“Fool! Even immortality can’t fix you.” A fierce backhand.
Ares staggered from the force of the blow, his world spinning as blood flooded his mouth and leaked out. Spitting a red glob at Zeus’ feet, he coolly shifted his dislocated jaw back in place and braced himself for another hit.
“Grieving for what belonged to your brother. Where is your shame, you covetous dog?” Zeus’ booming voice bounced off the hall walls, his red eyes burning with the fire of his fury. “Today marks the end of your childish impenitence!”
Ares said nothing in response, flatly watching Zeus instead as violent visions of patricide cooked his skull. If a blade could cut this beast, he’d do so with gleeful abandon.
“You think that was the end of that wench?” Zeus returned to his throne and settled in with a huff. “By all means, continue your antics.” He waved as if offering magnanimous permission, then his expression hardened. “Continue if you wish to see me bring to life what was once dead.”
Ares’ hand trembled as he splashed a drop of blue tears into his goblet. A curl of shimmering gold rose like steam as the wine bubbled, then settled once more.
“Covetous dog?” The dog part Ares could understand, but covetous? He released a dead chuckle as he took his cup and strolled to his bedroom window.
The sun had just set beyond the eastern mountain range, leaving the sky a mix of deep blue that gradually faded into pink. One blink and the calming sight shifted to a battle scene. The acrid stench of burning flesh tingled his nose as screams of the wounded and grunts of the dying mixed. Upon a horse, wearing the face of another as he mowed down mortal after mortal, his curse howling in glee in the background, renewed by the wanton slaughter.
Shutting his eyes, Ares drew in steady breaths then opened them once more. The peaceful horizon returned, and so did the memory of that horrible day from centuries ago. Even without the help of blue tears, that bitter lesson remained fused to his soul like a rotting conjoined twin.
In the end, Zeus had made good his threat and shown Ares a scene impossible to forget. Aphrodite looking like that. He had seen death too many times not to know that whatever birthed those sounds she made and forced her limbs to move was not life.
“There, she’s alive.” Zeus waved, and she stumbled in his direction, blinking milky, lifeless eyes that still managed to look tortured. “Go on. Have your brother's leftovers.”
The desecration had reached deep into Ares and shattered every wilful bone in his body. Though his mother never cried, she had turned away, eyes wet, as he finally knelt, succumbing to his role as a general.
Creak.
Ares looked down at the dented goblet. Relaxing his grip, he gulped down the wine, hardly taking note of its taste.
Zeus must die.
Or not. Ares sighed as he recalled his predicament. Athena, once again, had made a fine mess of his plans. She probably prepared a contender for him and killed off his selection to have her way. But how brazenly she went about it was wildly out of character.
There was another massive problem as well. The dead girl was Phorcys' child.
“What a mess.” This was precisely why he hated interacting with the rest of Olympus; one step outside his domain and problems wouldn't stop pelting him.
And where was the Moirai? He had yet to hear from her in close to a month, with every call answered with silence. The last time they spoke, he had respectfully pleaded that the girl be moved to his domain in Olympus, but she had brushed off his concern, insisting that her carefully laid-out plan would be a guaranteed success. Was this the ending she spoke of? Cause if it was, he was rather disa—
Knock. Knock.
One glance at the water clock told him the time had come. Carefully setting his goblet on the windowsill, he waved a hand.
The door opened. Light footsteps approached. Two low deities from Hera's House waited for direction.
“Drop them and leave,” he said without turning.
They were quick to obey. After the door shut behind them, he walked to his bed and took in the carefully laid out gifts.
A golden leaf wreath, an earring bearing protective rune markings and a vial of thnitos elixir. His lips twitched with a smile.
Hera still looked out for him even centuries after his childhood. Once, she had been the gentlest, most loving mother, until the heartbreak of relentless infidelity twisted her into a hardened woman. Save for the few sparse letters she sent asking about his well-being, she had stayed away for ten years.
Well, he'd be seeing her today, along with his sisters and doting father, Zeus.
Clenching his jaw, he shelved the elixir and got ready, making sure to wear the wreath but forgoing the earring. During previous binding rituals, her elixir and the earrings had helped keep his curse subdued in the midst of so many blood offerings. But today was different; Today, he'd be fully present, with his curse obediently quiet in a corner.
