Chapter 90

Chapter 90 The Story of Tantalus – (2)

After Tantalus had fainted, Zeus approached me, each step accompanied by flashes of lightning and bursts of fire. Thunder echoed above us, as if the heavens themselves were furious.

“My apologies, brother. I never imagined Tantalus would do something so insane,” Zeus muttered, his voice filled with restrained fury.

“This madman deserves to be thrown into Tartarus,” I replied coldly.

Zeus nodded grimly. “Yes, let him suffer eternal hunger. A fitting punishment for the man who killed his own child and turned him into food for the gods.”

Perhaps I should call on Limos, the goddess of hunger, to assist. No, Tantalus’s suffering must be prolonged. There’s no need to waste Limos’s power on him. This man deserves an agonizing fate.

I recalled another madman from ages past, Erysichthon, who shared Tantalus’s disregard for the divine. Erysichthon had cut down a sacred tree beloved by Demeter.

Thud!

When Erysichthon struck the tree, it bled, and a voice warned him of retribution.

“Stop! Please, Erysichthon, cease this madness!”

“I will have my revenge, human…” the tree had groaned, but he cut it down without a second thought, invoking Demeter’s wrath.

Demeter sent Limos to punish him, plunging Erysichthon into an insatiable hunger. His vast wealth quickly dwindled as he devoured everything in sight, until finally, he consumed his own body, driven mad by his endless appetite.

Now, Zeus eyed the pile of human flesh that Tantalus had served us and spoke to Demeter.

“Demeter, we must consult with the Moirai and restore this unfortunate soul,” he said, referring to Tantalus’s son.

“With the Moirai’s aid, we can restore his body,” Demeter agreed.

I, too, would send back the boy’s soul, erasing the memory of his brutal death. No one should have to live with the memory of being killed and served as food.

As we spoke, the flapping of wings could be heard, and soon, the Erinyes—the goddesses of vengeance—descended. They appeared with blood streaming from their eyes, their bronze wings glinting in the dim light, torches in hand.

“A father who killed his son?!”

“You will suffer for eternity.”

“Your sins will never be forgiven!”

These were only the projections of the Erinyes, invisible to all but Tantalus. From now until his death, Tantalus would be haunted by their relentless whispers.

But that would not be enough. Tantalus would be freed from them once dead, and that couldn’t be allowed. Poseidon, clearly thinking along the same lines, turned to me.

“Hades, why not imprison this wretch alive in Tartarus?”

“An excellent idea.”

* * *

Tantalus awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. Was this the Underworld? Hadn’t he been struck down by Zeus’s wrath?

He tried to move but found his body tightly bound. All around him, the walls of a dark, cavernous space loomed. His mind raced with panic.

“Awake at last, Tantalus,” a voice echoed.

‘Pluto?! Is this the Underworld?!’ he thought, terror flooding his veins.

Before him stood Pluto, seated on a black throne, his sharp eyes piercing through the darkness. Around him, other beings lingered—dark-winged gods and a green-haired goddess. This was surely the Underworld.

Even the fires flickering around him seemed dim, as if they were being devoured by Pluto’s shadow. The flames cast eerie reflections, making it seem as if the darkness itself was consuming the light.

And then there were the voices—faint, haunting voices that whispered accusations in his ears.

“A father… who kills his son?”

“You will suffer eternal torment.”

“Your sins are unforgivable.”

These words weren’t just voices in his head; they belonged to the Erinyes, and their presence only confirmed his damnation.

In a desperate attempt to plead for mercy, Tantalus managed to speak.

“Surely… testing the gods is not such a terrible sin, is it?” he stammered, trying to appeal to Pluto’s supposed mercy.

“Shut your mouth, you wretch!” roared Thanatos, the god of death, standing beside Pluto. With a flick of his hand, Tantalus’s head slammed against the ground with a sickening thud.

But Pluto raised a hand, silencing Thanatos’s fury for a moment.

“Calm yourself, Thanatos. Let him speak. Even a condemned soul has the right to plead his case,” Pluto said with a hint of amusement.

