Hercules vs Antaeus - 6. The kidnap

The crowd roared, a chaotic wave of sound that crashed over the arena – a maelstrom of awe, horror, and the primal thrill of witnessing a legendary hero brought low. Cheers and gasps of disbelief mingled in a cacophony reflecting the sheer impossibility of what they'd just seen. Overwhelmed by the spectacle, sections of the audience surged into the arena, a tide of humanity breaking through the barriers, adding to the pandemonium. The cheers turned to screams, the organized roar dissolving into a terrifying din.

The commotion provided the perfect cover for Antaeus' next act. Quickly, he snatched a large piece of cloth – a discarded tent flap from the nearby chaos. With surprising ease that belied his immense size and strength, he lifted the unconscious Hercules onto his shoulder. The legendary hero, usually a force of nature himself, felt like a mere sack of grain in Antaeus’ powerful grasp. His weight seemed insignificant to the earth-born giant. The earth itself seemed to aid Antaeus, making the seemingly impossible task effortless, as if Gaia herself were lending her strength to her son's triumph. He then draped the large cloth over himself, concealing both his own body and the unconscious Hercules he carried.

Antaeus navigated the throngs of people with surprising agility, his movements fluid and graceful despite his colossal burden. He slipped through the gaps in the crowd like a phantom, a dark, shrouded figure against the bright sunlight, his prize hidden from view. The frenzied crowd didn't see Antaeus, son of Gaia, disappear into the chaos with the supposedly invincible Hercules. He moved with the quiet confidence of a predator who had just secured its prey, his every step deliberate and purposeful. He emerged from the arena unnoticed, disappearing into the labyrinthine streets of the city, a figure blending seamlessly into the shadows.

Finally, he reached his destination: a hidden cave nestled deep within a secluded canyon, known only to him. It was his secret hideout, a sanctuary of earth and stone, a place where he could commune with his mother, Gaia, and where he would decide the fate of his vanquished foe. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and the echoing silence of the canyon, a stark contrast to the roaring celebration he had left behind. The cave was his domain, his connection to the earth and most importantly, a fitting place to contemplate his hard-won victory.

Inside the cave, a natural cathedral of rough-hewn stone and dripping stalactites, Hercules stirred slightly, a low groan rumbling in his chest, a sound like the grinding of tectonic plates, an attestation to the deep, bone-jarring pain that wracked his body. His eyelids fluttered, but he remained unconscious, his superhuman resilience battling the brutal effects of Antaeus' hold. Dust motes danced in the faint light filtering through the cave's mouth, illuminating the grim scene. With practiced efficiency born of countless battles and a chilling understanding of his craft, Antaeus lowered Hercules carefully to the ground in a spread eagle position amidst four heavy metal manacles. They weren't just manacles; they were instruments of confinement forged from a special earth-metal, a dark, almost obsidian alloy that seemed to absorb the power from the earth itself, imbued with a magical enchantment that amplified their strength tenfold and made them virtually unbreakable. Antaeus secured the manacles around Hercules' wrists and ankles with deliberate precision, the cold metal biting into his flesh, a lucid contrast between the hero's pale skin and the dark, unforgiving steel. The click of the locks echoed in the oppressive silence of the cave, a sharp, metallic sound that reverberated through the cavernous space, a sound that marked the end of Hercules' freedom.