32. Nyssa
Nyssa
In the end, none of us opted to leave the arena. Instead, we sharpened blades, donned armour, and prepared our minds for battle. When we emerged from the underground barracks, we did so as a united cohort of champions — into an arena packed to the brim with cheering spectators.
I was genuinely impressed with how quickly Ares had managed to fill the stands. They overflowed with gods and creatures alike — centaurs, satyrs, sprites — anything with a shred of comprehension between their ears.
At the front, set apart from the rest, sat the Primal Council — those not still competing — alongside their eliminated champions. They were dressed in clothing fit for a ball, adorned with various expressions: Hera’s bored indifference, Diana’s scathing disdain, Hephaestus’ tempered calm.
The remainder of the front rows were filled with our non-council family members and loved ones.
A bevy of red-headed gods erupted in cheers as Aros raised his axe, roaring with bloodthirsty anticipation.
Their raucousness and number were outmatched only by the many children of Poseidon.
Demigods, cyclopes and an array of scaled or finned folk screamed for Leander, who relished it.
I looked past the thousands of spectators, searching for one particular pair of blue eyes in the sea of unfamiliar faces.
Charon launched out of his seat as soon as I spotted him, elbowing through the throng of Ares’ brood as I ran towards him. We collided in a tight embrace, his strong arms holding me tightly like a shield, fending off my building anxiety.
Charon knew all my tells. My triggers. My fears. Every shortcoming I tried to hide. But he was also the only one who knew how to keep me glued together.
“Who did you get?” he asked, voice urgent. The champions were being summoned — we had mere seconds to speak.
I shook my head.
“No one.”
His brows shot up, waiting for me to explain.
“At least, no one Ares will name. Everyone else was matched up. I was leftover; the odd one out.”
He scoffed. “Of course you were.”
“So, I get some mysterious opponent at the end.”
He tipped his face down until our eyes were level. “Doesn’t matter who it is. Keep your guard up,” he said, tapping the underside of my chin, “and mind those damn feet.”
I nodded, pivoting towards where the others were assembling.
“Hey, Nyss?” Charon called. I glanced back at him.
“Let them know who they’re dealing with.” He smirked devilishly, settling my racing heart.
You got it, Char.
There were four entire matches to sit through before it was my turn. By the end of the day, four gods would be joining the others on the sidelines.
“Ah, what a glorious afternoon for battle!” Ares roared to the spectators who were hanging off his every word. “The future King or Queen of Olympus stands before you.”
A hush swept over the crowd as they dissected each of us — champions and Primals alike.
“They have triumphed over eight trials thus far, displaying the wit and strength you deserve in a ruler!”
More cheers.
They’re really eating this up, I scoffed.
I will eat them up, Vel drawled.
I was only half certain she was kidding.
“Today, they have endured the heat of Hephaestus’ forge,” Ares continued, “and now, they shall demonstrate the prowess of their weapons, their powers, and their minds! Without any further ado, let the first battle begin!”
With screams of excitement as his soundtrack, Ares called Archimedes and Tychon to the arena’s centre.
They obeyed, wordlessly planting their feet and raising their weapons.
“Begin!” the god of war thundered.
Tychon struck first, relying on speed and agility, but Arch deflected him at every turn. In fact, he looked downright bored — like this was nothing more than a training exercise.
Arch’s newly forged sword glinted under the sun as it clanged against Tychon’s crooked blade.
The superior blacksmith was also the superior swordsman.
The match lasted all of five minutes. Despite the gleaming golden sandals laced to his feet, and the wings fluttering at his ankles, Tychon surrendered.
Pinned to the ground, Arch’s blade skewering his tricep, the son of Hermes cried out, tapping the earth three times in defeat — not just from the match, but from the entire competition.
The crowd erupted. Slanders were thrown and booing ensued. Hermes shouted down from the stands, scandalised.
“No! Boy, no! Get back in there! Get me my crown!”
Ares tutted. “Now, now, Herm. It was inevitable. Nobody is beating my boy. Just watch.” He turned, shouting. “Aros! Athena! Begin!”
The arena waited with bated breath. Aros and Athena circled each other slowly, neither willing to make the first move.
Athena eyed Aros warily. She was a tactician of war, studying his every move before he made it. Aros, meanwhile, wore a feral grin, his eyes sharp with the same lethal focus. Though he was a gifted god of war, he would be a fool to underestimate the goddess of warfare.
