~~Medusa~~
Never in a million years did she expect to be looking at the face of Poseidon once more.
She stared down at the struggling god, at his handsome face. He looked like an older man, but one with all the qualities of attraction, of a man who was powerful and confident, still virile with a touch of age on his face and hair. Tall and broad-shouldered like his brothers too, muscular, with gray hair lined with bits of black and white.
Black lightning continued to erupt around them, even as the shaking ground split and ruptured. More of the black rock beneath the underworld bore up through the cavern floor, cut through it, shattered stalagmites and the buildings they supported. The great hanging braziers of blue frame crashed into the ground, and only upon their landing did Medusa realize how massive they were; each brazier was the size of a home, and each rolled or shattered with the impact to cast the remains of blue fire and black soot upon the rocks.
She looked at Hades, Zeus, and Darian. Her love was shaking with rage, the way he had so long ago when he'd sunk his shield into a tree. He was crushing Zeus underfoot, while Hades struggled with invisible forces, the same as Poseidon did before her. And as the three gods suffered, the black lightning continued to crash down around them from the growing clouds of obsidian overhead. Hera, Demeter, and Hestia cried out threats and battle roars, but the great goddesses could not approach as a torrent of force ripped outward from Darian, shredded the stone floor around him, and split open the skin of the gods. More liquid silver gushed over the rocks. Darian's outburst... no, Moros's outburst left Otrera and Medusa unharmed, untouched, despite standing only several feet away from him. The black lightning crashed around them, split the rocks beneath them, and sent shards across the cavern for miles in all directions, but none of it struck the two women.
She had a moment then, to look into the eyes of the thing who had raped her.
"Poseidon," she said.
In the chaos of it all, her soft voice didn't make it past her own ears. Or at least she figured, but Poseidon managed to open his eyes and look at her. And he looked at her with a moment's panic, a moment's snarl, a moment's lust, and a moment's recollection, before pain took him once more.
For a second, she smiled. He deserved pain. To use her so, to violate her so, to abuse her faithfulness to the gods, to abuse her naivety and innocence, to abuse her... abuse her at all! He deserved punishment.
But, as Poseidon groaned with the agony of whatever Darian was doing to him, as he cried out when the lightning burned his flesh and invisible forces tore his skin, her hate melted away. She couldn't hold onto it anymore. A hundred years she lived with it, tried to hold onto it, to use it as some sort of anchor; but she'd cut that rope a long time ago.
It wasn't an anchor, it was a noose.
The sight of the man, god, screaming in torment as Moros did... whatever it was he was doing to them, made her insides flip. Just like the men she killed in self defense, seeing them die filled her with the same gut wrenching pain, the same cold chill that went into her tail. Into her toes this time, but it was still the same, the same disgust. No satisfaction, none of that warm glow she'd once imagined revenge would give her, so long ago. Just abhorrence and sadness.
She shook her head, and looked over at Darian again. He was grinding his heel down against Zeus's chest, and the god was coughing up silver over his lips between gargled screams.
"How dare your kind think it acceptable to rape, murder, or judge us? I don't care if you do raise the sun, bring the seasons, bring the fish and deer and crops. We are not your slaves. We are not yours to do with as you like," Moros said. And it was Moros. So little of Darian's voice was coming through anymore, buried in the ear-splitting rasps and roars of the mask. The words were his, but as more of the white mist dripped from his eyes, so too it came out of the mask's mouth, until Darian seemed less a man, more a demon.
"Tonight," he said, "I'm killing gods."
Zeus was at his mercy. Moros forced his heel down into him as if the little warrior had increased in weight a thousand fold. The snap of bones was loud enough to pierce through the thunder of the black storm that continued to grow overhead.
Otrera was trying to reach Darian, bless her soul. But every attempt to get near, every step, Otrera was halted by the winds pushing at her and sending her back onto her hands. At least she wasn't being shot out of the sky, as more of the gods and goddesses were. When Medusa looked up, she winced and held her hands to her mouth as one of the bolts of crackling black struck a god, a young one, and sent them falling to the city floor. And another. The gods did their best to evade the growing storm, but the lightning strikes grew more numerous, louder, and many started to strike out against the city buildings. Stones rained down over everything, and as they plummeted from the cavern heights, they struck the panicking, fleeing swarms of gods and other creatures.
She didn't want this.
Poseidon looked like he was going to die. Why his human illusion was so visceral, so lifelike, she didn't understand. But veins in his forehead bulged, and his eyes were bloodshot with lines of silver as the man struggled with whatever Darian was doing to him. He gargled and tried to cry out, but it sounded like no more than a choked whimper.
