Chapter 35 #2
“Naughty, naughty men, who wander through our wood. A hunter spied our mistress naked—now a stag he stood.”
Two soldiers broke, bolting into the trees in a desperate bid to escape. Another stood frozen, trembling like a leaf, his gaze locked on the hound before him.
The beast licked its chops, silver eyes gleaming with hunger.
Alena didn’t dare move, every muscle taut, as the nymphs’ cruel game played out.
High-pitched laughter erupted from all directions, bouncing off the trunks like a sinister melody.
The sweet, sing-song voice returned, threaded now with something darker:
“Another watched her bathing, now he wears a gown. Silly, silly Orion tried to take her…”
The forest fell silent all at once.
Then the voice sharpened into a hiss:
“…but she shot him down.”
A storm of arrows cut through the air, striking exposed necks before the soldiers could react. One by one, they crumpled to the ground. In the next breath, the hounds scattered through the trees, tearing into the fallen, ensuring none survived.
Alena rose to her feet, adrenaline burning through her veins. The sight of the beasts should have chilled her to the bone, but the tug on the silver threads pulled at her senses, confirming their loyalty.
The nymph hadn’t lied—they were hers, bound to her by the Huntress’ magic for one day and one night.
The monstrous hounds paced in a slow circle around her, jaws flecked with foam. They waited for her command, the air between them thrumming with wild, dangerous anticipation.
“He’s calling for you.”
Alena spun. The little girl—or rather, the nymph—stood among the ferns, her eyes unnervingly calm, fixed on the distant Rasennan camp.
“He needs you,” she murmured. She didn’t speak his name, but Alena felt it echo through her all the same.
Leukos.
Somehow, his distress bled across the battlefield into her—an ache in her head, in her heart, in her sou—
Alena!
“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice trembling with urgency. “I’m coming, Leukos. Just hold on.”
She gave the nymph a quick nod and broke into a sprint. The hounds leapt ahead, massive bodies blurring as they bounded forward.
They poured through the trees like a dark flood, a feral, unstoppable force.
Ahead, only five Tirynthian soldiers still held the line beside Phoebe. Their ranks were broken, Rasennans pressing in. Phoebe’s left arm hung limp, her sword gone, but her shield still braced in her good hand. The enemy closed around them, jeering, blades poised for the kill.
They never got the chance.
The hounds hit them like a storm—black fur, silver eyes, flashing teeth. One moment the Rasennans were sneering; the next, they were on the ground, throats torn out by the Huntress’ beasts.
Phoebe staggered back, her eyes wide at the slaughter. Relief softened her dirt-streaked face when she spotted Alena. She nodded towards a blade half-buried in the mud.
“Go,” she rasped. “They need you.”
Alena seized the hilt, the familiar weight settling into her palm. Heart pounding, she pushed forward through the chaos.
The hounds carved a path ahead, shadows with teeth ripping through tents, soldiers, and anything foolish enough to stand in their way.
Her gaze locked on the gate. The Rasennans had fortified their position, forming a formidable shield wall. Interlocked shields gleamed in the fading light, their discipline and sheer numbers forcing the last Tirynthian warriors back against the frozen palisade. The ground was littered with bodies.
In the midst of it all stood Pelagios. His silver Gifted armour blazed against the dusk, dented and smeared with blood. He barked hoarse orders, rallying the tattered remains of the Tirynthians. Around them, the Rasennans pressed hard—hundreds of them—an unyielding tide against a dwindling flame.
Another leader might have faltered at the sight of such flawless military prowess.
But not Alena.
No shield wall, no army, could stop her now. Not when her friends’ lives hung in the balance. Not when the gods themselves had marked her for this moment.
Shine your light, Omega.
The Cyprian’s magic pulsed through her veins, and Alena called for her Gift. She understood now what the goddess had meant.
The Omega wasn’t just a warrior—she was the light after years of darkness. The beacon of hope the Achaeans had lost after the Megarian massacre, when King Pandion and the last of the Achaean League had fallen.
The Twelve had chosen her to end the devastation the Rasennans had wrought on Achaean lands for far too long.
And today, she would bring their reckoning.
The air crackled with magic, raw and wild, as Alena strode forward. Light erupted from within her, blood red and fiery orange swirling around her like the first blaze of dawn.
The nearest soldiers turned first, their faces blanching as the glow spilled across the battlefield like sunrise heralding a storm. One by one, heads lifted, awe and confusion rippling through the Rasennan ranks.
