. . .
““People who have monsters recognize each other. They know each other without even saying a word.”
―Benjamin Alire Sáenz.
. . .
In physics, when two powerful forces somehow happen to meet and decided to act upon the same matter, there are only a few possible options as to what will happen.
The first being nothing.
These forces may cancel the other out so that any sort of change in their surroundings will not even happen. However, when what little balance there is has suddenly become compromised…
That is when things start to get interesting.
The matter that has been trapped in the collision between these two forces will either collapse within itself like a falling house of cards or it will combust itself and anything unlucky enough that was within its vicinity will be annihilated in a storm of upheaval and destruction.
Neither ash nor blood would be left.
And then…
There’s the third option.
If these two forces at play would somehow, in some way, reach a state of equilibrium over one another… instead of cancellation or destruction… there will be a combined effect.
A collaboration.
…No. A synergy if you will.
Because if these two powerful forces would choose to cooperate instead of trying to tear each other apart… then, the consequences would be far more greater than the other could do on its own.
Such a thing is happening right now actually.
Somewhere within the heart of Aokigahara, infamously known as the sea of trees, on the island of Honshu in Japan where Dionysus decided to accompany the goddess of shadows as she begins her duty.
At the moment, the god of wine leans languidly against one of the ancient trees, pointedly not looking anywhere near the limp, hanging two days old body hovering right next to him as he silently watches Proserpina performing what was supposedly the god of death’s duty to the mortal realm with a morbid sort of fascination:
…that is, bringing souls off to the underworld.
Dionysus has never been a fan of dark, gloomy places like this. Places where death and a perpetual cloud of sadness seemed to linger and poison the air. Here is where the darkness shifted in a way that could not be seen, but instead could be felt.
And yet.
And yet…
There was just something so satisfying, watching the goddess of shadows herself dancing to the tune of her very own danse macabre.
Even if the place or the vibe is not one he’d normally ever choose… it was in times like these that truly reminds Dionysus (not like he’d ever come to forget), that no matter what or how she presented herself around Alastor or most of the humans, Proserpina will always, always be a force to be reckoned with in spite of her being originally half-human like he once was.
No.
Because she was half-human.
The fact that she’s also alive and still kicking as a goddess now, after the so-called ‘righteous’ purge might as well have been the underworld’s god flashing a big middle finger to heaven’s status quo.
The gods of Olympus are arrogant and rightly so, but even they cannot deny the danger that humanity presented. The trouble that the humans could rise up to be, if left unchecked. Is it not why they demand worship and submission since ancient times? Why they so adamantly punish when humans dare to reach for things beyond?
Proserpina was just like that.
Dionysus used to be like that.
Unflinching eyes, bared teeth. A predator’s countenance lurking behind that pretty face, darkened pupils, and a hint of something otherworldly flashing just below the surface. Divine and damned. It goes without saying… because sometimes, Proserpina reminded Dionysus of himself from a time long since passed.
Key word: sometimes.
…even if those real, human parts of them could never be salvaged, nor had he any real desire to go back being mortal, for that matter. Being a god had defined him for far too long to ever discard it.
Her’s is a noble work for sure, though quite distasteful in his opinion. What kind of princess or heiress has to do the dirty work for their father? What was Hades even thinking, saddling his only daughter with the likes of lonely Death?
(But then again, there are some instances when living itself could be the truest form of punishment one would have to endure.
And even death itself could be a mercy.
A way out.)
Dionysus clicked his tongue at the thought.
Then, he grins.
…because sometimes, one just has to simply look at a situation, say to hell with it, and choose chaos: “If this is what you have to deal with every time, know that I am in awe that you still haven’t given up and decided to quit the earth.”
Those are fighting words, he’s aware.
“How is it that you only need to open your mouth once, only once, for me to remember why your face is so tempting to punch?” she grumbled, almost to herself, neatly dodging one of the yurei as she did so.
He snorted, “First of all, rude.”
She scoffs, “You started it.”
He brushed her off, “Second…”
His words faltered for a second, watching distractedly as the goddess of shadows twisted Thanatos in an upward arc, slicing the very air itself with a faint, ringing noise, causing the yurei to jerk back in pain at the impact as it let out a long, suffering screech before it promptly dissipated into a puff of smoke.
The scent of decay lingered in the air far longer than it should as Proserpina flicked off any remnants of dirt from her blade before sliding into a familiar stance in one, deadly motion.
The movement was graceful, as if done a thousand times.
“You were saying?” she prompted without looking.
A flicker of unease went through him then.
As the god of the underworld’s heir, Proserpina was supposed to rule over the dead and in the shadows in due time, not linger in a realm where mortal and living thrives, even if it used to be her home. She doesn’t belong here anymore.
She never did.
She was shadows and even darkness itself if she so much as wished. Erebus itself seemed to have taken quite a liking to the underworld’s youngest, after all, from what Dionysus had heard…
And yet…
As the goddess of shadows, Proserpina shouldn’t have been able to hold such sway in this world. Yet, for some strange reason, she did.
Through her own self or her hunters, she did.
…This might be why Hades had decided to craft Death itself into a weapon then, Dionysus couldn’t help but think, suddenly remembering the well-worn tales of half-gods that his lord father used to drill into his head back when he first became the new 13th god of Olympus.
It took time, Dionysus finally realized, to manage a weapon, to think and decide through the movements that would ultimately deliver a killing blow, and to actually go through it.
With seconds passed, no matter how short, it meant there was still time to stop, to lower the weapon, to cast it aside, to choose anything else but killing—because if one could bring upon death as easily they could breathe, they could kill just about anyone.
She could kill anything.