Chapter 29 Opening Ceremonies & Gore #2
“Empusa scum!” someone shouted and the crowd laughed.
Zeus stared at her expectantly.
Ajax took a menacing step toward her, his hands raised. “Expose your sternum,” he demanded.
Agatha ripped her toga and revealed the top of her pale chest—she had two detailed circular scars on her flesh.
They looked familiar.
Kharon’s grip on my neck tightened painfully.
“Revelations—” Zeus shouted, sparks jumping off his lips. “She has been dishonored by two of her labors.”
A few boos echoed from the crowd. Hateful comments were screamed about her heritage.
Augustus leaned close and whispered, “They brand you with a Vulcan stamp. The metal is specially designed to scar any immortal.”
My stomach rolled as I glanced over at Kharon’s stoic face.
Agatha pulled her toga back together, holding the ripped parts closed with her hands as she held her head high.
Zeus picked up the two dice. “This SGC, Agatha will face …” He threw the dice onto the altar.
Agatha stared down, her expression paling.
“FIVE LABORS!” Zeus shouted and the stadium clapped and hollered. “TWO rounds in the arena.”
Augustus rubbed my lower back. “If you roll four or fewer adversaries,” he whispered against the shell of my ear, “then you have to survive one round in the arena. If you roll more than four, you have two rounds. If you roll more than eight …” He grimaced. “Three rounds.”
Agatha stalked back to the line.
“Unlike the leaders, our competitors are a surprise,” Augustus continued to whisper. “Their labors are for show—ours are for punishment … and humiliation.”
“How long is a r-round?”
Kharon leaned close. “Until you defeat your labors,” he said darkly. “Or they defeat you.”
“So, if you’re defeated, it just … ends?” I asked.
Kharon gripped my neck tighter, his eyes hardening. “It doesn’t end until you drag your broken body out of the arena and—”
“And then they brand you,” Augustus said quietly.
“What if … you can’t leave the arena?”
Kharon and Augustus stood up straighter and refused to meet my eyes.
This is barbaric.
“Hermos.”
He walked forward calmly. A single snake trailed out of his head like hair, rattling, as he ripped open his shirt, showcasing multiple brands.
“Revelations—he has been dishonored by six of his labors,” Zeus shouted as he rolled the two dice.
The crowd held its breath.
“One round,” Zeus announced. “Three labors.”
The crowd booed with disappointment. “Snake scum!” someone screamed. “Abomination. Your kind isn’t wanted in Sparta!”
Hermos smiled as he walked back to the line and Agatha grinned at him.
There was a one in eighteen chance of rolling a three with two dice.
Lucky.
“Patro,” Fate said.
My mentor sauntered lazily across the sand.
At the altar, he slowly opened his shirt, and everyone stared enraptured. The Olympian leaders leaned forward like they were all trying to get a better look.
He truly was his mother’s son.
Patro casually revealed his impressive, muscled physique—he appeared as if he was carved from bronze, the statue of David in the flesh—and showed off a single circular mark in the middle of his chest, right over his heart.
The dice clattered across marble.
“Revelations—he has been dishonored by one of his labors.” Zeus’s lips twitched into a frown. “One round—two labors!”
The crowd clapped.
Another lucky roll.
Catcalls echoed as people whooped and hollered, begging him to look in their direction.
Achilles relaxed with visible relief.
Patro shot me a smug grin when he was within earshot. “Enjoy your time with your husbands,” he mocked. “I hope you don’t regret your choice.”
I nodded back, too nervous to engage, and Patro looked bewildered.
Achilles glared over at me as he ripped his shirt open, buttons popping and falling to the sand, then he stalked toward the marble altar.
“Revelations—” Zeus announced. “Zero defeats.”
The stadium cheered, and everyone got to their feet. “Achilles … Achilles … Achilles” was chanted all around.
The people’s hero.
As Achilles stood tall, glowering at Zeus and awaiting his fate, Hera openly fanned herself while Apollo admired his exposed chest.
Is everyone in Sparta a pervert?
I was starting to sense a theme.
Zeus threw down the dice, electricity sparking off his fingers onto the table.
An evil smile curled his lips. “EIGHT LABORS!” Zeus shouted and the stands erupted. “TWO rounds in the arena … without his muzzle.” The cheers were thunderous.
Sharp feedback pierced my left ear.
Achilles turned around to walk back to the line, open shirt fluttering to reveal a thin trail of dark hair over the deep grooves of his stomach.
