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The Immortal Heart	By : amandalee Category: 1 through F > Clash of the Titans (2010) > Clash of the Titans (2010) Views: 7819 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: We do not own Clash of the Titans or the characters portrayed in this story, and we make no money from writing this.

Chapter List
- 44
- 45
- 46
A/N: Dear readers, for those of you who were not yet repelled by the previous chapter, I will have to inform you that poor Hades' torment continues.
Check out the two illustrations made for this chapter (NOT worksafe!):
http://henrikas-ravings.com/injured_Hades.png
http://henrikas-ravings.com/Poseidon_arrives.png

Chapter 45

Zeus was troubled by his group’s findings; something that undoubtedly were titan tracks had been discovered by Chiron only a few leagues from the camp. Knowing that titans were nearby and that such had escaped him disturbed Zeus deeply. Even worse was the possibility that said titans were aware of their camp’s location and had passed the news on to Cronos.

“These tracks are a few days old,” Chiron informed his two half-brothers. “Whoever made them wanted to remain at a safe distance from you.”

“Spies,” Zeus muttered grimly. Had the tracks been fresh, he would have suggested that they hunt down the titans responsible and slay them.

“Only time can tell when they’ll show their ugly faces,” the half-god remarked. “In the meantime, we should keep an eye out for any other signs that we are possibly being watched.”

“Oh Hades,” Poseidon’s voice said, slightly annoyed. Looking up, both Chiron and Zeus saw to what their brother referred. A dark column of smoke was reaching the skies from where the gods’ camp was located.

“He must have piled on too much wood,” Zeus guessed. “Not that I blame him feeling cold. The winds up here are worse. Still, he will give away our location.” He raised an eyebrow. “All this after he promised he would not.”

“Perhaps he does not realize it looks so prominent. One of us should go back and tell him,” Chiron suggested.

“Good point,” Poseidon said. “We are nearly done our scouting anyway. I will go.”

“Be careful,” Zeus reminded him, though he knew he did not need to. “If you do cross paths with any titans, try to lose them instead of engaging in combat. It is better that they not know where we are.”

“Yes, brother.” Testing the fastening of his scabbard to his belt, Poseidon descended down the slope and towards the camp.

*

“Anh… anh… anh…”

Hades came to and felt the agony crawling throughout his body, and he realized he had not died. He could have felt the gratitude of his chances at surviving, of reuniting with his brothers, but alas his pain told him he was better off dead.

“Who wants him next?” he heard Atlas say above him.

Hades opened his mouth to make one final plea for mercy, but no sound left his badly bruised lips. The sickening sound of the titan pulling out of him made bile rise in Hades’ throat, and he threw up on the ground where he lay in his own bodily fluids. Sometime during his unconsciousness, he had lost control of his bladder and the sour stench of urine mixed with the nauseatingly sweet smell of vomit and the coppery scent of blood.

Atlas traded places with one of his brethren and wiped his blood-stained phallus using Hades’ discarded robe before tucking it back under his loin wrap. His cruel laughter could be heard floating through the air, and it did not take long for the other two males to join in.

Large hands grasped the god’s slender thighs and yanked them apart with unnecessarily brutal force. Hades whimpered from the pain of having his ravaged rectum opened once more, and though he knew it would do no good, his body still fought to clench its muscles to keep the intruder out by any means necessary.

Rather than penetrating him directly, the titan holding his legs apart began to stroke Hades’ inner thighs and making murmured sounds of admiration.

“So soft…” he mused. “He truly feels like a woman!”

“Obviously Zeus would agree with you,” Atlas sneered back. “Perhaps we should brand him… show Zeus that someone else claimed his property while he was away.”

“Oh, Atlas, why?” Metis asked, the disgust in her voice. Obviously her question was ignored. Atlas continued to talk only to the other males.

“If the beatings don’t make Zeus understand how serious our threats are,” the titan leader said, staring down at his captive, “then this certainly will. Hold him still.”

