Book 2 in the Hades and Persephone duology.An illustrated novel with over 50 images.After six long months, Persephone returns to the Underworld to reunite with the God of the Dead, Hades. But the kingdom she knew has changed, and dark secrets cast uncertainty over their love. As a sinister plot unfolds, Hades and Persephone are thrust into a desperate race against time. The answers they seek are shrouded in shadow, and a war for all souls looms on the horizon. As the final battle between good and evil draws near, the King and Queen of the Underworld teeter on the brink of losing everything. Will they triumph over the impending chaos, or will evil unravel their world?
EXCERPT:
“Forger!” the king bellowed, his voice echoing across Tartarus. There was no answer. Hades leaped up, grasping the edges of the jagged mountainside, and began climbing the steep cliff until he reached the highest of the twin peaks. The amber flame of Tartarus lit the high mountain. “Unnamed One, show yourself!”
The ground began to shake, and a massive blue eye appeared at the edge of a mountain. Hades tightly grasped his bident and stared into the colossal orb. The eye was beautiful; the iris reflected infinity with whirling stars and planets, but in the center was an inky black pupil that left him with a feeling of despair, like a black hole in the core of a galaxy, a reminder that death was at the center of life.
“I seek answers from you,” Hades said, lowering his weapon.
The eye blinked once, and then a giant hand appeared, gesturing for the king to follow him. Hades moved to the edge of the mountain. The Cyclops was moving down the mountainside, astonishingly nimble for such a giant creature. Hades quickly jumped across the rocks to the ground, following the beast down the enormous stone stairs that led beneath the mountain. Cerberus paced behind him.
Once in his lair, the Cyclops turned to face Hades. The blacksmith’s hair hung in long, dark strands, and his body was filthy, his fingernails encrusted with dirt and grime. The smell emanating from him was revolting, and only a thin scrap of ancient fabric covered his groin, which was barely visible beneath his enormous, overhanging belly.
“What is your name?” Hades asked finally.
“I have no name,” the Cyclops smiled, showing a mouthful of enormous, malformed teeth. His voice was raspy from disuse, and his breath was like the air of Tartarus—foul and putrid. Cerberus walked hesitantly to the cavern’s entrance, his sensitive noses overwhelmed by the stench, but he would not abandon Hades.
“You forged the swords,” Hades stated.
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