78. Strike
One month. All Lela needed to do was win the games in a month, and this body would finally be whole. Her hand itched to touch her belly, but she resisted the habit.
"She said she'll help me," Lela muttered as she gazed at the waterfall ahead. "Could she still?"
Lately, Phorcydes seemed strangely weaker.
In the past months, she would take the swords, javelins and arrows Perseus made and disappear for days.
There were also slabs she would write on at dawn, humming to herself as a small mischievous smile curved her lips.
All slabs were in unfamiliar languages, but two months ago, Lela had stumbled on one written in Greek.
They had been packed with blasphemies and contained some interesting arguments.
For we know that Nyx, the mother of Cosmolith, formed our world from a falling star.
This is the only truth. All else are lies.
The man who claims to weave lightning and bottle thunder sits on a stolen throne.
A usurper of the Great Peace Bringer. He is the greatest evil to befall Cosmolith since the beginning.
The one who feeds on the lives of Nyx's children to satisfy an infinite appetite.
But rejoice, children of the star, for the old prophecy is near fruition.
The thief's diadem shall soon shatter, and the—
That was all Lela managed to read before Phorcydes flipped the slab and chuckled about 'nosy birds'.
Since then, Lela's confusion only continued to grow.
As the goddess promised, she trained Lela whenever she returned from those long trips, even though she usually appeared exhausted.
The time Lela dared to ask after the goddess' well-being, she had cackled and said something about the wise building a roof for a coming storm.
"Now, I'm here." Lela had found the waterfall by chance after receiving a particularly vicious strike from one of the beasts she battled.
Now each morning, she could return, sit under the tree at the opposite end and meditate for half a horai before training.
The process had helped calm her mind and train her ears.
Now she could pick the sound of falling leaves or the shift of a bird's wings despite the roar of rushing water in the background. And feel their gaze, too.
Lela peered at the spread of forest below.
Phorcydes' shadow beasts would be waiting.
Though she couldn't see them, she could faintly sense their presence.
Like a mother bird, the goddess had shoved her from the 'nest' four months ago, assuring her she only added beasts Lela could handle.
By handle, she meant being torn apart until she finally learned to fly.
And even then, she had introduced flying shadow beasts.
Those were even more vicious, but at least her growth tripled from all that hardship.
As the days passed, she learned other interesting things about her body. For one, her wings were unnaturally strong—strong enough to shatter beasts' bones. And her physical strength had also grown monstrous, thanks to Phorcydes' generous aether supply.
"Only focus on winning," the goddess would say whenever she provided yet another pure grade stone. "I will tell you what to ask of Zeus on the day of the games."
"Fine." Lela twisted her hair into a firm knot in preparation for the day's training.
For clothes, she had on a one-piece reminiscent of her people.
Though the garment was figure-hugging, it was breathable and ideal for quick movement.
Speaking of her people, the plan was to return after the games—no.
They may not accept her now that she wasn't an Owl.
So, Tartarus then? Some of her people, merchants specifically, had migrated there several decades ago.
If luck shines on her, she may find a man fine with being with a former owl.
Pushing to her feet, Lela strolled to the edge of the ledge and summoned her wings.
They were pure white like her hair and spanned an impressive ten akona.
Her bare feet morphed to an owl's, and her black talons dug into the soft soil as she performed preparatory stretches. Marvellous weather this morning.
She observed the forest once more. Though nothing stirred, she wasn't deceived.
Those beasts were experts at blending with the shadows and springing upon their foes when least expected.
But she was getting better at learning their behaviour.
Yesterday, she had slain five flying beasts. She aimed for six today.
"You were here."
Her claws punched out as she whipped around. She blinked in surprise. "Perseus?"
He stood a stone's throw away, arms folded as he watched her with a dry gaze.
How did she not hear him approach? More importantly, how long had he been present?
"What are you doing here?" Lela asked calmly, refusing to acknowledge how shaken she was.
Instead of answering, Perseus glanced around with clear disinterest. "I do so much for the hag, yet she pours all her effort on you."
"Why are you here?" Lela's tone hardened.
His gaze slid back to her and slowly took her in. First, his focus lingered on her morphed feet before travelling to her wings.
"Say..." He smiled when their gaze met, mismatched eyes squinting happily. "How about we spar?"
Lela blinked, taken aback. "Spar?"
"Yes." He nodded, causing the dark earrings hanging from both ears to sway. He had begun wearing them about four months ago, though she had yet to see the tattoos she spotted across his arm that day.