“NO!” Hades finally managed to cry out, though his throat was ragged with screaming. One titan held his arms while another held his legs, and he found himself completely immobile. He looked aside to ask for help from the titaness, even though she seemed to have no influence or control over her comrades. However, her back was turned entirely to him, and she crouched down on the ground, rocking backward and forward with her hands over her ears. If he listened closely, Hades could hear her softly weeping.

Atlas had wandered off for just a few moments and returned to the group in casual, slow strides. He had gone to the fire and fished out something amongst the gods’ belongings which were slowly being destroyed. Hades struggled out of instinct but remained where he was. In his tormentor’s hand was a dagger, nearly glowing with heat.

“Please stop,” Hades begged, despite the futility of his pleas.

“Where do you think it should go, my friends?” Atlas asked. “His chest, perhaps?”

“On his back!” the second titan said excitedly. “When Zeus returns, he won’t see it at first. It will be an even worse surprise than finding this place in ruins.”

“His face,” the third offered. “Ruin that pretty little countenance.”

“Cut off his nose, Atlas!” the second one urged with almost childish excitement. “We could bring it back to Cronos as a proof of our deeds. He would reward us for sure!”

“No,” Atlas broke in. “This one is not important to our master. Unless we bring him Zeus’ head on a spit, he will not reward us.” He looked over the pathetically trembling god, held down by his arms and legs, and his gaze fell on the thin, quivering muscles in Hades’ thighs. The flesh, although now bruised and stained with blood and other fluids, was truly as soft as a woman’s.

An idea formed in the titan’s mind and manifested as a triumphant smile on his face.

“We will mark his inner thighs,” he announced, raising the glowing blade. “Zeus will see whose property his precious brother has become when he spreads his legs one last time.”

Hades cried raggedly when the white-hot blade cut into his skin, carving the brand into his flesh that would forever mark him as a titan’s property. He knew that even though he by some unlikely event survived this ordeal, Zeus would not want to touch him ever again. Not after he had been tainted and marked by these monsters.

Atlas’ malevolent grin widened as he, with great precision and care, carved the symbol of Cronos – the great sickle wielded by the titan king – into the pale flesh of Hades’ right thigh. The god struggled, of course, but his two comrades had no trouble holding the weakened god still.

“Be still, little one…” Atlas gently admonished and poked Hades’ shriveled genitals with the tip of the blade, drawing blood. “You don’t want me to slip with the blade and geld you, do you?”
He poked Hades a second time, now on the god’s wrinkled and bloodied ball sac.

Whimpering, Hades tried to remain still. The branding was humiliating enough without the added indignity of being castrated.

Despite holding her hands to her ears, Metis heard every scream. It sounded as though her comrades were torturing an animal instead of a god, based on the sound of those horrible cries. She glanced at the pile of smoldering possessions. Perhaps if she was quick enough…

“Metis,” Atlas called to her. “Would you so kindly retrieve another weapon for us? This one has cooled too much.”

Eyes squeezed shut, she wiped the tears away and stood. She grabbed a sword, small in her titan hands, and held the hilt firm. She considered how many swings she could manage before she might have to run for her own safety.

Maybe if I aim for the god, she considered. Death would be better than anything else they might do to him…

“Take care the way you hold that sword,” Atlas said, and she looked up at the other titan’s face. He was giving her a warning glare which suggested he was wary of her possible plans. “We would not want to hurt ourselves… would we? Small as that weapon is, it could easily cut a throat. You would not want that, I trust…?”

Metis glanced at the other titans. They too were watching her, realizing their leader’s suspicion. Closing her eyes, the titaness submitted the hot blade.

“Good,” Atlas all but growled. “Had you truly tried, I might have made you join in.”

Hades wondered what else his tormentors might have in store for him now that the branding had been done. Were they planning on castrating him, after all? If so, he could only hope that Metis had chosen a sharp enough blade so that it would at least be quick.

Atlas proudly admired his handiwork; the symbol of Cronos now crudely carved into the god’s right thigh. The skin around the edges of the brand was blistering and red, and he could only imagine how much it had to hurt, even now when the work was done.

Hades’ eyes blinked sleepily, and he quickly received two hard slaps in the face, intended to keep him from passing out.

“Don’t you leave us yet, little god,” Atlas cooed. “We are far from finished with you.”

