32. Nyssa #2
“Caelus, son of Zeus! Leander, son of Poseidon!” Ares snapped, shattering my daydream. “Ready yourselves!”
Caelus straightened beside me, flicking his silver eyes to mine for a heartbeat.
I grasped his forearm before he could walk away.
“Give him hell,” I growled. “Make him pay.”
Caelus’ mouth twisted into a savage grin.“I’ll give him exactly what he deserves,” he said, voice low and rumbling.
The arena was deadly still — so silent you could hear a coin drop. Tension thrummed through the air, crackling and humid, as Caelus and Leander faced one another. There was no measured circling, no overanalysing every step — just raw, seething hatred.
Leander struck first with a verbal lashing.
“Tell me — how did you like my mural?” He smirked, twirling his new silver trident.
Caelus glared but made no move to respond.
Leander’s jaw ticked in irritation. “The mortals. It was quite the task, painting the entire courtyard with their blood and bone.” His accompanying laugh was jagged and cruel.
Caelus still did not reply, but I noted his fingers twitching as he gripped his sword’s hilt like he was trying to strangle it.
Don’t let him goad you, Golden. He just wants to make you angry enough to get sloppy, I thought, praying Caelus wouldn’t succumb to rage.
This was too important.
He was too important.
His head jerked ever so slightly toward me. I wondered if the words had slipped out.
Static pressure built and my hair stood on end. Dark clouds began to roll in, casting the arena in shadow. Thunder rumbled and swallowed the sky in its fury. Electricity sparked at his fingertips. Lightning danced across his hands and down his blade.
His scars blazed to life in violent, jagged branches and his eyes glowed with the brilliance of a lightning strike.
Overhead, the storm clouds churned in mirrored wrath.
Wind howled through the arena as rain began pelting down, soaking us in seconds.
I squinted into the deluge, struggling to make out the two gods squaring off at its centre.
My heart raced. Fear felt like ice water running through my veins. Despite all the reasons not to, I had found myself caring for the storm-wielder.
Deeply.
Achingly.
A metallic crash rang out, and I let out a small gasp. Their weapons met in a brutal clash — Leander’s trident caught Caelus’ electrified sword just before it struck flesh, sparks flying. They were evenly matched in size and skill, but only one could prevail.
Leander, used to battling smaller opponents, tried to shove Caelus back. The son of Zeus did not budge.
Not an inch.
He bared his teeth in a snarl and sent a jagged bolt of lightning toward the sea god. Leander twisted away, avoiding the potentially fatal blow, but the bolt grazed his side instead. His armour sizzled and smoked, ruined.
He growled, curling his fingers like claws and raising his hand to the sky. Water converged behind him in a giant wave, pausing at the precise moment an ordinary wave would have crashed down upon the shores.
The sea god threw his hand forward, sending the wave crashing toward Caelus.
I watched with nervous rapture as Caelus exploded.
Like a storm made flesh, lightning bolts ruptured from every part of him — his palms, his chest, even his eyes.
With an echoing boom, the bolts collided with the wave, and mist encased the arena, knocking Leander to the ground with the force of the explosion. The taste of metal filled the air.
But Caelus did not stop there. He lifted his sword and stalked forwards, vengeance written in the brutal set of his jaw, fists clenched with barely restrained power.
Leander finally — wisely — appeared afraid.
Caelus raised his sparking sword high above his head.
I wondered if this was how the soldiers Leander had slain looked as he sliced them apart, one by one. I wondered if they, too, begged, pleaded, and soiled themselves.
With hands splayed out before him, Leander surrendered.
But it was too late.
The blade came crashing down.
Steel bit through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch, and Leander howled in agony. His hands hit the dirt with two dull thuds. Ichor jetted swiftly, staining the dirt and painting Caelus’ face in a grisly, shimmering warpaint.
Leander collapsed, clutching the bloodied stumps to his chest, screaming his surrender.
Caelus turned without a word, without a flicker of remorse, and walked back to his place beside me, sword still dripping with violent retribution.
A heartbeat of silence passed.
Then another.
And the crowd goes wild.
