EPISODE 15: Kharos

Deep into the Abyss, Banerjee and Veera stumbled across someone. A man, a warrior. Tall, broad, dressed in a tunic, covered in full-body armor made of bronze. He wore a helmet, and brandished no weapons...only using his massive fists as he fought demons, one after another. 

But as a radiant light approached, the warrior’s gaze would narrow. He hurled a snarling demon into the dark, and stepped back, poised for battle. Then, seeing not monsters, but men...a long-buried joy stirred behind his eyes. 

HERAKLES: Hello!

BANERJEE: Hello there. 

HERAKLES: Are you real? Or a figment of this cursed place?

VEERA: Real as breath. And you?

HERAKLES: Flesh and bone, and unyielding spirit. I am Herakles.

VEERA: (laughs) Like the Greek and Roman hero? 

HERAKLES: I am from Mycenae, a soldier...but no hero.

VEERA: The Greeks and Romans told stories. Legends about a man...

Piecing it together, Veera would fall silent, sharing a look with Banerjee, as they were in the presence of a myth come to life. 

VEERA: Twelve Labors, Nemean lion, Hydra, Cerberus...they said you held up the heaven?

HERAKLES: I carried weight, yes...but not the sky.

VEERA: Well...your name lived on in story. It still does. Not a God, but you endured...There are statues of you.

BANERJEE: As the world’s grown it has needed someone like you. Someone strong enough to believe in.

Herakles grinned wide at the thought. A mixture of wonder and disbelief on his face.

HERAKLES: Tell me of these stories.

Taking refuge in their light, Herakles joined Banerjee and Veera. Grateful, perhaps for the first time in ages, to see something alive in the dark…And though these men, from different places and ages, through the magic coursing in the nothingness, were able to understand one another perfectly -- as the barrier of language does not exist in a place where there are no rules. And Herakles was more than eager to share tales of his life, and of how he came to be lost in the void.

Though his name lingered on ancient tongues, Herakles had once been a fierce and cunning soldier of the Mycenaean army. Celebrated for his strategic mind and battlefield brilliance, he also carried the heart of a warrior, unafraid to charge headlong into the maw of death. 

Long before the first scriptures of men were etched in clay or stone, Satan had already begun his campaign to bring about the final war...and knew when the Absolution would one day come, it’d be the final reckoning between light and shadow. The dark prince was raising an army. Not of flesh, but of souls. Twisted, damned, reborn as demons. But because the battle would spill onto the plane of Earth, he’d need a commander, not of spirit, but a man. Someone who’d understand the weakness of the human heart. Someone who'd know how to bring nations to their knees. And Satan wanted Herakles.

He didn’t wait for the warrior’s death, kidnapping him from our world. Herakles was dragged to Hell. A soul bound to a living body, kept suspended in a realm between existence.

HERAKLES: One moment I was on the field of battle, blood in my mouth, sword in hand. The next, a land of fire and ash, ruled by Father Night .

VEERA: Satan?

HERAKLES: He spoke like a king. Offered me command over legions. Promised I would be worshiped, feared, obeyed. 

BANERJEE: And you refused?

HERAKLES: No, I hadn’t that choice. But in my fear, I recited an orison.  

VEERA: A prayer?

HERAKLES: Asking for protection, as I had done many times in battle...that’s when HE appeared.

VEERA: Who?

Uttering the name KHAROS, Banerjee knew of the one Herakles spoke... He’s gone by many names, The Dreadwarden, The Seraphblade, The Judicarius. In Latin, Lux Praetor the “Light Commander”. To the Hellenes, he was Keraunos, “The Thunder That Strikes”. He’s the protector of men, hunter of demons. 

The old texts called him Kharos, righteousness rooted in chaos. A paladin forged in celestial fire, an immortal guardian dispatched to shield humanity from the dark. 

Neither angel nor man, he is a singular entity: an instrument of destruction shaped by God’s own hand. Kharos materializes when called, most often in response to a Hero Prayer, a plea of desperation, spoken in the shadow of overwhelming evil. The prayer itself has many forms, though its intention is always the same, divine intervention.

Kharos called forth to slay a soldier demon, circa 1496 - © 2025 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC

One consistent detail across sightings is his possession of a totemic weapon or object, a supernatural implement, something to assist him in battle. The appearance changes based on geography, era, and context. Some have seen him carry a crystal sword, an axe of bone, a mirrored shield that reflects only evil, a lantern that reveals hidden spirits. While some have even claimed to have seen him atop a large black stallion with eyes of flames. But all accounts agree on one thing—his purpose is unshakable -- protect the innocent. Destroy the wicked — Herakles, pleading for protection in the pit of Hell, unknowingly summoning the paladin. And he came...

Herakles said he watched the two forces clash, and as Kharos went to slay the Devil, Death appeared, halting the battle. It was not permitted, he said, what was about to happen would shatter Universal Law. Before vanishing, Kharos leaned close to Herakles, whispering something.

VEERA: What did he say?

HERAKLES: Numquam Vinculatus. I know not the tongue...nor the meaning. 

VEERA: Neverbound...it’s Latin. 

HERAKLES: When the dark learned Kharos had spoken to me, they didn’t kill me. They caged me here. I think it’s meant to break me and I’ve been fighting things in the dark, since. 

BANERJEE: I suspect the hero consecrated you in the eyes of the wicked. Marking you untouchable to their wants. Satan unable to corrupt you because of it.

HERAKLES: Then, I hope someday I can thank the paladin. As I would much rather remain in the darkness, than in service for my soul. 

TO BE CONTINUED…