The road stretched endlessly beneath the scorching summer sun, cracked and lifeless. Once-green hills lay barren, reduced to dry earth. Twisted trees cast thin, skeletal shadows, as if afraid of what lurked ahead.

Hoofbeats shattered the silence.

"Uncle…" Iolaus' voice was cautious.

The man beside him gave no answer.

Hercules kept his gaze locked on the horizon, his knuckles white from gripping the reins. His jaw was clenched. His face—shadowed by an unkempt beard—looked as if it had been carved from stone.

"Alcides…" Iolaus tried again.

Hercules' horse came to an abrupt stop, nearly making the young man crash into him.

"Don't call me that."

His voice was low but sharp. Like iron worn by war.

Iolaus swallowed hard.

"But that's your name…"

"That man died with his family. Now… I am only Hercules."

He turned his head, eyes devoid of warmth or anger. Only exhaustion remained.

Iolaus hesitated. He wanted to tell him there were still reasons to keep going, that this wasn't just his burden to bear. But looking at him, he knew now wasn't the time. He lowered his gaze.

"I'm sorry…"

Hercules spurred his horse forward.

The sound of hooves faded as they entered the village.

It was small—just a handful of mud and wood houses clustered around a narrow path. In the center stood a weathered stone fountain, cracked by time. The water barely trickled.

And the village… was silent.

Too silent.

"Something's wrong…" Iolaus muttered.

Hercules didn't reply. He felt the hidden eyes watching them through curtains and cracks in doors. The tension in the air was thick, like the moment before a storm.

A door creaked.

A woman peeked out, fingers trembling against the wooden frame. Her gaze moved from Iolaus to Hercules.

Her face paled.

"It's him…"

"The murderer."

"The son of Zeus."

"The one who killed his own family."

The words were needles against his skin, but Hercules remained still.

A child, free from the fear the adults carried, stared at him from the dusty street.

"Is that really him?" the boy asked, wide-eyed.

His mother scooped him up and disappeared inside.

Then came the sound of sandals scraping against dry earth.

An old man emerged from the house nearest the fountain. His tunic was plain, his feet bare and calloused. He walked slowly, stopping before them.

His sunken eyes locked onto Hercules.

The hero held his gaze.

"You've come to slay the lion," the old man said.

It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Hercules' voice was rough.

The old man sighed.

"Then I fear you are already doomed."

Iolaus frowned.

"Why?"

The old man didn't look away from Hercules.

"Because not even the son of a god can kill it… Hercules."

The air seemed to grow colder.

"If it has a beating heart, it can stop beating," the hero said flatly.

The old man shook his head.

"Not this one. It is no ordinary lion. No mere beast. It carries the blood of Typhon and Echidna."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Iolaus felt his stomach turn.

A shiver ran down Hercules' spine.

"Since it appeared, the gods have abandoned us," the elder continued. "We once survived on little, but now… the livestock from neighboring villages has been devoured. And those who tried to hunt it… left only bones."

"The gods do not interfere in mortal affairs," Hercules replied, voice hard.

The old man tilted his head.

"Only when they stand to gain from it. Otherwise, they watch. Just as they did when…"

He let the words hang in the air.

Hercules' teeth clenched.

"You said I can't kill it. Why?"

The elder took a slow breath.

"Its hide is impenetrable. Swords, spears, arrows… they shatter against it. Even those blessed by the gods."

Iolaus shifted uneasily.

Hercules only tightened his grip on the reins.

"All things die. Sooner or later."

"Even the gods?"

"Ask Cronus."

The old man gave a tired smile.

"Then discover the answer yourself."

Hercules didn't wait. He urged his horse forward, not looking back.

The horses neighed in distress as they were tied near an ancient olive tree. Their ears flicked nervously, as if the wind whispered warnings.

"They won't go any further," Iolaus said, running a hand along his mount's flank.

"I don't blame them," Hercules muttered.

The path faded into a valley. The ground became softer beneath their feet. The trees swayed, their brittle leaves drifting down like dying embers.

Hercules walked forward, his massive frame cutting through the rugged landscape of Nemea.

He stood over two meters tall—a body carved by battle and relentless training. But he was no longer the untamed warrior who had once inspired bards and soldiers alike.

His powerful form was lined with scars, his skin hardened by war, his muscles tight with fatigue. His unkempt red hair fell over his shoulders, framing a face etched with sorrow.

He was no longer the hero of old.

He was a man walking beneath the weight of his own legend.

The world grew… quieter.

No insects. No birds.

Just the wind.

And something else.

A murmur.

Not a sound, but a vibration in the bones. A primal echo, resonating in the valley's shadows.

Hercules stopped.

Iolaus felt it too.

"Do you hear that… or am I imagining it?"