Not a single soul remained seated. Everyone — whether they had two feet or more — were standing, stomping in furious rhythm, cheering for the bloodshed. Screaming for more.
Poseidon raged. The Primals battled to subdue him until Hera, of all people, managed to knock him unconscious with the staff of his own trident.
Ares strode to the centre of the field, each step unhurried but calculated. The cheering turned to murmurs, then to silence. The air was rife with anticipation. He turned in a slow circle, eyes touching on the faces of creature and god alike.
“Olympians!” he called. “We fight for you. We bleed for you. We endure for you . The rite is almost finished. Just three trials remain. Today, there is but one battle left to witness. One final claim for the crown.”
Ares turned to me, extending his hand, a wicked glint in his amber eyes.
“Nyssa, daughter of Hades. Join me. Discover who fate has demanded you face.”
A large hand subtly squeezed mine before I could move. I didn’t need to look back to know the calloused fingers belonged to the caramel scented, stormy-eyed warrior.
Charon stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
Emotion threatened to crack my cold facade — the mask was getting harder to don every Furies-damned day. He grasped the side of my face, pulling our foreheads together. His grey-blue eyes stared right into the heart of my emerald ones.
“Now it’s your turn to give them hell,” he growled.
“I don’t even know who I’m up against,” I replied, panic snaking in.
“It doesn’t matter. You can beat anyone. Anyone. You have the skill — I made sure of it. And I don’t give a damn if you have to send them to my ferry yourself. Just come back to me.”
“Us,” Caelus whispered from behind me. “Come back to us.”
Us, Velira agreed.
“Someone is playing dirty, Nyss,” Charon warned. “You’ve been sabotaged more times than I can count, and I wouldn’t put it past any one of them to take you down in front of a crowd.”
His usual joviality was long gone.He was frightened.
I took a deep breath and unsheathed Nightbreaker. Shadows flared to life along her blade.
“I’ll be fine. I am the weapon, remember?”
I nodded firmly, extricating myself from both towering blonde males, and met Ares in the centre. His next words were directed towards the council.
“Champions,” he called. “You have fought and bled for the chance to demonstrate your worthiness, hoping the crown selects you or the god you represent. Some of you have failed.”
His lips curled as he eyed the fallen champions intently.
“ I have decided to be merciful.”
Dragonshit.
A shift rippled through them as dread wound through me.
“One competitor remains unmatched. Untested.”
The arena held its breath.
“But that’s not fair, is it? And thus, it falls to me to remedy the situation.”
Ares spread his arms out dramatically.
“Who among you can best her? You, Thallo?”
The god lifted his chin defiantly.
“Or maybe you, Athena?”
The goddess’ wide eyes lingered on my face as she straightened.
“Perhaps even you, Aphrodite?”
My friend held a dainty hand over her mouth in horror.
“Nyssa, our lone champion, shall face every fallen competitor, should they desire a second chance.”
“No!” Caelus roared.
“That’s not fair!” Charon yelled.
Velira shrieked, her cry piercing enough to make those near her clutch their ears. Aros’ face flushed a deep red, flames igniting in his irises.
They were the only ones to protest aloud, however. Diana looked as though she’d already won, grinning maniacally at me. Thallo straightened with quiet determination. Tychon beat his fist over his chest with a shout of triumph.
But it was Leander who sent an icy shiver down my spine.
His newly healed hands tightened around his shining trident — healed by Apollo’s gift at Poseidon’s uproarious demand.
The skin was a soft, baby-pink, though he would forever wear the scars across his wrists where Caelus’ sword had sliced through them.
It wasn’t his hands that disturbed me, though. It was his eyes. They promised violence. They promised agony and despair.
He was the one I’d have to watch out for.
“So tell me,” Ares crooned, voice rich with amusement. “Who among you has the strength to fight? To win? Because that’s what it will take. Defeat Nyssa and take your place among the remaining champions, or surrender — and the crown could be hers for the taking.”
Unsurprisingly, Leander and Diana stepped forward first. Tychon, Thallo, and Athena followed.
Aphrodite refused. As did Hestia.
Five versus one. Not great odds.
But they were all forgetting one thing.
I was death incarnate.
I was absolute. Inescapable.
And fate had promised me a crown.