Three of his men were waiting in front of his villa when he stepped out. They had prepared his calmest horse, along with his offering, packed in a sealed chest. He drew it into his dimension as he walked over.
“You look resplendent, master Ares.” Lysander gave an exaggerated bow and earned an elbow jab from her brother.
Ignoring the siblings, Ares nodded at Kleitos. He was the head of his fighting men and the most level-headed.
“I know what you wish to ask.” Ares took the reins from him. “And no, I have not thought of a replacement.” Or how I'd extricate myself from the coming storm. Just what was that mad woman thinking, ruining things like this?
“I believe the rumour. Athena did it.”
Ares chuffed as he mounted his horse. “And how do you intend to prove that?”
“I heard Demeter held the instructor from Cronus’s Hovel hostage. Unfortunately, the Owl committed suicide after killing the visiting students.”
“Not surprising,” Ares murmured. “We’ll talk when I return.” He moved to leave, but Kleitos' words stopped him.
“How is this possible, master Ares?”
Ares raised a brow. “How is what possible?”
His men looked among themselves, appearing unsure.
Lykos spoke up. “You're usually in an awful mood on the day of the ritual.”
“Is that so?”
His men nodded a tad too forcefully for his liking. Was he usually that moody?
“The air around you gets hot and red, then whoosh-whoosh as you march out,” Lysander said with exaggerated hand movements.
Ares observed them for a silent moment, then chuckled. His chuckle grew to low laughter at their slack-jaw stare; even ever-proper Kleitos appeared thunderstruck.
Blue Tears was the best. It felt like the clamp on his soul had finally eased up, and he could breathe a little with negative emotions no longer taking the reins.
“Are you…” Kleitos’ voice grew tentative. “Are you certain you’re fine, master Ares?”
“Of course I'm fine.”
“But the Ritual…”
Ares’ face fell. “I know what the Ritual is about, Kleitos. And I shall not be staying for the after-party. Expect me early.”
With that, he snapped his reins and sped for the teleportation bridge.
***
The music was distracting. The gentle strings, melding seamlessly with lilting voices, flitted past the open doors of the edifice ahead and pressed in, urging her to relax.
Clotho touched her shoulder. You sense it, no? She was looking ahead, her usually sleepy eyes sharp as she took in the building.
Yes. Medusa nodded. The risk they were taking by willingly walking into this pit of vipers.
As they continued up the perfectly paved stone path, Medusa resisted the urge to look around. Gawking at her surroundings was a sure-fire way to single her out as an outsider.
The music makes one uninhibited, setting the tone for… Clotho's words faded as if seeking the appropriate word, for the festivities after.
Medusa understood. In her first life, she had heard rumours of Olympus's wild parties where anything went. There had also been times during her days as a priestess when Athena would invite her and other beautiful priestesses to sing and dance for the entertainment of her guests.
It had always appeared respectful, with the guests watching behind gauzy curtains as soft music played in the background. She had carried out her duties with reverent pride until that night, when a hand pushed past the curtain and beckoned her over. When she hesitated, Athena had given an encouraging nod, and—
Look at that headdress.
Medusa looked, relieved to be distracted from the dark path her thoughts had taken.
The goddess’s hair was twisted into a broad, elaborate arrangement, with curling tresses forming branches that held flourishing flowers and glowing butterflies.
Well… that looks like a burden.
Clotho flashed a smile. See why it's better to sneak in as servants?
Before they left Tartarus, Clotho had provided them with simple yet high-quality cotton togas.
“We’d blend in as servants of one of the deities,” the Moirai said as she twisted Medusa’s hair into a chiton.
Medusa frowned at Clotho’s reflection in the mirror. “Which one?”
She shrugged as she pushed a second hairpin into the bun, holding it in place. “None comes to mind at the moment.”
“What sort of risk is that?”
Instead of answering, Clotho held Medusa's chin and shifted her face from side to side, studying her appearance in the mirror. “Hmmm. This shouldn’t attract much attention.”
“Of course it will,” Medusa said for the thousandth time, already exasperated. “My hair is red! Even if my face is ordinary, the hair screams to be noticed.”
“You worry too much, child.” Clotho patted her shoulder as she straightened. “If anyone notices you, it'd be because I allowed it.”
