Author's Note: For the Tempting Hades contest hosted by the Fantasy profile. If Hades had the chance to leave his throne would he? If he did, what would he do?

"What's my name?" he asked her.

"Hades," she replied.

Word count: 999

~~

"What's my name?" he smirked.

"Hades," she snarled.

And that was the day he left the throne to her.

She was the Queen Silver, the Seventh Queen of Nothing, Queen of the Dead and Undead, and the King of Hell. It was a title, a position. That she was called King did little to deter her from dresses and bare feet and disaster.

Her subjects called her Majesty but he simply called her Silver.

He left her with a smile and a dare, a sad sort of challenge. He threw wide the doors of his palace with but a glance back at those silver eyes he was leaving behind.

"Remember me," he said. "Remember me, and I will reclaim my throne."

His name was Hades, and he left her, the Hell Princess he'd chosen. He left her on the throne, the fair, cruel beauty that she was. Silver hair and silver lashes, dressed in naught but white, she was the Queen of the Dead and the Undead, and she was more suited for that throne than he ever was.

He was sadistic, but she was cruel, and there was no better place for cruelty than the Throne of Hell.

He left for the world. He'd been with the dead for so long that he'd near forgotten the living altogether. He wandered among the humans, letting the newness of them return to him. He wandered until there was no corner left unseen, until he knew each speck of dust by name. He wandered until Silver forgot him all over again.

Then he returned to her.

"What's my name?" he asked her.

"Pluto," she replied.

He let a fire-laced grin fall across his face. His name was Pluto, and he would take the world with splendor.

He showered the humans with molten praises, the sort leaving them heavy with unearned compliments. He tempted them, showing glimpses of that something more that lay just past the gates of death.

He was their devil, and he was everything they never knew they wanted.

They walked themselves to Hell.

He walked with them and returned to Silver.

"What's my name?" he asked her.

"Anubis," she replied.

He winked and laughed something manic. His name was Anubis, and this was the millennia he called the wild.

The humans learned fast. Too fast, and he was longing for freedom they'd so terribly forgotten. This was the age he ran with the wolves, the time he let the wilderness follow him to civilization, the century the humans remembered that the gods were gods.

He was the reason why.

When their fear ran like drugs through his veins, he returned.

"What's my name?" he grinned.

"Neti," she replied.

He winked, taking to the world, this time dressed in rags. His name was Neti, and this was the time he tore it apart, not from above but from below. Through the sorrow that rose from the beggars, letting it spill over to the rich. He saw their pain. He felt their pain. Pain was strange, he realized, in that no two persons felt it the same.

But in death, all were equal.

This was the time he reminded them of their mortality.

Then he walked back to Silver, death still dripping from his shadow.

"What's my name?" he taunted.

"Veles," she replied.

He narrowed his eyes, a need for chaos running down his spine. His name was Veles, and he was a god as kind as he was malicious.

He turned the world on its head, and shook war from its bones. He let battles rage and let ashes fuel the nations, for he knew better than any that prosperity only grew on the grave of war.

The humans learned death was mercy. He taught it to them well.

But it was cruel, and that was a reputation best reserved for the one seated on his throne.

"What's my name?" he mused.

"Orcus," she replied.

He raised a finger to his lips. An unspoken vow was worth more than a broken one. His name was Orcus, and he held the mortals to their word.

The living, he found, were a rather dishonest bunch. He watched them and marked them, catching lies like dreams in a net. He gave them a game, then, a game of truth or dare.

And he found that death had an uncanny way of wringing lies clean.

When their tongues were as tied as their lies were not, he turned back to the dead.

"What's my name?" he breathed.

"Yama," she replied.

He smiled. His name was Yama and this was the time he burned the world down.

He let it fall to ashes. He dragged the lives of those who would soon be in his care through the dirt. They succumbed to him, and he reveled in it. They no longer fought him.

But was easy victory truly victory?

He wished for challenge and returned to the only place he could find it, a strange melancholy hanging from his bones.

"What's my name?" he whispered.

"Aita," she replied.

He closed his eyes and turned away, the air so heavy he couldn't breathe.

His name was Aita, and he was tired.

One year. That was all he gave himself this time. One year.

He'd gone so far, fallen through time, and now he walked the world not as a traveler, but as a god. This was the year he wore a wolfskin cape about his shoulders and a jar of ashes at his hip. He collected the spirits of those who were chosen to move on. He kept them in his soul, carrying them with him until he returned.

He threw the gates wide and came home.

He stepped toward the throne and the girl dressed in naught but white amidst the flames. There was something different about her, something lofty and not quite there.

And he knew. He knew.

She gave him the smallest of smiles.

"What's my name?" he whispered.

"Hades," she replied.

~~