Beverly
An artistic enclave within Pan's Groves is the Sylvan Sculpture Grove, featuring sculptures and installations crafted by gods and mortal artists alike. The grove celebrates the beauty of the natural world, with sculptures depicting mythical creatures, divine flora, and representations of Pan's whimsical presence.
Orlando
For any art lover, the moonlit evening was a perfect time to peruse the sculpture garden. The lack of light and long shadows cast by the full moon above offered a different sort of view than one might have gotten in the daylight. The creatures that spoke of Pan's whimsy and transient nature took on a decidedly darker tone. While that had perhaps not been the intent of the sculpture. It still showcased a different side to even the most fanciful of gods. A capricious creature could still have fangs and rip the throat out of those who got in its way. 

It was fitting, given what the evening would become. Marigold June had ventured to the garden with thoughts of inspiring herself. Her art-loving mind did not always see the world in shades of what was dangerous and what was not. Beauty, form, and texture were to be admired, and such a garden at such a time was too delicious an opportunity for her to pass up. She had no way of knowing that the Lord of the Underworld was calling his power to unleash the dead upon the earth. 

Some miles away, a lone warrior was coming to terms with that very realization, but his arrival was a time off for this particular scene. Instead, it was as Merigold had been in the midst of exploring that a sudden gust of wind would rush through the grove with the scent of rot as her only warning that danger was growing close. 

The dead that closed in upon her position were not burn of this garden. They were migrators, following the line of their last victim towards where their senses told them the next would be. Did they know she was there? Perhaps not at first, but she had been bathing in the full moonlight in the middle of a clearing as if she were some sort of witchy woman drawing her power from the celestial bodies to cast a spell. 

As with most horrible experiences in the woods, this one began with the snap of a twig to alert her that there was an issue, and when her head jerked, it would show that ghoul-like corpses were exiting the cover of the tree line and moving their way towards her. They had the ability to run, but they had not yet sprung into attack mode. Perhaps, for the most part, because she may have frozen to be as still as one of the statues. She was far too beautiful to be one, but the dead could not discern art. Perhaps if she remained still, they would pass her by. 

But mortal reactions were a difficult thing to control...
Samuel
Maribel June found solace in the art of others, a yearning to know what their mind thought, their eyes saw, as they sculpted the beauty that lay before her. Pan's Sculpture Grove had always been a personal favorite in this, a meeting of nature and art in ways she found awe-inspiring for the starving artist that was she. 

They seemed to breathe with life around her as she watched the steam roll off them in the crescent casting of the moon. The golden rays of the setting sun casting long shadows through the trees and making her hum with approval as she moved to her bag. To reach for the book of scribbles and drawings that brought her own mind's eye to life. She had just moved her fingers across it when a twig snapped in the distance- the world cast into a darkness that brought sight entirely from her eyes.
_ _

It was then that she whimpered. What was this? With trembling hands, Maribel reached for anything solid in a darkness that held no reprieve. The noises of something unknown growing louder in the distance, a sense of hunger to them that brought about a sense of unease. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she steadied her breath and attempted to move away from it all. Weaving in between the statues that she had come to know like the back of her own hand. 

Still, they approached, until they were behind her and a hand grasped her bag yanking it from her shoulder and bringing a high pitched scream from her lips. "FUCK OFF! Whatever you are, fuck off!" A surge of adrenaline propelled Maribel upwards, she climbed the statue she held as she felt hands grasp at her and moaning growing louder. Who knew how many there were that surrounded her, as she could not see her own hands that reached higher still. Her shoe another fallen victim to whatever yanked. Her ankle snapped as it held no mercy for its latest victim. Another scream, this time in agony as she curled it into herself and sat upon the makeshift horse. High above the grass below, curled in the fetal position. 
_ _

