86. How to Shake a Serpent
Medusa was glowing in the literal sense. She wiggled her fingers before her face, fascinated by the faint green light they emitted. Even her serpents glowed, but their eyes remained pitch black, trailing a dark wisp as they moved.
This appearance was exactly like her curse's.
Speaking of her curse, how did Perseus have similar cords connected to his back?
There was also the confusion about how she got here, in this no-place with grey all around.
Did he kill her? No; that couldn't be it.
She'd experienced death too many times not to know when it happened.
She recalled slashing at his face with venom-laced claws, but instead of evading the attack, he had reached for his earring and ripped it off. So, the action triggered a mind attack? How? And why did the move seem so familiar—
She whipped around when a shadow fell over her, only to stop short when she saw she was suddenly in a crowded arena.
Sound registered all at once. Chants. Whistling.
Clapping. And the sun... her skin warmed from its heat, and she could smell as well.
What sort of mind attack achieved this level of sensory detail?
How was it that her nose picked the stench of blood, body odour and scant wafts of perfume?
The unfamiliarity of the arena set her on edge as well. She could guess that this was Cosmolith, Greece, to be specific, judging from their attire and what she could catch from the chant told as much. But every other thing felt strange.
Nobody acknowledged her presence, and she soon noticed why.
Unlike her training with her curse, she hovered a few inches from the ground, and though she could sense her body, it felt unfettered to the scene.
She attempted to force her feet to touch the ground, and it worked.
She felt the heat from the hot sand but left no footprints.
When she stopped forcing her feet to touch the ground, she resumed floating.
Interesting. What about weapons? She attempted to draw her daggers or needles from her dimension. It didn't work.
Just then, the gathering stirred, heads turning to Medusa's left.
A beautiful woman swept past, trailed by servants, making her way to the proedria where an older man sat heavy in the head chair.
He smiled at her approach, and a golden tooth caught the light.
She bowed, kissed his ring, and settled at his left, before sweeping the arena with a bored, indifferent gaze.
"Men and women of Upper Athens," the arena master cried in an aether-enhanced voice. "Princess Danae, daughter of King Acrisius, has graced this pit of blood with the sun of her beauty."
A collective shout of praise, some throwing flowers and dyed strips of cloth into the pit. Danae waved distractedly, then let her hand flop like a dead fish.
The king leaned in and murmured something to her.
She beamed and planted a kiss on her father's cheek.
Acrisius appeared mightily pleased by the show of affection, then his expression shifted to a frown as she whispered in his ear.
Moments later, he turned to a messenger, who ran down to relay the king's command to the arena master.
"Men and women of Upper Athens," the arena master cried. "Today, we have a judgement!"
A thunderous roar travelled across the theatron at the same time horns blasted.
Medusa looked behind to see two guards lead a stumbling, lanky man into the sand pit.
Despite the streaks of dried blood, scruffy beard and stringy hair, there was a shadow of a handsome face.
He panted as his dazed eyes swept over the crowd.
But he wasn't the only one led into the pit.
Medusa scowled, disgusted by the callousness of bringing a child here; that was until she recognised his face.
Perseus looked about six years old, and following closely behind him was a broad-shouldered, bearded man.
Probably his uncle, judging from the distinct facial resemblance between him and the wiry man ahead.
Understanding suddenly clicked into place. This must be Perseus's memory. She looked at the boy, checking to see if he could see her. His red-rimmed eyes were fixed on the panting man ahead.
The arena master resumed speaking. "This is Polydectes, a lout from the island of Seriphos." A hush fell upon the gathering as Polydectes was forced to kneel. "This dog dared to covet and kidnap one far above his station."
Perseus turned his gaze to the woman sitting in the proedia, glaring with a hate too raw for one so young. Danae did not spare a glance in their direction; instead she watched the condemned man with a gaze that held neither malice nor interest.
"Under the justice of Zeus, the maker of Cosmolith, and upon the wisdom of Athena our mother of might, this guilty dog was sentenced to death. But—" the master raised a finger dramatically. "A measure of mercy from Princess Danae, the aggrieved, has been given."
At the mention of her name, Medusa noticed a change in the woman's manner. She sat straighter, reached for a chalice and sipped from it with a spark of budding enjoyment in her eyes.
"What weapon, your highness?"