“Yep, that’s my type,” Nyx hissed unhelpfully.
Achilles’s eyes met mine—they narrowed with malice.
From the disdain wafting off him, he wasn’t happy with my choice to stay with my husbands, and he wasn’t going to be getting over it soon.
I leaned into Kharon’s touch.
Fate tapped her clipboard. “Drex!” she called out.
There was a smattering of applause and a buzz of conversation. From the sound of it, Sparta didn’t know what to make of an Olympian mutt competing in the SGC.
With clumsy fingers, Drex unbuttoned his shirt and showed off the unmarked skin of his chest, face flaming red.
Zeus grimaced as he rolled the dice. “One round—two labors!” There was relief in his voice.
Thank God. An extremely lucky roll.
I exhaled and so did Drex.
“Kharon.”
My left side went cold as he disappeared, his hand falling away.
As he prowled toward the altar, the crowd quieted.
Kharon ripped off his shirt—revealing his tattooed, mutilated chest.
He turned in a circle with his hands wide, face apathetic.
The stadium fell dead silent.
Zeus cleared his throat, eyeing Kharon like he was a wild animal that might attack at any moment. “Revelations—he has been dishonored by … eleven of his labors.”
Kharon bared his teeth.
Augustus’s stubble brushed across the side of my face. “In Kharon’s first games,” he whispered, barely audible, “he was just eighteen and hadn’t come into his full powers … He drew eleven labors … the most anyone has ever faced—they were all Minotaurs.”
I jerked with shock.
What?
Kharon smirked—he appeared completely impervious to the Olympians’ judgment—but I could feel the pain radiating up his leg in hot waves.
An image of a younger him, defeated, crawling through the sand away from monsters, flashed inside my mind.
He deserved so much better.
The dice rolled. “One round … three labors,” Zeus said, his frustration evident.
There was a smattering of nervous applause.
Kharon stalked back toward me with piercing pain streaking up his leg and his tattered shirt fluttering.
When he made it back, he buried his shaking hand at the base of my head, fingers tangling roughly in my curls as he breathed deeply to steady himself.
“Fuck the Olympians,” he whispered.
I nodded. “Screw all of them.”
The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.
Augustus’s name was called and he casually untucked his shirt and undid the buttons as he walked forward with a pleasant, calm expression.
His posture was relaxed.
He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Revelations—” Zeus shouted. “Zero defeats.”
Sparta cheered loudly.
People stood up and clapped as they chanted his name.
The Olympian leaders smiled at Augustus as he spun lazily in a circle, showcasing the unblemished tan skin of his chiseled chest.
He wasn’t just the Chthonic golden boy—everyone loved him.
Augustus’s black, soul-consuming eyes locked on mine as he turned, and they radiated danger.
How did he deceive them all into thinking this version of him is real? The hostile, depraved glint in his eyes was unmistakable.
Couldn’t they see it was all an act?
Zeus stared down at the altar. “Two rounds—six labors!” The crowd cheered louder.
I felt sick.
Augustus sauntered back over to us, his expression affable. The shirt hanging open revealing the deep grooves of his Adonis belt was slightly distracting.
I blushed as his hand settled on my lower back, fingers splaying possessively.
“Our last competitor,” Zeus announced with a smirk.
“Hercules!” Fate called.
Once again, the crowd fell silent.
It took me a second to remember—that was me.
I walked quickly toward the altar—Zeus’s gray-eyed stare was intense—Ceres’s warning washed over me.
I bumped against the edge of the altar and stumbled back.
The weight of everyone’s stares was suffocating; the quiet was oppressive.
Zeus cleared his throat.
“Expose your sternum.” A voice growled to my left and I jumped as Ajax appeared in my blind spot.
It was strange being slightly taller than a man, since I was used to looking up at Chthonics; I’d forgotten that I was a large woman.
It was a nice reminder.
Stepping away from Ajax, I pulled at the high neck of my toga. Right. I just needed to show my clavicle. Easy.
The fabric didn’t budge.
“Fuck.” Swearing under my breath, I tugged, but my clammy hands slipped across the silk, which was surprisingly durable.
Of course I’d get the toga made with exquisite craftsmanship.
Dear God, why do you keep doing this to me?
“You can do it,” Nyx hissed encouragingly. “Just tense your core and rip.”
Face flaming with heat, I pulled harder and nothing happened. Panic and embarrassment were an inferno inside my sternum.
This was hell.
