Deimos closed his eyes tightly, his teeth grinding against each other until his jaw hurt.
The devil continued whispering into his ears.
Kill him, help them and kill him. End him now before it is too late.
Deimos shook his head harshly as though he could physically throw the thoughts away, but the unease inside him only deepened instead. He didn't want Hades alive. Never had.
And he wasn't the only one.
Anyone who had ever stood near Hades long enough eventually felt it. That discomfort crawling beneath the skin. That instinctive sense of danger screaming from somewhere deep inside the soul. It was the same feeling prey must feel when standing too close to a sleeping predator, uncertain whether the beast would remain asleep or suddenly tear everything apart.
To Deimos, allowing Hades to continue living was akin to shooting an arrow through one's own foot. A foolish act done by people too blinded by sentiment to recognize the disaster waiting ahead of them.
