Hercules and the Sword of Ares

         The sun was near setting as the townsfolk gathered in the city square. All came to hear the bard Yolo, who was famous through out Greece for his wonderful stories. It was always a treat when he returned home to Athens; he was needed now more than ever though as the city was still recovering from the devastation of a recent earthquake.
         Children gathered close to the bard in eager anticipation of the stories they would soon hear, the adults crowded behind them seeming to need a diversion themselves.
         “So what story would everyone like to hear tonight?” Yolo asked, clutching his staff for support. His white beard seemed to glow in the fading sun light. A townsman quickly brought a stump for Yolo to sit on, Yolo thanked him.
         A child spoke up, “My father said you knew Hercules. Is that true?”
         The old man smiled at the boy, “Hercules was long before my time, but my great, great, great grandfather had met him and passed on his stories through my family until I was a boy and my father told them to me. Did you want to hear a tale of Hercules?”
         The boy nodded enthusiastically, as did many of the other children.
         “Hmm…” Yolo said as he ran his hand over his beard pondering which story to tell.
         “Can you tell us the story of how he died?” another boy asked.
         “Oh, Hercules didn’t die." Yolo said. "The blood of the gods runs through his veins, and like them he’s immortal.”
         “So what happened to him?” the child asked looking puzzled.
         Yolo smiled at the lad and reached over, mussed his hair with his hand. “Well that’s the story now isn’t it? It all happened a long, long time ago…”

* * *

         Right here in the great city of Athens, lived a man all the people knew and loved and his name was Hercules. Hercules was unlike most other people who lived in his time because he was the son of a god. Not just any god, but Zeus himself, the father of the gods. They say Hercules had the strength of a hundred men, and he always used that strength to help others.
         Hercules often liked to wander about the lands, getting to know the people and helping any in need. One fateful day he happened on the town of Dodona just as a warlord was attacking.
         A man fleeing the town saw Hercules and ran to him. “Please Hercules, help us! The warlord Angus and his ruffians are attacking our town!” The man looked choked up and the next words came out more sadly and slowly. “And they murdered my family.”
         “Take yourself and any others you see to safety. I’ll take care of them.” Hercules said with a grim expression, drawing his sword.
         “Bless you Hercules.” the man said, but Hercules didn’t seem hear.
         As more townsfolk fled past him, Hercules went from a brisk walk to a trot. Finally he saw his first enemy and broke into a run towards him.
         The man was on horseback running people down and seemed to be taking a sick pleasure from the task. When he noticed Hercules he steered his horse towards him. If he knew who Hercules was, it didn’t show.
         As the man charged in, Hercules stood before him. At the last moment he dodged to the side, grabbing the horse’s reigns causing it to dismount the rider. Hercules pounced on him before he could scramble to his feet. With a mighty punch he knocked the man senseless.
         A moment later, more invaders appeared. Soon, Hercules found himself surrounded by enemies. Fighting them off like pesky insects, he brushed them aside. Still, they continued to attack. With ease, Hercules flung their bodies into buildings, into each other, and onto the ground. The wounded capable of standing quickly fled.
         “Attack him to you fools!” shouted a large man racing in on a grand warhorse. “He’s only one man!” This was obviously the Warlord Angus himself.
         “Attack me yourself if you dare. Your reign of terror ends here!” Hercules shouted at the man.
         As Angus dismount from his horse, he pounded one hand to his chest and drew his sword with the other. The sword had a peculiar red tint to it and the hilt was adorned with blood red rubies. “Look closely Hercules, for this is the ‘Sword of Ares’,” Angus said with a scowl, “and it can kill even gods!”

* * *

         A child raised his hand and Yolo motioned him to rise and speak. “Who is Ares?” the boy asked.
         Another boy spoke up, “You dunce, he’s the god of war!”
         “Now now, not everyone has heard of the old gods, it’s been a long time since many of their names have been uttered.” Yolo said.
         “What happened to the gods?” the first boy asked.
         “That’s a hard question to answer.” Yolo said, trying to think of the best way to explain it to the lad. “Some say they got bored with the events of man and left. Others say they were forgotten and just disappeared when people stopped believing in them. More though say that the new gods were stronger and chased them away, much like those gods had defeated the Titans before them. Whatever the reason though, the gods we once knew started to vanish from the lands.”
         “Ares however wasn’t content to sit and let happen whatever was taking place among the gods. He began to forge a sword, the last sword he would ever make. It’s been said he put his spirit into the sword and that he used his blood to temper the blade, which was why it had a red tint. This was possibly the most powerful weapon ever forged, and it was made for one purpose, to wage war and end lives.”
         A man behind the children shouted, “Get back to the story!” A few people chuckled, but everyone looked expectantly at Yolo.
         Yolo smiled, “Very well, now where was I? Ah yes…”

