13th Labour of Hercales

                                    

                                          
Here is a small story that I have done about Heracles (aka Hercules for Greek naming). This was for Latin class and I thought I'd post it for fun!
                          
-Stay Kawaii<3
                          
-FantasyRainbow8
                          
----------------------------------------------
                          
Heracles stands before the Ruler of the mighty gods of Olympus, his father. Despair echoes through his hallowed chest. The action he has done haunts his every waking moment. He must find a way to calm his waging soul. The ache too deep for any human to live with, but he is a demigod, he has the blood of the god's flowing through his veins. So he must be strong, right? 
                          
When he faces his hands, his eyes plays tricks as he sees the color scarlet when he looks down at his calloused, scarred hands.
                          
The sparks of an Iris Message catches his attention. Zeus sits on his fearsome throne, his face draped in shadows, "My son, Heracles. You have brung much honor to oneself. And the equivalent amount of shame with the honor." The King of Olympus takes a breath, "You killed many men with your mighty strength. I have seen your abilities. They are rather outstanding." 
                          
Heracles' features fill with distress as his father mentions his past mistake. "Father. I wish to have not killed so many men. I couldn't control my actions..." His voice begins to quiver as he tries to tell his father the truth, the grip of a ghostly hand begins to squeeze his neck, causing him to choke, as a reaction to the pressure a terrible cough exits his mouth and fills the emptiness of his surroundings. 
                          
Zeus shakes his head, his stormy eyes filled with nothingness as he gazes upon his fallen son. He clears his throat to silence the water echoing behind Heracles. The waters become quiet.
                          
He begins the task for Heracles, "You are to retrieve the Lyre of Apollo. The God of prophecies, healing, and music." His voice freezes the air. Heracles looks his father dead in the eyes and bows his head in agreement. Then Zeus leans a tad closer, "You must swear on the Styx River." Zeus says.
                          
A stillness fills the cavern, reaching to the Underworld itself. "I swear on the Styx River to retrieve the Lyre of Apollo." The name leaves the taste of ash and death on his tongue.The Iris Message begins to fade with Zeus now shouting that woman's name, Hera.
                          
Many of his comrades, friends have turned on him, as Heracles slaughtered many of their men and families, and strangers alike. The dominant revenge drives their uncontrollable senses. As the once infamous Hero, he must face one final task as his punishment, to redeem his title, and to finally let go of his guilt.
                          
He grabs his quiver with only a few remaining arrows and his worn bow. His pack strains his shoulders with the weight of his needed supplies for a Mortal's needs. That includes raw food, murky water, and clothing for the frosty nights that are to come. 
                          
He looks up into the endless night sky with thousands and thousands of constellations dancing above, his mind relaxes at the view. Paired with the low hums of nearby insects fills his ears with the bittersweet smell of spring, a new beginning. As it is a new chapter for Heracles.
                          
For his task he must climb the one of the tallest mountains around, Mount Helicon.The sacred grounds to appease the Muses and for the God Apollo himself.
                          
He begins his great trek of reaching the summit. Where the sky meets the land of these plentiful lands. Demeter must be feeling quite content with the human's sacrifices for the goddess.
                          
Heracles began at the lush forests and steadily made his way to the dull shrubs and rocky scapes matched with thinning air. The sound of animals are no longer in range, only he hears his footsteps crunching on the rocks he walks on. The beat of his pack and the swishing of his water.
                          
Within hours the sun begins to set. The coolness of night takes its effect. 
                          
In response, Heracles begins to retrieve bark from the dying trees, first steps of creating a fire for warmth. He then pulls out his tinderfungus matched with his flint and steel, as this practice may take several hours, but he has mastered the artform, causing embers to arise within just little under an hour. 
                          
Now he sits with a steady fire and meat roasting over the fire. In the distance he spots angora eyes watching his every movement. His instincts take action, he cautiously reaches for his bow, "Who is there?" His tone rough from lack of use. The texture of metal spindles up his fingertips.
                          
"Who do you think I am?" The shadow's words forms in a snarl. The reflections of unearthly gems upon the mask dances in the light from the flames. 
                          
" I do not know." He simply replies with, now aiming his arrow at his target. The shadow lifts its hand, uncovering a hand of a human, pale yet delicate. His body tightens in the grip of the shadow. Heracles' weapon drops to the ground.
                          
"Do not test me. Heracles, Porter of the Gods." The hood now drops, revealing a young woman with a flat nose and warming amber eyes. Her lengthy black hair wrapped around her skull in a simple braid, 
                          
"You are one of the Muses." He mutters to himself, he lowers his gaze, knowing not to upset one of the Muses in their terrain. As this is their sacred lands.
                          
"Yes I am. I am Melpomene, Muse of tragedy." She presents herself with a regal tone, edged with ice.
                          
"And you must know who I am."
                          
"Sadly so." Her voice lingers for a few seconds.
                          
Heracles take a step back from her claim. "I am a powerful Hero. I have slayed many beasts and monsters in the name of the gods." He claims.
                          
"Ugh. Mortal arrogance." She hisses as she seats herself next to the fire.
                          
Heracles sets her eyes on her endless beauty, "What may bring you to here?"
                          
"I craved for the fresh air." Fair enough.
                          
Heracles reaches for the meat, offering a piece to Melpomene. She raises a brow, "Trying to please me I see." She hesitates at first, but reluctantly takes the food.
                          
"Of course I am. I wish not to die" He takes a bite, the meat bitter and tasteless.
                          
"You have a task." Her eyes wander to his, "A task to steal Apollo's Lyre."
                          
His shoulder tighten, "Steal? No, never. I am not foolish to ever steal from a god."
                          
"I know and you will require my assistance to complete your quest."
                          
"How so?" His eyes become a shade of the burning coals.
                          
"That you are to climb to the highest point of the mountain. You must present this basket of fruit from the garden Persephone grows in the Underworld." From behind she reveals a basket weaved with the finest golden strands Heracles' eyes ever laid upon.The basket filled with ripe plums combined with the common fig.
                          
"Is this all?" He must be certain that there are no tricks that are being played. She gives him a singular nod.
                          
"You must do it before dawn." Was Melpomene only warning as she vanishes into the clouds above.
                          
Heracles holds the basket in his hands and takes a stand. "I shall begin now." He kicks dirt onto fire, extinguishing the flames.
                          
Turning to the left, he sees the sun beginning to rise, illuminating various colors of pink and red. With birds chirping their chosen melodies. 
                          
As reality sets in, his eyes widen with pure fear and panic. Adrenaline takes over.
                          
He steps into a dead sprint, his effortless speed meeting to the top. The wind howls in laughter as he runs to the highest point.
                          
There he saw the god Apollo in all his glory. His golden skin and striking features catching Heracles' attention.
                          
He holds the basket in his now trembling hands. "Apollo the god of healing, prophecies, and music. I come bearing the fruit of Persephone." Heracles falls to a knee before the divine god. 
                          
The god's eyes scan Heracles, wandering to his chipped sandals and torn tunic.and cloak. "Stand Hero." Apollo orders, his command clear. Heracles does as he is told. Apollo grabs the basket grabs the basket. An expression of dismay appears on his face, "Disgusting Mortal foods." He growls as he chuks the basket to the abyss.
                          
And Heracles was shook.