Jaw propped up on his fist and finger idly tapping on the arm of his chair, Perseus watched the girl called May.

  He had first seen her on their way to the arena, only looking because the dark goddess' presence had surged and shifted to his left. He had looked beyond the gauze-covered window, and she was there, staring as if she could see into the dim interior of the carriage.

  She was plain-faced, the exact type one would glance over even in a small gathering, and possessed a gangly athletic build. Then, he was unaware she was the one called May, only to meet a surprise when he saw her waving at the crowd from the elevated dais. Not only was the girl Athena’s target, she was also one of Drys Valon’s top performers.

  “... are you listening?”

  “With every part of my being,” Perseus replied dryly.

  The Owl glared a hole into the side of his head before she resumed her tiresome lecture on proceeding with absolute caution. Athena had made it a contest of sorts; whoever killed Are’s contender among her four selections would be handsomely rewarded. The Owl and instructor Yannis were to ensure that they kill the girl in a way that wouldn’t implicate Chronus’ Hovel. And the moment it seemed like any of them would jeopardise the diplomatic balance between both schools, they would be eliminated on the spot.

  Perseus released a dead chuckle. That was all his life was worth, some throwaway mission to kill an unknown girl.

  Rage had simmered since the day he received the mission, his mind consumed by endless thoughts of survival. The dark goddess had been of no help; her only concern was taking the life of the deity she’d shown him in that vision. She had promised power in doses, but so far, he had yet to reap any real benefit save for sensing that odd energy in the air and barely manipulating it.

  The muscles of his jaw twitched as he splashed wine into his cup. At least Drys Valon excelled in hospitality. From the moment they arrived at the portal bridge, their service had been the best he’d ever experienced. No condescending tone, polite instructors and the meals they provided were bountiful. They even served wine, the best he’d ever tasted, coupled with a platter laden with a rich variety of fruits, roasted nuts and grains.

  “Very nice,” he muttered as his attention returned to the maze.

  The May girl was… impressive. Tall and quick on her feet, she felled beasts with remarkable precision and speed. All her arrows hit their mark to the wild delight of the crowd. Fifteen kills, from what he counted, and ahead of all her opponents with four or five beasts. But the screecher, unlike the case with other contenders, was steady on her trail. No matter how the maze changed or how quickly she moved, the beast, without fail, followed her path.

  Before the mission, they had received a scroll containing details on May. Though incredibly sparse on the side of personal information, one thing stood out to him: the claim that her presence was very faint, something that should be impossible with blood carriers or regular mortals, for that matter. So how was the screecher catching her scent every time?

  As he continued observing the trial, he found himself unintentionally rooting for her. Aside from how quick and efficient her movements were, she slayed beasts with a casual dismissal that satisfied him.

  He nodded when she felled another beast. The only good beast is a dead beast.

  A real pity Athena wanted her dead. He popped a grape in his mouth and bit down.

  Kill the girl or abandon everything for the dark goddess. The weight of both choices pressed down on him.

  Dragging his eyes from the maze below, he looked ahead. Demeter and Hermes, part of the topmost of the gods of Olympus, sat chatting and laughing. Though uncertain of Hermes, Demeter would probably fuse him to a tree to ensure he suffers a painfully slow death if he’s careless. Taking all that risk for Athena?

  The dark goddess, for all her harshness, was relatively honest with him. She had told him she intended to use him from the start and promised the grand possibility of killing a god, something he would soon achieve since she claimed the god he was to kill was somewhere in Drys Valon.

  Sighing, Perseus sought his favourite plain-faced contender once more. Now she was shooting down gadflies and smartly retrieving her arrows as they fell.

  Hmm. He frowned when he noticed it. The screecher, now faster, was closing in on the girl, and the beast had lowered the sound of its cry—an unexpected clever move. Some in the crowd yelled May's name, trying to draw her attention to what approached.

  It happened when he reached for his cup of wine. A piercing screech cut through the arena, popping his ears and raising gooseflesh across his arms.

  The screecher had found May, but something was wrong. The cry of the beast was deep-bellied and agonised, like the collective wailings of a thousand widows. This sound. Why would a screecher make such a sound for an ordinary thirteen-year-old?

  Perseus looked at the mirror overhang above to get a closer look.

  May stood before the screecher, arrow aimed and bow trembling in her grip.

  Instead of the beast swelling into a larger, fiercer size with its third eye flashing to announce its find, it shrank to the size of a small dog, its third eye leaking blood as it released ripples of wails, its mouth ever open.

  Something even more confusing followed. Though it happened in a flash, Perseus was certain May’s form flickered, first shrinking to a child’s then flashing to her usual appearance.