If the slaps had not been sufficient to keep Hades conscious, what followed certainly was. A new pain arose, this time in his left thigh, and Hades, though he was unable to see what was being done, deduced that something more was being carved into his other leg.

“I am frankly surprised that your brother has not put his brand on you,” Atlas said. “One would think that he would want the whole world to know whom you belonged to.”

Zeus did not need to mark me with a brand, Hades thought. He knows that I would never stray from his side. His love is enough to keep me tied to him.

What Atlas said next was enough to draw Hades’ thoughts away from Zeus and make his insides constrict.

“Are your sisters as fun to play with as you, little god?” the titan asked. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. When Zeus has been defeated, I will take your sisters and do to them what I have done to you.”

Hades sobbed at what he was certain was a promise. “No…” he muttered, images of Hestia and Demeter’s faces as they too were tortured filling his mind. He would face years more of this monstrous treatment if it meant they could be spared. “No, no, no…”

“Yes,” one of the other titans insisted. “They’ll probably be even more fun than you.”

Hades hardly even cried out as the new brand was completed, and he could hear the crackling of scorched flesh. His own flesh. Even worse was the smell of that cooked skin, knowing it was part of himself that smelled of roasted pork. He threw up again, but this time he was unable to turn onto his side. The god could only turn his head to the side weakly, and though he had not meant to, he vomited on the hand of the titan holding his arms.

“You filthy little wretch!” the brute bellowed, and the hand came free just long enough to strike Hades in the head. The god’s skull was filled with a ringing and he thought for a moment that he had been unconscious. He could hear Atlas shouting at the other titan as though they were far away. Soon their voices became louder and Hades realized they were standing right above him, and that he had indeed passed out from the blow.

“…is anyone else supposed to have fun with him if he’s unconscious? You tell me that!”

“It’s my turn next!” another yelled at the third.

“Go ahead, by all means,” Atlas replied, turning his attention to the second. Hades shut his eyes and tried to will himself asleep, but he doubted he would be able to.

*

The closer he got to the gods’ camp and the pillar of smoke that was rising from it, the more convinced Poseidon became that this was not simply a case of Hades piling on too much firewood. Poseidon could not specify what had caused the ominous feeling, but the more distance he put between himself and his brothers, the stronger it became.

He had to get back to the camp as quickly as possible. Lives might depend on it.

His hold on the trident hardened, and the god broke into a run, hoping that despite what his intuition told him, he would be wrong.

*

“He is a mess,” the titan standing over Hades said contemptuously as he regarded the filthy, bleeding, branded god who had on top of everything soiled himself and thrown up on his own hair. “You left nothing for the two of us, Atlas. He is barely even alive anymore!”

Atlas merely snorted. “I was not the one that clubbed him in the head,” he reminded his companion. “You only have yourself to blame. Maybe you cracked his skull.”

The other titan muttered something about the little wretch throwing up on him and continued to study the god who was now his to take.

“You are a vile thing,” he said, kneeling astride Hades’ mostly still form. “And thanks to Atlas, you are not even snug anymore.”

Deciding that he did not want to lean in between those charred thighs, which still smelled of roasted pork, he flipped Hades onto his stomach with a single hand before penetrating him from behind.

Though his body was now very weak, the pain gave Hades just enough strength to clench his fingers into the grass beneath his palms, to press his face into the ground to muffle his moans. Why bother screaming anymore, even if he were able to produce sound anymore with that raw throat? In fact, the pain had moved beyond pain. Perhaps he had felt all the agony possible. Now all was left was a muted ache, a blinding dull state of sleep throughout his body. If only his mind could follow.

“This isn’t fair!” the titan thrusting into him complained. “He doesn’t even tense up! I may as well be poking a corpse!”

Hades vaguely listened to the words of his captors, but had he, he would have agreed. The god had reached a point past struggling or even reacting to his torment. He now lay limp on the grass, allowing his horrendous treatment.

“He’s not even worth the fun anymore,” the titan said, and he pulled out, leaving Hades on the ground like a broken toy, which was exactly what the god felt like.

“He may as well be dead now,” Metis finally said from her crouched position several paces away. “Why don’t you just kill him already?”

