Inside the bathtub, within the warmth of the Kozlov home, the red-haired man's heart began to beat.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Beneath his closed eyelids, memories began to coalesce into vivid, searing images.
The Vision
A gale howled across vast, endless plains, carrying the scent of sulfur and impending doom. The sky above was stained a bruised, dark crimson, and the earth beneath his feet trembled with the weight of approaching steps.
He stood there, ready for what was coming. His massive, sculpted frame was a monument of strength. Long golden hair whipped in the wind. His blue eyes were fixed on the horizon, where something that should never have existed drew near.
Typhon.
The Father of Monsters. The creature that made the gods themselves tremble. His body was a nightmare of a hundred dragons; his head brushed the clouds, and every movement he made caused the world to shudder.
If he reaches Olympus... everything will crumble.
He tightened his grip, bracing for the slaughter.
He will not pass. I will not let him.
Then, everything stopped.
The wind. The dust. Even the distant, earth-shaking footsteps of Typhon ceased. Time itself seemed to hold its breath. A chill crept over his skin—not the chill of winter, but something far deeper.
He slowly raised his head.
He found her in the air.
She wasn't standing on the ground; she was suspended in a void between heaven and earth. Her white robes were woven from light itself. Silvery-gold hair floated in stagnant air. Wide, golden eyes held a profound, piercing coldness. Her beauty was not the familiar beauty of the goddesses; it was a beauty that inspired terror before anything else.
She pressed a hand to her chest and tilted her head slowly toward him.
"Oh, Heracles."
Her voice was everywhere at once. In the earth. In the air. Somewhere deep inside his own chest.
"My poor, sweet child."
She vanished, reappearing instantly inches from his face. She was so close he could see his own reflection in those golden orbs. She cupped his face with hands as cold as marble.
She looked at him—not with pity, but with a wide, serene smile that never reached her eyes. A mocking smile.
"You, whom both Heaven and Earth have come to loathe."
Heracles froze. It wasn't just her aura; it was her words. They struck something primal within him.
"Gaia," he whispered. "Why are you here?"
She didn't answer immediately. She studied him with cold fascination.
"Do you truly think your sacrifice will make Zeus love you?"
Something stirred in Heracles' chest. "Gaia—"
"Your journey is over," she said with absolute stillness. "Forever."
His eyes widened.
"Restrain him."
It wasn't an order given to him. It was a command to something much greater.
The earth splintered. The cracks started small, then expanded with a speed that defied logic, yawning open like a hungry maw. From the depths, darkness surged forth. Not the darkness of night, but the darkness of Nothingness. The void that existed before existence.
From within that void, hands reached out. Hundreds. Thousands. Writhing and stretching like serpents that knew their prey.
The Moirai appeared.
Three women in pale, faded white robes, huddled together in a circle. Their faces were shrouded by silken white veils that revealed nothing. One of them raised her head toward the sky. Black threads began to pour from her body, weaving through the air like an invisible web.
"O Hero, bearer of divine blood..."
Her cold voice echoed through the cosmos. Beneath her veil, her eyes shimmered a lethal crimson.
"Go to where Heaven and Earth shall bind you. Never to return to your home again."
Suddenly, runes began to spread across Heracles' body. Dark red. They etched themselves into his skin as if carved from the inside out. A curse taking physical form.
"No!"
He tried to recoil, but the ground beneath him was disintegrating. He tried to leap, but the hands were faster. They coiled around his ankles, then his knees, then his waist. Each hand was cold as ice and strong as iron. They dragged him down, slowly, relentlessly.
The darkness swallowed him. The cracks sealed shut behind him.
No sound. No form. No time.
Only him. In the center of nothing.
Zeus... did I defeat Typhon? Or has... Olympus... No. I must return. No matter the cost. I will break... This curse.
The Reality
Heracles snapped his eyes open, gasping for air. One deep, desperate breath filled his lungs.
Warm water surrounded him. A wooden ceiling. Walls made of a material he didn't recognize. Shiny metal fixtures. Pipes spitting water.
