The stench of iron was suffocating. Blood—thick, dark, and sticky—coated his hands. A steady drip echoed against the stone floor. Red. Everything was red.

Alcides blinked. The scene did not change.

His bare feet were submerged in something warm. Torn bodies lay before him. His hands trembled. What had happened?

A strangled cry shattered the silence in his mind.

Alcides collapsed to his knees, his hands clawing into what remained of his children.

"NO!"

His breath came in ragged gasps. Again and again, he screamed their names, his voice raw, desperate, pleading for an answer.

Only silence answered. A silence worse than any torment.

Megara.

He crawled toward her. Her chest still rose and fell, shallow and weak.

"M-Megara..."

Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. The light in her eyes was fading.

Alcides reached for her, but his hands—stained with the blood of his wife and children—froze midair.

He could not touch her.

His breath quickened, veins bulging against his skin. Then, with a scream of pure agony, he slammed his forehead against the stone floor.

Once.

"AAAAARGH!"

Twice.

Blood spilled from his brow, dripping down his face.

Three times.

"GIVE THEM BACK!"

Four.

"KILL ME INSTEAD!"

Five.

The ground was painted crimson.

He trembled, his strength failing, and collapsed onto his side, panting like a wounded animal. His tear-filled eyes scanned the ruins of his home. His children—torn apart. His life—shattered.

A broken, hollow laugh escaped his throat.

The fire in the hearth flickered weakly, casting a dim glow over the carnage.

Why was he still alive?

Something inside him shattered.

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He reached for his sword. The blade was still warm, still slick with fresh blood.

Slowly, he stood. His steps were heavy. His breath, shallow. His shadow stretched behind him, distorted like a specter.

Without looking back, he stepped through the broken doorway and into the night.

The abyss awaited him.

----------------------------------------

Ificles awoke with a start.

The scream had shaken him like a thunderclap. A raw, inhuman roar—a sound of rage and despair so deep it sent ice through his veins. His heart pounded in his chest.

His wife stirred beside him.

"What was that...?"

Ificles didn't answer. He had a feeling he already knew.

He dressed hastily and rushed outside, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone. His brother's house was not far.

The scent hit him first.

Iron. Death.

His pace slowed as he reached the doorway. Something inside him begged him to turn back. But he did not.

And then his stomach lurched into a sickening knot.

Blood covered everything. Flesh torn apart. Viscous footprints smeared in chaotic trails. His nephews' bodies—or what remained of them.

Ificles fell to his knees and vomited. His throat burned, but his mind barely registered it. His eyes were locked onto the horror before him.

Then, he saw her.

Megara.

Her dress was tattered, a dark pool spreading beneath her. Her chest rose and fell—barely, faintly.

Ificles crawled toward her, shaking his head in denial. No. This wasn't happening.

"Megara... hold on, please..."

He tore the fabric of her dress and pressed down on the wound with both hands. Warm blood seeped between his fingers.

"Don't do this... Damn it, just breathe!"

Megara's eyes fluttered open for a moment. Her lips trembled.

Then—nothing.

Ificles felt his body go weak. Megara’s face was frozen in an expression of pain.

A strangled gasp came from behind him.

"Gods..."

He turned his head. His wife stood at the entrance, hands covering her mouth, trembling.

Ificles wanted to say something. But what could he possibly say?

The wind howled, breaking the silence.

Ificles looked up.

Alcides stood at the edge of the cliff. Sword in hand. Staring into the void.

Ificles' heart seized.

He sprang to his feet and ran.

"ALCIDES!"

He ran with everything he had. The wind lashed against his face, loose rocks slipping beneath his feet, but he did not stop. He could not stop.

When he reached the cliff’s edge, his stomach churned. Alcides stood there, motionless, eyes locked on the abyss below.

Ificles followed his gaze and felt his insides twist. Below, jagged rocks waited like open jaws.

"What the hell are you doing?" he gasped, his voice raw.

Alcides finally looked at him. There was no rage. No grief. Just emptiness.

"I heard screams," Ificles continued, his voice unsteady. "I came into your house and…" He swallowed. "What happened? Were we attacked?"

Alcides blinked slowly. Then, in a whisper, he answered.

"I happened."

A chill ran through Ificles. He took a step back without realizing it.

"No..." He shook his head. "No, that doesn't make sense."

Alcides tilted his head slightly, as if watching a child struggle with a simple truth.

"I was always this, Ificles. A time bomb."

Ificles gritted his teeth, fighting the vertigo creeping up his spine.

"That's not true! You're not a monster!"

Alcides smiled. Hollow. Empty.

"Say that again." He raised his blood-soaked hands. "Say it while you look at these. Say it when you know this isn't the first time."

Ificles felt his throat tighten. He couldn't argue. The massacre spoke for itself.

His brother wasn’t lying.

"Alcides, please. Don't do this."

The demigod did not answer. His gaze returned to the abyss.

Ificles edged closer.

"You're a demigod. You might survive the fall... it'll only hurt more."

Alcides exhaled a small, bitter chuckle.

"I’m counting on it."

Then, a laugh echoed in the air.

Soft. Mocking. Condescending.

"Don’t tell me you’re giving up already."

Alcides stiffened. Ificles looked around, confused.

Alcides recognized it instantly.

The laugh slithered into his memories.

Serpents in his crib.

Apollo’s voice, cold and distant: "The queen wants you dead."

Alcides clenched his eyes shut. It had been her all along.

The laughter faded like smoke.

From Olympus, Zeus watched in silence, seated upon his throne of clouds and lightning. His expression darkened.

Beside him, his wife smiled, sipping from a cup of wine.

"What’s wrong, husband?" Hera murmured, amusement lacing her voice. "Worried about your little bastard?"