Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

His mother didn't show even the tiniest bit of remorse for what she'd done to her family. "If the sight of them bothers you, there is a room below the throne room where you can store them. While I'm locked in Kalosis, my powers won't let me put them there, but you shouldn't have that problem."

Closing his eyes, he wished the statues gone. In an instant, they were. He had no desire to see the images of people who'd wanted him dead.

His mother smiled approvingly. "You should have the ability to come and go from the human realm to this one at will. You'll find that Katateros is a large place with areas unexplored. The mountaintops are windy ... and it's on the northernmost point that you can hear the sound of your grandmother, the North Wind. Zenobi will whisper to you and succor you in my absence. Any time you need to be comforted, go there and let her hold you."

"Thank you, Matera."

"I will leave now and give you time to adjust. If you need me, call and I will appear."

He inclined his head to her as she faded away and left him alone in this unfamiliar place.

It was so strange to be here and it would take some getting used to. Closing his eyes, he could see the gods as they'd been. Hear their voices echoing in the faintest of whispers. And when he opened them, they were all gone and he heard nothing.

As he moved around the room, he realized he wore some kind of leather leggings.

Pants.

How very odd to know the names of everything and everyone without even trying. Whatever information he needed was there instantly.

Crossing the room, he approached the single black and gold throne ... Archon's. An image of his own dead human body in it appeared in his mind. And in the next, Acheron was sitting in it, looking out on the gleaming, empty room. Though ornate and gilded, it was sterile.

There was no life to the palace. No comfort here.

He stood and as he did so a large staff appeared by his side. Over seven feet tall, it held his emblem in gold and silver on the top. Atlantean words were inscribed down the smooth wood.

By this the Talimosin will be known. He will fight for himself and for others. Be strong.

Be strong. Acheron flinched as the demon Xiamara's words whispered through his mind. He teleported himself to the top of the northernmost mountain. The sun was just beginning to set as the winds whipped his formesta out behind him. He gripped his staff tight, looking back over his shoulder to see where the palace stood below.

Then he heard it.

Apostolos ... feel my strength. It will be yours when you need it.

He smiled sinisterly as he felt his grandmother's caress against his skin. Closing his eyes, he took comfort and strength.

And when he opened his eyes, he could tell they glowed red now. His vision saw so much more than it had as a human. He felt the pulse of the universe in his veins. Felt the power of the primal source, and for the first time he realized his place in the cosmos.

I am the god Apostolos. I am death, destruction, and suffering. And I will be the one who brings forth Telikos-the end of the world.

That was if he could ever figure out how to use his powers. Acheron laughed at the truth of it.

Turning, he headed down the mountain and back to the throne room in Archon's palace. No ... it was his now. Sadness hung deep inside him as he realized that though he had his grandmother and mother with him in spirit, he was still alone in the world.

Completely alone.

He froze as he heard something moving behind his throne. It was a soft scurrying sound ... like a large rodent. Frowning, he teleported toward it, prepared to kill whatever dared defile his new home.

What he found there stunned him completely.

It was a small demon with marbled red and white skin and long black hair. Small red horns poked through the tangles of her curls as she looked up at him with red eyes that were rimmed in orange.

"Are you my akri?" she asked in a childish lilt.

"I'm no one's akri."

"Oh..." She looked about. "But akra sent me here. She said my akri would be waiting. The Simi is confused. I lost my mama and now the Simi needs her akri." She sat down and started crying.

Acheron laid down the staff to pick up the toddler. "Don't cry. It'll be all right. We'll find your mother."

She shook her head. "Akra said the Simi's matera is dead. Them evil Greek people killed the Simi's mama. Now the Simi needs her akri to love her."

Acheron rocked her gently in his arms as his mother's shade appeared before him.

Simi stopped crying. "Akra, he says the Simi's akri isn't here."

His mother smiled at them. "He is your akri, Simi."

Acheron scowled at her declaration. "What?"

"Her mother was your protector, Xiamara. Like you, Simi is all alone in the world with no one to care for her. She needs you, Apostolos."

He looked down at those large eyes that swallowed the demon's small round face. Blinking, she stared up at him with the same trust and innocence of Apollodorus. And he was lost to that loving gaze that didn't judge or condemn him.

"Bond with him, Simi, protect my son as your mother protected me."

The thought of tying someone to him terrified Acheron. He didn't want anyone enslaved to him. "I don't want a demon."

"Would you cast her out alone in the world?"

"No."

"Then she's yours."

Before he could protest again, his mother faded away.

Simi snuggled against him and laid her head against his shoulder. "I miss my mama, akri."

Guilt over what had happened with his mother's demon he'd accidentally killed instead of Apollo, slammed into him at her whispered words as he held her close to him. But for him, her mother would still be alive to love her. "Where's your father, Simi?"

"He died before the Simi was born."

"Then I will be your father."

"Really?" she asked hopefully.

He nodded, smiling at her. "And I swear to you that you'll never want for anything."

Her innocent smile warmed his heart. "Then the Simi has the best akri-papa in the world." She hugged him tightly. "Simi loves her akri." As soon as the words were spoken, she faded like his mother had done. But as she faded, his skin just above his heart burned.

Hissing, Acheron jerked up his tunic to find a small colorful dragon emblazoned on his skin. He touched it gingerly, and heard Simi's laughter in his head. The tattoo inched its way up, toward his neck. Her motion on his skin tickled until she settled over his collarbone.

"Simi is a part of you now, Apostolos. While on your body, she won't be able to hear you unless you call for her. But she will be able to monitor your vital signs. Should she sense you're in danger, she will appear to you in demon form to protect you."

"But she's only a baby."

"Even as a baby, she's deadly. Never mistake that. The Charonte are by their very nature killers. She will be hungry and you'll have to feed her often. If you fail to, she'll eat whatever is near her ... even you. Make sure she doesn't get overly hungry. And the last thing you should know is that her kind age very slowly. Roughly one year of a human's development equals a thousand years of theirs."

That did not sound good. "What are you saying?"

"The Simi you have is over three thousand years old."

Acheron gaped at the information. "Shouldn't she be with another demon who can train her?"

"She's the last of her kind. You are all she has in this world, m'gios. Take care of her. As you have said, you are her father now. You'll be the one to teach her everything she knows."

Acheron placed his hand over the tattoo on his shoulder. He was a father....

But then how could he train and protect a demon daughter when he didn't even know how to use his own powers?

June 26, 9527 BC

Styxx hissed as he was jerked off the banks of the River Acheron and slammed back into his body in Didymos. For a full minute, he couldn't move. But once his eyes focused, he realized he was trapped beneath rubble. It felt as if every bone in his body was broken.

After a few more minutes, he was able to crawl out from beneath it and see the devastation that had been done to his homeland.

Just a few inches away from where he'd awakened was his father's body. Frowning, he dug him out and saw the small silver obolos still clutched in his hand.

His father must have been in his room about to give it to him when he'd been killed. Grief choked him. He didn't know why he hadn't seen his father in the Underworld. But it didn't matter.