* * *

         “Look closely Hercules, for this is the ‘Sword of Ares’,” Angus said. “and it can kill even gods!”
         The two men advanced towards each other and started fighting. Angus swung sharply at Hercules’ head but the blow was deflected. Hercules tried to get the warlord off balance but it was like fighting the god of war himself, he expected everything Hercules did.
         Suddenly Hercules was on the defensive. Hercules tried desperately to block all the incoming blows but they were too fast. Hercules was bleeding from a number of small wounds that penetrated his defenses. Sensing Hercules’ situation Angus wound up for a death blow!
         Hercules put his sword up to block the mighty swing and his sword shattered. The largest of the broken bits of sword plunged into Angus’s chest.
         Angus staggered, putting his hand around the broken blade, his other hand held the Sword of Ares limply. The sword swung clumsily between his legs tripping him and Angus landed on the broken sword, causing it to plunge through him. Then Angus moved no more.
         Hercules stood over Angus for a moment and then looked around. The invaders were fleeing. He then dropped the hilt of his broken sword and picked up the sword Angus was wielding.
         As soon as Hercules touched the sword, he felt a rush of power. He was invigorated and refreshed. No longer feeling weary from battle, but ready and wanting for more. He studied the sword a moment and it almost seemed to be studying him.
         Sunlight glint off the fine blade and the light it reflect made anything it brightened look bathed in blood. The blade itself was clean and didn’t show even the slightest signs of battle. The two rubies on each side of the hilt were like eyes that watched everything. This was a fine blade, and obviously had magical properties. It was best to keep this weapon out of the hands of man.
         Hercules sheathed the sword and went to help the people recover from the attack. There were a few fires to be put out, wounded to assist and buildings that needed to be mended.
         In the days that followed, Hercules had dark dreams. His mood and disposition darkened as well. Images of death haunted him. Even as he walked the countryside, he had visions of battles that had taken place there. He saw images of fallen enemies at his feet. He was standing on the road to Corinth having such a vision when a panicked man ran up to him calling his name.
         “Hercules, Hercules!” the man called. “Please, you must help me, I’ve just been robbed!”
         Hercules became aware of his surroundings, but the visions still disturbed him. “Tell me what happened.”
         “Well, my name is Serrus, and I’m a merchant.” the man said panting for breath and sweating profusely. He was obviously not in good shape and his overly large belly was a testament to that. “I had just made a delivery in Corinth and was heading home when two bandits came out of the bushes. They killed my horse so I couldn’t flee and they said they would kill me if I didn’t hand over all my coins.”
         “Which way did the bandits go?” Hercules asked.
         “Over that way.” he said pointing towards a thickly wooded hill to the north.
Hercules nodded and told the man to stay calm and wait for his return. He then made his way towards the trees.
         The men weren’t hard to find, they left a trail of coins that lead straight to them.
         “Splitting the loot?” Hercules asked.
Both men jumped at the sound of his voice, they obviously weren’t expecting to have been followed. The large bag of coins dropped to the ground as they drew their swords.
         Hercules removed the Sword of Ares from its sheath, a now familiar rush of strength and anger flowed into him.
         The taller of the two men charged. Hercules easily deflected the blow and with a twist of his wrist he sent his sword through the man.
         Time seemed to stop for a moment. The man stood before Hercules with the Sword of Ares cutting half way through his torso, a blank expression on his face. Hercules could feel the man’s life slipping away, and entering the sword. The sword in turn fed Hercules with more power and rage.
         The second man tossed his sword away and fell to his knees. “Please, take the coins back, just don’t hurt Me.” the man pleaded. “Please, times have been hard and we both have families to feed.”
         Kill him, kill him now! A voice said in his mind. A moment ago they were ready to kill you. If you don’t kill him, he’ll only steal from more people.
         “Killing is wrong.” Hercules said.
         The thief looked confused. “I haven’t killed anyone my lord. Please, let me go. I promise I’ll make things right with the merchant.”
         Bleed him now, like he bled the merchant of his money. He must pay!
         “You must pay!” Hercules said, holding the point of the sword to the man’s chest.
         "Please my lord, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill me!” Tears started to flow from his eyes.
         Kill him!
         Hercules lunged forward and the sword slide cleanly into the man.
         The man tried to draw a breath but it wouldn’t come. A moment later blood trickled from his lips.
         The sword felt alive and pulsed with power. The souls of the living were its food and it still hungered.
         Hercules grabbed the sack of coins and headed back to the merchant, the Sword of Ares still in one hand.
         So many coins, how can one man make so much honestly? the sword said in a voice in Hercules’ mind, This man is a thief of a different type.
         Hercules made his way back to the road where the merchant was. Each step he took, his anger grew. The merchant saw Hercules approaching and waved to him.
         Look at the bloated pig waiting for his prize. How many men did he cheat to earn all that coin? How many people had to tighten their belts to afford his over-priced wares?
         “Thank you so much Hercules, I’m sure you gave those bandits what they deserved.” Serrus said with a huge grin. “I don’t know what I would have done if those coins weren’t recovered.”
         Hercules threw the bag of coins to the man’s feet. Serrus’ grin fade as he sensed Hercules’ foul mood, but he was grateful all the same. When Serrus bent down to take the coins, Hercules ran him though with the sword.