Atlas stared at Hades, who barely moved. If anything the wretched god shivered, barely able to do anything else.

“I have a better idea,” the titan leader said, and he picked up the dagger he had used to apply the first half of the god’s brand.

“What will you do?” asked the titan who had not yet violated Hades by raping him. “Carve another brand into his skin?”

Atlas shook his head, smiling secretively. “You’ll see,” he just said, crouching by the wounded Olympian’s side and roughly turning Hades onto his back. Hades’ eyelids fluttered for a moment, but he did not open his eyes. Atlas tapped the other’s cheeks to revive him. This would be no fun at all if the god wasn’t awake to experience it.

“Stay with us for a while yet, you little rat,” he taunted, pleased to see Hades open his swollen eyes and dimly look around. When the image of his tormentor’s face cleared before his eyes, he started to sob again. Perfect.

Atlas held the knife less than an inch from Hades’ face, dangerously close to his left eye. Hades squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that he could not stop the titan from gouging out his eyeballs but trying nonetheless.

“I will not take your sight, little god,” Atlas said in response to the reaction. “I want you to be able to watch this.”

“What will you do?” Metis asked, her voice subdued.

“I am going to geld this vermin,” Atlas replied, taking Hades’ already bruised genitals in his crushing grasp. “He already acts like a woman, so why not turn him into one?”

Hades could not help it. The prospect of losing his manhood on top of everything reawakened his urge to struggle, and a ragged scream burst from his throat. The only reward for the commotion he made was to be restrained by one of the titans. They seemed to react by instinct by the scream, holding him down while spitting out cruel laughter.

Atlas took his time, deliberate in allowing his plaything’s terror to build. Distant thunder rumbled in the distance like a beast, as though it were a precursor to the inevitable. Hades could only hope that he would be dead before the cold rain could end his life for him.

Thumb against the god’s scrotum, Atlas held the blade against the other side of the bruised flesh, ready to slice through as though he were cutting himself a piece of meat at the dinner table. He briefly fantasized the notion of eating the severed genitalia, one after the other, right in front of the dying wretch…

He went no further, and his blade did not even break the skin. A wailing, enraged sound rolled through the wind from far away, terrible beyond words. All four titans raised their heads at the noise. Whatever it was, it had not been thunder as they perceived.

Only one of Atlas’ fellow tormentors thought to ask the obvious: “What was that?”

“How should I know,” Atlas asked, trying to sound angry despite the uneasiness he now felt. Whatever had roared sounded angry. And big.

“It could be something from Cronos,” the other titan suggested.

“No,” Metis said. “We would have known if it were as big as it sounds. It is something else entirely. And for all we know, it is headed this way.”

One of the other titan’s eyes nearly bugged with fear. “We should leave.”

Atlas glanced at the broken and damaged god lying at his feet. The wretch was as good as dead anyway; there was no point in wasting more time torturing him. Also, a look at the sun setting behind the treetops made the titan aware of another imminent threat; Zeus and his other brother could return from their excursion any minute, and when that happened, Atlas did not want to be present.

“Let’s leave,” he announced curtly, gathering his weapons from the ground and strapping them on his form. “We are done here.”

“What about him?” One of the other male titans gestured at Hades.

“Let him lie in his own filth. He will not live long.”

The titan who had asked the question sneered at the pathetic bloodied heap of limbs and long hair as if he’d smelled something foul. Then he spat at Hades, pleased to see the clod of sputum hitting the Olympian square in the chest.

Metis followed her companions, but her heart ached for the poor defenseless creature her brethren had abused so cruelly and mercilessly. Though affiliated with Zeus, the god – she believed his name was Hades – had never been any threat to the titan generation. Also, she could not help but suspect that this deed would have dire consequences to them all.

Hades did not hear his tormentors leave; only semi-conscious now, the only two things his body registered were the pain and the cold. He could do nothing about the former, but to preserve the little heat he had left, he slowly and arduously turned onto his side and curled up into a ball. The movement made the pain worse, but at this point he was beyond reacting. Now Hades could only wait for it all to end.