What drove Lela to an even greater concern was Phorcydes' unwillingness to address Perseus' obvious strangeness.
"... there's nothing wrong with a boy wearing jewellery. And as an Opsianian, you're no judge on that matter. What? Your men wear jewellery on their noses like cows!" Then she laughed heartily, though Lela was far from amused.
"That's not the point, goddess. I swear he is strange. I told you I saw markings across his arm some weeks ago. His eyes were—"
"Lela," Phorcydes had cut in with a tired sigh, "focus on your goal. Forget about that boy."
"You keep staring at it," Perseus said, cutting Lela from her thoughts. "Does it appear off-putting?" He touched the side of his face bearing the thin dark lines.
The webbed marking appeared more like a face tattoo and had little to do with the sense of wrongness that assailed her whenever she was around the boy. And he always looked at her as if he were observing a fascinating thing. Then add the subtle disgust at her ability to morph.
Lela didn't know what her abilities were compared to his, but she was certain of one thing. Even if he were the last human on Cosmolith, she would never spar with him.
"I have no interest in sparring with you. Leave."
He scratched his temple as if caught in an awkward position. "In Seriphos, it's considered rude to reject a spar request."
"Where I come from, we don't give a damn about that."
"Hmmm." He appeared caught in deep thought as he stepped forward.
Lela resisted the pressing urge to take flight immediately.
"You're weary of me," he stated.
Even more tense than earlier, she spat, "Leave"
He cocked his head and pierced her with that mismatched gaze. A hardness seeped in. "Make me."
The urge to choose violence caused her clawed fingers to twitch. "I have no interest in playing fight with a child."
"Let me tell you what will happen," he said evenly. We will spar, and the loser will get a present."
A silver ring materialised between his index and middle fingers.
"I made it with care. Outside the observation of the watchful hag, of course.
" Lips pressed in a displeased line, he focused on her once more.
"She views me with even greater suspicion than you.
But the one who helps me—the one who holds my hand and shows me what true power looks like.
.." as his words faded, his smile returned, though it was more muted.
"Anyway, the loser of the spar would wear this gift. Agreed?"
Since he wouldn't leave, Lela decided to. She flapped her wings and shot into the air. No use entertaining the madness of a—
A sudden surge of panic rattled her senses. She moved on instinct, twisting just in time to escape a vicious upward swing of a dark blade. Alarmed, she darted to a distance, glanced about, only to do a double-take.
Though his appearance wasn't beastly, the sight of him felt wrong. The way the air twisted around him, forming mirages. His hair moved in the wind, dark wisps curling from the ends like smoke, making it seem longer. And those runic markings across his arm were back.
"I've been learning. Replacing lies with truths." His words reached her as if he were standing a mere breath away. "Seeing clearly. Letting her guide my path."
He was airborne, hovering as if held in place by invisible wings.
Lela asked the only question that came to mind. "What are you?"
"What am I?" A look of great offence darkened Perseus' face as he sneered at her. "A beast halfling dares question my humanity. Interesting."
Lela sighed internally as she shook off her initial shock. She really had no energy for this. "Fine. I apologise for the slight. But as I said, I have no interest in sparring with—."
"No. The spar must happen, and know that I will take delight in your..." He met her gaze and nodded. "...struggle. Yes, your struggle, because I will win and when I win, you"—he pointed with his sword—"you will become a death priestess."
A death what? A fresh wave of wariness assailed her. Though Lela had never heard the term before, it sounded ominous enough to warrant fierce resistance. "Look—"
"Your opinion on the matter solely depends on my defeat.
" His smile returned, but there was nothing genial about it.
"Know that I have observed some of your training with the hag's shadow beasts.
But you..." He rested the flat of his sword on his shoulder, appearing thoroughly self-assured.
"You have seen nothing of what I can do. "
A bitter scowl twisted Lela's face. It took little to see that this boy was a blight—a corruption that should be severed before his roots burrow too deep. That Phorcydes had let him roam so freely was a mistake, one she would correct today.
A thin staff materialised in her grip. Phorcydes' was made of 'unbreakable' jdoot wood, but Lela's had been shaved to slender perfection, reinforced with several layers of aether before a final overlay of red iron. A gift from the goddess. She had only used it when she trained with Phorcydes.
Perseus' brow lifted at the sight of her staff, a delighted look brightening his eyes. "I've never seen that. The goddess' gift?"
Lela said nothing. Should she kill him? It was tempting. She did have that, another gift from the goddess. She shook her head internally. There was the option of stabbing and leaving the weapon in place until Phorcydes returns.
