The February 2001 challenge was to write a story showing what Hercules did during the 24 hours after he let Timuron use his body in "Highway to Hades" - and how Iolaus reacted/was affected. Enjoy.
Hercules sighed as he began to walk away from where Daphne and Timuron were finally getting to enjoy their honeymoon. He had no doubts that he was doing the right thing, even if he did have to give up his body for twenty-four hours. The demigod was a bit worried about leaving Greece without his strength, but then he quickly dismissed his fears, thinking that all the adulation continuously heaped on him was going to his head. Greece would be just fine without him for a little while. After all, it was only twenty-four hours. What could happen?
Automatically, Hercules began heading toward the spot where he had left Iolaus. He knew that his friend wouldn’t be able to see or hear him, but he had nowhere else to go, not knowing what one did when one became a temporarily earthbound spirit. Maybe it was for the best that the hunter wouldn’t be able to hear him. The demigod wasn’t sure how he could explain this new development to his partner anyway.
As he neared the clearing that was nestled behind a stand of trees outside of town, Hercules became aware of sounds of battle. There was clash of steel and some shouting, and he instinctually knew that Iolaus was at the center of it. The demigod burst into the clearing where his friend had made camp and saw the hunter fending off an attack of a group of men. Iolaus had clearly been holding his own, but he was surrounded and vastly outnumbered. Hercules moved forward as two men rushed his partner, realizing with a sinking feeling that he could do nothing to help in his current state. While Iolaus was trying to repel the two that had attacked him, more men closed in and managed to knock the hunter off his feet. Desperately, Hercules called out and moved into the center of the melee.
The fighting instantly stopped and everyone turned to stare at the demigod who had suddenly appeared in their midst. He realized that the crowd could see him, and deduced that his worry for his partner had caused him to materialize. Iolaus took the opportunity to struggle free, used to his friend’s uncanny knack of appearing just in the nick of time to bail him out. The men’s hesitation was brief, and one brave soul quickly advanced on Hercules, swinging a sword. He ducked out of habit, but the blade passed through his body as if he were made of air, which he was, in a sense. Gasps and murmurs rose up from the crowd, and the man with the sword backed away fearfully. Rumblings of “ghost” echoed all around the demigod, and he quickly looked to Iolaus. The hunter was staring at him, his blue eyes full of confusion.
“Iolaus, behind you,” Hercules shouted, but he was too late. A sword hilt slammed into the back of the hunter’s head, crumpling him to the ground in a wave of blackness.
Iolaus groaned loudly and slowly rose a hand up to the lump on his head. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he waited for the waves of dizziness to subside before he even tried to figure out where he was.
“Goth, he’s waking up.”
The hunter shook his head, trying to clear it but only managing to instigate the pounding in his temples. He blinked in the dimness, but even without strong luminescence it was not difficult to tell that he was in a dungeon. The cold stone floor beneath him, the stench of damp mildew, and the iron bars in front of him were all dead giveaways. Iolaus cradled his aching head in his arms, sorely tempted to give in to the unconsciousness that was calling him once more, when the words he had just heard sunk in. Goth? The hunter shook his head again, this time in disbelief. He was groggy, and obviously had heard wrong. Goth was tucked away safely in an Athens prison.
“So, the little runt is finally awake.”
Iolaus grimaced as he recognized the grating voice. He hadn’t been mistaken after all. Slowly he got to his feet and approached the bars of his cell, glaring at his captor with undisguised hate.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one rotting in the jail cell?” he asked coldly.
“No jail can hold me,” Goth boasted, laughing loudly. “And once I got out, I swore vengeance on you and Hercules. It appears I’m too late for Hercules, but I can still have you swinging from a meat hook.”
“What do you mean, too late for Hercules?” the hunter demanded.
“He’s already dead. You should know, you’ve seen his ghost yourself, along with the rest of my men.” Goth laughed cruelly once more. Something flickered briefly in Iolaus’ face, but he held his composure. There was no way he was going to let this butcher gain any sadistic pleasure from his grief.
“Why are we holding him, Goth?” whined the man in charge of guarding the hunter. “Why can’t we just kill him?”
“Because,” the warlord explained as a smile crept over his face. “I have a history with this one. He caused me a lot of trouble, so I have to think of something special for him. Something slow and painful.”
Iolaus kept a stoic face, ignoring all of Goth’s taunts and threats. The warlord finally realized that he wasn’t going to be able to goad the hunter into an outburst, so he left him alone to wait and worry about his fate. One man was left to guard the cell, but he leaned back in a chair and acted quite disinterested in the prisoner. The hunter turned his back to the guard and faced the wall, his stone face finally crumpling.
