Post by Deleted on Jan 1, 2017 19:37:02 GMT -5
White feathered wings caught on a breeze, leading death to the queens door step. No pretty metaphors to be found here, but the real living god of death seeking an audience with the queen of the gods. Mors had an idea, one that tumbled around in his head but he had only recently felt the push to bring it to fruition. To make Charlotte Jolly his wife.
His own sister had married a mortal, draining away his sanity every moment they were together. He could not be so selfish, if possible he would give everything to not bring such a tragedy upon his loved one. Even the idea of keeping her from growing old and dying together with another was too much for him, and Mors had attempted to push her away. Charlotte was a tough woman though, and a persistent one. So full of life, care, and an insatiable curiosity. The god of death did not merely care for her deeply, as he did for every woman who bore his children, but was madly in love with her. Finally he knew why Pluto would kidnap a girl, and tuck her away as his own for as long as he dared. How a god renowned for abiding by the laws, as most underworld gods could be trusted by their word, might have been lost without her. His paperwork always grew sloppy, and his life fell into disarray by comparison to his normal demeanor whenever Proserpine left to be with her mother.
Bowing before his queen, Mors asked for her permission to retrieve a fruit from her tree. A golden apple of immortality for his beloved, a request that nearly made a dignified queen squeal in delight. He merely asked for her blessings, for Mors wished to retrieve the fruit himself. If he needed to fight a dragon for it then so be it. He was warned of it's bite, of it's many heads, but he did not need the warnings. How many hero's had he brought to the underworld because they were so foolish to attempt a fight with Ladon?
The Garden of Hesperides was always a beautiful sight. Grass that swayed in the breeze with a softness that one could hardly hope to find anywhere else. Sunlight reflecting off them with a silvery sheen. Voices of young nymphs drifted on the breeze, caretakers of Lady Juno's garden. Tall and imposing sat the tree in question, ripe golden apples filling up every branch. It was a wonder that it didn't break from the strain. Multiple serpentine heads tilted in a questioning gesture, they'd seen this god before but never without reason.
Mors strode forward with purpose, and suddenly two hundred eyes where on him, thousands of teeth bared in his direction. Undaunted by the creature, it's rotten breath came on a breeze was nothing compared to the stench of the hated dead. With a flick of the gods pale hand, his wristwatch transformed into the scythe of the reaper. Agonized souls pressed their faces against the cold metal of it's blade, leaving foggy imprints across its dark surface. Ladon was fast, faster than Mors would have ever given the creature credit for. It snapped at his side, leaving a gash as wings unfurled pulling the god into the air with a powerful down beat. Golden icor slashed on the ground, and coated the teeth of a single head. The sound of more jaws snapping echoed through the fields, and the graceful god of death darted like a butterfly. His weapon knocking aside one set of teeth only to be set upon by another.
Now it was not only a single row of teeth lines with golden god blood, but many. Too many for Mors to count at this moment, if he hoped to leave with his life. Several serpent heads rolled across the ground, though not enough to deter the creature. No it seemed to spur it with anger instead. White feathers littered the ground, soaked in blood from both beings. Every time Mors felt he was close enough to reach for a fruit, his advancement was turned by the long lived dragon. Shadows blocked the creature, but where not strong enough to pierce it's hide. Not in the sunlight of this place. Both his shadows and many fights with the gods of war and mischief where the only things that kept his neck out of the dragons clutches.
Hours of fighting went by, and the creature regrew every head that the god of death removed. Like a hydra it could not be so easily taken down. It seemed that there was reason for the fearsome creatures reputation, and the bacteria ridden poison that now weakened the god. He saw a pattern though. Even with the creatures numerous heads, every fight had a flow. A pattern. He'd learned at least that much from Mars, and he would use that knowledge to retrieve immortality for a daughter of the same. The love of his life, in all the millennia he had been alive there had never been one like Charlotte. This pain, this fight, was nothing compared to what he made her endure as he wallowed in self pity. Fitting himself into the pattern of it's strikes, Mors was able to get close enough to lay fingers on a fruit. That was all that was needed.
Limping would be a compliment for the ungraceful way the god moved away from that beautiful garden. Carefully wrapping his prize in the softest silk, nestling it in a blackened metal box made by the god of the forge himself. Enough to keep the fruit safe and preserved until eaten. Wings could no longer support him in flight, and shadows fought against him. His head heating up from the toxins in his system, threatening to kill a mortal with the fever. Without treatment, perhaps even a god.
Some of the wounds were already beginning to heal, but his mind was foggy. Relying on Mercury and the butterflies to lead the dead was not ideal, but he had need of all of his strength. For a short time death was gone from the world. Never before had Mors shirked his duties, but never before had he held such powerful emotions for a single person. Love was powerful. Though he had known Venus was a powerful goddess in her won right, he had never held this kind of respect for her. That terrifying awe that one holds for something which could end you. For if Charlotte willed it, he might simply fade. The realization was wonderful, and horrifying at the same time.
Going to his home in the underworld, Mors showered. Put on clean clothes. Then willed the shadows to work for him, forcing himself to Camp Jupiter. Wrapping his arms around his beloved, and simply rested for a few minutes. Even awake and standing, it was the most rest he had ever had. All of his power collected together, not spread all across the world. Quietly he told her to not turn around. To not look at him in that moment, and he knew she would not. The world stopped for death as he nuzzled into Charlotte's hair. Letting her take over all of his senses. Every sense. For only a moment, before he let himself be the god of death again. For mere seconds he was a weak man made strong by the love he held. For a moment, he let himself be.