Here dwelt one whom even Olympians fear. This was the Demon's
Lair.
The village folk had long remembered legends. Hoary legends, whispered around campfires during winter storm. Used to frighten children to mind their manners. But only legends. Or so Demo had long believed.
Something - no one spoke a name - there was. Or something there had been. Something that preceded even the Titans, that ancient race from whom the Olympians were descended.
The Titans, so the tales went, had not conquered it. Rather, they had duped it, deceived it, and encaged it in bars not of this world. Bars that, until now, had held. Bars that, perchance, were weakening with the passage of eons.
Whispered conversations on earth, whispered conversations on the pristine streets of Olympus, told of an ominous presence. Not seen, nor heard - still dread of this unknown creature stalked the night as might stalk even the creature itself.
Idle chatter of fearful children? Old wives tales from the back woods? Or something else, something evil. Something so powerful that even the gates of Olympus stood not against it.
No one knew.
And that was why Demo stood at the gate to the demon's lair.
Zeus would know what manner of creature was there imprisoned.
Zeus would know what manner of prison held such a creature in
throe.
Who better to send than Demo? If he succeeded, another task marked off. If he failed, one less concern as Athena chose another.
Demo gazed into the still water of the tarn, touched its surface with his hand. He gasped at the chilling cold that seized his entire arm.