Chapter 37 Demons in the Flesh of Men #2
Charlie stiffened beside me, but I couldn’t see his face, his head still resting on my shoulder.
I turned to Drex and asked, “Who are they?” Rain sputtered off my lips.
“No idea.”
Kharon swore violently.
Drex and I shared a glance of confusion.
A hair-raising rumble echoed through the coliseum.
Shadows crawled across their four faces, skin rolling, their pale chests widening, layers and layers of muscles bulking onto their figures as they grew in height.
Their faces changed—features morphed—distending and warping.
Thick, curved horns grew out from their shaggy heads as they tipped their heads back and roared.
Sparta screamed.
The Chthonic leaders had all jumped to their feet. Persephone was the only one who remained sitting. She glanced back at me, her eyes full of pity.
I opened my mouth to ask, but she’d already turned back around.
What was that look?
“Are those …” Drex trailed off in shock.
I turned to the Chthonic flags whipping back and forth in the aisle—the House of Ares flapped the fastest.
It was fitting. He was the son of the House of Ares.
“Minotaurs,” Drex said.
Charlie’s arm trembled, and I squeezed him tighter as Kharon swore louder.
“What the fuck is the federation thinking?” Augustus spat.
Zeus stood on the platform at the edge of the arena, watching the sands with hard eyes. Water sizzled as it touched his skin, his scepter sparking.
The four Minotaurs stood in the middle of the arena, almost as tall as the Cyclopes, but much more muscular. Deadly horns protruded from their beastly skulls and their quads bulged obscenely.
There were hooves where their feet used to be.
Augustus’s lesson came back to me. Minotaurs are stronger and faster than Spartans. With a single kick, they can explode all your organs. Their punch—decapitates.
They were infamous creatures of destruction.
And four of them were here.
Ready to kill.
Achilles raised his arms to the back of his head; the Minotaurs bent their knees.
Slowly, Achilles pulled the leather straps apart.
Sparta stopped screaming—the coliseum was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Even the Minotaurs stopped roaring, creatures and Spartans all holding their breath.
Achilles’s muzzle dropped into a puddle.
It was worse than I could have ever expected.
Smooth bronze skin pulled across a sharp jaw, framing wide, full ruby lips. Achilles was conventionally handsome, rivaling even Patro for beauty. At least, he would have been.
An X of thick white scar tissue slashed across his lips. Raised and puckered, it reached up to his cheekbones and ended under his chin.
Drex gasped as he also realized.
Someone had tried to sew Achilles’s mouth shut.
They’d tried to silence him. Brutally.
Stomach roiling with nausea, I covered my mouth.
All four Minotaurs leaned forward, their sharp horns pointed directly at Achilles.
Anticipation pulled taut—a razor tripwire attached to a nuclear bomb—as everyone held their breath.
I waited for Achilles to speak, to use his rumored voice powers, and command the Minotaurs.
His lips stayed pressed together in a harsh line and he slowly backed away.
Wind howled as it whipped through the basin, the rain pounding down in harsh sheets.
The Minotaurs watched him move, tense and ready.
Achilles just kept stepping back, putting more space between them. Behind him, Nero curled himself into a ball at the edge of the arena like he was trying to disappear.
Scales slid across my cheek as Nyx leaned forward.
Achilles stopped when he stood in front of Nero, his back to the stone wall.
ROARRRRRRR.
The stadium shook as the four Minotaurs slammed their hooves in unison, wet sand spraying behind them as they kicked back.
The beasts were done waiting.
Achilles stared down at the wet sand, staring at himself in the puddles, as he cracked his neck back and forth.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
The Minotaurs pounded their meaty fists against their chests in synchronicity and the sound vibrated through the coliseum, a sharp, terrifying warning.
Achilles raised up his head.
Sharp wind gusted—shoulder-length brown hair blew behind him, sticking to the sides of his face. His hair tie had snapped in the last round—and his eyes were brighter than I’d ever seen them.
The X of scars across his lips made him look sadistic.
