Dungeon of Torment

31. Tartarus

In Tartarus you are imprisoned inside something living. Something far older than the notion of good and evil. It has six rivers but these aren't rivers of water like those found on Earth. One, the Phlegethon, is a river of fire. 

In this prison, the traitorous – the iron blooded, were sealed up and tormented. That was until the fall of Tartarus' master, Uranus. His murder sent a ripple disturbing Tartarus – feint at first, until it spread out – causing the ground to tremble.

The Phlegethon burst its banks, its lava waves crashing against the prisoners' bars and melting them. It did not recognise Kronos as its new master – though it was happy to accept his offerings – Tartarus was now something wild and without a king. 

Tartarus remained sealed from the outside world, its inmates trapped. But now – those inmates were no longer caged - they could roam its secrets at last, their chains broken. 

So, what do you think happened?

New chains replaced the old. The three giants - Brontes, Steropes and Arges – being by far the strongest, became great lords. Under their rule the inhabitants mixed and children were conceived – abominations. Born in Tartarus, they were part man and beast. Gorgons, centaurs, harpies and other... monsters.

Present day

Charon sat on the ground, his rags soaking up the damp as he leant against the Palace of Giants. The great walls towered high above him, unfeelingly they dominated the landscape – casting much of Tartarus into shadow. Torches were lit along alcoves in the walls. These bright lights in the dark reminded inhabitants of the stars, not that Charon understood this. He'd never seen the sky.

Charon was an ugly sight. His skin and matted hair were covered in filth, his teeth cracked and broken and missing so many that his cheeks had sunken in. He had large protruding eye sockets magnifying the creepiness of his eyes that glowed like small chips of the Phlegethon. Charon heard the distant rumble as the giants moved about their palace.

He was squatting there out of curiosity. Charon had heard that the giants kept a pet. A titan – far fouler than he. Charon wanted to see it. The ground shuddered as another peak in the mountains of Tartarus fell. The distant explosion was a normal sound to Charon, it meant that -still- the escape attempts continued.

18 years ago

Hyperion struggled against his restraints – desperately trying to connect to his magic.

"Father!" He cried out, twisting his body and trying to look back to where Uranus stood on the deck of the Mona fleets flag ship. "Father I'm innocent! I swear – I never betrayed you!"

Hyperion was shoved over the ships edge. He landed hard and rolled onto his back. The flat surface of Tartarus was smooth and cold. Hyperion's skin took on a blue tinge from the point of contact. "Father!" Hyperion began to sink, the hard surface melting around him. "FATHER!" Hyperion was plunged into the icy depths of its black void. He took one parting look up at the sky, at the sun – shining bright and glorious, before he was consumed.

                Hyperion awoke in the dark. He reached out and his hands encountered walls that his eyes had failed to make out. He felt around him, his movements becoming frantic, as he searched. He was completely sealed - entombed. He screamed and the skin around his mouth, cracked and peeled.

                 When the Phlegethon burst its banks, rising in defiance – its gigantic waves of molten fire roaring high and crashing against the cell blocks, Hyperion was already delirious. He lay on a surviving block of his former cell, cresting the waves on this precarious raft. Those around him, his fellow inmates, were either climbing for survival or being consumed by the fire – their bones reduced to ash. Hyperion did neither. He lay in the foetal position, the tide carrying him.

Flames spat at his feet, branding the soles. He moaned and whimpered, his eyes white with terror. But he survived. With help form the fates. The tide brought the shard Hyperion floated on, to the Vale of Mourning. He lay unmoving for a long while, only his laboured breathing signifying life. It was Brontes' shadow that he saw first – creeping over the charred trees.

The cyclopes came menacingly into view. Brontes was a colossal giant, his skin thicker than rhino hide. It was the same shade and layered with more muscles than Titans or humans possessed. Brontes looked down at Hyperion and his gaze lacked any pity.

"Sunlight," Hyperion groaned, "I need sunlight."

Beads of sweat rolled down Hyperion's ashen skin. He looked a breath away from death. "Brontes...." Hyperion outstretched a trembling hand, "please."

"Did you help the cyclops?" Brontes replied, "in our time of need?"

Hyperion's eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting slackly.

Brontes raised a powerful foot, poised above Hyperion's head.

"Brontes," his brother, Steropes halted him.

"You speak for him?" Brontes questioned in surprise.

"We're still trapped in this place." Steropes lowered his gaze sadly. "I want to go home." He wasn't speaking about Earth. His thoughts were on their home planet.

Brontes pulled back, withdrawing from pulverising the Prince's head. "He's a titan. He may be of use to us yet."

Brontes considered this. Ash and kindling embers hung in the foul-smelling air and in the distance, they could hear the trapped and dying wailing for mercy. Brontes nodded, his gaze narrowing on the unconscious titan.

"He will be useful. And after he has done being so – then he will die."

Present day

"How fares the foul creature today?" Brontes asked Mouldface, a loyal henchman from the cyclopes rebellion. Mouldface winced at the cruel name, 'creature'.

"Quiet today, my lord." Mouldface played with the frayed hem of his cardigan. Hyperion had stopped eating, Mouldface was aware that he should report this – but sympathy for the titan prince stopped him. Perhaps, letting Hyperion starve was the kindest thing.

The cyclopes had created a kind of sunbed, to save Hyperion's life, but their mission after that (and for eighteen years now) was to remove the shackles that continued to block Hyperion's power. But these shackles were bound by magic and their attempts to remove them had only damaged Hyperion – permanently.

                  "Father," Hyperion was knelt before a vacant chair, "I plead mercy for Coeus. He was fooled by Kronos. I know he bore me no ill will." Hyperion beseeched the vacant space. The former sun prince was a wreck. His spine was twisted, causing him to lurch when walking and making him constantly bowed. One arm was a mess, the bones shattered and not properly healed beneath the blackened skin. His hands were encased in steel. His face was the worst. It was badly burnt, the features blurred and seemingly melted on one side.

"I thank you, father." Hyperion continued pitifully, "for wanting vengeance for my sake." He grovelled at the feet of the empty chair. "If you insist, Kronos might face the severest punishment." He laughed, smacking his lips together excitedly. "You want him to burn? Hmmmm." His shoulders trembled with mirth. "Father is wise. But it's not my wish hmmm, it's yours."

Mouldface stood, his head poking out of the trapdoor to Hyperion's attic. He heard Hyperion's antics and sighed heavily. Poor mad fool.