*

And hour passed before Poseidon had arrived at the camp, and he had increased his pace when he came to realize that something was truly wrong. He could feel it beneath his skin like some sort of fear made into tangible form, gnawing at his mind. His hurried pace had become a run when the column of smoke grew bigger.

“Oh… oh no…” he said between breaths as he approached. The presence of the smoke was so strong that his eyes watered, and he wondered if he might need the use of his trident to put an end to the source of the fire. But as he reached the center of the encampment, he knew that the fire would be the last priority. The air was heavy with the scent of not only smoke, but blood.

“Hades??” he called out, looking around the ruins. Nearly everything the gods had brought with them was burning; used as kindling in a massive bonfire, gathered together in such a way that only someone very tall could have constructed it. Poseidon spotted gigantic footprints in the dirt, and his anger for the titans grew.

But where was Hades?

“Brother?” Poseidon called out, hearing the panic already present in his voice. Had the monsters killed Hades? Had they abducted him? It did not take long for him to find blood, and he followed it beyond the wreckage of their weapons and their tent.

“Please answer me! Where are you?!”

The shock of red, now growing dull and brown, was what first caught his eye, and in the quickest of thoughts, he assumed it was Hades. But that fear passed, and instead turned to revulsion. Lying in a dismembered heap was the winged stallion, limbs and flesh abducted from the pitiable form in such a way that the poor beast was wallowed within itself.

Now truly frightened, Poseidon looked beyond the carcass, and he nearly felt as though his heart had stopped.

A small figure, its pale skin spotted red with blood, lay in a fetal position a small distance away. It took Poseidon a few agonizingly slow seconds to accept that it was his brother and that Hades was surely dead. It was the stillness of the poor god’s abused form that made Poseidon strong in his conviction already before he reached his brother’s body.

“HADES!” he nearly howled, not wanting to have to approach the other’s remains, for in doing so, the discovery of what he found would make all hope extinct. Yet he had to.

Poseidon drove his trident into the ground hard enough to accidentally make the earth tremble, but he presently did not care. Not when his brother was dead. Kneeling beside the sad remains of what had once been a beautiful god, Poseidon let his hand carefully touch the tangled, matted dark hair, now stiff from clumps of earth and congealed blood.

“Brother…” he whispered, moving the hair aside to have a look at his sibling’s visage and hoping that Hades’ features were still recognizable.

Then he felt it. A small exhale against his hand, barely more than a gust of breath, but it was there. Hades was breathing.

Before Poseidon could break out of his surprised paralysis, the older god’s swollen eyes fluttered and then halfway opened. A faint whimper left Hades’ lips, and though Poseidon had never thought it possible or even dared to hope for it, he had to accept the fact that his brother was alive.

“Brother…” he whispered, leaning closer and placing a careful hand against the side of Hades’ face. Very few places remained that were not broken or bruised on the older god’s skin, and clearly to make any sort of movement had to be total agony.

How could this even be Hades anymore? The elder god’s face was swollen and purple with bruises and cuts, just as the rest of him was. If not for his once beautiful long, dark hair, and his slight frame, this broken creature could have been someone – or something – else.

“I am here,” Poseidon whispered, and he felt a tear escape his eye. It landed against Hades’ cheek, causing a more noticeable reaction from the older god than his brother’s voice. Blinking, Hades seemed to behave as though he had no idea as to where he was. Truly, the broken god felt as though he might be dreaming. Then Hades’ body began to shake. His limbs jittered about as he attempted to move, as though any strength he had left was fighting to be of use.

“Can you hear me, brother?” Poseidon quietly asked, keeping his voice soft and unthreatening. After the abuse his fellow god had endured, gentility would be vital.

Hades seemingly tried to answer, but all that left his lips was a pitiful moan, his voice weak and rasping. He turned his head away from the contact of his brother’s hand, but Poseidon would not relent.

“It is only me,” the younger Olympian whispered. “Do not be frightened. It’s alright now.”

Of course it was not alright. How could it be?

Feeling helpless somehow, Poseidon looked around at the chaos that was previously the gods’ camp. He was alone with his brother, who was very possibly dying. What on earth could he do now?

