I studied Fish now that he had been revived. His features had filled in, no longer could I see his teeth through holes in his cheeks nor did he look constantly out of focus. Maybe he wasn’t mentally all there yet, not as much as Pollixa and I or the enemies he had sent running off, but he did not look like a ghost anymore. I reached out and gripped his shoulder as I had done on the Ferryman’s boat, bracing myself for another round of slime, but even with pressure his flesh felt firm.

“How did you do that?” I asked him.

He shrugged.

I turned to Pollixa and she shook her head, though I didn’t expect her to know anything either.

“He’s a Leechling.” A male voice came from behind.

Pollixa and I turned in unison as one and I felt a bit of pride as I saw that she fell into the exact same stance as I did. Maybe she didn’t remember going to the Scholarium, but clearly her body did.

Muscle memory is a hell of thing, isn’t it, Alsig? I thought to myself before I realized with a bit of sadness that she wasn’t here with me.

“Who are you?” Pollixa demanded. “Identify yourself.”

I recognized him now. There had been seven men around this misty ghost-fire, seven men with color to their skin and sense still in their heads, but only six had been sitting down together and only six had fought me and then had been sent running by Fish. The seventh had been standing apart from the rest and he had remained to watch us. The shade had shoulder length black hair so dark it could have been dipped in ink and eyes so blue the color could have been snatched from the sky. His face was stubbled like he hadn’t shaved in a day or so.

“I am Krassas.” He said. “Krassas Claudion. Welcome to the Fields, friends.”

I tensed. “Claudion?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember my House? Interesting. Were you one of my subjects?”

“I lived in Apollo system.” I said. “But the Governor in my time was Theseas Claudion.”

I wondered if this was the father of Theseas that Persias had told me that he had killed while Theseas had killed Persias’s father so that neither of them would be kinslayers and so that both could gain Silver.

“I don’t recall the name.” Krassas replied. “A descendant then. A grandson born after my lifetime or a great-grandson. Perhaps even longer though I doubt it.”

I neglected to inform the ghost that I had killed the offspring of his offspring for obvious reasons. And Dio as well.

“What’s a Leechling?” Pollixa asked.

“A parasite.” Krassas said, eyeing Fish warily.

Fish didn’t seem to mind or even notice, instead he was sitting in the dust and drawing patterns in it with the tip of his index finger.

“Leechlings are Blurs, one of the many legions of the colorless and the lifeless, but they rise above their lot in their unlife by drinking the blood and essence of someone who has retained their vitality.” Krassas said.

“So is Fish just special then?” I wondered. What were the odds of being in the same boat ride as Pollixa and then getting seated right next to some kind of mutant?

“Yes and no. Any Blur can become a Leechling by consuming the strength of a greater soul, but they must have the awareness and will to do so, which most Blurs lack by definition.” Krassas said.

An idea occurred to me.

“Can I steal someone else’s power like that? Can I become a Leechling?” I said, seeing a chance for power. One that could be obtained with a sufficient amount of violence.

Both Pollixa and Krassas looked unsettled by my question.

“That’s cannibalism.” Pollixa said with a grossed out expression at the thought.

“As I said, a Leechling must consume the strength of a greater soul than themselves. People like us, Brights, aren’t powerful enough to be fed off of and the sorts of things that are more aren’t the kinds of things you try to bite.” Krassas said.

I workshopped the problems at hand in my head, looking at my two fists, their faded look to them. They had recovered, even if only imperfectly, to function after being razed to the bone by the Styx. Could I raise more Blurs to Brighthood by feeding them my blood? I decided to ask just that.

“Could I make more Brights by having them drink from me?” I said. I envisioned cutting myself and then forcing blood down the throat of a potential recruit.

“Why would you want to do that?” Krassas said, perplexed.

“We’re interested in getting intelligent and aware people on our own side.” Pollixa explained to him.

“Leechlings aren’t permanent Brights. They don’t have their own legends and deeds sustaining them, what they have is stolen and drains away every second, in time your… ‘Fish’ will become a Blur again if he does not feed again. You will recover slower than he burns his fuel and every time you get leeched you’ll always be a little more diminished. The more Leechlings you have to sustain, the sooner you’ll be a Blur yourself. Down here, everything fades. Everything.” Krassas said.

“There’s nothing at all in the Underworld that doesn’t go Blur?” I asked.

“Well… Some things in Asphodel take longer than others depending on the strength of their mythos and the stories told by mortals about them and elsewhere…” He said.

“And elsewhere?” I prompted Theseas and Dio’s ancestor.

“Elysium, sacred land of the greatest heroes and holy ones here in the Underworld, has the blessings of Nectar and Ambrosia from the table of the Olympians themselves, the food and drink of deities. The two could make a mortal immortal if it didn’t kill them and for the dead, well, let’s just say that there are no Blurs in golden, glorious Elysium.” Krassas said.

My interest sharpened to a razor’s edge so sharp it could have cut like a Keenblade.

“So if we had Nectar and Ambrosia, we could make as many Blurs into Brights as we wanted.” I said excitedly.

My enthusiasm spread to Pollixa and even Fish who looked up from his drawings in the dust.

“If you had it. But it’s in Elysium.” Krassas Claudion said flatly. He turned to Pollixa. “This one doesn’t listen too well, does he?”

“Seems like it might be a flaw of his.” She agreed.

“I realize it’s in Elysium.” I said. “I’m not talking about it magically materializing in front of me just because I want it, I’m talking about breaking into Elysium and stealing it.”

