Chapter 5: Trial and Error

The hallway Hyperion led her down was more of the same: plain, white, and caustic. Every turn down a new area felt exactly like the last. Identical. Boring. Lifeless. In fact, everything was devoid of scent other than the thick smell of cleanser. What happened to the scent of the jungle—the floral sweetness Angel had tasted before she passed out…Did they have no character traits? No furnishings or artwork? Nothing to symbolize their people or their hobbies…

Dark wondered how the place was so clean if they’d been locked in hell. It should have been a palace of ruin, at the very least. Not bland and perfect like this. Hyperion hadn’t let go of her hand yet, which she found oddly soothing. His flesh felt like sunlight on her icy skin as his veins pumped against her palm. It was odd that he hadn’t desired to release her hand yet, especially after the things he’d said. And the arrow…Gods, that shouldn’t have been attractive.

"Do you plan on holding my hand the whole way there?" Dark asked with a smirk, hoping to press his buttons once more to keep herself amused. But that flash of weakness she saw in the room seemed to have vanished. His cold eyes held no emotion, and he gripped her hand tighter in dominance, not affection.

"Yes," he replied curtly, "I’m keeping you from portaling out. Don’t worry, we’re almost there." She snorted, knowing she could leave any time she wanted to. In fact, he was lucky she wanted to meet the others, or she would already be gone. But it was cute, that he thought whatever power he held could lock her in her body.

He didn’t roll his eyes, but the agitation was clear. Something was under his skin.

As they continued down the hall, the walls disappeared into a long, open walkway. Even without walls, the area felt boxed in. Dark took in the wide swaths of Titans lined up in two large courtyards on either side of the walkway. In full armor and headgear, she couldn’t make out any of their features other than to say they appeared notably male and tall. No, tall wasn’t an appropriate description…they were giant. Walking alongside Hyperion already had Dark feeling dwarfed, but those men were several feet taller than him. And broader too. She caught flashes of Angel’s memory when they appeared at the involution. Had they seemed this big?

Perhaps they could modulate their size using power…And immediately, her mind went to the gutter. Gods, help her if they could modulate that size…She needed to scratch her sexual itch and get her mind re-focused again. Among enemies, being distracted was as good as being dead.

If Hyperion noticed her gawking at the giant men in uniform, he didn’t make it known. They were passing through an opening that felt like outside, but she couldn’t see any sky. Nevertheless, there was no scent other than the antiseptic. It was unsettling in the same way as the utter whiteness was. Everything had a scent. Food, people, air. Hell, with that many male bodies there was bound to at least be the scent of sweat. Or the metal from their armor. But there was only a stinging lack of it.

She looked out as far as she could see into the courtyard, but it was just more white on white like a large box with walls everywhere she looked. Where was this place? If she hadn’t spent all of her conscious existence in Angel’s head, she might have found it all claustrophobic, like a rat maze. Lucky for them all, she wasn’t prone to hysteria.

When they finally came upon two large doors of the same white material, Hyperion cast her a withering look and released her hand as if it burned. She felt something warm slither over her shoulders. It was so subtle it could have been a breeze; she almost thought she imagined it, inspecting her flesh and seeing nothing.

"Wait here. Stand there," Hyperion grumbled curtly before disappearing inside the doors and closing them behind him. She cursed him for moving so quickly she couldn’t steal a peek inside. To hell with waiting, she thought, they could come to find her when they were ready. Dark walked back towards the outside courtyard that intrigued her so much. But she couldn’t move. Her feet stayed planted exactly where Hyperion told her to stand. No matter how many times she tried to lift her leg, it didn’t work. Tricky bastard, she thought, he had the power to trap her not only in the confines of this unnatural place, but inside her own body so she couldn’t move.

Now her mission was to figure out what kind of power allowed him to do that. She didn’t even feel pressure. A spell perhaps? But he’d said no words.

From just outside the door, Dark could hear a chorus of voices in an uproar. She couldn’t make out exactly what they said, as they spoke in a harsh, stilted language that made her cringe. It was aggressive and yet somehow sent goosebumps over her. Strange what guttural male voices could do to her body. Whew, she thought, I’ve really done some shit to these men to be hated this much…Their voices continued to argue and yell.

She imagined this was the way the councils sounded in ancient Rome. A bunch of old men yelling at each other. Silly little men, if they wanted to hate her, she’d have to offset that the best way she knew how…Dark looked down at herself and quickly made some alterations to her dress, adding a deep plunge and two high slits on the sides. Then she swapped the Grecian white for a deep burgundy to match her hair. That should silence the bunch of old billy goats. Hard to remember to curse her name when they were staring at her cleavage. She didn’t have a halo or a moral compass, and she wasn’t fucking ashamed of exploiting that fact.