All their supplies – including the tent and the animal furs they used as bedding – had been thrown into the pyre. Poseidon’s first instinct was to somehow get his brother warm, but he had nothing to wrap Hades in. All their clothing had been destroyed as well.

“Oh brother, why did we leave you by yourself?” he murmured, suddenly wanting to punish himself – and Zeus – for their stupidity. How could they have been so naïve as to leave their weak and inexperienced sibling alone with the threat of titans looming nearby? Now Hades was possibly beyond saving, and it was their own fault.

Even if Hades was to die, he should not have to do it alone with thoughts of nothing but agony. Poseidon removed his travelling cloak and tried to wrap it around the other god’s naked, bloodied form, mindful of the weeping sores that covered Hades practically from head to toe. The smaller Olympian objected with a pitiful whimper when he was lifted up into Poseidon’s arms, and immediately the younger god was apologizing for the discomfort he was causing his brother.

Hades’ trembles did not cease despite the warmth provided by Poseidon, but even his confused mind had sensed the new presence and realized that unlike the ones that had touched him before, this one was not out to harm him.

“Zeus…?” he rasped out, not quite sure of who this was but recalling the positive feeling associated with the name.

“You’re safe now,” Poseidon replied, not bothering to correct his brother. Hades was in too much pain to even speak clearly. What he needed now was to be kept warm and his wounds to be cleaned.

“I am here, and you do not need to be frightened anymore,” the younger god continued as he held his brother as carefully as possible. Though the pain was evident, Hades seemed to need warmth and contact even more. It soothed him and though he shivered at the cold and the pain, he lifted a trembling arm and weakly grasped at the figure carrying him.

Why did he hurt? Why had this horrible thing been done to him? Hades could barely even comprehend these questions, but a base, almost animal instinct left him with the simplest form of doubt and wonder. When he felt himself being lowered back onto the ground, he whimpered, fearing he would be left alone again.

“I’m here,” he was reminded, and he simply curled up on his side, hoping whomever spoke was telling the truth. So horrible was his pain that he hoped he could simply fall back asleep and forget everything.

Poseidon felt absolute relief at the sight of the barrel where the gods had kept their drinking water. Somehow, the titans had miraculously passed it by and it remained undamaged and full. Poseidon tore a piece of his robes away to use as a rag, and it dipped it into the water.

“I am sorry, brother, but this will hurt,” he stated sadly as he parted the folds of the cloak and pressed the wet rag onto an open wound.

The wound, located on Hades’ chest, was an abrasion surrounded by a large, purplish bruise. Poseidon did not want to think about how his brother had acquired it and all the other numerous wounds his body was covered in.

Predictably, Hades began to wail loudly when attention was paid to his wounds, and Poseidon couldn’t help but fear the sound would draw the poor god’s tormentors back if they were still nearby.

“Brother, please… you must be quiet,” he pleaded, now dabbing at Hades’ face with the wet piece of cloth. Once the dirt and grime came off, Hades’ features became more recognizable even though his visage was still swollen and discolored.

“Help me…” the broken god whispered, grasping blindly for the benevolent presence tending to him. “Please…”

“I’m here, little one, and I will help you,” Poseidon kindly replied, leaning closer so that Hades could feel his countenance. “But you must try to be quiet. Can you do that? I know it hurts, but you must try. Alright?”

Poseidon was unsure of how much of his instructions got through to Hades, but his whimpers died out and instead of wailing, he let out long, shuddering exhales when his brother cleaned the wounds on his upper body.

Suddenly Hades spoke, and it was the first coherent thing he had said all along. “Water, please…?” he asked, eyeing the vessel Poseidon had filled with water from the barrel. “I am so thirsty.”

“Of course.” The younger god quickly obliged to his brother’s weak request, and once he had scooped out some water to drink, he gingerly lifted Hades’ head and held the small cup to a split, trembling lip. Hades responded at once to the presence of the water and he would have gulped it down had someone else not been there to control his intake. Instead, he sipped, and he felt instant relief of the cool liquid against his ragged throat.

“Can you understand me, brother?” he heard whispered at his ear. Hades wanted to nod instead of waste the healing of his throat, but every movement hurt him badly.

