The curse was right. Suffering through loops of death and survival was doing something to Medusa’s mind, sharpening it in a way that couldn’t be reversed.
As she peeled into the forest for the sixty-seventh time, her heart didn’t race in fear. Her rage toward her killers cooled to calm resolve around her twenty-fourth death, and her disgust at her weakness faded when she realised that running wasn’t the only way out of this madness.
Thin sheets of rain hit her face as she followed the trail, counting in her head as she went. Hoping that this time…
No. She gave her head a fierce shake. Not hope. This time, she must make it to the aether spot. And she had been so close before her last death, but that last spearman just wouldn't die.
It no longer mattered that Cuauhua’s arrows never struck her through her loops. Cold rationality had since frozen sentiments, and now she was focused on how well she could manipulate his sentiment for her benefit.
Unlike her earlier runs where she madly dashed for the forest, her movements were now coordinated. Measured breaths through her mouth. Eyes open and core locked. Lighter and quicker steps.
Still, it was insanely difficult. Going too slowly had killed her more than she cared to count, and moving too fast had messed with her sense of direction too soon.
Every step mattered. Turning at a slightly wrong angle could ruin an entire loop. The root she had stumbled over must not be missed. Cuauhua’s arrow that nearly got her, and the snake that slithered past. Everything had to be timed perfectly for things to go as planned.
Laboured breaths sawed through her lungs as her sweat mixed with the drizzle, but this was fine. If anything, each run had improved her endurance. Now, her runs were no longer an agonising race for survival, but a lure.
When Cuauhua’s arrow hit the tree, she increased her speed and took the necessary turns. After the snake slithered past her foot, like clockwork, the spear came for her.
This terrible moment had accounted for nearly half of her deaths. Sometimes she twisted at a wrong angle, shattering her wrists and losing fingers. Other times, she completely escaped the spear, but her hands remained tied. And no matter how madly she dashed for the aether spot with her hands bound, a club to the face or a spear through the heart had crushed her effort.
Medusa ducked and raised her tied wrists. All it took was a graze as the weapon sped past and pierced the tree behind with a loud thwack.
Flicking her wrists and wiggling her numb fingers, Medusa went for the spear and dislodged it. Then she waited for one…two…three breaths.
The moment he stepped out of the underbush, she hurled the weapon, well aware of the angle he’d lean into to dodge. And she got him in the heart, just as she had the twelve times before. There was no recoil, no vomiting like the first time she killed him; her mind stayed calm, her focus locked on the flow of what had to come next.
Hurrying over, she retrieved the spear with both hands and dove into the bushes.
Five quick steps straight ahead, three slower ones towards the east. Stab forward with all her might. An expected grunt. Another step. In the same breath, she stabbed upwards and shoved harder, ignoring his gurgled curse of surprise. Warm blood splattered against her face as she pulled out her weapon and watched him fall.
This was necessary. It was either him or her. Besides, the warrior was the meanest of the bunch, always aiming for her face whenever he struck her with his club. Even now, she remembered the pain in stark clarity.
Using the spear as a walking staff, Medusa continued counting as she staggered out of the bushes. It was at this point that she made her first mistake in her last four loops. The blood. How warm it had felt. She had tried her best to use the counting, but from that point on, each move had been a painful stumble after another painful stumble.
Sniffing, she swiped an arm across her face and glanced around. At least the birds were no longer silent, and the drizzle had stopped. Cuauhua must have seen what she did to the first warrior. Yet, like always, he didn’t shoot her down.
I don’t care. I really do not.
Her final opponent, the last spearman, was a sneaky bastard. Last time it ended in disaster because she skipped a few numbers while counting, but this time there was no room for ifs.
Gripping the spear tightly, she straightened and looked in the direction of the aether spot. The fierce temptation to dive for the spot clawed at her patience, but she clenched her teeth and waited.
In previous loops, he strolled out of hiding, not bothering to make a sneak attack like the first spearman. His flat gaze had lingered on her bloody appearance before drifting to the warrior she had killed.
When he slunk back into the bushes after his calm observation, she had naively thought that was all. It was only after she lay a mere meter from the aether spot, bleeding to death, that she saw his intention. He must have realised Cuauhua couldn’t be trusted and took cover in the bushes, waiting for the perfect time to strike.
Her speed was a joke compared to the accuracy of his spear throw. And he was vicious with his strikes, each hit instantly destroying her mobility and giving her a painful, slow death.
Medusa dragged her focus from the aether spot at the sound of rustling bushes. He casually stepped out like he did in the past, took in her state with a slow sweep before shifting his focus to his dead comrade.
