I saw little besides the Laruas’ robes and brief views of the sky through the folds of the fabric, I tried to keep my sense of direction anyways. I knew we went up, wound through tight areas and then up again, so high that it felt like we were climbing a mountain even though I had seen no summit when I arrived. Finally, we went down, the sky obscured by the roof of a cavern passage. I definitely wasn’t going to be able to navigate my way out on my own. If I had my Imperator’s body that I had possessed in life, even as a Copper, I could have engraved the directions and pace in near photographic memory, but I couldn’t rely on any of that now.

Cold water dripped on us, a dirty rain from cracks in the rock. More and more I missed the conveniences of being an Imperator, simple things like being able to see in the dark, to sense things beyond what should be naturally possible. Most of all I wished for my strength and speed. I hated the claustrophobic feeling of being held no matter how softly, I hated not knowing where I was going. The whole experience over months felt like it was chipping away at me, stripping away divine power, tearing off superhuman athletic abilities, slicing off my authority and command. In life, at the peak of my glory, it felt like I was an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

Now I felt like I was a leaf blown away by the softest wind.

The basest, most primal parts of my mind wanted to break these Laruas into submission, tear whoever was their true master from his throne, and do things my way. Unfortunately, I was continually having to tell that part of my brain to be quiet before it screwed everything up. I would go along with this, learn all the secrets here and get out alive and free.

“Here we are.” 13 said and the Laruas set me on my feet.

“I can’t see.” I said.

“There are lights for ordinary eyes.” 13 said.

I waited a moment, and another, and one more after that to realize he was playing games. I grit my teeth.

“Turn them on then.” I commanded him.

More uncomfortable seconds went by in the damp darkness and my irritation spiked.

“Please turn them on for me.” I said, reining in my frustration.

“Of course.” 13 said, snapping his fingers.

Lights flared into existence, baleful yellow ones that made bare skin in its light look sick and jaundiced. I squinted as my eyes compensated for the change. We were on a catwalk above a massive facility. I’d have said it looked more modern than most of the Underworld which usually mirror ancient times, but it didn’t look quite like Lavinius or Iulius. It felt outdated, but like it had been cutting edge at one point, pneumatic tubes snaking against the walls, control panels the size of cars rather than a simple datapad or wrist communicator to manage it all, clockwork gears and pistons pumping and turning.

I chose one of the stairwells leading off the upper deck and descended down to the main floor. 13 followed silently behind me. Here the Laruas were varied; different mask colors, separate shades of robes. All clearly had a distinct function, all except one group.

I pointed a finger at a group of them. They were maskless, robeless and their eyes were wrong too. Only their irises were scarlet, not the whole organ.

“13, you need to start talking or I’m going to make myself a problem.” I said. “What are those?”

“New Laruas from Tartaros.” He said.

“Why are they different?” I asked.

“Because we haven’t sewed their lips or given them their masks.” 13 said.

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“No,” I said in annoyance. “Why are their eyes different? I was told they were all red because a corruption of the spirit.”

“That’s true. It is a corruption, but it is one we do to them. Come with me.” He said, bringing me into an adjacent room. It held a surgical table with a clone’s soul strapped to it and a “doctor” Larua was presiding over what horrors I was about to see on top of what had already been done. The poor man’s lips sewn shut with enchanted golden wire was only the most visible trauma.

Lord of Sutures. The title I had been so excited to gain because of what it offered me now tasted bitter. The name itself was a terrible reminder that thousands of people had been forcibly made mute in a way that caused them constant pain.

The doctor prepared a syringe, pulled the contents of a vial into it and then injected the captive man. Thrashing and writhing with a scream deafened by his gag, the man’s eyes turned completely red and then he became docile.

“What the hell was in that syringe?” I said.

“A mixture of Infernal Beast blood and Nectar. Nine-tenths blood to one-tenth Nectar.” 13 replied.

“And the actual purpose besides a cosmetic change?” I said.

“For one, it makes us stronger which enables us to do more tasks. For two, it binds us to Elysium and to Hades. All the Infernal Beasts in the Underworld are bound to Hades and the injection simulates that relationship.” 13 said.

“Hades isn’t your true master though.” I said.

“No. Another holds that distinction.” 13 said.

I sighed. “Look. I get you like these games, me fighting for every answer or having to beg you to do something, but if you really agree with my goals to destroy Elysium, you need to know we’re on a sharp timeframe. Let me understand what is going on and then take me to your master.”

“Fine.” 13 huffed. “Infernal Beast blood binds the souls of the damned, but in sourcing ghosts from the Pit of Tartaros, Hades introduced a fatal flaw. No matter where we are in the Underworld, we are meant for the Pit by Zeus’s decree. We belong to it. And to its greatest inhabitants by extension.”

I got a chill. Tartaros was for the worst of the worst, those most hated by the gods. Kinslayers and sinners and cannibals. And clones, apparently, which made little sense to me. Why not punish the creators who engineered the clone rather than the clone itself?

“You have rulers down there?” I said. “Kings? Queens?

“No man or monster is truly a king in damnation. But what was divine above is divine below, even in a broken state.” 13 said.

13 led me briskly to another room, a chamber that held a tunnel that went downward. I knew deeply inside that this was an evil place, that I should not go in, that I should flee from like a mad animal if I had any sense of reason or sanity.

I got on my knees and started to crawl downwards.

“I won’t be able to see.” I said to the head Larua. He was fine with the enhancements the injections gave him, but I hadn’t seen him grab any kind of light source for my more human eyes.

“You will once we reach it.” He promised. He was following behind me and his robes made a scratching sound as they rubbed against the rock of the narrow passageway. “It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if the citizens of the Pit were given the comfort of blindness.”

It was beyond me to tell how long it took to descend into Tartaros, all I knew was that if I didn’t regenerate at supernatural speeds I would have bled out from the jagged edges of the tunnel slicing my hands and knees. I was relieved to find that 13 had not lied and that I could clearly see my surroundings but that was quickly overtaken by the overwhelming sense that I was in danger of being attacked.

“Feels like I’m being watched.” I whispered.

“That’s because you are being watched.” 13 said at normal volume, taking the lead. “You don’t belong here and anything nearby knows it.”

We came across ghosts from time to time, clones mostly, but none of them were Blurs.

“They haven’t faded?” I said.

“How would they suffer if they weren’t awake and aware for eternity?” He said.

“This place is sick.” I muttered.

“Some here deserve it, some don’t. Everything is as the heavens demand it to be though. If sickness reigns here, it is because Zeus reigns above.” 13 said.

There was a voice speaking in the back of my head but I couldn’t understand a word of it. The feeling was heightened every step I took to follow the Larua. It reached its zenith as we came across a massive humanoid body. The thing didn’t breathe, and I doubted his heart beat, but I knew innately that he wasn’t truly dead. He was perhaps thirteen feet tall and every inch looked like it had been carved like a sculpture, which made his wounds even more hideous in comparison. Branching tree-like scars swathed his body, chunks had been scooped out with only charred hollows remaining. Most severe of all was the bronze weapon shaped like a lightning bolt that pinned the giant man to the floor of the pit by piercing through his left eye and out the back of his head. Only I knew it wasn’t just shaped like a thunderbolt…

“This is-“ 13 said.

“Kronos. King of the Titans. Father of Zeus.” I said. The voice in my mind was deafening now.