“The One and Only” Ch. 12

The moment he stepped inside, the smell of a graveyard reached his nose. Many would assume that the underworld would smell of rot. Would smell of dead bodies and disease. But this was not a repository for corpses, for man could do what they wished with their corpses. It was a place of the dead; of the spirits. And though they lacked form and body their smell was unmistakable. It was the smell of graveyards, of freshly dug dirt. It was not the smell of the dead, but the act of casting the form aside. And the smell was as pungent as ever.

Within minutes wandering through the dark, illuminated by his light, he found himself at the edge of a river, its waters the color of blood. Its distances were too far to measure, but Dionysus knew the river well. The river Archeron. The river of pain. He also knew the cloaked, ragged figure standing on the edge nearby, a ship secured against the current. The figure turned upon his approach, his mouth breaking out into a toothy grin, his eyes alight like coals.

“Now now...you are the last person I would expect to see. Seems life has been treating your poorly."

Dionysus felt little as he confronted the figure. ”I simply desire passage Charon. Someone was taken here who wasn't supposed to yet."

The cloaked figure chuckled. “Dionysus, always the optimist. Everyone who dies belongs here. Seems you are the only one who doesn't think so."

Dionysus's eyes narrowed. “She was killed by Typhon. His and my fight should not include mortal victims. Not yet. You know this. His business is with me."

“Do not act as if you are an authority here. The fates are the ones that decide in the end."

Dionysus added. “If I am wrong then they will just have to stop me. Here is my toll," he said as he flipped a gold coin to the figure in rags.

The figure looked down at the coin as he caught it, grimacing. Then, silently, he stepped into the boat and motioned Dionysus to follow. Dionysus stepped into the boat and sat down, as Charon grabbed the rope from the water, releasing them to the river proper. Then he began to pull them across in a well practiced action.

Dionysus focused on nothing save the steady lurching forward of the bent figure, the chamber illuminated infrequently by light coming from seemingly nowhere, appearing and disappearing with no apparent pattern. Though the trip was long, for Dionysus it seemed like no time at all, his thoughts focused on a simple emotion.

Fear. For once he crossed he would be among the dead.

Those he had lost.

At last they arrived, the boat jerking gently as the bow made landfall. Charon and Dionysus said nothing to one another as Dionysus reached the shore. Charon simply re-positioned himself, pressed off the edge of the bank and cut into the current, disappearing from sight.

Dionysus looked around, the space filled by ethereal pans of fire, spirits gathered around them. Some were muttering while others were doing little. Dionysus proceeded forward, ignoring as the spirits began to notice. One by one, they began to murmur, whisper to one another. This continued, getting more and more prevalent until all the dead were observing his movements.

Dionysus tried to keep his face away from them, but even in a sea of spirits he saw those he recognized. He knew he would not see his fellow gods, for their place was not here. But he knew this would not provide a reprieve. There were far too many dead for him to remain a stranger.

The first to approach him was Silenus, his face sober in a terrible way. He said nothing, simply walked up to him, looking at him with incredible sadness. Dionysus gritted his teeth, but pressed on, ignoring his old friend whom soon became enveloped by the other forms.

More and more of those he knew appeared to him. Some out of choice, and some by accident. Hercules and Achilles stood together, and took no notice of the god. Off in the distance he thought he saw a gathering, with his wife in the middle, his many children surrounding her. He looked away. He pressed on.

Then at last, at the edge of another river he saw another, their form brighter than the others. Newer.

“Patricia.,” he said without emotion.

The figure turned, her form lacking color but accurate to the way she was in life. Only her expression was different. Her face was crossed with anguish. Her eyes were awash with pain. And as he approached, he watched as she fell over and tried to scuttle away.

Dionysus felt a heaviness in his chest. Something like a collapse.

He stepped forward, reaching for her hand, only to have her pull hers away. He frowned, but though her reaction hurt, he still willed himself to turn his attention to the river. The river Styx.

He took a step towards it, but felt himself stop as a commotion began to rise among the spirits. He knew the restlessness. And as he turned, he felt an incredible blow hit his face as he was flung across the grounds, tumbling and colliding with stone until he at last came to rest.

“You had to have known I would follow you." Typhon said with a snarl. ”Such a predictable plan. I thought better of you."

Dionysus coughed as he brought himself to his feet, staring up at the creature that now towered above him.

“You must admit," Dionysus said at last. ”This isn't a bad place for this."

Typhon looked around, nodding. “Can't imagine there could be a better place to kill you. Maybe if I do it here then you will stay dead...but," he mused, looking over at the river, “if I had let you execute your plan, perhaps it would have given you a chance...but I doubt it."