“Mmn...” he managed. It was barely audible, so he tried again. “Yes...”

“Do you need more water?”

This time Hades began to recognize who was speaking to him. He reached up until his trembling hand made contact again with a bearded face.

“Yes,” he replied. “More.”

Poseidon dutifully guided more water past his brother’s lips until Hades closed his mouth and confirmed that he had taken enough for now.

“Brother…” he whispered, twisting his slender fingers around the younger god’s curly hair.

“That’s right,” Poseidon said. He managed an encouraging smile but this did not last very long. Neither god had anything to smile about, save for the fact that Hades was still alive.

“Hades… who has done this to you?”

Hades wanted to answer, but he could not remember the names he had heard in the horrible attack. His pain made his thoughts chaotic and his memories a thick, impenetrable mess.

“I…” he mumbled. His face twisted in a pained, miserable grimace. “I don’t know. I…”

“It’s alright,” Poseidon interjected, angry with the unidentified monsters who had been so cruel for such a trivial form of amusement. “We will find out soon, and they will be punished for what they have done. I promise you.”

The hand fingering at the curls of the younger god’s hair weakly tugged, a sign that Hades understood.

“I will continue to clean your wounds,” Poseidon said. “Try to hold on. I will try to be as gentle and fast as possible. Now lie back…” He guided Hades into a prostrate position, hating that he had to leave the cloak open. Hades shivered, cold and pain leaving him unable to lie still, and when his legs were straightened, spread out before his brother, his shivering increased. Hades bit at his split lip, but a soft, frightened moan escaped his throat anyway. Poseidon did not wonder why for very long at all when he spotted the patterns of blood all about the older god’s thighs.

Cronos’ symbol – the sickle – had been carved with a knife into the flesh of both Hades’ thighs like a brand. The sight made Poseidon clench his teeth. The brutes had clearly held the god down and marked him as Cronos’ property, probably to spite Zeus. But despite the brand drawing his attention at first, Poseidon soon made an even more horrific discovery.

Most of the blood did not originate from the cuts but from a source higher up. Poseidon hoped until the last second that he was wrong, but his hopes were immediately crushed when he watched more blood ooze out of his brother’s swollen, torn orifice.

On top of everything, Hades had been raped.

Not knowing how to respond, Poseidon moved his gaze from Hades’ nether regions to his face, and one single look at his brother told the younger god that his brother understood. Hades knew that he knew.

“Zeus and I will slay them all,” he solemnly swore, his hand stroking the other’s hair almost fervently. “I promise you, Hades. Not a single one will live…”

Revenge was not the only or even the first thing on Hades’ mind. What now plagued his thoughts was the possibility that Zeus would discard him and no longer want to touch him once he found out about the violation.

“Please… Poseidon, don’t tell Zeus,” he begged, grasping his brother’s hand. “I… I don’t want him to know. Please…?”

Poseidon shut his eyes at the plea. The cruel wounds caused by the titans had already been horrible enough, and still Hades assumed that he would be treated as though it were his own doing.

“Brother, he will find out even if both of us remain silent,” he gently reminded the older god. Hades shook his head fervently, refusing to accept his brother’s answer.

“Please. He must not be told.” The grip on Poseidon’s hand tightened, but just barely. Hades hardly had any more strength. “I am begging you. Please.”

Jaw tight, Poseidon sighed in defeat. “I will help to clean this for you.”

“You will not tell him?” Hades eyes, red and bruised from the beating, still read of the utmost anguish and pain.

“No,” the younger god replied. “But I will not need to. Zeus will find out soon enough on his own.”

Hades ignored the statement, looking aside. Close by the remains of the winged stallion were collecting flies. At the same time, a wet rag was pressed against the swollen, bleeding wound which his rectum had become. Squeezing his eyes shut, Hades let out a sobbing moan of shame.

“I am sorry, dearest,” Poseidon automatically said. “I know it hurts.”

“I could not help your horse...” Hades murmured as he wept. He felt a hand on his head again, stroking his hair.

“There will be other chances for flying horses. For now we must look after you.”

TBC...
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The Immortal Heart