Collection (Styx, Aphrodite)
The intention had been simple, and clearly expressed to both of them - don't take too long. It should have enraged him that Phlegethon and Moros were dallying with the party guests. It didn't. Even if both of them perished - and if they did, it would be for no better or worse reason than their arrogance - Akheron had what he'd needed from the first moment to make possible a true war effort against Zeus and his foul get. Chaos. Panic. Disorder. The heavens had gone away from Zeus one by one, as evidenced by the total lack of aid coming to Paris. Now there was no one willing to support him, or near enough to that. Instead Akheron had only to use Aphrodite as leverage. It would be hard leverage for the king to ignore, and if he did, Akheron would have the personal pleasure of making Aphrodite a prisoner in the well of souls until time itself expired. There was nothing to stop him from submerging her in the water right now.
Except that they would want her back with sanity intact.
Farther into the keep they went, with Akheron dragging Aphrodite by her hair. Almost no sound was coming from her now, almost no sign that she was alive. No sign that she was breathing but the occasional ragged gasps that issued forth from her mouth. He could be as hard or as pitiless as needed. A weapon. A living, breathing weapon. Fueled by hate. Those images of his son, the sound of his screaming... they echoed in Akheron's mind as they vanished further into the dark stone halls. Aphrodite was saying something now. Pleading. Begging. A single scream from the pain. She was no warrior. To think she'd wielded a knife against him. She wasn't even proud. Aphrodite would have agreed to anything he wanted to secure her own release. Unfortunately for the goddess of Love, it wasn't her word that he wanted. It wasn't her promise that he would accept. Only one word would do now or in the future.
'Scream louder," Akheron told her coldly. "Charon enjoys a snatch of music as he passes by."
Styx was here, in this inner sanctum, as well. By her own request imprisoned, though not in chains as she should have been. No doubt hacking up pools of blood. A fine pair they would make. Doubtful that either of them would be in the proper condition to attempt an escape. Still, he would have them watched. Styx might change her mind when she saw what Akheron intended to do to every Olympian, sooner or later. All of them would be made to pay for their initial indifference and later arrogance. When Akheron came into the room it wasn't hard to spot the dark goddess of Hate. She was huddled against the wall. Trembling. Wrapped in one of his black coats. Trembling from what? Cold? Pain? It had been quite some time since he'd relieved her of very much. No, it was the cold. Styx didn't feel the pain that she should have felt. Probably would have blacked out, if she had. Akheron wouldn't blame her for passing out.
It seemed like the thing to do, didn't it?
"Stop crying," Akheron ordered the goddess who was dragged in by her hair. "Or I'll cut out your tongue."
Her shoulders were ruined.
Slim, pretty things according to some.
Akheron didn't see why.
Iron shackles wrapped around Aphrodite's wrists. First one. Then the other. They were connected to a single chain, forming a 'Y' - and that chain was threaded through an eye-hook embedded in the stone, near the top of the high ceiling. Akheron was looking forward to this most of all, he thought. While she lay on the ground, arms extended over her head, Akheron gripped the chain as tightly as he could. And began to pull. Slowly. Very slowly. Nothing more than a tug on her arms, at first, Aphrodite slowly rose higher and higher. Each time the chain was pulled, even greater strain was placed her on shoulders. Both wounds delivered by him. The sickle and knife had been removed. Shoved into his belt, over either hip. Akheron was on the verge of laughing by the time Aphrodite was halfway to the ceiling, her feet hanging over the open floor. Blood was beginning to run down that perfect body. Dripping on the floor.
Collecting.
Growing.
Her blood, then Zeus' blood, and it would finally be over. The thought of what to do when it was over... she had challenged him, demanded of him, and Akheron had no answers. Styx's presence behind him was noticeable all the more for the hate he himself felt. Even if he survived, would he want to go on? Was she enough of a reason to go on? Could anyone be enough of a reason to go on? The first signs of weariness were stirring in his heart, the first signs of a job near its conclusion. A last bout of activity before the end. Akheron had to find a way to fight off this lethargy, to cling just a while longer to the few ties he had remaining. If Moros and Phlegethon had their way this would be nothing more than a slaughter without purpose, without planning. Akheron's drive was needed now more than ever. Not for long. Just... just a while longer, and then at last - at last - he would be able to rest. It would be a peaceful rest.
"Good."
And as he turned, Akheron could see it in Styx's eyes.