  A collective gasp.

  IT’S HER! The dark goddess thundered in Perseus’ head.

  Wine slipping from his grip, he covered his ears in an attempt to block out the deafening sound.

  You hid her well, sister, but your shield has shattered, she shouted in triumph. The Monolith is finally on my side!

  “Collect yourself.” Someone touched his shoulder. It was the Owl speaking. “The wail of a screecher shouldn't elicit such a reaction.”

  Shrugging her off, Perseus pressed his eyes shut, drew in long, calming breaths before cracking his eyes open. The pain the goddess’ sudden outburst caused ebbed away in dull aches, but his ears still felt hot.

  Go now!

  Perseus winced. Why so loud? And what was this enraged desperation in her voice? Go where?

  To the maze. I shall give you free rein with what I’ve recovered of my power. Follow your instincts and do what you must to kill that thief's spawn.

  But Athena—

  Protecting you from a usurper is nothing I can't afford. Her words came with a bite, fury and vengeance boiling each syllable. Make a decision, or I'll make it for you?

  Perseus' ultimate goal snapped back into focus. Power. Revenge. Freedom.

  Gritting his teeth, he made his choice. For now, I will bend.

  He gave a firm nod. I am ready.

  She said nothing; instead, her presence vanished and returned.

  It started with a burning sensation at the pit of his belly, then it spread in tendrils. The tips of his fingers, toes, and his head tingled with the hum of a swelling dark energy. A rush came, and along with it a shift in his perception.

  He looked at the Owl seated next to him. Where her lungs should be, twin masses of white fog swirled. The same with Notos to his left, and beyond his sitting area, all the people around possessed it too. The gods were too far off to tell if the same phenomenon occurred with them, but it felt like he had the people’s deaths in the palm of his hand. A mounting sense of invincibility ruled over his senses.

  W-what is this?

  A pinch of my power.

  Something swung from his left earlobe, distracting him from this fantastic discovery. He touched it. An earring? Probably an oblong-shaped pearl, judging from its smoothness. It was warm to the touch and hummed with the same dark energy. “This—”

  I don't care how you do it. Simply ensure the one they call May dies. Now, go.

  Though he felt no compulsion like in the case of Athena, Perseus rose to his feet, eager to carry out the goddess’ command. Whatever she needed him to do, he would gladly do to hold on to this power.

  Peering at the maze below, his focus honed in on the girl. The contenders, drawn in by the wail of the screecher and seeing a way to earn a quick win, were fast closing in on his target’s location.

  Yes, come. All of you.

  This was good—excellent in fact. Today, he would obey both goddesses but on his terms.

  Now they know. Even worse than my actual appearance getting revealed, they know I’ve killed hundreds.

  Though Medusa’s ears acknowledged that the screecher had indeed found her and her mind accepted the fact that her status as a murderer now lay open, her body—as if hurled back to the first time she encountered the beast—wouldn't move.

  Someone was calling her name. Not May or any other name she bore in her lives on earth.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Medusa! A note of urgency, even panic.

  She couldn't tear her eyes away. That pulsing third eye wept blood, and its patchy black fur was wet with sweat. Its skeletal, humanoid form wouldn’t stop twitching as it released a shrill wailing, signalling to her hunters that their prey had been found. But it wouldn't attack. They never attack those with over a hundred kills.

  Perseus, he would come. Surely, he was here just like her first life. He would come with that accursed sword.

  Not my head. Everything can be taken, but he would never slit my throat.

  Still, her bow trembled, useless in her grip. Her feet remained planted to the spot as the screecher's ripping cry tore past like raging storm winds. She pleaded with her frozen fingers to release the arrow.

  Shoot it, dammit.

  MEDUSA!

  Medusa flinched. Clotho?

  It happened at that moment. Her body flickered to her younger appearance and snapped back.

  “No,” Medusa whispered, knees instantly going weak.

  Disbelief, denial and dread bubbled up, worsening her frozen state. The helmet may have hidden some parts of her face, but to the discerning eye, the covering was useless.

  A ringing went off in her ears.

  I’m doomed. This time, I'm truly finished.

  Medusa, can you hear me?

  The Moirai’s voice came hollow and distant, like she was speaking from a well.

  “Ha.” So, now you’ve returned. When everything is destroyed and laid bare before a thousand eyes, you have returned.

  Too drained to be angry, Medusa resolved to end the stupid trial. They could call her a black-hearted mass murderer for all she cared, but she'd take Rico and leave this place. Curse whoever it was she was to meet at the nest, she was done, done with everything.

  She aimed her arrow at the screecher and—

  YOU NEED TO LEAVE NOW!