“Oh, so you aren’t deaf, you’re just crazy.” He said sarcastically.

“I’m dead serious.” I replied.

Fish giggled at that. “Dead. Yes. Adrias is dead.”

I eyed him. Evidently, he remembered me telling Pollixa my name.

“That’s impossible.” Krassas scoffed.

“I make the impossible happen.” I said.

“I was Governor Krassas Claudion of Apollo system, appointed to that throne by the greatest man to ever live, Augustas Heraclides, and I would not even dare to speak the words you are saying let alone commit them to action in defiance of the Corpsefather. Who are you to say you can accomplish sedition against Hades himself?” Krassas said.

“I am Adrias Heraklion,” I said, omitting my true name in favor of the more impressive family name that I could lay claim to. “Grandson of the man who put you on that throne.”

Pollixa stared at me in shock but Krassas seemed unmoved by my statement of my gained bloodline.

“Do you know how many Heraklions there have been? How many children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren and beyond that the Regent has had over his immortal lifetime?” Krassas said.

“Enough to fill nations.” I said evenly. “But none have ever been like me.”

The former Governor of Apollo system scoffed. I needed something to prove it to him.

I thought of what Charon the Ferryman had said about the gods swearing on the River Styx for oaths. Could only gods do so? Mortal men did not, but I was dead now and in life I had been Silver, Imperial, and semidivine. I thought up a quick boast, remembering what Augustas had said about me being the only one of his descendants to activate Heracles’s fire. Worth a shot, either nothing happened and I looked like a fool or it worked and I proved my point or it worked and what I was about to say was wrong and whatever happened when you broke an oath on the Styx came down on me like Zeus’s thunderbolts.

“I swear on the River Styx that I am the most powerful and favored of Augustas’s bloodline.” I said and my eardrums popped from the sound of thunder above. Krassas and Pollixa had fallen to the ground as had whole swathes of blurs around me.

I stretched my hand down to help Krassas up even as blood ran from my ears. They sealed up in the time it took to lift House Claudion’s apparent ancestor to his feet.

“That is who I am. I am going to break into Elysium and then I am going to raise an army of Blurs turned into Brights and then I am breaking out of the Underworld. Don’t worry about what is and isn’t possible, worry about whether you’re at my side when I stand free amongst the living.” I said.

“You’re going to need an army.” He said shakily.

“Yes, that’s why I’m getting the Ambrosia and Nectar.” I said, confused.

Krassas shook his head. “No, to get into Elysium. You can’t exactly just walk in, can you?”

“Well, can you introduce us to other Brights then?” Pollixa asked.

“No one else is going to follow something this insane and, honestly, I don’t have a lot of pull here.” Krassas said sheepishly. “No one really cares if you were a Governor of a solar system around here when you don’t hold that role anymore and one of your descendants sits in your place.”

I had noticed that he had been out of favor with the other six men at the fire. Was crystal clear, I supposed, when I thought about it.

“What do we do then?” Pollixa said, exasperated.

“I think… I think we need to talk to the King of Heroes.” Krassas Claudion said.

“Who?” I asked, but he didn’t elaborate, only walking away to lead us somewhere. He forged on rapidly and Pollixa and I looked at each other before charging after him.

“What about Fish?” Pollixa asked, her red hair streaming behind her as she ran.

I cursed and skidded to a halt, gray dust billowing up, and I turned and dashed back and pulled Fish up from where he was.

“We need to go!” I told him.

“I’m not done with my picture!” Fish complained petulantly like a child.

I looked down at it. It was the face of some kind of monster, part human and part reptilian beast. Something about it unsettled me like its eyes were following me. An Infernal Beast I had seen before, perhaps?

“Come on!” I said, breaking my gaze with the image and pulling him forward, not willing to lose Krassas’s path.

I caught up with the others, my breath coming in visible mist that intermingled with the foggy air of the Fields as I panted, the four of us racing together at a punishing pace. As dead humans, it seemed our endurance was inexhaustible but without the enhancements of our Paths and Ranks running this fast made my lungs burn like nothing else. We kept going for hours, plowing through myriad Blurs, occasionally passing clumps of Brights or solitary loners whose colors stood out amongst the faded shades.

Finally, Krassas came to an abrupt halt and I barely managed to stop before crashing into him. Unfortunately, I didn’t account for the fact that Fish was right behind me and lacked the control to not slam into me. I fell to my hands and knees.

“Well, at least that one knows to kneel.” A man’s voice, strong and commanding said.

Something about his voice made my body tingle like an electric current was running through it, short circuiting my brain and jolting my muscles. It was almost like the voice of a god, but the comparison had nothing to do with the raw, terrifying power that occurred when I borrowed the speech of Heracles or when the Ferryman invoked the voice of a being who I suspected was Hades. No, it wasn’t about power, rather it was the sheer authority of the one speaking that reminded me of how I had dominated others.

The others fell to their knees in obeisance and I looked up at the King of Heroes. He sat on a throne not made of stone or wood or metal but rather of fused souls compressed into the seat. The King of Heroes had long red hair, burning golden eyes and tan skin that had known the burning heat of the Mediterranean sun’s heat. Krassas had called the other self-aware souls Brights, but only this man was truly bright amongst lesser beings. He shone with furious light that made it painfully to look at him too long. I knew who this man was, knew who the only great hero who was banished to the Fields according to Homer was.

“Hail, Achilles.” I whispered. “The Swift-Footed son of Thetis.”