Hermes had officially shaken hands with over a hundred creatures.
He knew because Magni counted aloud every time: "Seventy-nine! Oh, she bites a little, don't mind that. Eighty! Ah, he drools molten tar! It's a common occurrence, don't worry!"
One hundred and twelve.
None of them were distant relatives, apparently. These were all immediate cousins, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Some even claimed to have helped raise Magni, though he suspiciously forgot most of their names.
Hermes' hand was raw. His tongue, also raw. Every food item he'd tasted in the Underworld was either boiling, on fire, or somehow sizzling with electricity. Even the drinks.
"Why is this lava tea crackling?" He'd asked earlier.
"That means it's ripe!" Magni said proudly.
Now, his stomach churned like a washing machine filled with rocks. His hair smelled like smoke. His eyelid twitched involuntarily.