Hercules dead? It couldn’t be. It just wasn’t possible. And yet, Iolaus had seen it for himself. The sword had passed right through the demigod. He had definitely been incorporeal, and there was only one explanation for that. The hunter didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t deny what he had witnessed with his own eyes. He didn’t know what had gone wrong, but it looked like his friend had never made it back from Hades’. Not entirely, anyway.
The pain Iolaus felt in his head was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He thought briefly about what would happen to Greece without the legendary hero to protect it, and how Alcmene would take the news, but mostly he grieved for himself. The hunter didn’t care what fate Goth had in store for him. His life had always been by Hercules’ side, and he felt lost without him. Iolaus huddled in the corner of his cell, resting his forehead against the cold, wet stone of the wall as the tears began to flood from his eyes. Great sobs shook his frame, but he kept them silent, hands pressed against his mouth. He would not give his tormentors the satisfaction.
“Iolaus.”
The hunter heard the familiar voice calling his name. At first he thought he was dreaming, but the voice persisted, pulling him out of the slumber into which he had fallen. He sat up, stretching his cramped muscles before he realized that the demigod was crouched next to him.
“Hercules?” he asked, blinking rapidly and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t hallucinating. The demigod nodded slightly and put a finger to his lips, looking pointedly at the guard outside the cell. He was tipped back in the chair, snoring softly, but there was no point in trying to find out how heavy a sleeper he was.
“Herc, what’s happening?” Iolaus whispered. He reached out a hand to his friend, and it passed through him effortlessly.
“Iolaus, don’t panic,” the demigod said quickly. “I’m not dead, and I’m not a ghost.”
“You’re not?” It seemed almost too much to hope for. “Then what’s with the invisible man routine?”
“I asked Hades for a little leniency for Timuron. He agreed to give him a twenty-four hour reprieve so that he could have a wedding night with Daphne, but he needed to borrow a body to enter the physical realm, so...”
“You let him have yours,” Iolaus sighed. “Herc, you have REALLY got to learn to say no.”
“Well, at the time it seemed like the right thing to do.”
“It was,” the hunter reluctantly agreed, running a hand through his tousled blond curls. “But how long until you and your godly strength rejoin the mortal coil?”
“Twelve hours,” Hercules said in frustration. “Iolaus, I tried to help you, but...”
“I know,” he interrupted. “Those men that caught me work for Goth.”
“Yeah, I heard,” the demigod said grimly. “And I have a feeling it won’t be twelve hours before he comes back for you.”
The guard outside the cell muttered something and shifted in his chair.
“You’d better get out of here,” Iolaus whispered. “Not that they can do anything to you if they find you here, but...”
“Listen, when Goth comes for you, try and stall him,” Hercules advised. “I’ll be close by, and I’ll try and help if I can.”
“Hey,” the hunter began before his friend disappeared. “Next time you decide to loan out your body and return as a spirit, leaving the whole world to think that you’re dead, how about giving me a little advanced warning?”
“I’ll try,” Hercules said with a grin. He had waited for the guard outside the cell to drop off to sleep, then he unleashed his torrent of emotions so that he could materialize and speak with Iolaus. Now, he took several deep, calming breaths and emptied his mind, which caused him to slowly vanish from sight. He remained close beside his friend though, watching over him even if he could do little to protect him.
It was not long before Goth came for Iolaus. The warlord grinned broadly as he unlocked the cell door and swung it open, a wild gleam of bloodlust in his eyes. His men had the hunter surrounded, with several swords poised to run him through if he tried anything. Iolaus couldn’t help wondering if he should make a futile attempt to escape. Dying by a quick blow of the sword would most likely be better than whatever inhumane torture Goth had dreamed up for him. But Iolaus was never one to give up, even when the odds were stacked against him. So he silently let the men lead him out of the cell and into the next room.
Iolaus found himself in what seemed to double as both a weapons stockpile and a crude sort of torture chamber. Amongst the piles of weapons stacked here and there were all varieties of manacles, chains, bludgeoning instruments, whips, and various devices meant to cause unbearable pain. The hunter had seen most of them before, used by armies to make the enemy talk. But Goth had stopped beside a strange looking contraption in the center of the room.