Unconvinced but short on response, Medusa observed her face. She looked even more androgynous than in her previous appearance, but her issue was with her hair. “Be honest, Clotho. Why did you make it red?”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Clotho waved away her question as she grabbed her cloak. “Let’s say it's for my own amusement.”
Releasing a breath through her mouth, Medusa took in the tall, domed building ahead. They had managed to blend into the entourage of the goddess with the ridiculous hair, and now they marched along the throng of deities and servants heading in.
Apart from the towering guards who stood motionless at the door, the large lobby was free of security. Again, it was a struggle not to gape at her surroundings. The auction house at Tartarus had been opulent, but this… the grandiose decor was at a sickening level.
Beautiful attendants moved throughout the lobby, using elegant hand gestures to give directions. The servants were led up curved steps that swept left and right, opening onto a massive roofed arena. The venue was illuminated by artfully hung luminous orbs with cushioned seats filling each row.
No gawking.
Medusa lowered her head but still stole glances at the ground below. Now that her eyesight was light-years from what it previously was, she could see perfectly even at this distance.
Behind an elevation holding six high back chairs was an impossible sight. A large golden goblet dotted with jewels hovered in the air with a spring of clear water pouring over its rim and feeding the large indoor pool below.
Across the pool were stone paths where scantily clad dancers swayed in sensual twists, with water and silk following their coordinated movements.
Sit. Clotho tugged her arm.
Medusa obeyed in a daze, as she continued looking.
You’re fortunate to have my masking, gawking like that. Clotho tsked as she looked around. They aren’t here yet.
Who?
The high gods. Even your parents.
My parents are coming? Medusa's attention whipped to the Moirai. I thought they were banned from Olympus.
Well, Zeus was merciful… Clotho's gaze shifted away, for a price.
Medusa’s heart sank. What price? Tell me.
Clotho sighed, a goblet appearing in her grip, then vanishing as if suddenly realising where she was. Your mother offered her blood.
Medusa’s brow climbed up at the unexpected reply. Why?
Perhaps, ask Zeus when you meet him, no? Clotho replied with another sigh. We came to meet Ares. Let's focus on that.
Then why not go straight to his domain? Medusa grumbled in response. Why come here?
Clotho cocked her head as she observed Medusa, her golden eyes shining with an amused glint. You’re full of questions today.
When Medusa huffed and said nothing, Clotho returned her focus to the scene below. I also wanted you to see ambroisa in action.
Medusa followed her gaze. The dancers were still at it, then she spotted the empty rows, each line holding at least ten seats. Is today…?
Yes. Today is the Ritual of Binding. Clotho's smile turned sardonic. The generals will offer their spoils.
I see.
As you watch, keep in mind that some do this unwillingly.
Though Medusa fiercely disagreed, she nodded anyway. Yes, her view on deities was no longer what it was when she first returned to Cosmolith, but that didn't mean generals didn’t kill mortals at their master’s behest.
The blast of a ram's horn forced her to look up as a sudden silence fell upon the crowd. The air grew dry as static formed against her skin, causing the hair on her arm to stand.
On your feet. The high gods are coming.
Medusa did as the Moirai directed, with others around standing as well. Perhaps the horn was the signal. Whether it was her newly improved powers or something others felt too, she couldn't say, but the pressure in the air shifted subtly as each deity appeared.
None appeared familiar until he stepped into the light. Shoulder-length dark hair, tanned skin, that smarmy smile as he held a slender woman by her waist, tugging her along.
Poseidon.
Shhh.
Medusa looked down to see that Clotho was holding her hand. She hadn't even noticed how hard she was shaking or the familiar force pressing down on her flaring aether.
Contain your rage, child. The Moirai's voice settled over her like a cool blanket, soothing her burning emotions. The plan is to take our enemies by surprise, not to serve them your head.
Medusa glared at him, watching as he waved to the crowd's cheer.
If things go according to plan, he may be the first to die by your hands. The Moirai's voice gentled. You are careful; you bide your time.
Medusa said nothing, only staring at his face as memories from that day stabbed and tugged like burning hooks.
I considered every possibility my inner eyes caught.
That expected feeling of helplessness and self-disgust was gone, but her rage remained. I'm not free of this man.
Now that you have the key, things will move even faster.
