The Heracles of Thebes (2)

 

"Heracles has lost his will. I cannot find any way to reignite his spirit, so if you could assist…"

Heracles, lost his will? Had he lost the dream of becoming a hero, or had he simply grown lax in his training?

A loss of motivation that even Chiron’s teachings couldn’t fix...

I had seen many heroes lose their way or become arrogant, but a loss of will was a different issue altogether. Oedipus, for example, was overwhelmed with despair and guilt, but Heracles wasn’t like that.

Perhaps he thought of himself as a monster due to his immense strength granted by Hera’s milk and the River Styx. Or, maybe he had become arrogant, thinking he could easily become a hero.

While I pondered this, Lady Styx, watching my expression, posed a question.

"Hmm..."

"Hades? What does the scroll say?"

"It says that Heracles has lost his will. With the overwhelming strength he was born with, I suppose it makes sense."

"Ah..."

The conditions for a mortal to become a hero are straightforward. If one possesses great strength, cunning, divine blood, or is chosen by fate and completes their tasks, they can become a hero.

But not all heroes are equal. There’s a tremendous gap between a great hero like Cadmus and a hero who merely slays a few monsters. The kind of hero we gods seek to foster is one who can surpass even Cadmus, one who transcends mortal limits.

No matter how destined Heracles is to become a hero, he will inevitably hit a wall if he loses his motivation. Could my act of plunging him into the Styx have caused this change?

"...This won't do. I must see Heracles for myself."

"You intend to go in person?"

"Yes. If his motivation is lacking, then he simply needs a goal to rekindle his spirit. I’ll also speak to him about matters concerning Hera."

If he doesn’t know that he suckled Hera's milk at birth, he might find himself caught in divine retribution. To mitigate Hera’s wrath, it might be better if Heracles went to the temple to apologize in person.

 

After some time, I headed to the hero training grounds on the outskirts of the Underworld. Noticing my approach, Chiron quietly came over and bowed his head.

"I am ashamed, Lord Hades. I considered myself the best educator, yet..."

"No, you have done well. The blame for Zeus’s son losing his will lies closer to me. It is likely because I plunged him into the River Styx."

"I suspect his overwhelming strength might be the cause. Forcing him to become a hero through sheer force would be futile, and with his invulnerability to weapons…"

I could easily identify Heracles.

While all the other heroes were sweating in training on the plains below, one man, muscular and imposing, lay on a high cliff, sprawled out and staring at the sky.

A body as tough as steel, strength that could be sensed even as he lay idle, the divinity of a demigod that could rival that of the gods. And yet, despite all this, his eyes held a look of resignation.

I approached him.

"Are you Heracles?"

"...Who are you? Are you yet another past hero sent by Chiron to convince me? I already told him I have no intention of training further…"

Approaching him as I would a mortal, suppressing my power, I received a response like this. He didn’t even look at me, gazing blankly into the void—how pitiful.

"Do you know how meaningless that sense of emptiness is?"

"What did you say?"

"Does the world feel like soft wool to you? Do the humans on the streets seem like fragile animals to you? Or, do you believe that with a body of steel, training has become meaningless?"

"Who are you to say such things?"

Heracles shot up, raising his voice. Finally, he looked at me.

"Whoever you are, noble hero or not, you don’t understand! With the slightest effort, everything around me crumbles. What use is training? A lion is born a lion. Skills and training are for the weak!"

"Do you not wish to be a hero?"

"A hero? Of course, I want to! That would be a grand honor, wouldn’t it? That’s why I’m still here, not leaving. But what I mean is that their training is useless to me. Well, it once had some use, but not anymore. I have worked hard enough to become a hero; all that remains is completing the tasks."

Heracles glanced down at the heroes training below. For someone born with immense strength, training seemed trivial. Slaying monsters was far too easy.

But that too...

"With such little strength?"

"What?"

"Your level of power is common enough in this world. Among the monsters you’ll face in your quests, many possess strength equal to or greater than yours."