With each passing moment, Maribel's grip on reality faltered, her mind consumed by a primal fear that refused to be silenced. The eerie silence of the forest around her was punctuated by the moans below her. Sounding like the zombie films of her past. What the fuck was this? That would consume the world whole with such ease. Had a God been angered once more? To what end would this war be played. What further damage could they do to the mortals they claimed to protect?
_ _
Helen
The undead were ceaseless with their hunger. A shoe would not quell their desire to feast upon their flesh. The abominations summoned forth by Hades were something meant to punish those who had harmed his beloved when, in truth, they did nothing but harm the innocent. Those who had assaulted Persephone's party were not the sort that didn't have a drove of automatic weapon-carrying guards. Maribel June was their typical victim—a lone person in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

For a split second, she was safe. High atop her stone mount, they could not reach her, even as others attempted to trample those before them to get to her. Only the tallest amongst them was able to get within inches of grazing the fabric hanging off her delicious flesh. There was the sense that this was some sort of surreal dream. Any moment, she would squeeze her eyes and wake up safe in her cozy bed. Zombies were not real. Yet, no sudden surge of shifting back to reality came. The shadows were her company, with stray moon rays to illuminate the true horrors fiending to get to her. 

How long could the stone hold up against the weight of the creatures beneath her? Would they get creative? Would she slip? How long would these shambling corpses claw for her? 

A new sound nearly caused her to roll right off in a startle, though this was no undead. It was the sound of something heavy hitting the earth with terminal velocity. Stray bits of dust and dirt kicked up, some striking Maribel lightly before bouncing harmlessly away. She could not see whatever it was that had made a small impact crater in the earth, but the dead took notice and were soon no longer trying to climb upon themselves to get to her. They all had a new target.

Amongst the shadows, a hulking figure moved with alacrity. It was faster than any humanoid had a right to be at that size. It looked as if it swung with its arms, and the chorus of crunching bones its fists made on impact was otherworldly. Where her screams had been the high point of sound one moment, the dying moans were overshadowed now by primal anger. Pure-unfiltered rage was this creature's ally, and one of the statues in the garden was ripped from the earth with inhuman strength before it was used to swipe through the air and send bodies scattering in every direction, including smacking them against the base of where Maribel was curled in fear. 

The dead did not take long to dispatch as quickly as they appeared; whoever this would-be hero was had dispatched them back to their eternal slumber. Some through blunt impact while they walked, others through crushing whatever magical nerve center that gave their bodies animation. A large group of them knocked down together were completely flattened by the shadowy man slamming the statue into a new resting place atop their bodies. The last gasps of the dead were crushed by a firm stomp of his boot, once again returning this grove to silence. 

She could hear his breathing amidst the shadow. He, as one could only assume, given the shape the shadows clung to, labored with exertion. "Are you alright?" That was a loaded question. This was most certainly going to require therapy. If she watched this creature, she would see him step into enough moonlight to, in fact, confirm skin not slothing from his face. On the contrary, he was handsome in the same way the statues that surrounded them were. He was waiting for her to show a sign that she trusted him enough to reach up and offer her a hand. 

Should she take it, she would feel no tremble in her descent. Perhaps she had felt the grip of a strong man before, but this gave the sense that she could stand upon that palm and get the same result.
Samuel
The weight of the undead pressed against the stone, their relentless hunger driving them to new heights of desperation. Maribel clung to her perch atop the stone sculpture, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the creatures below, their twisted forms illuminated by the faint moonlight. The groans echoing against the whipping wind and claws grasping against the air around her. "Please. Just go away." She whimpered against the chaos and closed her eyes as tight as her lids would allow. How long could the stone withstand their onslaught? Would they find a way to reach her, their clawing hands inching ever closer? The thoughts sent jolts of panic through her body, making her shake and gasp for air. 

Suddenly, a new sound shattered the eerie silence, causing Maribel to startle. It was not the familiar groans of the undead, but something altogether different, yet equally menacing. As the earth trembled beneath the force of the impact, Maribel's pulse quickened to new heights, her eyes darting around the darkness in search of the source.