Danae waved one of her maids over and spoke in her ear.
As the maid passed her words to the messenger, Polydectes lifted his eyes and looked in her direction.
Medusa expected rage or hate, not sorrow.
He placed his hand over his chest, patting the spot and seeming to mutter something to himself.
All the while, he did not look away from the princess.
When the messenger shared Danae's choice, the master raised a fist, and the crowd grew quiet.
"Our princess, in her grace, has chosen a spear so that the condemned may fight for his life."
There was a collective groan as a spear was dumped before Polydectes.
"And now..." The arena master motioned at the barred gate ahead. Drums went off in a synchronised crescendo. The kneeling man continued to stare up at the woman, hand over his chest. Then he shouted, his aether-enhanced voice blasting across the arena.
"You whore! Face stealer! Murderer! Look!"
He flung an arm in Perseus' direction. "Look at them! What did they do to you? Have you no soul—No. You have no soul. You lots are beasts."
He was openly weeping now. One of the guards marched over to strike him, but Danae casually raised a hand, stopping him.
She was grinning now, eyes bright with enjoyment.
Slamming his chest with a fist, he continued glaring. "One day, the earth will drink your blood too. One day..." As his words faded, he turned to Perseus. "They are all beasts, son. All of them. Find a way to kill them all!"
Then he turned and stonily stared ahead as if submitting to his fate.
Danae, on the other hand, had watched the entire display with her chin balanced on her closed fist, looking greatly amused. Then she waved as if permitting the show to resume.
"Open the gates," the master cried.
The scraping sound of metal dragged against stone accompanied the grinding of hinges as massive doors fell open. Twin golden dots pierced the darkness, then began moving, growing closer.
The guards hurried away.
A throaty rumble, along with the unmistakable huffing, heavy breaths of an approaching beast.
Polydectes reached for the spear.
Finally, a massive human-like face surrounded by a flowing mane emerged from the shadows, followed by the rest of it. A lion's body roughly the size of a polar bear, sharp tusks that jutted from its lower jaw and that tail...
Upon its full appearance, a cacophony of excited shouts erupted. The manticor shook its mane as if basking in the attention.
As Polydectes rose to his feet, it prowled deeper into the sand pit, its fierce gaze not on the man with the spear but on those behind him.
What sort of sick justice was this? Medusa hated Perseus, but she wasn't prepared to witness children torn to shreds.
Like a false self falling away, the man's stance smoothed over.
No more stumbling, dazed appearance or panting.
The spear, now wielded with balance, was aimed at the beast.
The calm arrogance remained in the manticore's golden gaze as it came to a stop.
Its scorpion tail moved like a whip behind it, the sting sleek with venom.
"Our merciful princess has given her word," the arena master said from his elevated spot. "If Polydectes survives the manticore, his freedom is guaranteed."
The crowd cheered, some chanting for a kill.
The manticore began pacing like a caged lion, shaking its great mane as it moved. All the while, its focus continued darting and darting to the three behind Polydectes.
When Polydectes attacked, it was without a sound.
One eerily quiet leap and he was soaring, spear aimed at the beast.
Its tail lashed out, parrying the stab at the same time it leapt closer to Perseus' direction. Polydectes repeated that odd leap, and this time the spear slashed a line along the beast's flank. The manticore's roar blended with the crowds. Some started chanting Polydectes' name.
The dance continued, with the beast inching closer and closer to the three. It took superficial wounds. Roared. Slashed with its scorpion tail.
Medusa watched it all, tense for the struggling man.
He was strong, but his strength clearly wasn't enough, because when the beast saw it was now closer to its prey, its attack force doubled.
It slashed with hooked claws, going for bites.
Polydectes responded, but it was clear he was beginning to struggle.
Medusa spied Perseus, who was now on his knees, eyes wide with horror and hands held as if in prayer. His uncle watched with the same grim expression from the beginning. The child in his arms was now awake, his wails drowned out by the shouts of the excited crowd.
In the midst of the struggle, Polydectes finally managed to run his spear through the creature's rib. The weapon went deep, spilling red and forcing a pained roar. The arena fell silent, then exploded into another round of cheers.
But the beast's eyes. What once held pure ferocity now reflected chilling intelligence. It happened when Polydectes attempted to dislodge the weapon. In that split second, the beast exploded into feral action.