CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

Death and Rebirth, Part 1

Despite the pain tearing through his insides, Sam’s mind remained lucid enough that he knew he was falling. More importantly, Sam could tell he was dying.

The bits of dragon’s blood that splattered onto him from the wound he’d given his foe burned through his gear to damage the skin underneath. He was bleeding a lot, too. The dragon’s fangs had bitten deep into his sides, skewering him right in the midsection and making a mess of his guts. With such grievous wounds, even Regeneration couldn’t heal him fast enough.

The notifications popping up around him that he was too tired to read warned Sam of what he already knew—he was standing at death’s door. But if that was all, then he might have just let go then and there. Because to give one’s self for one’s friends was a noble end sought by many heroes. However, Sam couldn’t rest because his battle was far from over.

Through the black spots that flew across his vision, he could see Medea’s dragon falling along with him. Its face was a bloody mess because Gram’s hilt remained embedded in the eye Sam shoved it in. The ancient horror, however, was far from dead. Despite its own deep wound, the dragon was flapping its wings to slow its descent. Perhaps even to chase after his friends once it had recovered its balance.

Sam couldn’t allow that. So, even with his life force rapidly draining away, he managed to raise his arms forward—an effort that sent pain lancing up his brain. With gritted teeth matted in his own blood, Sam launched his grappling hooks straight at his foe.

Funnily enough, his aim seemed to have improved in his critical state because both hooks latched onto the dragon’s scales right underneath its bloody eye.

“It’s... n-not...” He felt himself get pulled forward, and it was all he could do to stay awake. “...over... y-yet...”

As luck would have it, the dragon didn’t see Sam’s approach. Perhaps it was because it had been blinded in one eye or maybe it was too preoccupied with flapping its wings, he wasn’t sure. But it failed to react to Sam’s fists smashing it in the side of its face Superman-style. Even without Herculean’s edge, Sam’s strength mixed with a little desperation, was enough to smack the dragon off course, ending its attempt to stay aloft.

They were both falling again—both of them so close that Sam could feel the wave of intense heat rising from the horror’s body. It thrashed in the air, detaching its face from Sam’s hooks. Not that Sam could do anything about it as he was already drifting in and out of consciousness.

Another notification popped up, one familiar enough that Sam’s mind was forced to focus on it.

[Remember lesson number two, kid!]

“M-master... y-you’re b-back?” Sam’s voice was barely a whisper.

[No matter the pain, no matter the struggle, a true hero never stops to answer the call when it is given!]

Something shiny appeared on Sam’s peripheral, drawing what little remained of his consciousness toward it.

Gram, its glowing blade caked in dragon blood, was falling just to the right of Sam’s position. The dragon’s thrashing had set it loose and given Sam one final opportunity to fight.

Sam let out a deep sigh. Then he tucked his arms to his sides and dove for his sword.

Heat pressed against his back, so he barrel-rolled to the left to avoid the column of dragon fire rushing toward him. It went past him, its edges nearly grazing his side.

“Hephaestus’ flaming balls!” Sam cursed. “Come on!”

He was so close now that he need only stretch his arm toward Gram’s hilt.

“Come on!” Sam urged.

The sword was barely two inches away from him, but in that moment of success, Sam felt something wrap around his right foot, and then he was yanked backward.

“Gods!” Sam screamed as loud as he could. “Please!”

It might have been a trick of the light, or perhaps someone really was watching over him. If so, it definitely wasn’t Apollo because this figure floating in the air—barely noticeable if not for the soft shimmer of dust that made up its form—was that of a woman.

Only a moment passed between them, but in that brief second of time, the ethereal woman tapped her forefinger against the tip of Gram’s blade, pushing the sword right into Sam’s outstretched hand just as he was yanked back by the dragon’s tail.

A strong yet silky voice rang clear inside his mind. You saved my steed. I have returned the favor.

With a snapping of her fingers, Sam felt the fog in his mind clear just long enough for him to use the momentum of the dragon’s pull to his advantage. He twisted his whole body around like a top so that Gram flew forward in an arc. And, with both hands on its hilt, Sam used what remained of his strength to drive the blade across the underside of the dragon’s belly, cutting through scales and muscle to tear through its insides.