“Do you remember my brother, Bledar?” he questioned. “He sends his regards.” The warlord ran a hand lovingly over the device, which his equally unbalanced brother had created. Iolaus stared suspiciously at the object, which was a tangle of metal and leather straps. He had never seen anything like it before, but he had no doubts that he probably would not enjoy it. The hunter knew that Hercules was still in spirit form and was powerless to help him. If he wanted to survive this, he was going to have to get himself out of it. He remembered something that his father had told him once. When you have nowhere to run, you have to stand and fight. It was about the only worthwhile piece of advice that Skorous had ever given him, and at the moment, they were words to live by.
“Actually, Goth,” he began conversationally. “I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping that you would want a rematch.”
“Not this time, little man,” the warlord sneered. “I’ve been dreaming about seeing you in this device. Broken and bleeding and begging me to kill you.”
“I understand,” Iolaus said, casually turning to the man standing closest to him. “You see, I beat him once before, so I don’t blame him for being afraid....”
“Silence!” Goth commanded, his face going red with anger. He pointed at his men. “Strap him in.”
The men hesitated briefly, looking back and forth from their leader to the prisoner. They could not believe what Iolaus had told them. Goth was twice the size of the hunter. Surely he could have beaten him easily. But then, why wasn’t he denying the accusation?
“Why aren’t you listening to me?” the warlord practically screamed. “Put him in the device, now!”
“Maybe they’ve decided that they don’t want to work for a weakling anymore,” the hunter said smugly. A look of mad rage came over Goth’s face as he strode up toward Iolaus. Before the hunter could react, the warlord backhanded him hard across the face. Iolaus reeled backwards, but he managed to stay on his feet.
“By the time I’m done with you,” Goth seethed angrily. “You’ll wish I had put you in the device.”
Iolaus stared back at the bigger man with calm intensity. He reached up and wiped the trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Any time you’re ready,” he said quietly.
With a loud yell, Goth rushed forward and the fight was on. At first, the hunter seemed to be taking the worst of it. As the men all cheered out their encouragement, the warlord landed quite a number of heavy blows on his opponent. After all, he was bigger and stronger and an excellent fighter. But as many like Goth had learned over the years, Iolaus’ real strength was in his heart. He had trained very hard to learn to use his smaller size to his advantage, and what he lacked in brute strength, he more than made up for in speed, agility, cunning, and determination. The hunter had beaten this maniac before, and he was not about to let Goth get the best of him now. He summoned his reserves and lashed out in a golden fury until the balance of the fight began to shift in his favor. As his men watched, Goth was slowly beaten back and subdued. Iolaus finally managed to get the warlord on the ground, and leapt lightly on top of him after grabbing a pair of manacles from the wall.
“What are you waiting for?” Goth screamed at his men as he felt the iron encircle his wrists. “Get him!”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Iolaus looked up to see Hercules standing in front of him. The men, who had been preparing to attack, stopped in their tracks, looking nervously at each other. Slowly, they began to back away.
“What are you doing you fools?” the warlord cried out. “He’s just a spirit. He can’t hurt you.”
“He’s right,” the demigod agreed. “I’m intangible. I’m harmless. But on the other hand, I can promise you this. If anyone of you takes one more step toward my friend, I will haunt you for the rest of your miserable lives.” Hercules turned and stretched out a hand toward the wall. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, and a spear suddenly flew off the wall and whizzed over the heads of the assembled men. They began pushing and shouting in a mad rush to the door, not being able to get out of there fast enough. The demigod laughed and turned back to his partner.
“And to think I’ve always said there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Iolaus smiled gratefully at his friend. The battle with Goth had taken a lot out of him, and he didn’t think he would have been able to fend off the warlord’s men.
“Looks like I’m going back to Athens,” the hunter declared, nudging his captive with his boot, eliciting several curses in the process.
“And I’m due back at Hades’,” Hercules announced. “I feel sorry for Timuron, but it sure will be great to be a whole person again.”
“Well, hurry up and you can catch up with us when you’re done.” Iolaus grabbed Goth by the scruff of the neck and pulled him up, pushing him in front of him. “Now I just have to figure out where they hid my sword.” He winked at his partner and shoved the warlord ahead of him, out the door.
Hercules watched them go, resisting the urge to ask Iolaus if he could handle Goth on his own. It was a pointless question, as the hunter had deftly proven that he could, but it was meant out of compassion and not mistrust. The demigod set off to meet Timuron, and he realized that he needn’t have worried about the fate of Greece without him. If anything ever happened to him, Greece wouldn’t have to look far to find a hero. Iolaus would be there.
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