Between blinks, Athena moved. She lunged forward sharply, her sword a streak of silver as it flashed towards Aros’ ribs. He jerked out of range just in time, narrowly avoiding the strike, and simultaneously brought his axe up to deflect the next blow.
Their weapons clashed together in a furious rhythm — each moving with precision and ease. Metallic clanging echoed throughout the stadium.
“Not bad,” Athena said as she struck out, forcing Aros to step back.
He smirked, rolling his shoulders back. “I could say the same to you!”
Their weapons crashed together again, faster and louder than before.
A flicker of irritation crossed Athena’s face.
She pressed harder, drawing blood. Aros’ cheek was slashed open, golden ichor trickling down his face.
As the goddess smirked in premature triumph, Aros saw an opening at the same time I did — Athena had left her right flank open.
Aros didn’t hesitate. His axe bit into her side, followed by a jab of its handle to her cheekbone.
Athena hit the ground, clutching her ribs with one hand and her face with the other. Aros levelled his axe at her throat, daring her to try and stand back up.
Instead, she smiled.
“I yield.”
Just like that, the goddess was out.
Aros extended a hand to help her up — a hand she accepted. Athena granted him a small dip of her head, acknowledging a fight well won. He lifted the axe with its one flickering flame high above his head and the crowd ignited.
Ares’ grin could rival Kronos’ for its depth of malevolent delight. Another step closer the Crown of Olympus — or so he thought. I shuddered at the image of that particular red-headed god wearing the crown and ruling us all.
Then it was Aphrodite and Apollo. The arena went as silent as a graveyard, and I prayed to the Furies that the hush was not a bad omen.
I felt sick with worry for my beautiful, but very un-deadly friend. Aphrodite was incredibly powerful in her own right, but she had little to no experience with weapons or war. She had crafted herself an elegant bronze bow and arrows — choosing a weapon built for long-range combat.
Tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear, Aphrodite sighed, wedging the bow beneath her armpit. She lifted both dainty hands in the air and signed.
Just so you know, I have no idea what I’m doing.
Apollo smiled warmly, his head dipping in silent acknowledgement.
I know, he signed back.
The only sign that Apollo was uncomfortable being paired with an unskilled adversary was the slowness with which he knocked his own gilded bow. He loosed a soft shot in her direction — testing her reflexes, not aiming to harm.
Aphrodite yelped and dodged awkwardly, narrowly avoiding tripping on the hem of the gown she had refused to switch out of.
A murmur rippled through the crowd — they were laughing at her.
“Oh, go fuck yourselves!” Aph yelled, eliciting surprised laughs from all members of Team Heroes.
Apollo moved faster now, wanting to end the fight with both their dignities intact. He sent another arrow whistling towards her. She managed to knock it aside with the handle of her own bow — clumsy, but effective. Apollo raised a dark brow, impressed.
Aphrodite huffed, signing, Can’t we just call it a draw?
The god of the sun beamed a brilliant smile, shaking his head.
No, but I’ll make it quick.
Before Aph could so much as grumble, Apollo abandoned his bow and rushed forwards.
With one hand pushed against her sternum, her legs were swept out by his sandaled foot and effortless precision.
She gasped, lying with her back in the dirt, sun-kissed thighs on show.
Apollo pressed his brand-new iron dagger against her throat, forcing her surrender.
Surely you could have done that from the start, she signed with a scowl.
I could have, he nodded, smirking. But where would be the fun in that?
She grasped his offered forearm, regaining her feet and brushing off her skirts. With a wave of her hand their clothes were pristine once more.
Aphrodite grinned. At least you’re handsome.
The crowd laughed again, though this time not at the goddess’ expense.
Three matches down. Two to go . I pushed the thought down my mental pathway to Velira and felt her increasing agitation echo back. We’ll be home soon, one way or another.
My little purple beast launched into the air, flapping her leathery wings with a screech. She landed at my feet, somehow suddenly much too large to perch on my shoulder.
You’ll outgrow the bathtub soon, I thought with a chuckle, rubbing her scaled head behind her razor-sharp horns, exactly where she liked.
But not too big to devour our enemies, she purred, her silken voice carrying a hint of a laugh. Or carry you.
My lips parted. The thought of flying on dragonback had never once crossed my mind. I had wrongly assumed she was just a small, cat-sized creature — a remnant of the gigantic beasts who once owned the skies. If she continued to grow at her current rate, we could be in the clouds in mere months.