Typhon took a step towards the river as Dionysus realized what he was going to do. Vines thrust from the ground, gripping at the beasts form, pulling at him. But the vines snapped as Typhon seemed hardly hindered at all.

“But perhaps, if I were to submerge myself...heh..."

Dionysus charged, only to feel his body sink into the earth as Typhon's enormous palm came down on him.

“You won't stop me little god. Not when with a simple dip, this may at last this will be over." His tone was tired, but his excitement was tangible as he stepped forward again and found himself at the edge of the river.

Dionysus tried to stand, his spine struggling against the pain and the damage. But he could do nothing, watching helplessly as Typhon fell, plunging into the waters of the river Styx.

When his spine had finally mended, Dionysus stood, but instead of anguish he was grinning ear to ear.

Typhon emerged, his body shaking, his eyes bulging as he looked at his trembling hands.

“I...I can barely stand...What did you do pathetic god! Tell me!"

The spirits were watching. But they did not react. Could not react.

Dionysus chuckled, grabbing the scythe that lay on the ground nearby. “Me, I didn't do anything. But you...you got greedy."

Typhon roared, charging at Dionysus, his fist raised high then descending with incredible speed. And in that instant, Dionysus leaped to the side, reared back, and struck, the blade of the ancient weapon running clean into the ground. The ping of the metal hitting the ground reverberated off the walls of the chamber as Typhon pulled up his hand to his face. Only his hand was now laying limply on the ground, a bloody stump where his hand should have been.

”Achilles had many brothers and sisters. You may have seen them among the dead,” said Dionysus with a sneer. All of them were subjected to the river Styx, and all died. But Achilles didn't. Because despite how powerful you are he was a demigod, and you are just a monster. You are strong, but no matter who you kill you will never be a god."

Typhon looked down at him, stunned. Then his face became a grimace as he screamed, horror lacing his voice. Then he charged again, swinging the back of his fist at Dionysus's head.

Dionysus ducked, tumbling as immediately after Typhon's foot was thrust at him. Dionysus swung as well, clipping Typhon's heal as the monstrosity stumbled forward. Typhon swung blindly at the space behind him as Dionysus leaping into the air and brought the blade down on the wrist, the creature's other hand flying off into the dark.

Undaunted, Typhon lifted his bloody stumps above his head, bringing them down with a roar. To his shock, his movement was quickened as vines erupted from the ground and grasped the wrists, bringing his arm level with the ground, his head now just above Dionysus. He opened his mouth, trying to swallow the god whole, only to feel himself pulled back, vine upon vine covering him, green enveloping his gray form until his was unable to move, screaming with rage and fear.

Dionysus waited as the vines thickened, then flowered, then sprouted fruit. Without hurry he reached forward, grabbing a grape from the vine and popping it into his mouth. Typhon quieted, his eyes staring at Dionysus through the green of the vines, his chest heaving.

Dionysus grabbed his bottle and took a drink, offering some to Typhon. The fiend simply scowled, as Dionysus took another long draw, shrugging his shoulders.

“It's kinda funny. Had I never met her," he said, leveling his finger at Patricia, ”I probably would have found a way to kill myself. I certainly wanted to," he said, his tone softening a little. ”We look at mortals like they are weak. Just...pawns. But we never really mattered. Neither of us did. We stopped being important a long time ago. None of this,” he said, motioning around him, “even matters. But..." he said firmly, “you hurt Patricia. And though I don't matter and you don't matter, she does."

And with that Dionysus steadied the scythe, reared it back as one would an executioners ax, and brought it down on Typhon skull, burying it into his brain.

The creatures form grew slack, as in an instant his ethereal form was torn from his body, howling and crying as his soul was sent off into the distance towards the resting place of powerful beings. To Tartarus, the home of the Titans. And Typhon screamed as he knew to his horror that his arrival would be welcomed not with sympathy or awe, but with eternal violence.

Dionysus pulled the scythe from the corpse. Then, slowly, he made his way over to Patricia's spirit.

“Your child needs you," he said in a tense tone, extending his hand.

Patricia looked at him. For a long time it seemed as if she would rebuke him. Then she looked over to Typhon and then back to his hand. Cautiously, she grabbed his hand, rising to her feet as the two of them turned and made they way through the crowd of spirits. After a time, they arrived at the river Archeron, Charon sitting on the edge of his boat along the bank.

“Took you long enough," he said.

Dionysus helped Patricia aboard as he went to get on himself. He stopped when he thought he heard his name. As he turned around, he saw his wife, Ariadne, staring back at him. He knew she couldn't have spoken. He would never hear her voice again. And so he simply headed back to the boat got inside, feeling her eyes on him still, even as Charon retrieved the rope and sent them back towards the other shore.