Suddenly, the doors swept open, and the ruckus of voices went quiet. Hyperion stood transfixed in the center of the doorway, slicing her vision of the room in two with his body. He seemed momentarily stunned by her, as if the wardrobe change had caught him off guard. He broke his own trance, stealing a well-hidden glance at her figure before closing the distance between them. Hyperion took her hands in his, surprisingly gentle, and clamped two shackles over her thin wrists.

"You may now enter," he whispered without so much as glancing at her, standing back to let her step freely. The one stolen glance was all he planned to do, it seemed, as she shifted her attention from him to the rest of the room. A range of ages looked back at her, though they all held the same expression, distrust. The more she inspected them, the more she realized none looked older than forty. Though they didn’t have the ageless appearance of the gods, their youth seemed to stretch along indefinitely.

Where were all the women? She could probably find at least one comrade among the wives if she changed her clothes. Rolling her eyes in irritation at yet another male dominated society, she lifted her leg. Oddly enough, she found she was no longer locked in place. Maybe the shackles were the only assurance they needed. Dark set her shoulders and strode into the room with all the authority she could muster. She locked eyes with several of the gathered Titans so they would know she was not afraid.

It was laughable to see each of them fumble with their clothes or close their eyes so as not to take in a tall drink of her body. But of the few that ridiculously tried to hide their attention, there were a dozen more who openly looked their fill. Hungry. The men looked positively starved as they followed her form. Perhaps there were no women? What society could function without that?

"Gentlemen," she oozed confidence as she walked through the parted sea of lightly armored men to the very one who mattered most. He held his head higher, hair slicked, and wore gold adornments and medallions on his silver armor. As if drawn to him on instinct, Dark approached the stern, calculating expression and did not flinch.

Cronus watched her advance, equally entranced and angry at her blatant display. Did she not understand that she was about to die? Did she not care? Could she, by some miracle, have an advantage he hadn’t foreseen? Of all the stupid things his brother had done for a woman, bringing this hellion back to their fortress might prove to be the worst. He had agreed partly out of shock and partly out of a selfish desire to end her himself. To see her vulnerable before she faced their judgment. But this was a risk. Too much of a risk because they all knew what she was capable of. Beautiful or not. The loveliest rose still grew from thorns.

Personal feelings aside for a moment, Cronus knew she was a guest in their home and the vote had not been passed yet, so he lowered his head incrementally and offered out his hand for hers. He gave her one sharp shake before releasing. He then turned and strode back toward the banquet table and throne.

"Angel," he grunted, "It is not a pleasure. My name is Cronus, though we’ve met many times." Cronus’ accent was harsher than Hyperion, unpleasantly rough, and she stifled her shiver.

"Yes, I gather you’ve met my other half countless times over the years…but me? You’ve never had the pleasure to make my acquaintance. Did Hyperion not mention it?" Dark smirked, enjoying the way his chest seemed to inflate and constrict at the same time, "You can all call me, Dark."

Perplexed, Cronus looked from her to Hyperion and the men surrounding them, the question not even needing to be uttered before Hyperion stepped forward with a response, "She says she’s of two minds, and I’m inclined to believe her."

"Yea, I bet you fucking are with her in that dress," someone mumbled in the crowd, garnering a small murmur of approval from the others. Dark didn’t bother with the rabble. She fixated on the expression that had just passed over Cronus’ face. It was something like understanding. It certainly wasn’t a surprise or an outright rejection of the idea. Call it intuition, but she had a feeling he knew exactly what she meant.

"Of two minds? Likely story!" someone yelled from the crowd.

"It changes nothing! It cannot be substantiated!" Another voice joined in.

"Never trust a woman who dresses with no respect. She’s a filthy liar."

"Death to her!"

"Death!"

"Judgment!"

The cacophony of slanted voices swarmed around her, feeling as though they were growing closer, more menacing with every passing second. There was some that spoke in the complicated language she’d heard through the door, the sound of which reminded her of being berated. It wasn’t entirely clear whether the language itself sounded like that or if the anger twisted their voices. All while she studied the conflicted face of Cronus. Dark felt Hyperion’s presence moving behind her, closing in the gap on her flank. The tension in the air nearly crackling with sparks. Who did he fall in line with? Protecting her or attacking her…

"So, this is a witch trial?" she mused carefully, casting a steely look around the room without betraying how nerve wracked she was. "I mean, it’s quite low to judge me for crimes I have yet to commit, right? Just because they happened before? At least do me the courtesy of detailing what I’ve done to make you all hate me so much." She made a move to summon her energy but found it blocked, just like her legs had been at the door. Godsdamned Titans had done something to the cuffs. She would have to go about this in a different way.