Hercules didn't answer. His eyes scanned the dark caves in the distance, black mouths gaping in the stone.

The wind shifted.

Iolaus swallowed.

"Alcides…"

Hercules turned, his gaze ice-cold.

"Don't call me that."

Iolaus hesitated.

"It's still your name."

"Not anymore."

There was no anger in his voice. Only certainty.

The younger man sighed.

"Since we left Mycenae, you barely speak. You don't sleep. You hardly eat."

Hercules kept walking.

"There's nothing left to say."

"There is." Iolaus caught up with him. "I'm not a child. I know what happened in Thebes."

Hercules stopped.

"And what do you think?"

Iolaus hesitated.

"I don't know."

Hercules exhaled.

"Neither do I."

Iolaus frowned.

"But you keep moving forward. How?"

Hercules tilted his head.

"I don't."

The younger man's face tightened.

"Then… why are you here?"

Before Hercules could answer, the murmur in the air thickened into something tangible.

The wind died.

And then— the roar.

A thunderclap, trapped between the mountains, ripping through the silence.

From the shadows, the beast emerged.

First, its eyes—burning yellow, like molten gold, alive with unnatural fire. Then, its shape—massive, towering, something that did not belong in the world of mere mortals.

This was no ordinary animal.

This was the Nemean Lion.

Its mane was thick and dark, like gold scorched into ash. But its skin... its skin gleamed beneath the sunlight, shining like metal forged by the gods. Its claws, sharp as daggers. And when it opened its maw, its fangs glistened—white, flawless, like the marble of sacred temples.

Iolaus took a step back."By Zeus…"

Hercules clenched his jaw."Stay out of this."

His voice was steel—unyielding. Iolaus wanted to argue, but the sharpness in his uncle's tone left no room for discussion.

The lion growled, and the stench of rotting flesh spilled from its fangs.

Hercules reached for his bow. Drew an arrow.

The lion was done waiting.

It charged, an avalanche of muscle and fury.

Hercules rolled aside just as a massive paw slashed through the air where he had stood a second before. The creature landed with a heavy thud—but rose instantly, moving with unnatural fluidity.

The demigod knelt and loosed his arrow.

The shot flew straight—aimed between the beast's glowing eyes.

A metallic clang rang through the valley.

The arrow deflected. Sparks burst at the impact.

Hercules frowned and fired again.

Another shot. Another useless impact.

The lion turned its head slowly. The fallen arrow lay harmlessly at its feet.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled in its throat.

"This… this isn't possible," Iolaus whispered.

Hercules gritted his teeth and slung his bow back in place.

The old man had been right.

The lion lunged again.

This time, Hercules did not move.

He waited.

As the beast struck, the demigod swung his fist, aiming straight for its skull.

The impact thundered through the valley.

The lion's body was hurled backward, tumbling across the dry earth.

Slowly, it rose.

For a brief moment, its glowing eyes locked onto Hercules—not with rage, but something else.Calculation.

Hercules' breath was heavy, his knuckles still clenched.

What had just happened?

No time to think.

The lion charged low.

Claws found flesh.

Pain tore through his bicep—hot blood spilling down his arm. His body slammed into the ground with force enough to shatter stone.

He pushed himself up immediately, ignoring the sting.

The lion watched him, its tail flicking in slow, deliberate movements. Measuring its prey.

Then, with a final, echoing roar—it turned and ran.

"You won't escape!" Hercules growled, taking off after it.

His breath was ragged, his footfalls pounding against the dry earth.

The lion moved with impossible speed, gliding between the rocks like a shadow given form.

But Hercules would not let it escape.

Behind him, Iolaus struggled to keep up, leaping over roots, dodging uneven ground."Uncle, wait!"

Hercules ignored him.

His focus was locked on the beast.

His lungs burned. His heart thundered—beating with something he had not felt in months.

The lion roared and veered toward a hill, leaping effortlessly over a jagged ridge.

Hercules cursed and pushed harder.

His muscles screamed as he climbed.

And when he reached the top—he saw it.

The entrance to a cave.

Dark. Silent. Waiting.

The lion stood at the threshold and turned.

Its golden eyes gleamed with something more than animal instinct.

Challenge.

Hercules halted, chest rising and falling, and then—he smiled.

Accepting.

Iolaus staggered up beside him, gasping for breath."Is… is that its den?"

Hercules didn't look away."Yes."

The lion let out a low growl and vanished into the black.

Hercules stepped forward.

"Uncle, wait!"

Iolaus grabbed his arm, fingers trembling.

"Stay here, Iolaus. This is my fight."

The boy swallowed hard, then let go.

Without another word, Hercules drew his sword.

The blade caught the light of the setting sun, still stained with the remnants of his last battle.

And then—without hesitation—he stepped into the cave.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

And the lion's roar welcomed him.