And an old man standing before him, his face a mask of bewilderment and shock. The man stammered, "Ты очнулся!" (You're awake!)
Heracles did not understand the words. He stared at the man with cold, evaluating eyes. He scanned his surroundings slowly. A strange place. Shiny metals. And a man looking at me as if he's found something he doesn't know how to handle.
"Where is this place?" he asked in Ancient Greek. His voice was hoarse, like grinding stone. "Speak."
Ivan didn't understand him. He kept talking, reaching out a hand in a gesture of good faith. But Heracles felt a mounting irritation rising within him. He stood up and stepped out of the tub without a word, water splashing everywhere.
"Wait! Wait!" Ivan tried to stop him, reaching out.
Heracles looked into Ivan's face with a flicker of a threat. He gave Ivan a light shove with his left hand. The man was sent flying, hitting the floor hard with a groan. Ivan's eyes went wide with shock—how could a mere nudge carry such devastating force?
Heracles didn't look back. He pushed the bathroom door forward. It didn't just open; it splintered off its hinges and crashed to the floor. Ivan watched, his shock deepening. What kind of strength is this?
Heracles continued his advance down the hallway, driven by his frustration.
Olga and Natasha appeared in the corridor, carrying towels and dry clothes. They saw him. They saw a man, completely naked and dripping wet, with a lean frame corded with muscle and tattoos that stretched from his chest to his back. His eyes were searching, calculating, as he walked toward them.
Olga let out a piercing scream, covering her daughter's eyes. "Close your eyes! Don't look!"
"Стойте! Подождите!" (Stop! Wait!) Ivan shouted, running after him through the snow, having grabbed his heavy coat. "Вам нужно одеться!" (You need to dress!)
But Heracles didn't understand why they were screaming or trying to stop him. His only thought was how to rid himself of the curse.
He reached the front door and threw it open.
He stepped outside.
His bare feet sank into the deep snow. With every step, thick steam billowed from his body into the freezing air, wrapping around him like a shroud. It was as if he carried a furnace within him, venting his internal heat into the cold.
He stopped in the middle of the frozen yard. He raised his head to the vast, grey sky.
"Moirai! I have no time to waste here! Open the gate!"
His voice tore through the frozen air, echoing between the barren trees. Only silence answered. Only the biting wind swirled around him.
Then… he heard noises behind him. Screams. Running footsteps.
"Come back here! You madman!" Ivan yelled, charging through the snow.
Natasha ran out behind her father, clutching a heavy blanket. "Dad! We have to stop him! He'll freeze to death!"
"I know!" Ivan roared, panting as he ran. "But he's too fast! How did he get that far so quickly?!"
Ivan reached him. He saw the thick steam surrounding Heracles—a pocket of warmth in the middle of a blizzard. It was like a glowing ember burning inside that lean body.
Heracles looked at them with empty eyes. Then, he raised his hand toward the heavens.
In seconds, massive clouds gathered. Heavy, charcoal-grey clouds materialized directly above them, as if the sky had finally decided to answer. Ivan thrust his arm in front of Natasha, pushing her behind his back. He felt something surging in the air—a static charge that made his hair stand on end.
"Dad, what—"
The lightning strike came.
A colossal bolt of white light shattered the sky, striking directly at Heracles. The electricity brushed against Ivan and Natasha's skin without harming them, but the sheer force was enough to make the earth shudder.
The roar of the thunder hit a split second later, a sound so violent it felt as if their hearts stopped for a beat.
Then... absolute silence.
They opened their eyes slowly. The courtyard was before them. The snow. The trees. The steam dissipating into the cold air.
But there was no one.
The red-haired man was gone.
Ivan stood up, his eyes scanning the spot where the man had been moments ago. There was no trace. No footprints leading away. Nothing to indicate that anyone had ever been there at all.
"How... where did he go?!"
Natasha stood beside him, the blanket trembling in her hands. Both their faces wore the same expression of pure, unadulterated shock.
"It looks like the lightning took him, Dad."
Ivan looked at her and said nothing. Because he could find no words to say.
To be continued…