The undead, sensing a new threat, turned their attention away from Maribel, their primal instincts driving them towards the disturbance. With a mixture of fear and hope coursing through her veins, Maribel watched as the creatures below shuffled towards the unseen danger. Was this the salvation she had been praying for, or would it only bring further chaos to an already nightmarish scene? "Honestly, truly, any help down here would be appreciated." Maribel spoke to the skies with no answer in response. A deafening silence to her pleas giving her all the answer she needed. "Of course not." She whispered in realization. She was just one mere human, after all.
_ _

Slowly, the sounds of the beasts were squashed into nothing. Every groan being taken out by an unknown source. The Earth threatening to buckle at times under the sheer strength that grasped them. Perhaps a God *Had* Answered her pleas. The pleas of a starving artist, that took to drawing them straight from the sources of her dreams. Stories untold in history, but seen within her mind's eye and retold through the stroke of her brush and ease of her fingertips. 

*"Are you alright?"*

"Depends on your definition of alright." He could talk, at least this was one step closer to a sense of safety. His figure moving into the moonlight gave way to a striking scene. A scene that made her yearn to reach for her notebook and mark his beauty down upon paper. Waiting on her, hand outstretched as her gaze looked down upon it.

Maribel hesitated, her breath shallow as she weighed her options. Trusting this mysterious figure seemed risky, yet there was an undeniable allure to his strength and calm demeanor amidst chaos. With a hesitant nod, she reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they met his sturdy hand. As he pulled her up, she felt the reassuring strength in his grip, a stark contrast to the terror that had gripped her moments before. With each step out of the shadows, she felt a sense of safety enveloping her, as if his presence alone could ward off the darkness that threatened to consume them. Though the events of the night would surely haunt her, for now, she found solace in the steady presence of her enigmatic rescuer.

"So... Does my knight in shining armor have a name?" Her voice shook slightly as her form did within the unforgiving night. Her body still coming down from the adrenaline of the night to remember. "...And does he often rescue random damsels in distress or do you have a daytime job?"
Helen
There was no way to know who he was in the midst of saving. Be it some unhoused soul or the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen mattered little in the grand scheme of things. Someone needed help, and he had the power to do something about it. That was to say, it didn't count at that moment. That changed the moment her heavenly features peered over the stone to lock eyes with him for the first time. Hercules had avoided such interaction for centuries. He had not been ready for the frightened, unsure, doe-eyed beauty to find it within her to trust him enough to reach down for his security. For a moment, he felt like she might flee, but the artist put on her brave face and descended, hand in hand with him. 

"It's not like the movies." The deep-toned stranger began. "If you are bitten, it won't turn you into one of them." This was said with the same sort of levity that one might have said a spider bite wouldn't turn you into Spider-Man. The two things could even possibly relate. The dead did not just rise. "So if they touched you, you are fine. I would just need to make sure it doesn't get infected the old-fashioned way."

Hercules didn't flirt. The little injection of a smile had been without conscious thought. It was gone the second he realized it had been there, but not with the suddenness that would cause her to retreat from him possibly. He wanted her to think nothing was wrong when, in reality, he could not remember the last time he had spoken to someone *This* Attractive. It stirred things up, and he fought to suppress it before anything could spiral out of control.

When asking the name of one with his lineage, there was a pause as if he needed to consider what to say. Her trembling fingertips were still head in his sure grip. For all their strength, he was gentle with her in a way most could never be. "I don't suppose you would leave it at that if I said my name was Bill?" No one named Bill could do what he had just done. There was too much divinity in both his presence and his appearance. So, after a moment, he let out a sigh for strength and spoke the name uttered through fables. 

"Hercules." The name was synonymous with heroics and strength. He was a figure as large as the gods in some circles and perhaps even rumored to *Be* A god himself. Yet no one could say where he had been or what he was doing. These were fables passed down and told through different mediums, and yet here he stood before her. More real than the marble that had saved her from being mauled to death. 