He simply lacked experience to realize it.

Heracles was strong. Even now, he was likely unmatched among humans. But if he ventured into the realms of monsters, gods, and Titans, the story would change.

A hero of prophecy requires a higher level than ordinary mortals. One who could tear apart those loathsome Gigantes...

"Are you content with merely becoming a hero? Do you not dare to look higher?"

"Look higher…?"

"To shed your mortal shell and become a god."

Heracles, who had briefly worn a puzzled expression, broke into a smirk.

"Well… as for the gods… I don’t know how strong they truly are. I have heard that my father is Zeus, but…"

"...Look into my eyes. Let me show you how insignificant you are."

Heracles, seemingly recognizing my identity, stared blankly at me. Within him, I saw indifference, curiosity, and perhaps a faint hope. A spark of determination might still be rekindled.

Right now, my nephew’s power is close to that of a lower deity. He won’t die easily from this.

Let’s give him a glimpse of the Underworld.

 

"...Look into my eyes. Let me show you how insignificant you are."

A goal? Could it be that this figure who urged me to become a god was himself a god? Yet, even that great hero Cadmus, son of Ares, had killed a demigod. But a god...

The moment he met the cold, dark gaze of the black-haired man, Heracles' world turned upside down.

Sssaaah—

It was as though he was being drawn into the darkness of those black eyes.

He could barely breathe. Yet, he was alive.

Though his eyes were open, everything around him was pitch dark.

A chilling aura surrounded him, causing his body to tremble.

Where... am I?

He was falling, endlessly.

Into the depths of some unknowable abyss, somewhere in Tartarus.

Rising nausea. The world spinning. His body wouldn’t move.

For the first time in his life, Heracles felt powerless, realizing that his strength was useless here.

Ah.

Is this… death?

.

. .

. . .

 

Crash!

"Huff! Ka… Huff… Hurrgh…"

"Get a hold of yourself. It was just an illusion."

As soon as our gazes met, Heracles crumbled. This demigod, gasping for breath under the sensation of death, trembled, his knees unable to hold him upright.

Still, befitting a hero blessed from birth, he survived, drenched in sweat as though rain had poured down on him. As I expected.

Heracles is the first and will likely be the last mortal to withstand the full force of my gaze and live. Truly, the son of Zeus.

I addressed my nephew, who was clutching his throat, gasping for air.

"Your father, Zeus, is far stronger than I am. Yet, to think that his son would be satisfied with merely being hailed as a hero by mortals is disappointing. If your thoughts remain unchanged, you may leave the Underworld. No one will stop you."

"…Huff... Who... are you?"

"I am your father’s brother."

"Wait! Then you’re Ha… Hades…! Cough… Huff."

I gave Heracles a moment to recover as he knelt on the ground, catching his breath. After some time passed, he glanced at me cautiously before speaking.

"...If one were to achieve the feat of becoming a god, how would one go about it?"

"Do you wish to become immortal?"

At this, Heracles hesitated briefly before continuing.

"Well, it’s the dream of every Greek man to accomplish great feats and become a hero. Becoming a hero like King Cadmus would be incredible, but becoming a god would be the pinnacle of accomplishment. With such a path open before me, wouldn’t I naturally want to walk it? Even if…"

His eyes were different from earlier. There was a glint of determination as he pondered this lofty goal. The ambition to become a god—that would indeed make him a great hero.

Despite all he had just endured, Heracles once again met my gaze. He had experienced the Underworld, and even now, as he trembled with fear, realizing my true identity…

"…Even if it means incurring the wrath of some high god and being killed for it."

So, he still dares to look me in the eye?

"...Impressive."

I was deeply satisfied. This was the true spirit of a great hero.

This was the man whose name would remain etched in my memory for thousands, even tens of thousands of years.

I looked at him with a pleased expression.

"Now, I will tell you more about yourself and what you must do once you return to the mortal world."