By her tenth lap, Medusa stopped counting. Her body moved without instruction. But she was aware of certain things, like how profusely she was sweating. Loud, hacking breaths that sawed through burning lungs. Yet, her ragged breaths weren’t loud enough to silence the vengeful thoughts searing through her mind.
The night had been too long, and her tears were too quick to dry. She had no use for tears. No. Medusa shook her head. Tears were good. They grounded her and made her feel human despite her growing non-human abilities.
I’m not like them. I'll never be like them.
When morning came, she had tucked away her volatile emotions and went through the motions. She thanked Lonian and Akrivi for the list of dogs they recommended and later attempted to participate in Nestor’s so-called “brutal” training, only to be told to abstain.
It wasn’t until after her classes that she understood why Nestor kept her from joining.
She had since lost track of time, her run carrying her around the training hall as she powered through pulses of aether radiating from the basin holding the premium stone. To distract herself, she had let it all in. Thoughts, possibilities, a fervent desire for answers. It felt like her head would burst from all the questions.
What did Zeus do to her father? Those thorns. Why did it feel like she had seen them before? And Ceto’s emaciated state. It seemed like her vitality had been sucked out, leaving a husk behind. And the hollowness in her eyes, the utter dejection.
Renewed rage consumed every thought. She had never been close to her parents, but she was sensible enough to make certain deductions. That brief encounter with Phorcys showed that his detachment was not his intention.
But what can I do against Zeus? The thought of facing him was so ludicrous that a laugh escaped, but it soon grew to a hacking cough so raw it felt like hot claws ripping through her throat.
Her body, seeming to suddenly realise its fatigued state, gave up on her. Sharp pulses of pain shot down her legs as her hamstrings and calves cramped up. Hissing, Medusa collapsed to her side as a wave of dizziness came.
Nestor strolled over and observed her with a flat expression. Then he wrote something on a stone slab before slipping the beaded band around her wrist to hasten her recovery.
“No nosebleed,” he said dryly as he straightened.
Sitting up, Medusa looked at the beaded band. Nestor had retrieved it when she came for the training and instructed her to run until her body collapsed. She had zero idea how long she had been running, but judging from the wetness of her tunic and hair, it must have been for a considerable period. At least the pain in her legs had vanished.
“You ran for nearly a horai. Could be better, but also not disappointing.”
Medusa nodded but said nothing. Her mind still churned with thoughts like what lay at the end of her training. There was a reality that the eye of petrification was in the cards. Clotho had explicitly mentioned it, but her words implied that the eye of petrification may not be enough. Then what would be enough? No matter how she looked at it, it seemed impossible to go against the gods with any other method. These beings could cause earthquakes powerful enough to decimate entire kingdoms. Sink islands. Kill with the snap of their fingers. How, just how could she conquer that?
During her run, she had considered how she killed Perseus. He turned to dust. Even if she were to awaken that ability, how practical was it against a cataclysm like Zeus?
Weaving her fingers behind her neck, Medusa’s mind raced with black hatred and frustration. Why must she and her parents live through such persecution? If what Clotho said was true, then Zeus was nothing more than a mortal playing god. And what Poseidon and Athena did to her in her first life. Who gave them the right? Cosmolith was the absolute worst world. A pang of longing for Earth squeezed her heart.
“You seem angry.”
Unclenching her jaw, Medusa slid on a neutral mask and stood. She met Nestor’s eyes but said nothing.
His gaze searched hers. There was wariness and maybe concern. Medusa wasn’t sure, and she couldn't get herself to care. She was too much in her head and itching to do something; even dying over and over in her coming training was beginning to hold an appeal.
“What did the red god say about the nosebleed?” Medusa asked. She suspected that triggering petrification in the last training had caused it, but she kept that detail to herself.
Seeming to let go of his concern, Nestor made his way to the basin holding the aether stone. “He recommended the run.”
“What were you looking out for?” As Medusa trailed after him, she hardly noticed the pulses of aether washing over her. Perhaps the training was to build her tolerance.
“You will attempt your next training without the beads,” Nastor said as he stopped before the basin. “Since we’re unsure of what caused the nosebleed, it would be wise to isolate every external factor.”
Medusa nodded and handed over the beads. If anything, she was growing more eager for the training—the torturous race through the forest, fighting for her life, and the terror of the possibility of getting caught. Ah, was that what the Moirai and her curse were referring to? This craving and justification for suffering.
Flinging the disturbing thought off her mind, Medusa wore the blindfold and opened her eyes.
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She was back to the same horrifying scene she had fled from. Cuauhua was turning to stone before her eyes. Her hand had somehow found its way around his throat, and he was on his knees.
Shaken, Medusa snatched her hand away and watched with horror as the petrification process completed.
“It's not real,” Medusa whispered as she hugged her arm to her racing heart.
That frozen expression of shock and pain on his face looked so familiar. “It's not real. It’s not him. You're not Antonii.”
I must have been mad to want to return here. I must be mad…
Retreating on shaky legs, her feet tangled with the unconscious warrior's. She fell over him and immediately shuffled away. A surge of panic muddied her senses when she realised she wasn’t feeling aether as strongly as before. Were other warriors coming? She had no weapon. Cuauhua’s quiver and arrows also turned to stone.
Medusa glanced around, paranoid. The change happened as she looked.