"And no, I don't make a habit of this." He said in a surly way. The fingers that had held her realized the contact was becoming problematic when his mind told him how much he had missed it. Once he had felt the urge to lace their fingers, he released and let both of their arms return to their side. "Undead or not, it is dangerous to be out here alone. The most civilized of areas make for a perfect hunting ground for the cunning predator." This was him just being cautious and having no faith in the world. There was something jaded in those eyes. Deep-seated and too distant for her to touch. Yet, there was a glimmer of hope if one knew where to look.
Samuel
His words, though laced with a hint of levity, brought a small smile to her lips, a brief respite from the overwhelming situation they found themselves in. As they descended together, Maribel couldn't shake the feeling of safety and comfort that seemed to emanate from him in waves despite the example he had made of the undead with ease just then. Yet, his unexpected smile caught her off guard, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that seemed to bridge the gap between them. In that instant, she saw beyond the facade of strength and stoicism, catching a glimpse of something deeper within him and became curious to know her rescuer.

Though she couldn't quite decipher the emotions swirling beneath her surface in this odd little moment of a fairytale meet gone awry, Maribel found herself drawn to him in a way she hadn't anticipated. Yet, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of their surroundings, she knew that her focus must remain on survival and survival alone. "I don't think- one of them scratched my ankle but I am sure it will be fine without further inspection. You've done more than enough, truly." Her words were soft, like a lost little lamb of a woman that had just been saved from the slaughter. Unrecognizable to the spewing of facts she normally did. A sense of frustration rouging her cheeks in embarrassment, at how easily she became the typical damsel in front of this statuesque figure of a man. 
_ _

With a silent resolve, Maribel pushed aside her own swirling thoughts and fears, trusting in the strength of the stranger by her side. As they reached safer ground, Maribel finally found her voice amid the chaos. "I know." She finally stated, to his admission in name, a sense of mischievous guilt across her features. *The* Hercules was hard to miss. His likeness had been in so many pages of the books she studied cover to cover. "Though admittedly you seem... Different from what I expected." Her gaze studied over him slowly, an analyzing sense as if she was memorizing every feature to paint upon her canvas later. A likelihood, for the fact alone, someone made of such perfection belonged on a canvas. 

"I will never get used to that." It was meant to be a whisper to herself. An admittance out loud that the Gods and heroes of the past walking amongst the mortals so casually was an oddity. A good thing, in today's events. Though perhaps it would not have been a rescue needed if not for another divine's hands in shaking the core of the Earth in his fury and casting into darkness. "Any idea how long this," Her hands cast around them in the blinding darkness, "Is supposed to go on?" A shiver was sent down her spine at the reality she did not feel safe to be left alone. 
_ _

Temptation to cling to him and beg for him to take her with him, wherever his destination, until the undead returned to the Earth they belonged within once more. 

*"Undead or not..."*

Maribel looked at him with a bit of incredulous humor glinted in her eyes. "By that logic, no one should venture outside their walls. I have often come here to find solace in the sculptures and been just fine. Though admittedly the zombie horror film made reality was not something I prepared for, it's true." 
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Helen
There was a vibration in the air between them. Something he could not place. He could not see it, nor could his hand wave through the air and touch it. Magnetic pull wanted to draw them closer so she could clutch to his chest like some cheesy romance novel. His impossibly strong hands could find purchase on her, and the two of them could fade into the shadow of a moment, locked forever in some tempting embrace. It was by some sense of self-control and danger that the two did not slip into such a moment. Danger had not left them yet, and the Lord of the underworld was not finished with his tantrum. 

The moment she mentioned that one of them had scratched her ankle, she had not even finished saying it before the mythological figure moved to squat before her and take her gently by the leg. The being was insistent and did not ask for permission to lay hands upon her. A finger touched the back of her heel to turn her leg show, letting a stray bit of moonlight catch the now bleeding wound. A twinge of anger shot through Hercules that threatened insanity. Once again, patience stopped him from punching his way into the god's subterranean realm. 

