaon because he hoped to take his place.

He would fight him for the sake of his family. To free his brother’s soul, and make sure none of his loved ones ever ended up in that foul deity’s jaws.

And… maybe it would finally cleanse away the shame of his lineage.

Kairos glanced at Andromache. His mother Aurelia fled her homeland to avoid persecution for the crime of being born with the werewolf curse. Countless others had suffered from the dark legacy Lycaon left them with. Destroying him would finally free new generations from his dark shadow.

Without Lycaon, his children wouldn’t face prejudice while growing up.

That was reason enough to fight.

“Hey!” Nessus called out to the rest of the group. “Are you done talking! We’re ready to move in!”

Kairos glanced at the satyr and Thales, noticing two blobs of grey goo crawling after him; he must have used his [Amulet of Slime Conversion] to create them. “Sweet, new minions,” Rook said. “Kairos, can I eat one? Just to see how it tastes?”

“Another time, brave bird,” Andromache said with a smile as the party regrouped. “And we will need these bodies to throw at the defenses.”

“Well, sir, we detected the presence of traps inside the corridors,” Thales explained. “So many that it would take hours to progress. Considering our limited time and resources, I suggested we use an… alternative method to clear the path.”

Kairos couldn’t help but laugh. “You want to let animated puppets trigger them?”

“Forget the sacrificial lambs,” Nessus said as he snapped his fingers, his summoned jellys hopping through the palace’s archway. “Goos are the new fashion.”

“Usually, I would be mad at seeing someone mistreat corpses this way,” Cassandra said before smiling at Andromache’s undead creation. “But these remains belong to Lycaon’s sons.”

This was certainly a novel approach to trap-finding… and Kairos was thankful to be on the other side of an undead assault for once. “Alright, send the minions first,” he said. “Everyone gets into formation and prepares for a fight.”

Death awaited.

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A/N: chapter made possible by you, dear Patrons.