The lion pelt on Hercules shone in the sun, casting strange shadows around him. Devoid of the Golden Lion’s rich blood, it had lost most of its invincibility, but it still remained incredibly strong and hard to tear.

And it was warm, a necessity in this cold tundra.

All was white for as far as he could see, a strange contrast with the never setting sun. It had taken months to arrive at this tundra, and months more to find his prey.

In the distance, a faint black line obscured the horizon, looking for all the world like a distant mountain range. But Hercules knew better. The icy aura of death and entropy it emitted left no doubt as to its identity.

The World Serpent was close.

It only grew larger as he approached, revealing unblemished gray coils hundreds of feet high. The majority of its bulk was obscured, vanishing into various holes in the thick ice, but Hercules suspected it was miles long. It stirred as he approached, ruining Hercules’ hopes of landing a deciding blow before the battle had even begun.

The ice shook, cracks shooting through it as the serpent's bulk reorganized itself. Overhead, clouds began to gather, obscuring the burning sun. A head appeared from the writhing mess, as large as the rest of it, and lowered itself to face Hercules. It had pitch black eyes, and massive fangs dripped with a clear liquid that silently fell through the ice like it didn't even exist.

It hissed, and meaning somehow found its way into Hercules’ mind. “So you are the one that slew the cat. Have you come to slay me too?”

In response, Hercules’ aura flared, bringing with it the sensation of a fist obscuring the heavens. He crouched, preparing to launch himself forward with inexorable might.

Only to find his feet losing grip on the ice below as all friction vanished.

The serpent hissed what might have been a laugh. “It was foolish to challenge me in the depths of my domain. And for that foolishness, you will die. But first, why are you attacking us now? You never dared before.” The sensation of curiosity accompanied its words, calming Hercules’ frantic struggling.

He had time to figure this out.

“I’ve heard of you” it continued, “the bloodthirsty herald of the first. Yet you never dared challenge us crown princes before. Tell me why, and perhaps I will let you live.”

Hercules lifted his head, struggling to maintain his feet. “To atone for my sins.”

It tilted its head. “Atone?”

“To gain forgiveness for my failures. To do right by those I lost.”

“Ah. Revenge.”

High above, I shook my head. Revenge and atonement were two very separate things. A truth even Hercules could see. But the beasts had not yet been able to grasp that, their wild natures separating them from the softer emotions.

The pendulum of fate shifted further.

Hercules’ movements smoothed as he began to grasp his new environment.

The serpent let loose that hissing laugh once more. Then, with a casual flick of its head it sent a drop of that clear venom sailing at a helpless Hercules.

Hercules saw his death reflected in that clear drop, saturated as it was in concepts of death and entropy. Drawing upon the entirety of his newfound adaptation to his new environment, he jerked himself to the side, using his hands against the air to create movements.

The serpent watched in amusement, then flicked a few more drops at him, forcing him into a deadly dance. Overhead the newly gathered clouds began to let loose showers of razor-sharp snow-flakes equally saturated in deadly potence.

Hercules silently thanked his cloak for shielding him as snow-flakes dissolved against it, their conceptual might dissipating against the remeneats of the Golden Lion’s invincibility. He hated this type of fight, where the enemy focused on chaining his strength instead of matching it.

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But that would soon change.

Just as the serpent stalked adding ice spears to the mixture, Hercules finished what he had been working on and slipped a pair of lion-fur slippers onto his feet. Immediately, friction returned, the invincibility in the lion's pelt working to dissipate all malicious effects. Grace returned, Hercules slipped through the obstacles and unleashed his might upon the serpent’s. It reared back, barely dodging his blow. It could sense that even a single blow from him could spell severe injury. Immediately, the clouds above tripled their output, filling the tundra with obscuring white. Soon, Hercules could see nothing except white and hear nothing but the howling of the winds and faint serpentine hissing.

Then, it started.

Attacks from every possible angle, cold spears of ice, whittling snowflakes of death and globs of clear venom alike. Sometimes massive chunks of ice joined the fray, forcing Hercules to take a precious moment to shatter them. It was the serpent's domain, and in it the serpent held absolute control.

But Hercules persisted, alight with the soul of strength. Flashes of movements came back to him, learned in a battle he could barely remember. A fighting style separated from the cares of the mortal world, saturated in the perfection of the divine.

Strength was about more than mere physical might. It was about application. It was about results. It was about perservering in the face of the unbeatable.

And in that domain of ice, blinded and pushed to his very limit, Hercules thrived. He shattered every spear and chunk of ice, slipped around every glob of venom and fought through the piercing snowflakes. WIth every moment he burned brighter, more strength becoming him and more skill guiding that strength.

The serpent saw it, and the seed of fear planted in his mind upon hearing of the lion’s death begain to sprout. From a seed it became a sprout, then a sapling, then a tree, and as Hercules began to force his way through the storm, dispelling parts of it with rippling shockwaves, a mighty oak.

A decision was made. In an instant, every part of the serpent's miles long body, both the part above and below flexed, and with a mighty groan, the sheet of ice floating above the cold sea began to fracture.

Spouts of water and mist shot in the air, adding more confusing to the deadly game Hercules was playing. The ice beneath his feet began to disintegrate, melting under the serpent fearful influence. Soon, Hercules found himself floating on a small iceberg, maintained only by the fading influence of his lion pelt. If he fell, he would find himself in the freezing sea, completely out of his element and at the serpent's mercy. He could no longer see even a foot in front of his face, everything obscured by the whittling blizzard.

The serpent's hissing laughter rolled across the obscured sea, seeming to come from every direction at once.

But…

“And so, here we are. You fought well, First, but it ends here.”

Almost…

Even blinded Hercules could feel the walls of violence rising on every side of him, towering waves mixing with icey spears and clear venom. It was an unavoidable attack, and at best he would end up in the ocean, at the serpent's mercy. At worst he would die right here. He had to end it right now.

“I’m going to enjoy consuming you.”

So close…

He felt the shockwaves of the waves rushing at him, felt the whole world around him.

Felt the serpent.

There!

WIthout hesitation, he launched himself towards one of the waves, the force of his jump destroying the iceberg behind him, destroying his last semblance of safety. He struck the wave like a missile, a punch reducing a hole he barely managed to fit through to fine mist.

In midair he drew back his fist to its fullest extent, gathering every shred of strength he had, feeling even a bit of weight prematurely lifted to aid him in this strike. This was his last chance. He only caught a brief glimpse of the serpent's somehow surprised expression before he struck.

The full might of Hercules’ blow struck the serpent head, reducing it to atoms, but no shockwave rippled outward. Instead, it followed the path of the serpent's spine, the vibration ripping flesh off of the bone wherever it passed.

Hercules could feel the serpent's consciousness, which Hercules had correctly suspected was not totally continued in the head, struggling to contain the shockwave. But as mighty as it was, it could not take a full strength blow from the lord of strength himself.

When the last of its flesh was ripped from its bones, Hercules felt its consciousness cease to be, and its soul depart.

He landed on a chunk of the serpent flesh floating above the sea, watching the sun disperse the clouds, now devoid of the serpent's strength.

Another prince had been slain, and another fragment of his guilt absolved.

There was a growing realization brewing in Hercules, an understanding that atonement was not so clear cut as he had originally imagined. If not so, how had part of his guilt been absolved before he even finished the fight?

But now was not the time.

He had been victorious.

His laughter rolled across the now clear ocean, taunting the serpent's mighty corpse.

Standing witness too,

The death of another crown prince,

The death of guilt.