"Just because they won't turn you into them doesn't mean there is a fair bit of rot beneath their nails. Who knows what that breeds? We will see that this gets treated." We, he said, as if that was a promised thing he could just call upon. Like all born centuries ago, perhaps he felt entitled to the mortal's time, or maybe he had been so detached from such things that he had forgotten there were more amiable ways to socialize. She -could- say no and dismiss him, but what if the dead came back to finish the job they had started earlier?

"You expected something?" Why did that even shock him? The tone said he thought it was not some large deal that warranted much thought. Was it humility or something else that conjured that sort of reaction? The way her eyes toured him up sent chills right back down his spine. There were urges long suppressed that nearly sent him surging forward, but control is a must for one so strong. "Well, I hope I didn't tarnish whatever image you had of me. I hear that is common amongst mortals who meet my kind."

That wasn't completely true. Some mortals left their meeting with the gods utterly awe-struck and would rant and rave. His experiences were different. "I have no clue, truthfully. The small village I was living near was overrun, and I was heading to try and get some answers as to why this is happening." Something about his stance said he was going to be asking questions with his fists. Not his tongue. 

With a jerk of his head, he motioned for the woman to follow him. A snapping twig in the distance had caught his attention, though it was far beyond the range of her mortal hearing. "We should be on the move. Towards someplace more defensible than a statue garden. Heights saved your life, but a door or some sort of choke point would be ideal." Note that he said he had not saved her. He knew all too well that he would have arrived too late to do anything if she had not gotten herself up truly. 

"It's dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.." Never mind the fact that he had just quoted the Lord of the Rings while peering into the dark to lead the way for her. A hand reached back without looking. Was it for her hand or to usher her along?
Samuel
❝ ⌜ what if-for once-I was the poem and not the poet?⎯ ✶⌝ ❞
 
Title. [Shadows](
Setting. In the midst of chaos, amongst the Sculpture Grove.
Characters. Maribel June, a mortal oracle & Hercules, a brooding anti-hero.
Pings/Mentions. 
Notes. I got to it -eventually. Don't kill me ❤️
 
 .𖥔˚.
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_ _

Yelping, she yanked her ankle from whatever wrapped around her, pulling only to have it refused in kind as she saw the man named Hercules kneeling before her. For someone that loomed over her and seemed to make even his own shadows quell in fear, he was surprisingly nimble and quick. Examining her ankle with a firm, yet gentle nature that had her planted within the unforgiving night's fields. "You don't get out much, do you?" Maribel's eyebrow shot up in a humored fashion as she studied the hero of the past against the moonlight. Ignoring the surge of adrenaline and whispered thoughts at the sight of him on his knees before her. 

Gently she nudged the injury from his hands and rolled down the jeans that had been stained in- frankly she didn't care to know. Part of her yearned for him to wrap his hands around her and whisk her away, like a real life Superman, and the other wished to scold him on the blasphemy that was touching an unwed ladies' ankle, like they were of the Victorian era on a simple stroll. "We?" She did not say it with malice in her voice, her back straightening to look at him with curiosity and question, only with a tone of humor. His dry sense of command something she admittedly was not quite used to. Working in the ranks of arts and museums left her inexperienced when it came to brute men that traversed the woods looking to save damsels from harm's way. 
_ _

"Mortals who meet your ki- I will never grow used to this." Maribel hugged her artistic journal closer to her chest and motioned for him to lead the way. A silent acceptance to his proposal. Walking in silence, she listened. Listened for the symphony of crickets, or perhaps the rustling of leaves. Anything to prove to her that life hadn't entirely stopped, and yet there was nothing. Nothing- but the sound of moans far off, tortured and gurgled. The curse that had been cast upon them, unbeknownst to her as to what she had done to deserve the wrath of the man running things below. 