"Darian," she said. He didn't respond. "Darian."
Again the man didn't respond. He ground his heel against the king of the gods, and pointed a palm down at the man's head.
"We'd be better off... struggling to survive... than living under your feet!"
"Darian!"
He raised his head and turned his masked face to her. Like staring into the eyes of the end of everything.
"What?"
"Let him go! Let them all go!" She had to scream to get her voice over the vortex of destruction around them. She and Otrera remained unharmed by it, but only just, with shards of rock and whips of the black death coming within inches of them.
"They deserve death, Medusa! They deserve agony, justice. We have to—"
She frowned at Moros. Her Darian. She glared at him, grit her teeth, and pointed a finger at Zeus.
"Now!" Her voice cut through the destruction around her like a banshee shriek, and she glared at Darian with furrowed brow and eyes of glaring stone.
His body jerked. He stood up straight, took his foot off of Zeus, and looked at her with arms dangling at his sides.
And everything went silent. The clouds above dispersed like wisps of fog against a strong wind. The black lightning that ripped and tore the underworld asunder ceased and vanished. The mist that poured from Darian's face did as well, and as the man took deep, heavy breaths, she could see the hardness of his body fade along with the maelstrom of earthquakes beneath his feet.
The three gods started breathing normally again. Zeus forced himself away from Darian, hand against the stone to push himself back toward his kin, but Medusa could see his motions were a struggle. Like watching a man with broken legs try and push himself away from the lion mauling him. He left a silver trail along the stone as he did.
Hades and Poseidon were better off, at least. They got to their knees, coughed splattering silver over the floor, and trembled with what must have been searing pain in their bones. Medusa stared down at Poseidon, and when he looked up at her with raised brow, she sighed.
"... why?" he said between fits of coughing.
Again she shook her head, and looked down at the man who violated her.
"Just... enough, enough of all this. There is nothing we can say or do to change you, to change the gods, the Moirai, nothing. But please, enough of this pain. Enough of this misery."
She looked up to the gods above them, around them, to the Moirai who had thrown their unusual bodies of cloak and shadow to the cave floor. She looked to the younglings and their gold masks, to the older gods and the weapons they wielded, to the other creatures that crawled out of the wreckage of their city. It didn't look like any of the gods had died, as the ones struck by Darian's lightning managed to get up. Bleeding, shaking, coughing, but up.
She looked to Hera and her two sisters, and sighed. The wife of Zeus approached her, golden mask still upon her face, and scepter in her hand.
"You have defied our home, we should—"
"Home? Defied?" Otrera stomped up beside Medusa, and glared up at the tall goddess. Fearless, and pissed. "Athena betrayed her, ruined her life, tried to damn her to Tartarus for a millennium, and you—"
Medusa held up a hand, and stared into the eyes of Hera. The goddess was tall like her, and stood with all the bravado and pride of a goddess of her stature of course. Even with her mask covering her face, Medusa could feel the contempt pour from her. But perhaps the goddess wouldn't be blinded by it.
"I am sorry it escalated like this," Medusa said. "We won't allow you to kill us, but all we want to do is leave." She looked Darian's way, and frowned at the love of her life. "All we want is to be left alone, and to be treated fairly when we die."
Hera looked to her husband, and at the man who had nearly killed him. Poor Darian was looking down at the floor, and his body had gone limp. His arms dangled, and his shoulders had slumped forward. He turned his head enough to catch her in the white glowing eyes of his mask, but he turned away once she returned the gaze, and sighed, as if a heavy stone was tied around his neck.
Past Hera, Demeter and Hestia approached their brethren as well, one for Hades, one for Poseidon, while Hera stood beside her injured husband. Past them, it was a graveyard of destruction. Medusa could not tell if anyone had been killed in the chaos, if beings of the underworld could even be killed by something like a falling rock. But the damage was real, and the city within a mile around them in all directions was shattered. The colossal protrusions of stone from the ceiling and cave floor that once held temples and homes were ruined, crumbled or gone, and the buildings they carried with them.
Many of the gods looked injured. They limped around to the fallen, helped pick them up and their weapons, and many tried to stand up and approach Darian once more. But as they got near, rather than cross the final hundred feet to reach him, they stayed at a distance. And as they watched the Moirai of doom, many started to remove their masks, exposing wide eyes and dropped jaws. None seemed to care about the broken homes; perhaps they weren't a concern to beings in the realm of the dead. But they cared about their wounded, as even the Erinyes helped and were helped by the masked army of men, women, and children.
