Along Came A Spider (Moros, Artemis, Apollo, Athena)
Olympus was everything that he remembered from his last - all too brief - visit. Shining bright. Pale marble, golden gods and great works of stone in their names. In short, everything that Akheron had come to detest about the gods. They were diminishing in importance, diminishing in stature, but their decadence knew no boundaries that Akheron could see. They would betray any oath, subject any 'lesser' god to a thousand cruelties in their names, only for the sake of a night of copulation. Or a bride who had as little place in the Underworld as they did. Hades was one of their number; an enemy to be vanquished, just as Zeus and his get were. That was part of the reason everything had been arranged in this manner. His mother would sully Hades' name while Akheron went about his dark purpose, appearing where he was not expected before their 'week' was up. If an Underworlder took that offer of sanctuary, they would do so at their own peril.
His family would support him or stay out of his way, but they would not join the side of the king.
Akheron wouldn't allow that.
In the shadow of the great Phoebus Apollo's temple stood the construct of his twin, Artemis, goddess of the hunt. Another one of Zeus' precious children. Akheron knew well the pain that was inflicted upon a parent whose child's life was destroyed. He had survived it. That fire was the same fire that forged his soul into a weapon. To be hurled at the heart of anyone who claimed fealty to a callous, savage god such as Zeus. Akheron would let Zeus know that pain, and if it were within his power, he would give the same pain to Hades. All of them would know before the end that the oldest gods were not there simply to be tread upon by the younger, tools to be used in their games. Independence or death. Those were the only two options left to them. And it started here. With Moros matching his stride upon the steps of Artemis' temple, the shining one's great columns rising in the background.
There was no dread armor for Akheron, no weapons of war clutched in his hands. A sword and shield were useless now as they had been before. The day of steel would come, but it was far off in the future. Moros' only weapon was his singular determination, that fiery rage which shone elemental and powerful in his eyes. Golden chains seemed to drip from his wrists and ankles, from his neck; there was no time to remove them before Doom had insisted upon carrying out the next stage of Akheron's plan. And admittedly, little enough time before Nyx had started her own part of the plan. Their window was small enough. No need then to make it smaller with delays. Akheron as always was dressed in a suit of black; where Moros carried chains Akheron had his usual black suit and the severity of his purpose as weapons of war. This day would see the child of Zeus dead, or it would see the children of Erebos spent upon the field of battle.
There were no other choices.
Upon entering the temple their grim purpose was given form to aid the intent. Artemis' dogs were there, proud and noble creatures that Akheron might not normally see as targets in this quest. Yet they growled at strangers, assumed defensive postures. And in truth he could think of no better way to gain the attention of the goddess than to slaughter her favored animals. He exchanged a look with his brother, whose eyes showed neither anticipation nor fear. They simply were, black pits of hate that seemed to bore a hole through anything which their gaze touched. Akheron would settle for that. The dogs were advancing now, on instinct that revealed the purpose of this foul pair, but Akheron and Moros were not gods to be stopped by simple dogs. The first one, jaws flashing white and savage, missed his face by a narrow margin as he caught the beast by the neck.
Cerberus, it was not.
The neck snapped like a twig in his hands. A dead body dropped to the ground, freeing his hands for nothing in particular. Others were snarling around Moros, perhaps meeting similar fates. Akheron had no patience to look - if Moros were felled by the dogs, he didn't belong here. Here and now. The Keres had numbered too many to come in the open, but they were only a thought away, should their help be needed. Part of him hoped that Artemis brought aid with her to this place. All of him hoped, not just part. Looking around the temple with a jaundiced eye, Akheron glared at nothing in particular. The hall was smaller than Apollo's, not as grand as any other Olympian palace which had played host to him. And once his gaze was fixed on one of the many columns, black suit dripping disdain and malice as clearly as the heavy sneer upon his face, Akheron spoke into the snarling vicious assault of her animals - who were soon to die.
"Do we have your attention, Artemis?" he asked softly.
Moros barked a laugh, but Akheron ignored that, too.