"I also received a gift from a deity. This sword." Perseus expertly swished the weapon. It was grey with a map of black veins spanning from hilt to tip. "It's a gift from Athena."
Lela raised a brow at that. It was a known fact that the goddess was stingy with her treasures. Athena must have deemed him worthy of her attention, only to be betrayed in the end.
"Now it's been modified to something far greater." He looked from the sword to her face. "Be glad. Your blood would be the second it tastes."
Lela bristled as her urge to flee grew stronger than her will to fight. But that was nonsense. If she couldn't face this boy, then what face would she have to represent Phorcydes at the games?
"I thank you for accepting my spar request." He offered a slight bow.
Lela scowled. "You forced my hand. This is no spar."
He shrugged, appearing nonchalant. "I've been told not to maim you, so it's a spar in my opinion."
"Who told you not to—"
"Pull."
Two things happened. First, for a horrifyingly long breath, Lela's body froze in place. Then there was a forceful tug forward.
The last time Perseus felt such blood-pumping excitement was that day in Drys Valon.
There, a bit of his glory had shone only to be snuffed too early.
But today was different. Today was a result of careful training, watching and planning.
The hag would not return in another three days.
He had done well to be obedient. Bowing even though the hag never demanded it.
Following her instructions without a breath of complaint.
Learning and greatly improving his blacksmithing.
Obedience. Learning. And more irritating obedience.
Even now, he was shackled, forced to obey a goddess leagues above the hag.
The death goddess was no longer subtle with her plans to pull his strings.
At first, she was patient with his training.
Pushing him into that place of the dead that held the souls of many strong.
Even titans. Making him fight and learn at a sensible pace.
Then one day... one day, an explosion happened.
He had felt it in his soul. A burning of sorts.
Ringing in his ears. The point on his palm where her mark lay burned like pins of fire.
Her black rage infected him. The only thing that saved him from slipping into madness was his desperate hammering at the forge.
Weapon after weapon. Glazed focus. Engraved runes.
Flying sparks. Mumbled Theos Tongue. For a full week after the explosion, there was nothing but the storm of her dark emotions. Then she finally spoke.
That was months ago. This is now.
Perseus watched with mild fascination as Lela's eyes widened under the compulsion of Theos Tongue. Pull gave the sensation of a tether connecting them, and it shortened as his opponent drew nearer. Was it going to be this easy to defeat her? If so, then that was unfortunate.
He had watched the beast halfling struggle against the aberrations the hag created. Quite fierce. He had entertained fantasies of facing her as an opponent during his months of ugly training. For her defeat to be this easy. Truly sad.
Just as Perseus was beginning to feel disappointed, she released a sound between a groan and a yell. Aether flared around her in powerful waves, instantly snapping the Pull connection.
A pleased smile curved his lips. Not so useless after all.
"Of course," Perseus said with his mouth, even though his heart pounded for something else. He intended to bring her to the brink of death. She was no soft woman; he had witnessed her go against powerful shadow beasts that would rip strong blood carriers apart with a single swing.
His eyes lingered on her wings. Foolish appendage if you asked him. Another thing to grab and snap.
Over the months, Perseus had learned something interesting. The dark goddess had no access to his thoughts. So he learned to speak of her undeserved goodness aloud but hurl curses and imagine rebellion in his mind.
You think I'm asleep? You think I'll meekly submit my life to be used and discarded? My eyes will remain open, searching. The moment I see a chance, I will take it and—
The halfling suddenly shot forward and swung her staff. The weapon arched through the air in less than a blink and smacked him across the face. His neck cracked to the side as hot pain flared from the spot.
He didn't flinch; instead, he burned with curiosity at the sight of the weapon. Bright red. So red iron? There were flaring runes etched across its length, and it could float in place should she will it. A creation far superior to anything he ever made.
That bloody hag. She kept superior crafting secrets from him.
He leaned to the side to escape her next attack. But the staff acted strangely, curving like a shepherd's hook and catching him behind the neck.
Perseus remained unruffled as she pulled him forward. Then, at the last moment, he spied what she attempted to do. A dagger—flaring with layers of an energy that felt suspiciously like the dark goddess' but different—appeared in her grip.
He obeyed, twisting away by a hairsbreadth. "Push."
She hurtled away, then jerked to a sudden stop. Whipping around, she glared at him.
He glared right back. "Just now, you intended to kill me. Whatever happened to our friendly spar?"
As she shot for him once more, the ends of her staff sharpened to form a javelin.
A surge of avarice pumped through Perseus. I want that weapon.