  Though Medusa sensed Clotho was shouting, her voice remained muffled.

  Furious, she ignored her warning and released her arrow, watching blankly as it pierced through that revolting eye.

  The sharp return of blissful silence, then rising murmurs from the crowd.

  Medusa tuned them out as she retrieved her arrow. Swallowing her anger, she asked, Where have you been?

  Can you hear me? Clotho asked. If you can hear me, get out now. My sister is—

  The Moirai’s words ceased, but not before Medusa caught that last line.

  Unbidden, memories of that large snipper coming for her neck returned. Heartbeat kicking up, she looked around. Nothing but high hedges. Was that the sound of approaching footsteps? Who was coming? And why wasn’t the maze gone? She has killed the screecher; the trial should be over.

  The herald was saying something she was too distracted to catch.

  What about your sister? Medusa nocked her arrow. Is she here?

  My sister… Inaudible words Medusa couldn’t understand. —with Perseus.

  “Perseus?”

  He crash-landed before her like a bolide. Plumes of dark smoke spread out and seeped into the hedges, turning what was once green black with decay. A grey dome rolled out overhead, forming a low, dim sky. The sound of the crowd faded, then vanished along with the smoke.

  Why was Perseus in Drys Valon? Why was he standing before her so soon?

  Medusa took a step back and noticed with shameful relief that she’d summoned her dimension on instinct.

  Something was skewed here. This power Perseus wielded, she didn't recognise it; if anything, it was an antithesis of Athena's bright aura.

  “Where is she?” His voice, though younger than what she remembered, still possessed that unhurried tone. He turned to his side at the exact moment Medusa spied Hoxha burst into view.

  First, they stared at each other for a tense moment, then her gaze dropped to the dead screecher.

  “Who are you?” She held her whip ready, expression shifting from surprise to confusion.

  He simply watched her, saying nothing.

  “No answer?” Her gaze hardened. “Then I’ll tear your mouth open and get a reply.” She shot forward, whip lashing in his direction and stretching to an abnormal length. Instead of stepping away or fleeing, Perseus caught the thorny weapon and shot for her as well.

  Medusa could make no sense of how he did it, but when they clashed, Hoxha’s neck was in his grip.

  Easily lifting her off her feet, he smiled softly. “Drain.”

  Though it vaguely occurred to Medusa that what he spoke was theos tongue, she couldn't look away from the horror the word unleashed.

  Hoxha stiffened as if caught in a seizure, then went limp as white smoke poured from her mouth and nose before disappearing into a black earring swinging from Perseus’ ear. But the horror didn't end there; her body, slumped in death, rapidly shrivelled and crumbled to ashes.

  Medusa slapped a palm over her mouth, silencing a gasp of horror.

  Perseus blinked at his empty hand and frowned. “So that’s how it works?”

  What’s this wrongness before her eyes? Clotho.

  The expected silence. Now that Medusa thought of it, all the while she heard the Moirai’s muffled voice, her presence had been absent.

  “Where are you hiding?” Hands clasped at his back, he glanced about, a curious look on his face.

  “Daughter of Venetis,” that unhurried note remained in his voice, “know that it isn't my wish to kill you. If anything, I was rather impressed by the fierceness with which you kill beasts.”

  Something whooshed past Medusa, and she only noticed it was an axe when Perseus leaned back and flatly watched the weapon sail by.

  Focus sliding to someone behind her, his smile broadened. “Are you looking for May as well? I'm afraid, the game is already over; look, she killed the screecher and fled.” He gave the dead beast a fierce kick, watching with amusement as it disappeared out of sight.

  “Who are you?” As Moschos walked past, her dimension held, not rippling like it did at the nest.

  His attention landed on the pile of clothes and whip at Perseus’ feet. “What did you do to Hoxha?”

  Perseus looked from the pile to his face and cocked his head. “I killed her,” he answered and resumed looking around. “Say, is there something about May I should know? I fear she may have used some sorcery to vanish from my sight. It’s necessary that she dies today.”

  Medusa’s blood boiled. Necessary that I die? Who gave you the right to stamp a death verdict on me? Even though she’d killed hundreds, the gods have killed millions. Why not go after them, you cowardly vermin! Why me?

  Moschos repeated Hoxha’s mistake. He dashed forward with his axe aimed at Perseus’ neck.

  Using his momentum, Perseus flashed over even faster and punched a hole through his chest, his fist coming out bloody and shrouded in dark smoke. Arms falling to his side, Moschos’ axe slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground.

  Tears stung Medusa’s vision as massive cracks formed across her confidence. How can I face that?

  “Drain.”