I stared down at the layers of my toga and started to pull my arm from a sleeve. I just needed to get a different angle.
RIPPPPP.
It took me a second to process that hands were violently holding the top of my toga open.
Air blew across my stomach.
Ajax held the torn fabric, exposing the lacy pink bra I’d borrowed from Helen all the way down to the bow on the top of my underwear.
His knuckles were pressed against my exposed chest.
“Release me,” I said.
Ajax snarled something in my face, but I couldn’t hear it over the rushing in my ears—I grabbed at the silk, roughly pulling it from his hands.
The dice clattered across the altar. Wait, why are they sparking with electricity?
“THREE ROUNDS—TWELVE LABORS!”
Zeus’s voice was like a gunshot in the too-quiet coliseum.
What?
Ajax said something and stepped toward me, but I couldn’t hear him over the whooshing in my ears.
He reached for me.
I raised my fist to throw a punch, twisting my hips for power and—
Ajax’s neck snapped to the side.
My fist hung suspended in midair.
Kharon was holding Ajax’s twisted head—he threw the limp body down—Ajax’s skull hit the side of the altar with a loud crack. Augustus moved in front of me protectively.
“Oopsie,” Kharon said. “My bad. I slipped.”
The crowd screamed.
“I’ve always liked that Karen man,” Nyx hissed sarcastically as she slithered around my shoulders.
Hermes lunged at Kharon, but Hera held him back.
“Oh please,” Kharon said as he gestured to Ajax’s crumpled body. “He’ll be fine … He dishonored my wife—he’s lucky I didn’t decapitate him.”
He kicked Ajax.
Something cracked.
“I slipped again,” Kharon drawled.
I hunched over with my hands on my knees, and Augustus gently grabbed my chin and tilted my head up. “Alexis, breathe. You’re going to be okay, darling—we’ll make sure of it. Everything is fine.”
“It was a statistically unusual event,” I said with a gasp, needing Augustus to understand. The mathematical odds were truly devastating. There was a one in thirty-six chance of rolling a twelve, which meant there was less than a 0.05 chance.
Ceres was right about Zeus. I saw the dice spark.
Also, Kharon just snapped a man’s neck.
Nothing was fine.
“THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” Hades shouted as he stalked across the sand toward Zeus. His Chthonic eyes were bloody, and fog pulsed angrily around him. “My daughter cannot face twelve fucking labors.”
I’d never heard him swear before.
Persephone jumped over the edge of the stadium, landing gracefully. She sprinted toward the altar, her hand raised, finger pointing at Zeus.
“Fix this!” she screamed.
Zeus held his hands up in a surrender gesture. “I agree! This is wrong—I would never want my niece to have to face this.”
He’s such a liar.
“Roll it again,” Persephone demanded as she came to a stop beside Hades, who was now covered fully in rolling inky fog. “Now.”
“I would.” Zeus’s expression was pleading as he looked between them. “But it’s written into the laws of Sparta—you both know I can’t. I swear I want to. The odds … This is horrible.”
Déjà vu washed over me as my parents argued with Zeus in the middle of the stadium.
Ceres said the best plans were simple—ours was one of deception, not force.
I needed to get Zeus alone, and I needed to get him to talk. That meant he couldn’t suspect that I knew what he’d done. I wasn’t completely sure about the details, but I had a growing suspicion.
However, entrapment was easier said than done.
Twelve labors.
I’ll die on the sands.
Ceres was waiting for me back in the villa, and she believed in me.
With visceral terror pounding through me, I stood tall. “Zeus is right!” My voice rang, strong and clear.
Zeus turned slowly. “I … am?”
Everyone looked at me.
I needed to play the naive idiot, one last time.
“I’ll be fine.” I stared at Hades and Persephone, mentally pleading with them to trust me one more time. “I’ve been training—I’ll face the labors, all … twelve.”
“Are you sure?” Zeus asked, his gray eyes wide with what looked like concern.
I forced myself to act casual. “I can handle him … I mean them.”
Zeus’s expression didn’t change, but the corner of his mouth twitched down like he was confused. For the first time, he looked unsure.
Persephone nodded as she studied my face—she saw through me in a way that only a mother could. She grabbed Hades’s arm and whispered in his ear.
Murmurs erupted in the stadium.
I widened my shoulders.
Nyx hissed, “Oh, now this is going to be fun.”
No one fears the weak.
I would play Zeus’s game, until it was time to play mine.