Fool? Pissed, Perseus overreacted. The halfling tried to kill him anyway. And if she died, he would get to keep her staff. Without consulting the goddess, he used his most powerful theos command. One he only just learned a month ago and used only on titan souls.
"Strike."
A different kind of lighting answered. The jagged, black streak appeared across a clear sky and raced for the rod the halfling foolishly held up.
Yes, she was the fool here. Not him. Charging forward with intent to kill in a simple spar. A wicked bird deserving of death.
The dark goddess was speaking in the background, but Perseus scarcely listened.
This was the first time he was witnessing the attack in the real world.
Would she die? Of course, she would. A pity.
The dark goddess had planned so carefully to use her.
She shouldn't have called him foolish. He was not foolish.
Just when the lightning was about to touch her javelin, something cut the flow. The attack took a sharp right and fizzled to nothing.
Wincing at the blast of her voice in his head, Perseus couldn't escape the halfling crashing into him. Her claws tore across his chest and arms as they tumbled to earth. When he sensed the cursed dagger, he ripped himself from her hook-like grip.
There was blood. All of it his, but his fury wasn't directed at the halfing. No. He alone was to blame. This ugly dependence. He couldn't even kill whoever he wished to without interruption. Pathetic.
He dodged an upward kick from her unsightly bird foot.
Was there a way to steal this borrowed power? A way to take from the gods while severing their burdensome tethers?
Even though a surge of molten rage swelled within him, he forced himself to say, Yes, I'm deeply sorry.
Swallowing a grumble of irritation, Perseus snatched the halfling's wrist, but she ripped her arm free with shocking strength and darted away.
She didn't look remotely exhausted. Frustrated, yes, but her eyes appeared bright with a rage of her own.
"No black lightning. Very well." He adjusted his stance, sinking to the basics of the swordsmanship he learned from Antigoni. Now it was more refined, sharpened with aether and poisoned with the goddess' dark energy.
He shot forward at the same time she did. Metal met metal, and he attempted it. He drew more from the goddess' energy and added it to the next blows, making sure to strike the same spot. Over and over.
No matter the angle her attack came from. No matter how well she modified it. He would attack the same spot on her staff. Upon the fifteenth strike, it happened. A clean cut through the middle.
She adjusted impressively well. Eyes widening for a moment before she wielded the cut staff like dual swords.
Good. She'd be less likely to sneak in that accursed dagger.
When Perseus came for her, it was with a flurry of attacks. He quickly learned that Push and Pull were no longer effective. He huffed and put even more strength into his strikes.
With the beasts, she fought with her claws and brute strength. He wished she would do the same with him. Those moves would be more predictable since he had witnessed those clashes.
Then she did something both unexpected and expected. With her wings spread, she spun. He had seen her use the same move on shadow beasts and marvelled at the foolishness. A bird's wings were fragile. Why use them in combat? He soon learned why.
The strike, catching him across the chest, was powerful enough to send him flying. He didn't realise he struck the waterfall until he was rolling beneath its pounding turbulence.
How annoying. It had not been his intention to stretch the confrontation. The worst part was how the clash reminded him of his first painful defeat at the hands of that whore. The memory never failed to leave scalding humiliation.
Never again.
As he pushed for the surface, he released his hold on his aether reserve, allowing the energy to spread through every muscle. Every bone. Rain wasn't falling, but there may be a way to call lightning without borrowing power from the dark goddess.
When he shot out of the water, she was waiting, ready to strike with that dagger. After quickly isolating the goddess' energy, Perseus dried himself with a burst of aether.
She shot for him again, but this time he slapped her aside with a forceful backhand, pouring double the power he had used before. She came for him again. Fast. Disgustingly persistent. Impatient to end his life.
"Strike!"
This time, nothing interfered. His attack hit its mark. She crashed to earth as if struck by a burning whip. He sensed her stir.
"Strike."
Again, the lightning hit its target, this time pushing her against a tree that snapped upon impact.
Perseus flashed over, finding to his great delight that his attack had the expected result. Burned and rapidly healing, she groaned as she tried to crawl towards...
He looked and saw that cursed dagger. He kicked it away at the same moment he grabbed one of her singed wings. It was warm to the touch and very sturdy. It flapped in resistance, but an extra surge of aether to his arm did the work. Red bloomed across white feathers as he snapped it.
She screamed, but Perseus wasn't listening. Knee pressed against her second wing, he grabbed her arm and twisted it, ready to force the ring to—
"What are you doing?"
Freezing, Perseus groaned internally. How was the hag back so soon?