Unlike the past, she dashed at him with a shout, and as expected, he swung his spear. The sharp tip arched through the air with a whoosh, and would have slashed her nose if she hadn’t leaned back at the last moment.
His composure was yet to crack. “You did this?”
Straightening, Medusa shrugged. “Huitzil must have given me strength.”
His brow twitched at the mention of the god. Warriors revered him even more than their own mothers, venerating the deity as their source of every victory.
“At first, I pitied you.” When he faced her fully, Medusa took an instinctive step back.
In a game of strength, she was nothing. All that largeness and fiercely trained body would crush her in an instant. What she banked on was her endurance, knowledge of the terrain and the possibility that Cuauhua would help if things got too ugly.
“But it is as the priest said,” his face twisted as he spoke, eyes dark with grief and malice. “You're a bringer of misfortune.”
“Do not look at me with such hate.” Medusa took another backward step as her grip tightened around the spear. “I merely defended myself. If Huitzil judged I was guilty, he would have given them my life instead.”
His expression first slackened, then turned thunderous. The veins in his arms bulged from how hard he was gripping his weapon. “Do not speak of Huitzil so lightly.”
Now that he was in the open and clearly emotional, Medusa hurled the spear at him. Not bothering to check if her strike hit its mark, she adopted the same zigzag pattern she used at the beginning of her run.
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The aether spot was clear ahead. Because she was faster and smaller, she used the terrain to her advantage, ducking and weaving past trees on light, quick feet.
Even when she heard the thwack of his spear as it hit a nearby tree, her coordination remained unshaken. This time. Maybe this time, she'd make it.
The sound of his footfalls, heavy and foreboding, trashed after her. Grunting, Medusa leapt over a fallen log, fell into a hard roll, then sprang back up and gunned ahead.
The hovering aether stone, now about seven meters away, promised release from this madness.
One step, two more. A dive after, and she’d be able to—
The first arrow pierced her right thigh.
She staggered, disbelief shattering her focus. When another arrow pierced her second thigh, she swallowed a yell and fell to her knees.
The heavy thud of a person leaping down a tree. Footsteps followed after, and soon Cuauhua strolled past her.
“Why did you not kill her earlier?” Her pursuer shouted as he marched forward.
“We…are to… capture,” Cuauhua answered in that halting voice.
“You fool! You watched her kill them but did nothing!”
“Killed by… non-warrior. Weak.”
Ignoring them, Medusa gritted her teeth and crawled ahead. This was nothing. What she thought she saw in Cuauhua’s eyes was nothing but the pitiful desires of a grieving mind.
To distract herself from the pain, she began counting. She was close now, the glow from the aether spot nearly touching the skin of her hand.
Please, just let me reach it… please.
She was suddenly snatched by the hair and twisted around. The warrior sneered at her, eyes black with rage. “Where are you going?”
Wincing from the pain of his vice grip, Medusa spat at his face and exposed her teeth. All the better to look insane if she wanted him to make this quick. “May Tzitzimimeh eat their souls.” She made sure to inject spite into each word.
After wiping his face, he turned as if to walk away, only to strike her with a vicious backhand. Stars dotted her vision as hot pain blossomed across her right cheek.
“You killed my brothers.” He gripped her neck and easily lifted her off the ground. “May Huitzil strike me dead if I don't kill you.”
Medusa gripped his wrists and kicked her feet as she struggled for breath. His face appeared even fiercer, and his eyes were red with vitriolic rage. Ah, her Tzitzimimeh comment had gotten to him. She’d have cackled if she could breathe.
He must have seen it in her eyes—the fact that she was not sorry.
“Die.” Air whooshed around Medusa’s ears as he sent her downwards, slamming her to the earth with enough force to snap her spine.
But instead of pain, it was like getting dipped in a vast ocean of pure life. Aether rushed through every pore, nullifying her fatigue and healing her wounds in a blink.
He had slammed her into the aether spot. Such delicious luck. She grinned, ecstatic enough to offer him a hug.
“What are the bloody odds, no?” Holding his wrist, she met his confused eyes and whispered, “Breathing.”
The effect was leagues away from what she felt at the arena. Instead of time slowing down and the feeling fading soon after, the effect remained steady. Multiple layers of densely packed aether buzzed around her, waiting to be used. And there was something else. The spot she touched on his wrist solidified to stone and crumbled to dust.
He stumbled away, holding his handless arm before his face, eyes wide with disbelief.
Usually, she’d have been bursting with questions, but her mind remained at ease, accepting what happened as normal.
Fluidly rising to her feet, Medusa's gaze slid to Cuauhua. This time his arrow was nocked, and he released it when their eyes met.
Sighing at the futility, Medusa zapped forward and caught the arrow just as it left the bow.