"Questions from who? Are you going to just... Go down to the Underworld and demand Hades explain himself? Pummel him if he doesn't?" A chuckle escaped her, a melodic laugh that was true to her humor until she looked to his face and saw an answer there she was afraid to hear. "Don't answer that. I would rather not know." She whispered against herself, curling further into her as the night air became unforgiving and a chill was sent through her body. A foreboding sign to what was further to come, she was sure. It was not in the Gods to simply stop at one small notion as quickly as it had begun, and for Hades to send a wrath upon the world- Maribel did not want to know for how long this would last. For how long they would all be subjected to squinting against the nature of the night, only to have rabid undead come from the darkest corners. 
_ _

*"It's dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.."*

An upwards curl to her lips at this phrase, as her hand subconsciously wrapped into the warmth of his own. She had remembered reading the Lord of the Rings more times than she could count within her childhood. A comfort read she would still find solace in to this day, but hearing it from the mouth of a man that had just thrown rocks the size of himself at the undead seemed the most unrealistic of the night's events somehow. "Alright, Bilbo, lead the way." 
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Helen
"Apologies.." It would not take her long to figure that he was a social shut-in. A self-made pariah that could have easily molded and thrived in modern society. Yet, there was something almost primal in his nature. A feral godling that could snap her like a twig did not ask for her consent to lay a hand upon her, even if it was for a virtuous reason. The implications of that were terrifying to anyone who sat and thought about it for long enough. The evil that could breed in a creature of his strength should have sent chills down one's spine. Maribel June was built differently. She was the sort to play alone in a dark sculpture garden at night. Danger sense was not her forte. 

Satisfied, he released his hold on her. "I think the problem is I'm out too much. I never get in.." Despite how far removed he was, there were alarms that went off behind the eyes. It was evident he knew something was wrong, and he was quick to stumble over his words to fix it. "I, ah, mean.." There was a slight pause as he attempted to fix his stumble. "I don't socialize much. I tend to keep to myself." Maribel did not need to be a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist to put that together. 

The fact that she questioned "We" Was glossed right over. It sounded like the natural conclusion to things. He'd appeared out of nowhere to save her; it was not as if he was ready to melt back into the darkness to let her fend for herself. It wasn't illogical to think there would be another roaming group of shambling corpses around the next bend. So long as she was with him, she was safe.

Her question as to his plan set his jaw into a momentary tight lock. Even from her lips, his name seemed to conjure something from that well of bottomless anger the mythological man only just barely kept hidden. "If it was that easy, I would have done it a long time ago." Luckily, when he spoke, his anger had dissipated. Though, this could be attributed to the fact that he had taken that moment to look back and examine her beautiful face. There was a thought to comment on just what he thought of her large eyes that still stared at him with a sense of wonderment. It was good that she had not asked; there was no real plan in place. Perhaps he was only just now realizing that. 

Luckily, there was no reason to dwell on this for long, for when her hand fell into his, a jolt like a lightning bolt from his father raced from the point of contact to every nerve ending within his vessel. It was intoxicating, and in response, his hand closed around hers. It was feather light for one so strong, and no matter how hard she yanked, there was nothing that could set her free from that vice. A smile graced his features. Something genuine for her picking up on his niche pop-culture knowledge before the pair of them set off side by side. 

The infection could not set in so quickly, so his pace slowed if only a tad. His vision in the dark was at least passable in the sense that he could see what was on the road, but for mortal eyes, she would probably struggle. "There is a root to your left." If she caught it in time, it would be easy, but there was no chance of her hitting the dirt. Not so long as he kept her grasp in his. "How far do you live from here?" Basic medical supplies could disinfect the wound. If she was scared, a round of antibiotics could make sure nothing found its way beyond the scratch. Going to a hospital on a night like this was bound to turn into a waiting room marathon. If he could just get her safe behind a closed door, she would be safe, or that was at least what

If she lived in the city, then she probably would not be able to afford to leave his side any time soon. His hammering fists would probably need to be put to use again. The more humans huddled together, the more the dead would flock to rip them apart. *Fucking Hades*, he thought to himself. His heart still ached for those he had lost, but he would redeem them and make sure nothing happened to his ward he led through the dark. He'd failed them, but he would be her light in the shadow to see her through.