  Unlike how Hoxha disintegrated into ashes, Moschos’ body remained standing.

  He held Moschos’ shoulder as his gaze turned contemplative. “Perhaps a reversal?” he mumbled.

  Pulling his fist free, he flicked blood off his fingers as his gaze roamed the place. “My goddess tells me you're still present, May.”

  Swallowing her tears, Medusa unbraced the bowstring and discarded it. Shame on her, Rico and Antonii if she doesn't face this monster.

  “These deaths should not come as a surprise.” He pushed Moschos and watched him fall with a thud. “If we’re to go by what the screecher revealed, you're worse than me. A killer of at least a hundred.”

  Twisting the bow until she heard a click, Medusa pulled it apart. They'd have to do even though they weren't daggers.

  “Now I’m left with many, many questions.” he hunkered down and retrieved Hoxha’s tunic, using it to wipe the blood off his hand. “How did a thirteen-year-old mortal kill that many people?” He clicked his tongue as his gaze flitted in her direction. “One has to share some traits with beasts to achieve such a feat. Don't you agree?”

  He rose to his feet, faced her direction and began strolling over.

  Releasing a shuddering breath, she tightened her grip around her blades.

  “Are you a child of an Arena Master? I heard they sometimes give their children the privilege of killing the… useless.” A thunderous expression contorted his face, then it was gone almost as fast. “Is that how you killed so many?”

  A distraction. All she needed was a single distraction.

  “My goddess said something interesting.” Now he was less than six feet away. “Say, are you hoping to hide until Demeter breaches my dome? You’re waiting to be rescued?”

  Medusa had just resolved to exit her dimension when it happened. A barely perceptible shift in the air, and Arcas was there, sword swinging in an arch and catching Perseus across the chest.

  Not waiting to see if the attack caused significant damage, Medusa burst out of her dimension.

  “Breathing.”

  Time stretched. The blood escaping the shallow wound across Perseus’ chest followed the arch of Arcas’ attack, forming a slowly falling line of red. That sardonic smile on Perseus’ lips; the strike had dealt shallow damage because he managed to lean back just in time.

  She'd slice those haughty eyes first. Lifting her blades, she caught a glimpse of movement. Even as the rest of his body remained trapped in slowed time, Perseus’ arm snapped free. A flick of his wrist and that accursed blade appeared in his grip. How?

  She aimed the blades down, hoping that at least metal would meet flesh, but the following clang shattered her hope. Metal met metal, destroying her blades. Her weapons were no match for the divinely crafted.

  Horrified at how badly her plan had devolved, Medusa looked down. That sword she should recognise at first glance looked… wrong. Across the humming blade were maps of black veins spanning from hilt to tip.

  The thief will soon follow, said that angry voice Medusa would never forget. Rest.

  An upward vicious thrust.

  Pulling in aether in wild desperation, Medusa twisted away. But as she moved, she knew it; nothing would save her from a fatal blow. Releasing a breath of hopeless laughter, she flung a needle at Perseus' earring.

  Scalding pain spread over her torso as the sword sank in. Time rushed back as Medusa hit the ground.

  “What have you done!”

  Blinking bleary eyes, Medusa frowned at the grey sky. What was this sudden exhaustion?

  She glanced to the side and couldn't help a weak chuckle. He clutched his ear with a thunderous expression on his face; she’d never seen him that furious.

  That face looks terrific on you. She tried to sit up, but her limbs had no strength.

  The grey sky wavered. He seemed weak. Black smoke formed around his feet. He was stumbling.

  Where's Arcas?

  She blinked hard.

  I should leave. Fight another day. But it feels like I'm dying again. What was that sword?

  “No! I'm not leaving yet. At least, I should have her head.”

  Haha! The rage in his voice. You pitiful whelp, I hope you meet an end worse than mine.

  Her eyes were dry of tears. Good.

  There was the sound of staggering footsteps. Through the haze of her vision, she looked. It seemed like he was struggling against an unseen force. The dome flickered some more. Are those roots in the sky?

  Pulling out the return stone, she let it sit in her palm.

  Someone was calling her name. It sounded like Antonii this time. Looking to her side, she blinked. The hedges were gone. Perseus was gone as well. A spread of rolling lush hills. A quaint little house with a garden in front. A dog barked.

  The picture vanished. She was back in the arena, but the grey sky was gone. Demeter was descending. Were those wings made of leaves and roots?

  Again, she heard him call her. That comforting voice. But he was not in the arena; she needed to return to the house with Antonii, and the dog, and the beautiful garden.

  I should leave.

  Fingers closing over the return stone, Medusa shut her eyes and let death do its thing.