Tantalus grasped at this sliver of hope. If he could sway Pluto, perhaps he could escape eternal torment. He knew that Pluto was known as a just and merciful god—perhaps the most merciful among the Olympians.

“It’s true, I made mistakes. But is it such a grave sin to test the wisdom of the gods?” Tantalus began. “As a demigod, I was born with questions. The stories of the gods are filled with their errors and cruelties. I only sought to understand them!”

Pluto said nothing, his expression unreadable.

“I have already paid for my crimes with death! I beg you, great Pluto, let me rest in peace. I seek only a peaceful end, nothing more,” Tantalus implored.

Silence followed his plea, the air heavy with tension. The gods around him remained still, their eyes fixed on him. But then, Pluto’s lips curved into a mocking smile.

A chill ran down Tantalus’s spine as the god’s laughter filled the chamber.

“Do you truly think you’re dead, Tantalus? You are still very much alive,” Pluto said, his voice low and menacing. “Thanatos has not claimed your soul. That’s the only reason you still draw breath.”

Tantalus blinked in confusion. Alive? But…

“And your greatest crime,” Pluto continued, “is not that you tested the gods or stole ambrosia and nectar.”

Tantalus’s eyes widened in horror.

“You killed your own son. You murdered him, butchered his body, and tried to serve him to your family. You have not once shown a shred of remorse for that.”

Tantalus tried to form words, but nothing came out. His mind reeled as Pluto’s voice grew colder.

“If you had merely stolen from the gods, your punishment would have been harsh but manageable—years of labor in the Underworld, perhaps. But you killed your son, your own flesh and blood. And worse, you tried to deceive the gods by feeding them his flesh.”

Tantalus trembled as Pluto’s judgment descended upon him like a crushing weight.

“You cannot atone for these sins, Tantalus. You will never be forgiven. Your punishment is eternal. You will be cast into Tartarus, where you will suffer from an insatiable hunger. And as you starve, Cerberus will feast upon your innards, over and over again.”

Tantalus thrashed and screamed, but the wraiths of the Underworld seized him, dragging him toward his fate.

He struggled, but there was no escape. The mad king who killed his son would meet a fitting end.

* * *

I watched as Tantalus was dragged away, knowing he would endure the torments of Tartarus for eternity.

Like Prometheus, whose liver was eternally devoured by an eagle, Tantalus would have his intestines ripped out by Cerberus, the guardian of the Underworld. Cerberus, always ravenous, would be more than happy with this endless feast.

And no matter how many times Cerberus devoured him, Tantalus would never die. His punishment would be perpetual, a reflection of his heinous crime.

As I pondered the events that had unfolded, I couldn’t help but wonder why the gods had even bothered attending Tantalus’s feast. Perhaps they had expected his treachery, seeking a reason to punish him severely. After all, Tantalus was Atlas’s son-in-law, and the gods needed a solid pretext to act against him without provoking a rebellion.

This public execution could serve as a warning to others, a reminder of the divine order’s dominance. Perhaps that was why Zeus had invited us all, to show the world that even his own son would not be spared for such a crime.

“…I’ve never seen a mortal like that before,” came a soft voice from behind me.

I turned to see Menthe, the goddess of mint, her expression a mixture of shock and disgust.

“Don’t let it trouble you too much, Menthe. As a goddess, you’ll witness many strange and terrible things over the ages,” I reassured her.

But Menthe, who had once lived peacefully as a naiad before becoming a goddess, seemed deeply shaken by the events she had just witnessed. She had always been surrounded by adoring humans when she served as my priestess, and as a goddess, she had spent her time spreading mint or doing paperwork. This was likely the first time she had seen such a grisly scene up close.

Her brow furrowed, her thoughts clearly troubled. I needed to lift her spirits somehow.

“Menthe,” I called softly. “Shall we visit Thebes again? You didn’t get to enjoy the walk last time, thanks to the Gigantes.”

Her eyes brightened, her previous gloom vanishing in an instant.

“A reward! I get to walk with you, just the two of us… like Styx and Lady Lethe!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“…How do you even know about that?”

“Well, everyone in the Underworld is talking about it! There’s been a lot of chatter about who will be your official queen…”

I sighed. If only they would focus on their duties instead of my personal life.