The forest shifted to a strange fusion of the village square and the expansive foyer before Athena’s temple, with the templo mayor still in the distance. Medusa sat in the middle of the square, exposed.
Rising to her feet, she held herself ready for what? There was the suspicion that this training may be more brutal than the first.
And it was eerily quiet. Even though the breeze swayed the branches and leaves of the nearby trees, there was no sound. There were also no calls of birds or the hum of life. Nothing.
“You returned.”
Medusa flinched and observed her surroundings, seeing nothing but the huts bordering the square and the shadows they cast. She resisted the urge to look behind, where the imposing temple of Athena loomed.
“Two temples, and they’re perfect copies.” The curse’s voice echoed like they were speaking from an empty hall.
Instead of answering, Medusa grew even more tense.
“We're not fond of temples, but there are certain weaknesses you must shed.”
“What…” Medusa tried again. “What now?”
Instead of answering, the curse hummed as if caught in a thought. “Why didn’t father ask for Rico? He gave him to us mere days ago, right?”
Medusa frowned at the unexpected question, the cogs in her mind moving slower than she would have liked. “What?”
“I was just wondering; you know?” Her curse continued in a thoughtful tone. “He gave us Rico but said nothing when he saw the duplicate without him.”
“I…” Medusa’s frown deepened. How strange. But before leaving, Phorcys had turned as if looking for someone or something. “Maybe—”
“They must have broken his mind. Those… those vipers!” The curse spat. “But don’t worry.” The switch to a cheery tone was jarring. “Your rage is my rage.”
Medusa found herself agreeing with the sentiment, which was strange because the curse wasn’t her. They were not the same person.
The curse tutted. “Your denial does not invalidate facts.”
Medusa sighed as she recalled that the curse could read her mind.
“Our enemies,” Curse continued in an even tone, “despite the blessing of infinite time, appear to be in some sort of race. I grow impatient with them.”
Not knowing what to say, Medusa remained silent. After what she witnessed in her sleep, her frustration at her ignorance had tripled.
“Your frustration is my frustration,” the curse said in that cheery tone. “Now, we must hack off some poisonous roots. I find your trauma response quite… meddlesome, and I fear it will make nothing of your abilities when it matters.”
Trauma response? Medusa frowned, confused.
Clack. Then a scraping sound.
Whirling around, Medusa was forced to take in the imposing structure of the temple. There was nothing and no one behind her. The doors were shut, and the steps were empty.
But Medusa was sure of what she heard. Like stone scraping against stone, too loud to miss in the unnatural silence.
“What is this? I do not recognise this memory.” Medusa, now tenser than she first was, forced herself to stand straighter.
“The resonance has already been in motion since the last time,” the curse said. “Though I feel I should apologise, I would not. Know that I suffer with you.”
“What resonance?”
Scrapes followed by a thud. Were those footsteps? No, Medusa shook her head, firm in denial. It sounded too hard to be human.
“Hey!” Medusa called out as she searched with her eyes, desperate for anything that could be used as a weapon. The strips of cloth were absent, and there were no needles. She was a sitting duck.
“Kill them all and meet me at the templo mayor.”
Them?
Just as the word registered, Medusa noticed something off about the stone ground ahead. A swelling that wasn’t there a blink ago. Debris sprayed as a stone hand punched out, gripped the earth and pulled out the rest of its body with a fluid ease that defied common sense.
When it raised its head, Medusa released a shocked breath. Her curse did not—there was no way she’d go this far.
Cuauhua blinked at her, a faint clinking sound following every slide of stone lids over marble eyes. He took a step forward, then another. His gait was halting, but his motion as he unslung his bow, retrieved an arrow and knocked it was terrifyingly fluid.
Horrified, Medusa took a big step back, only to hear it again—that scraping sound like stone dragging against stone.
She finally understood what that strange thud was earlier. Footsteps. Another one was coming from behind. Medusa looked and did a double-take, watching in a stupor of disbelief as he approached.
What sort of sick...
“Are you insane?” Medusa yelled, her voice raw with fury and… fear. She was utterly crippled with terror. Its bitter taste spread across the back of her tongue and caused her head to pulse in time with her heavy heartbeats. There was shame and disappointment, too; she was doused in it.
The statue, bearing Perseus's face as she remembered him, continued its approach. In his grip was that accursed sword.
The tip of the stone sword dragged across the earth. And like Cuauhua, he took similar halting steps, but they grew steadier and smoother as he drew nearer.
What was worse was that easy smile. How could a statue imitate that smile so perfectly? Her neck itched and burned in memory of what he had twice done to her.
The same helplessness she had felt when she found Perseus sitting like some prince of death with Antonii tied at his feet returned; it incinerated her will to fight.
All this talk of killing gods, yet before this mortal, she was reduced to a shivering mess.
Medusa could think of nothing but escape. She couldn't stay here. Not with Perseus approaching with that sword and that smile. And… and she was unarmed.
This wasn’t cowardice. No, just a calculated retreat.
Raising trembling fingers to her face, Medusa reached for the blindfold.
The bold little chicken in me is thinking, "Look at me. Both of us will die here!" But that's nonsense. I can never relate or understand, only imagine. ??
I added a poll at the end with this question.
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I'm out.
You met your repeat muderer from your past lives?
