All I ever did was try to please you and Mother. But those days were over. There were some people who couldn't be pleased no matter how hard he tried and there was nothing he could do about it. He was tired of banging his head against that wall.
His head hurt badly enough. He didn't need a concussion to go with it.
"Good night, sweet sister. May Morpheus cradle you kindly to his bosom." Turning, he walked to his room and locked the door lest another of her maids get lost on her way to the kitchen.
His head throbbing, he went to his bed and threw himself across it.
Was there anything more treacherous in this world than a woman, especially when the bitch was conniving?
May 10, 9533 BC
Pacing the floor of his personal temple, Archon cursed as another anniversary passed without their having located his wife Apollymi's missing brat.
Time was growing critically short....
If they didn't find Apostolos and kill him, his "beloved" wife was going to free the little bastard's powers and the two of them would join together to destroy every single member of his pantheon.
Starting with him.
He glared at his sister, Epithymia. The Atlantean goddess of desire had promised him that Apostolos would die. She had been there at his birth and touched him so that anyone who saw him would covet his body. The humans were supposed to have ripped the child apart.
And yet another year had passed and he still lived.
"You have to tell us where he is," Archon snarled at her.
"It won't matter. He's not there."
"What do you mean?"
"After a few years, I went back and the brat was gone."
Archon cursed. "How can he hide from all of our collective powers?"
She gave him a droll stare. "You had to marry a primal god.... Remember? None of us can touch Apollymi's powers. The bitch is potent, which is why you're so afraid of her."
And once her son came into his majority, it would be the end of everything.
"Your best bet is to keep hammering him with voices and pain. Sooner or later, it's bound to drive him to suicide."
"And if he doesn't?" Archon asked.
"I suggest you learn to swim." She flashed out of his study.
Archon cursed. They would have to step up their plans. There was no choice. Even if he had to tear the human world apart, he needed that boy's head on a platter. Sooner rather than later.
August 18, 9533 BC
Styxx stood by his father's side with his spine ramrod stiff as he did his best to ignore the voices that fought each other for time inside his skull. The loudest was the strident shrew tone he knew best.
Ryssa.
You're such a spoiled little brat. You repulse me. Standing there like you're already king. You're nothing but a worthless bully. I'm surprised you haven't ordered someone else to take your place to welcome Uncle for his visits.
He slid his gaze to her. She gave him a cold, mocking smile. Whatever. He'd never forgiven her for her reaction to him years ago, anyway.
Against his will, her nasty words replayed in his mind. "You're the reason they took my brother from me. Just because you look like him, it doesn't make you what he is. You could never be Acheron. You're just a poor copy of him. Get out of my sight. You sicken me."
Love you, too.