Again, Dark could see conflict on Cronus’ face, but she wagered it wasn’t enough to intervene. At least not yet, but his conflict told her he could be reasoned with. He could be convinced. She just needed something to push him over the edge to her side.

Dark continued forward in slow steps, ignoring the aggression on all sides. Armored men seemed to push closer, hands on the hilts of their weapons. Hyperion brought forth his bow, but it still wasn’t clear whether he prepared to defend her or maintain order. Either way, she had to stay the course if she was to correct this stupid error of judgment on her part. Whether misled by lust and excitement or simply too trusting, Dark had walked herself into a trap. She should have been on guard, not playing at flirting. Cockiness had bitten her in the ass again. At least this time, Asteria wasn’t here to make her pay for it.

"Surely if you’re here, passing judgment against me," Dark moved until she could properly see the entire room, "you’d want all the facts. Right, now, though, the lot of you sound like nothing more than barking dogs."

She moved her gaze back to Cronus, extending her hand. "See for yourself…I am not an enemy. The only one I intend to harm is Asteria…and anyone who tries to harm me, of course." Her tone was even, but the threat was clear. She was sure she couldn’t do much at the moment to hurt anyone, but they didn’t know that. If the unease around the room was any measure, they were all just as unsure about her shackles holding her back as she was. It was a bluff and a hope all in one.

Cronus snatched her hand into his without hesitation and gave no warning before he pulled at her mind. Dark’s knee jerk reaction was to lock herself up. Asteria had pushed in her mind enough to give her PTSD. Cronus eyed her suspiciously. Sighing, she released her hold on her mind and let him in. He sifted and weaved through her mind until he reached the core of her memories. He took a step closer until she could see the silver streaking through his black hair. Apparently, he too was far older than he appeared.

He shivered, his body going rigid as his grip on her hand tightened painfully. After only a few steps into the swamp of her pain, he made a strange sound. It gurgled and bubbled up from his chest but never left his lips, resonating like a whine inside his body. When his knees gave out next, Dark knew the sound was anguished. Much as she had hoped, her memories spared him no pain. She silently thanked Angel for being so broken. That kind of pain couldn’t be faked.

Then she said another silent prayer that she didn’t have to feel that pain herself. As only one facet of their mind, she didn’t have to bear the burden of most emotion. Anger, vanity, pride, lust, and confidence were all emotions she was familiar with. The others were Angel’s and truthfully, she never wanted to experience them. Especially because they’d made such a mess of her other half.

At the sight of their leader on the ground, several men withdrew their swords, but Cronus still had the presence of mind to hold up his hand, halting all advancements. A testament to his strength, he continued to pull at her mind, and she let him, opening the doors wide for him to experience all that he would. He rummaged around memories of her family, of her time in hell, of Angel.

When the tears streamed down his face and the throaty sound became an outcry of agony, Dark knelt down to his level.

"Control the pain. You mustn’t show weakness in front of your enemies." She swept her eyes around the room as she said that. "You must remain strong. Especially among those who would see you dead." She was not speaking to him, as he stopped hearing her the moment he reached her pain. No, she was talking to the room of men, hellbent on killing her. She was telling them without question that in surviving that pain, she was stronger than all of them. That accomplishment demanded respect.

Cronus stared into her eyes, but he couldn’t hear her, lost in the poignant emotions flowing through him. Dark put her other hand to his cheek. "Can you not see how I have told the truth. How she and I are this way?"

She snatched her hand away and took two steps back to allow him room to breathe. Her face remained impassive while the storm of her mind tried to settle. He’d knocked loose all her most painful moments and had she been her other half, they would have been spiraling. Dark didn’t spiral, though, for any reason. She simply took a breath to collect herself and straightened her dress.

"I’ll await your decision, gentlemen," Dark whispered, turning an expectant face towards Hyperion, the room silent as the dead. She hurried to the door, her skirts sashaying softly behind her.

"How?" Cronus croaked, grabbing at his erratic chest. "How did you survive it?"

Dark turned back, her black eyes a storm of things she wouldn’t say aloud, "I think we both know I did not, not entirely."