Dark ichor spilled out of this new wound, spraying the bridge of Sam’s nose in boiling blood—and the pain of it caused him to scream an otherworldly scream.

He wasn’t sure what happened next as he was drifting in and out of consciousness while his body moved as if on autopilot. What little of it Sam could recall later on was like a nightmare of blood and fire and brightly glowing steel.

Sam remembered Gram flashing in his hands as he hacked at the dragon’s snout when it lunged toward him with open jaws. He blacked out then, only to blink awake to the sound of the horror screaming in pain for Sam had apparently plunged his blade deep into the underside of its jaw, too.

As the blackness threatened to claim him once more, he felt the dragon’s tail whipping him across the back, throwing him into the void enveloping them.

The void—swats of darkness that remained despite the Endless Maze losing its hold on the mortal plane. It clung to Sam like shadowy hands, drawing him into it. Its touch was deathly cold, like falling into a lake that had been frozen by winter’s chilly breath.

As for Medea’s dragon, it shared Sam’s fate. When last he saw the horror, its fire had been snuffed out by the same darkness that closed over Sam’s vision.

***

Sam wasn’t entirely sure how long he was unconscious, but he eventually woke up in total darkness.

Above him was a starless, endless night that stretched out across the horizon. Underneath him was an inky blackness that felt wet and cold to his skin. He drifted in this darkness like a man floating on the surface of an inky black sea.

Sam tried to speak only to choke on words that seemed irrelevant in this void.

Where am I? he wondered. Is this... the Underworld?

He didn’t expect a reply, and no reply was forthcoming. He continued to drift lost and alone until the quiet and solitude became unbearable.

Is this death? Sam asked. Was all that crap about the afterlife all a bunch of satyr-shit?

The booming sound of laughter filled the space around him. Laughter of the most malicious kind. One Sam had heard before.

You’ve failed, little hero, the voice hidden within the darkness whispered. You will not escape here.

Oh, it’s you... the lord of the dark nerds, Sam sighed.

He could almost see the shadow frowning in the darkness, and he didn’t much care. If he was dead, then Sam wasn’t about to get punked by the mastermind who’d been pulling the Trickster’s strings.

I am not the lord of nerds, the voice snapped. I am the Lord of the Black Herd!

Black Herd... what does that even mean? Sam asked. Do you have an army of black sheep lying around somewhere waiting to avenge all the mutton that’s been eaten throughout the years?

Sam wasn’t entirely sure where this bravado was coming from. Perhaps death had taken his fear away along with his life—assuming he was dead, of course. Sam wasn’t entirely convinced this was the case though because he was pretty sure he could feel his heart beating in his chest despite its weak pulse.

Do you think to beat with mockery? The voice challenged.

Not really, Sam replied. I kind of just wish it would drive you away... you’re ruining my beauty sleep, father of fountains...

Yes, Sam remembered this shadow’s titles. He’d researched it enough with Farsight that Sam knew this ancient being was something he shouldn’t be taunting like this. He just couldn’t help himself. This death-like state was making him quite bold.

Mountains! It roared. Father of Mountains! Not fountains!

Honestly, its reactions were beginning to make it less frightening in Sam’s mind, but perhaps that’s because he couldn’t actually see the thing. If he did, well, it was a known fact that glimpsing an immortal’s true form was suicide for most mortals.

Yeah, yeah, can I go back to sleeping in peace now? Sam asked, his tone mocking. I mean, I’d rather not spend eternity here with you crowding my space... you know?

There came a long silence that made Sam feel just a little uneasy. He didn’t actually expect the shadow to listen to his request. It didn’t. When the shadow spoke again, the words spilling forth from the darkness caused a chill to slide up Sam’s spine so that he was instantly ashamed for making light of the situation.

Yes, an eternity for you within this abyss... But not for me, it whispered in a confident tone. I shall rise again. And I promise, little hero, that your companions will join you in this place...

The laughter resounding all around him made Sam want to shut his ears with his hands, but he didn’t have the strength to lift them. So he felt consciousness slip away once more.