The weight of her torn tunic and battered chain mail fell away, replaced by the Cyprian’s Gift.
Mother-of-pearl scales unfurled across her chest, cascading like water over her skin.
Each scale gleamed iridescent as they locked into place, forming an impenetrable shell that clung to her body like a second skin.
They climbed upwards, encasing her shoulders in protective armour that glowed from within, the pink and orange hues blending like fire and dawn.
A hush swept the battlefield. Even the Rasennans felt the shift in the air. The Achaeans, moments ago cornered and near defeat, stared at her as if they’d glimpsed a miracle—despair giving way to awe.
“Surrender,” she called out, knowing the carnage that would follow if they refused. “Drop your weapons, and you’ll be spared.”
The soldiers hesitated, tension thickening like a gathering storm. Some shifted, fingers loosening on sword hilts, eyes flicking to their comrades as if waiting for someone else to yield first.
Then movement stirred on the watchtower. A man stepped into view—broad-shouldered, red armband vivid against his dull armour. He shoved past the archers, leaning over the edge, his face twisted with fury.
“Don’t listen, you idiots!” he bellowed, his voice cracking like a whip over the camp. “The Emperor wants her alive. Bring her to me, and he’ll reward you beyond your dreams!”
At his command, the shield wall shifted like a single living thing. Dozens broke rank, roaring as they charged, sandals pounding the earth, the ground trembling beneath the force of their advance.
Above, a flurry of arrows sliced through the air from the watchtower, their tips aimed at her legs.
Alena didn’t flinch. Far from the woods, the South Wind’s magic stirred against her skin once more. She lifted her hand, summoning it fully—gusts of scorching air whipped around her, tearing through the volley and hurling the arrows off course.
All but one.
A single arrow, hidden in the shadow of the others, broke through, angling for her shoulder.
Time seemed to slow. Alena’s breath caught.
The arrow struck—but instead of biting flesh, it vanished into the shimmer of her mother-of-pearl armour. A heartbeat later, it shot back the way it had come, hurtling with even greater speed until it slammed into the watchtower as if repelled.
Alena stood untouched, chest heaving, a grin curling her lips. Impractical, Phoebe had called the armour.
But the charging Rasennans gave her no time to savour the moment. Their war cries rose, boots drumming across the muddy camp as they rushed her.
Alena’s grip on her sword tightened.
It was time to end this.
At her silent command, the Huntress’ hounds exploded forward—an unrelenting black wave with silver eyes fixed on their prey.
Fangs flashing, they crashed into the Rasennans, scattering them like leaves in a gale.
Flesh and armour tore beneath their jaws, the pack’s fury a force no shield could hold.
The courtyard became a slaughterhouse, screams and steel ringing together in a single, terrible chorus.
Through the chaos, Alena spotted Leukos—still kneeling, unmoving.
Nik stood beside him, one hand pressed to his forehead in disbelief at the monstrous hounds, while Pelagios threw back his head and laughed, his joy almost jarring against the carnage.
The Achaeans staggered, wide-eyed, as the pack carved a crimson path through the enemy ranks.
At the gates, panic shattered the Rasennans’ formation. Some turned and bolted for the open fields—only to be run down in moments. Others fled for the woods, unaware they were running straight into the nymphs’ waiting arms.
Two bold soldiers charged at Alena, weapons drawn.
She parried one blade with precision, but the other struck her abdomen.
Instead of cutting through her armour, the blade disappeared through the mother-of-pearl scales, only to reemerge in the next heartbeat, carving down the first soldier in a brutal arc.
The second soldier staggered back, beads of sweat dripping down his tanned face as he stared, wide-eyed, at the Rasennan sword still trembling in his grip.
Before he could muster another attack, a spear pierced his chest. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, and with one last shuddering breath, he crumpled to the muddy ground.
Alena whirled to see Phoebe, bloodied and panting, her arm trembling from the throw. “Go!” she urged, waving towards Nik and Leukos.
Alena bolted. The shield wall had fallen—the hounds had decimated most of the soldiers, their mangled bodies strewn across the camp. Even the watchtower had succumbed after the ferocious pack swarmed it.
“Alena!” Nik’s urgent voice cut through the din.
Leukos was still on his knees, eyes glazed, an unnatural ice-blue glow radiating from within. The ethereal light flickered like a pulse, spreading beneath his skin.
Alena’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t just exhaustion.
Something was very, very wrong.