When Russ took my dog Donald on a walk that scorching summer’s day his worst expectations were that he’d end up sweating through the light grey tshirt that he foolishly wore or that the poop would be runny as a result of treating Donald with some of his burger the night before.

But sitting across the table from Hades, he came to the conclusion he might have missed some obvious omen of death and had severely underestimated the worst this day could bring.

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We’ve been sat in a park for the last hour now.

Nearby a boy on a swing has reached the highest point in his arc, a bird takes flight to avoid a bus and a look of sheer terror is plastered across the face of a kid whose icecream tilts dangerous far ready to fall to the ground.

But it doesn’t. Nothing happens. Not since he appeared.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The boy on the wing doesn’t come down held in the air by some unseen force, the bird is suspended mid-flight like some odd figurehead on the front of the bus held and the ice cream never falls.

The only sign that the world around me hasn’t stopped in time is the dapper man in a suit next to me and the dogs. Yes dogs.

Yipping and yapping out in the field next to our bench is my little pug Donald, his height not even reaching up to the average person’s knee. Running around the field, chased by the fearless and noble Donald, is a freak of nature that would cause any sane man to immediately evacuate their bowels where they stand and hope to be mistaken for a tree. At 9ft tall this behemoth of a dog claimed 3 heads, each with a different coloured fleck on their forehead and a thick, coat of fur so dark it shames the night. The beast did it’s best to flee from the valiant Donald as he chased it around through the park.

“So let me get this straight” I said looking back at the person who claimed to be Hades sat down with me on the park bench. “Cerberus was getting lonely in hell so you want me to let him and Donald play on the weekends?” I asked the alleged ruler of the underworld trying to bring myself if only an ounce of Donald’s courage.

“Well its that or death” replied Hades with a smile like a shark's.

What a brilliant selection of options. Death or death by dog. "W-weekends it is" I stuttered back.

Was I going to regret this?