That look in his eyes. The obsessive way he observed the woman’s face, as if he were drinking in her non-existent expressions.
I know that look.
When they sat, he brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it. The woman’s hand sat lifelessly in his, her empty eyes staring ahead.
I know that look.
We still need to show up at the Fate of Heroes.
He whispered in her ear, chuckling even though she gave no reaction. Then he touched her belly.
Ripping her gaze away, Medusa focused on the other high gods making an appearance, then she saw them.
“Look.” Her grip tightened around Clotho’s. They’re here.
Unlike other vibrantly dressed deities, her parents were draped in dark blue so deep it was nearly black. Ceto still appeared frail, but not as bad as the last time Medusa saw her. Her eyes remained downcast as Phorcys led her to the dimly lit section of the row.
You’d crush my fingers, child.
There were thorns around his limbs and neck the last time I saw him.
They’re still present. Your father has done an excellent job at concealing them.
I see. Her focus lingered on them, watching as they sat with her father, maintaining a bored expression; not a wince of pain in sight. Ceto still wouldn’t look up.
Medusa released Clotho’s hand. Did you bring me here to stoke the flames of my anger?
Clotho shrugged as she wiggled her fingers.
When do we sit? Standing for those she loathed was worsening her already sour mood.
Soon, Clotho answered distractedly. Ares is usually quick to leave. We will not be here long.
As if mentioning his name summoned him, Ares appeared at the foot of the dais in a blood-red himation that draped over his white tunic, and a golden wreath rested on his head. Silence greeted his arrival, not a peep or clap from the crowd, but the case flipped when Athena appeared to his left. An uproarious cheer ripped through the gathering, with the goddess’ light flaring as she waved, wearing the kindest smile.
Disgust twisted Medusa’s belly. Athena had given her that exact smile too many times to count, speaking in that gentle voice, offering guidance.
Our poor red god. Clotho chuckled. At least he looks better today. Usually, there'd be a red mist around him while he wears a bitter-bitter scowl.
An even wilder cheer erupted when Zeus and three women appeared.
The redhead is Hera. The other two are Ares’ sisters. The Moirai’s voice took a chirpy tone, as if she were some excitable safari tour guide. The one wearing a veil is Eileithyia, and the younger-looking one is Hebe.
Hera settled next to Zeus, her posture regal and stiff. Her eyes swept over the arena, lingered on Medusa’s parents before she looked ahead, stone-faced.
Zeus, on the other hand, smiled at the gathering. What struck Medusa about his appearance wasn't the strange contrast of his muscular frame and grandfatherly face, but the crackling halo circling his head. She remembered Prometheus having something similar.
He also has a key.
Medusa’s mood tanked further. I see.
Even from a distance, she could instantly tell she was less than a fledgling before Zeus’ power. The air around him acted strangely, as if every part of him could see…
Can he see me?
He is trying to, the Moirai said carefully, a frown twisting her brow.
How does he know to look out for me! Panic surged for the first time since they came here. How does he know I'm here?
You'll worsen the state of your aether if you don't relax. Clotho clicked her tongue. And he isn't looking for you specifically. Think of it as wanting to be aware of everything within his domain. I carved us out to an extent.
When he gestured, the gathering sat, and the somewhat solemn ceremony commenced.
Those are his generals, Clotho explained. You've never seen Apollo and Artemis, no? They're the twins with the identical wreath.
In each twin’s hand was an elaborate chest. After bowing, they opened their chests in unison to reveal red gems. Zeus nodded and waved the next general over.
They'd have been six generals, but your father has been out of commission, Clotho said. It used to be a contest between him and Ares. Ares never used to lose, but for the past fifty years, the case has been different.
Medusa frowned when she recalled Ares' request. He had asked that she kill him, and she had recoiled. Why? Did she only feel comfortable killing those she bore a grudge against?
The next general was Demeter. That blank, doll-like face was back, but this time her black hair was sleeked back, and her eyes were sharply lined with kohl, giving her a subtly menacing appearance. Though her chest appeared large, when she opened it, she revealed six small stones.
If Zeus was displeased by the meagre offering, it didn't show. His expression remained cheerful, with his eyes lingering on Demeter with a kind of fondness that made Medusa’s skin crawl.