“Do not waste them.” As she slid the arrow back into its quiver, she held his gaze, searching for what she saw in her first death. Any hint would do at this point.
There was nothing but confusion and… fear.
Disappointed, she dropped her gaze and morosely gave his bow and quiver a pointed look. “Hand them over… please.”
She had no desire to fight him or anyone else. What mattered was finding the next aether spot.
Medusa heard it then. Approaching footfalls. Turning around, she calmly watched the warrior come for her yet again. Murder burned in his eyes as he raised a giant fist and leapt forward.
That look in his eyes, though. Medusa frowned as she reduced her eyes to slits. She could almost swear she had seen something similar recently.
The memory struck like thunder, blasting through her mind and upending the earth beneath her feet.
She was back at the farmhouse. Everything was still. Shards of glass. Splintered wood. Drops of blood. And Perseus. He was frozen in place, a hateful sneer on his face as he aimed that accursed sword.
She watched her body, which now possessed the same glowing form as her curse, reach out and touch Perseus. He crumbled to dust.
Medusa swung around when someone touched her shoulder, her hand acting before her brain.
Blinking, she returned to the present only to come upon a strange sight. The spearman lay unconscious at her feet, his arm a shattered, pulpy mess. And Cuauhua. How had she gotten her hand around his throat, and why were their gaze locked? His eyes…it always started with the eyes. He was turning to stone.
A strangled cry of horror escaped Medusa’s throat. She snatched her hand away and ripped off the blindfold, flinging it aside like it burned. Staggering away from the stone basin, she whipped around and winced when she came face to face with Nestor.
Tearing her gaze away, she panted as she held her trembling hands before her face, checking for scaly skin and sharp fingernails. Her flesh was normal and her nails trimmed. Heart still thundering in her chest, she gulped as waves upon waves of relief washed over her.
“You’re bleeding.”
“What?” Medusa looked up and met Nestor’s eyes.
He pointed at her nose. “You can wash it at the basin.”
Medusa eyed the basin with misgiving.
“I retrieved the stone when you removed your blindfold.” There was a silent question in the air, something she was very much unwilling to answer.
“T-thanks.”
Staring at her reflection on the still water, Medusa took in her ashen face and the bright red blood sliding down her nostrils.
“You spent a bit over a horai in training,” Nestor said.
Splashing cold water against her face seemed to help settle her racing heart. I killed Perseus. She blinked at her hands in a daze. But what was that with Cuauhua?
“This is the first time I’m seeing a nosebleed during training,” Nestor said as he carefully observed her face. Medusa avoided eye contact.
“It is?”
“Yes.” Nestor held his hands at his back and continued to observe her. “I will speak to the red god concerning this. I advise that you abstain from training until I receive feedback from him.”
When Medusa nodded and walked away from the basin, the fatigue came all at once. Much similar to how she felt after she used breathing for the first time.
“A friend is waiting for you outside.”
A friend? Instead of asking, Medusa nodded mutely. Her eyes were growing heavy. Offering Nestor a tired bow and her thanks, she trudged to the heavy door and pushed it open. It was evening already. It felt like she had not come out in days and days. What a nasty training.
Outside, Akrivi pushed away from the wall and strolled over when he spotted her. He slung an arm over her shoulder in his usual fashion. “I heard you’re using the best annex.” His blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Is your backer Plutus or something?”
Releasing a weak chuckle, Medusa shook her head. “It’s not Plutus.”
“Come on. Give me a hint. I’m dying to know.” They were heading for the dorm since today was one of the two days the dogs handled their own dinner.
“I do not have permission to say anything yet.”
Akrivi sucked his teeth, managing to look both impressed and sorry for her. “Drys Valon’s boring days are over.” He suddenly paused and peered at her face. “You look awful, though. What happened? Did you die in there?”
Medusa released a bark of laughter. If only you knew. “Keep me propped up, will you? The ground keeps feeling closer with each step.”
“So demanding,” Akrivi said with a huff before looping her arm over his shoulder to keep her steady.
They walked in silence for a while, and Medusa noticed she had been subconsciously pulling in aether with each breath. She was clueless as to why her body did that, but it felt as normal as breathing.
“Akrivi?”
He hummed in response, seeming equally lost in thought.
“I have a plan for the dogs, and I need your help.”
He released another drawn-out sigh. “It's been only a day—”
“Two high-grade aether stones.”
Every trace of playfulness evaporated from his face. “Repeat that.”
“I’ll give you two high-grade aether stones if you help me.”
Akrivi beamed, his eyes shining with earnest anticipation. “Soft hands, what must I do?”
Until next Saturday.
If Akrivi has a backer, who's your guess?
