Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

His father hadn't withheld the coin, after all.

"I'm sorry, Father," he whispered. "I should have been able to do something to stop this." He had no idea what, but still ...

Burning in utter agony, Styxx took the coin and placed it in his father's mouth so that if he was on the banks of the river, he'd be able to cross and find Ryssa and Apollodorus.

"May Hades grant you both a palace in the Elysian Fields." And as he rocked his father, he realized what had happened.

Acheron was alive again.

There was no other explanation. It was the only way he could be returned to life.

I have to bury my father.

And probably Ryssa and Apollodorus, too. He got up to find them and paused as he saw Artemis standing in what was once the hallway.

"What are you doing here?"

"You've done enough harm to Acheron. I will not allow you to hurt him further."

Styxx laughed incredulously. "I have harmed him? Are you out of your mind? Look around you." He gestured to the smoldering remains of his once great city. "Acheron caused the death of my sister, my father, my-"

"Enough! I refuse to allow you to wander the earth, looking for vengeance against him."

Strangely, Styxx felt no desire for vengeance. There was only one thing he wanted. Only one thing left for him. And honestly, he was all right with that. "Fine, let me go to my wife and neither of you will ever have to worry about seeing me again."

"Your wife?"

"The Princess of Thebes. Bethany."

Artemis's face blanched at the name.

Gods, no ... anything but that.

Tears choked Styxx to the point he could no longer breathe. "She's in Egypt," he said firmly.

Artemis slowly shook her head. "Apollymi killed her, too."

A full wave of tears blinded him at the news. "Apollymi!"

She nodded.

Throwing his head back, he roared in agony. His vision swam with the ferocity of his loss. No, no, no! "She's not dead. Not my Beth. Not her. You're lying to me!"

"I would never lie about that. I'm sorry, Styxx."

But she wasn't. She didn't care. Why should she?

Raking his hands through his hair, Styxx did want blood, after all. He wanted to bathe in the blood of every god on Olympus. But none more than Acheron's.

His fury overtaking him, Styxx ran at Artemis, intending to carve out her heart. But before he could reach her, he was snatched away by angry, shredding winds.

Everything went dark.

The next thing he knew, he was slammed against the white sands of a foreign beach. Stunned, Styxx turned around in the sand on his knees.

What the fuck is this?

Artemis appeared before him. "You're on a Vanishing Isle in the Elysian Fields. I can't afford for anyone to know about you or Acheron. You have everything you need here and people will come with food for you from time to time." She dropped the chest from his room in front of him. "That should comfort you."

Then she was gone.

Aghast, Styxx stared at that stupid chest. That was supposed to comfort him for the loss of his entire family and country?

For the loss of Bethany and their son?

Styxx bellowed with rage until his throat was raw and could produce no more sounds. He hadn't screamed out like this since they'd tortured him in the Dionysion. And honestly, he'd rather go back to that than to live through this.

How could they take everything from him?

"I should have let the fucking Atlanteans beat you and the rest of the Olympians into the ground!"

He cursed the day he'd ever fought for Greece and her gods. Most of all, he cursed the day he'd been born twin to Acheron Parthenopaeus. That bastard ...

Styxx stared out onto the horizon as he made a solemn vow. "You better pray, brother, that I never get off this island. If do ... you will bleed for every tear you've given me. And I will rip out your heart and shove it down your throat for your mother taking my wife and son from me. Damn every single one of you!"

In all his life, he'd only ever wanted one thing.

Bethany.

And now all he wanted was death so that he could be with her in the next lifetime. But there was nothing left for him except eternity in isolated hell.

Eleven Thousand, Five Hundred and Thirty-One Years Later...

AD January 3, 2004

Exhausted and sweating, Styxx sighed as he dug in the wet sand to uncover his lunch. He'd already found two clams. One more and he'd be done for the meal. As he tried to lift the heavy sand, the wooden handle on his handmade shovel broke. He knelt down to finish digging it out with the rock blade then added the clam to the small handmade leather pouch where he'd placed the other two.

He washed the sand off his hands in the surf then headed back to the thatched hut he'd built centuries ago for shelter from the winds and harsh, unforgiving sunlight.

Tossing the shovel pieces by the door so that he could repair it later, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and went in and grabbed his last coconut. He'd need to gather more after he finished eating.

Styxx returned outside to start a fire for his meager meal.

But just as he reached his cooking pit, something bright flashed. With reflexes honed by thousands of years of unexpected and extremely vicious animal attacks, Styxx grabbed his spear and readied it for the fight.

Only it wasn't a fur-covered predator.

This one walked on two legs.

Dionysus. Though he was a bit different from the last time Styxx had seen him, he remembered the bastard well from his brief imprisonment in Apollo's temple on Olympus. The god of wine and excess had cut his long brown hair short and put streaks of blond through it. Dressed in clothes the likes of which Styxx had never seen before, Dionysus wore a well-trimmed goatee.

Styxx scowled at the god's sudden and unexpected appearance. Was he hallucinating? Had something poisoned him while he'd been clamming? He hadn't been bitten in a while, but ...

It'd been thousands and thousands of years since anyone had come to his island for any reason.

Dionysus spoke, but he couldn't understand him. The god stepped closer.

Suspicious as hell, Styxx backed up and angled the spear for the god's heart.

The Olympian stopped moving and held his hands up. "Sorry. I forgot to use ancient Greek. I'm a little rusty with it. Can you understand me now?"

Ironically, it took Styxx a few heartbeats to remember it, too. He'd long stopped thinking with words. With no one to talk to and no more voices in his head, only pictures had kept him company for countless centuries.

He nodded.

Again the Olympian said something Styxx didn't understand. He took a step.

Styxx pressed the point of the spear against his chest in warning.