* * *

         “So Hercules just killed him?” a young girl asked.
         “Yep, he didn’t say a word or give any warning; he just killed the man where he stood.” Yolo said.
         “But why?” the girl asked looking a little sad. “Hercules was a good guy!”
         “Yes he was, but the sword was changing him, he was quickly becoming as bad as the worse warlord he’d ever fought. Before long he was attacking towns and killing anyone who crossed his path.”
         “Couldn’t the people do anything to stop him?”
         “All they could do was pray.” Yolo said. Then pointing his finger around at the people said, “And that’s exactly what they did! They prayed to Zeus, the father of the gods.”

* * *

         Zeus, the god of thunder and lightning, had heard the prayers of the people, praying for salvation from the threat of Hercules, but he wasn’t sure what to do for Hercules was his son. Zeus called to one of his other sons Hermes, the messenger of the gods.
         “Hermes,” Zeus said, “What am I to do about Hercules?”
         “Father, Hercules is destroying everything in his path and no one can stop him. Warlords rise and fall; they live for only a short time, but Hercules… Hercules could rule them forever. That sword he wields has corrupted his mind and I wouldn’t put anything past him now.” Hermes said with a frown.
         “Damn Ares for this. I know you’re right, but he’s still my son. How can I kill him?”
         “I’m sorry Father, but how can you not?”
         Zeus walked out onto his balcony, where he liked to watch the mortal world below. With vision only a god could posses he saw Hercules invading yet another town. People fled and those who weren’t fast enough died.
         In a voice that boomed like thunder itself Zeus said, “Hercules, my son, please, I beg of you to stop your senseless slaughter. These people have not wronged you.”
         Hercules turned towards Mount Olympus, the home of the gods, and waved his sword in a show of hate and anger. He then chased down a man and murdered him in cold blood.
         Zeus shook his head and he knew what he had to do. He raised his hand and summoned a mighty lightning bolt. He then took aim and let it loose.
         Hercules saw the bolt and readied his sword to block it, but it wasn’t aimed at him, it was aimed at the ground beneath his feet. In an explosion of light and sound, the earth beneath his feet fell away and a great chasm opened beneath Hercules. On and on he fell for what felt like an eternity, until he finally land in a giant cavern in what could only be the center of the Earth. Above him the chasm closed sealing him in his stone prison.
         Hercules released a scream of fury, but there was no one around to hear it.

* * *

         “So what happened to Hercules? Did he ever get out?” a boy asked.
         “No lad, Hercules remains there to this very day.” Yolo said sadly.
         “How can you know that?” the child asked.
         Yolo gave a knowing smile. “Because of reports I’ve heard here and there around the world. Every so often Hercules pounds on the walls of his prison in a vain effort to escape, and when he does, the Earth quakes!”