She bowed and returned to her seat next to Hermes.
Poseidon followed after. His offering was twice the number provided by the rest.
“Pleasing,” Zeus spoke for the first time. His voice bore a resemblance to his appearance, ancient and gravelly, yet with a contrasting cheerful note.
Are those stones really what you said they are?
Yes, the Moirai answered. They hold the blood and souls of mortals. I wouldn’t lie to you about something that vile.
Horrified anew, Medusa nodded mutely.
I just want to kill my enemies. As she repeated the line in her head, she could feel it. The Moirai's hope pressed in, silently asking that she right a wrong she had no business creating.
“Now, from my children.”
Ares and Athena stood, with Ares being the first to reveal his offering.
Two small gems in a bed of black velvet.
A rumble of thunder shook the arena as Zeus scowled at the insulting offering.
Stunned, Medusa stared after Ares. Is this normal? Can he get away with this?
Ares returned to his seat, expression the same as it was since the beginning of the ceremony. An obviously forced smile curved Zeus’ lips as he regarded the pitifully small gems.
It’s been so for the past fifty years. Clotho wore a confused frown. And Zeus is not the magnanimous type. That he allows this disrespect to persist is also a surprise to me.
Athena was the last to give her offering, even going to the extent of kneeling as she opened the large chest with unnecessary flair. Light bounced off several large red gems, each glowing with a lustre that felt wrong.
The larger and shinier, the greater the suffering. Clotho's voice was hollow with sadness. Offer a thousand mortals a painless death, and you end up with little dim gems, but latch on to a single mortal and relentlessly torment them in body and mind. The reward? She nodded below. A bountiful harvest. Athena may have killed a few, but her methods… You do not want to know.
I am not surprised. Perhaps the rape, banishment and beheading in her first life were to achieve that. “Hah.” These monsters.
Antonii said she should go for her enemies before they come for her, and she’d do exactly that with no one’s permission or approval.
“Ah, Athena. You who understand and cherish your father.” He beamed at her, appearing thoroughly pleased with her offering.
“It is the least I can offer the one who gives me life.” She offered another bow.
You are doing it again. Clotho placed her hand on Medusa’s fist. But I understand. She’s a serpent.
You insult serpents. Medusa shook her head, disgusted at the slobbering sycophancy. Serpents are better.
“What honour do I give to you, my child? Speak.” His voice boomed across the arena. “Tell me what you want, and I shall grant it.”
“Father,” she offered another bow, “it was my pleasure to bring these gifts. Should I now seek a reward?”
“But I insist.”
She raised her head, then her gaze flickered to Ares and lingered.
“I heard that my brother lost his contender in a tragic, but easily avoidable, mishap at Drys Valon. Father, if you will permit it, I have a spare child I would love to give my brother to salve the wound of his loss.”
The sound of a muffled explosion. What was left of the arms of Ares’ seat were charred, smouldering stumps. His eyes burned like fire as he glared at Athena.
How did I not see this possibility?
Medusa facepalmed. “You've got to be kidding me,” she muttered in English. What now?
Give me a moment to think.
Ha. A dead laugh escaped Medusa’s lips.
Not sparing Ares a glance, Zeus smiled down at Athena. “How wise and compassionate. You always please me, my child.”
“I'd have to reject your offer,” Ares said, voice tight with barely restrained rage as red mist bloomed around him and fanned out.
Zeus slid a glance his way. “Why?”
“I already have a contender.” Though the answer was directed at Zeus, he continued glaring at Athena.
“I heard she died.”
“I have another.” Ares spat.
“Is that so?” Though Zeus released an amused laugh, his eyes were hard and calculating.
“In light of this, I would have to reject my sister’s generous offer.”
“Hmmm.” Zeus tapped his temple as his gaze danced between Ares and Athena. “But I must reward the hard work of a filial daughter, and her request is too simple to refuse.” He spoke as if he were a man without a choice.
This is going badly.
You think?
“Fine.” Zeus waved a hand as if coming to a difficult compromise. “Bring both contenders before me in a month. I shall witness both fight for a place to raise Ares’ torch.”
Light flared around Athena as she clasped both hands, offering a touched smile. “Your daughter is pleased with this decision.”
“To earth’s core.” Without seeking permission, Ares vanished in a puff of red mist.
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