Slowly, Achilles reached down.
He slashed his knife across the back of his right heel, then rose up to his full height, and pointed the bloody knife straight at Zeus.
Even if he loves him, why would he mutilate himself for …
I fingered my left ear.
Not my ear.
The full extent of Kharon’s gesture hit me. It was romantic, in the worst way possible. The sentiment was … overwhelming.
Steam rose around Zeus, sparks sizzling as he scowled, but he didn’t wield his scepter.
Achilles was sending a message back to the Olympians.
This fight was for Patro.
Achilles limped forward, blood washing away in the downpour, but there was no pain in his expression, only rage.
The stadium shook as the Minotaurs charged forward as a unit, their hooves pounding the sand like earthquakes.
Achilles kept limping forward.
His lips parted.
Jaw opening wide, he tilted his head to the side—fire exploded everywhere.
Drex, Charlie, and I reared back as heat burned the air. Coughing, the scent of kerosene and napalm scorched my nose as I rubbed at my watering eyes.
Down below, bright scarlet flames were shooting from Achilles’s mouth, painting the arena.
Gruesome wails echoed.
The Minotaurs writhed, covered in an inferno. Rolling in the sand, they screamed as they melted to death in an inferno.
“Holy …” Nyx trailed off.
The sand itself was lit.
Every single puddle was on fire.
The flames crawled vertically, lighting the rain as it fell.
The gates of Hell had opened wide.
It was the infamous Greek fire, flames that somehow burned water. It was real, and it was coming out of Achilles’s mouth.
The Minotaurs were now steaming piles of melted goo.
I made the sign of the cross.
Fire kept streaming from Achilles’s mouth as he directed the inferno at the wall of the arena. His eyes were two supernovas.
Zeus backed up along the plank, his expression furious. He still did not raise his scepter.
The fire was traveling up into the stadium; everything that was wet was catching aflame.
Rain continued to pour.
Fire climbed across the electric lines of the dome.
Achilles closed his jaw, but the damage was done.
Everything was burning.
Crack.
Zeus scowled like he was making a decision. Technically Achilles hasn’t disobeyed him. He used his powers and fought his labor like he was ordered to.
Zeus must have come to the same conclusion I did, because he leapt away.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
The crowd screamed, sharp sounds echoing as Olympians and creatures leapt out of the smoldering arena.
Achilles stomped, leaving shards behind him.
The sand was glassing over.
Ares stood up a few rows down, pumping his fist into the air. The other Chthonic leaders stood around him, all whooping and hollering as the rest of Sparta fled for their lives.
Our section was the only one staying in the blazing stadium.
Charlie clutched me and I held him back.
It was the end of days.
Kharon whistled behind us and Augustus chuckled.
I’d gotten a mere glimpse of it during the flag ceremony, but now I truly understood the full weight of just who I was.
To be Chthonic was to wield the power reserved for God.
As the flames sizzled hotter, down below, Achilles stomped over to a flaming puddle and picked up his discarded mask. The material was fully intact.
“Magic,” I whispered.
Augustus chuckled behind me. “No—it’s the skin of a fire lizard.”
Charlie pulled away from me, covering his face protectively as the fiery rain whooshed closer.
One man had caused all this carnage.
A memory niggled at the back of my mind.
Weeks ago, Achilles had cornered me in the hall with an unlit cigarette in his mouth—minutes later, he’d told Patro that he didn’t have a lighter, as he sucked on a smoking cigarette.
He’d lit it himself. That was why Patro had called him a show-off.
Achilles, the man who smelled like amber and fire, with eyes like coals, could breathe Greek fire.
Father John was right again—the devil hid in plain sight.
All along Achilles had been a dragon, hiding in the skin of a man.
Fingers abruptly wrapped around my neck from behind—I jumped in my seat—a calloused thumb scraped down the ridges of my spine.
Panic clawed at my jugular.
“Don’t,” Kharon whispered gravelly against my right ear, “be afraid, carissima.”
It was far too late for the warning.