The Den held its breath.

  Ash still drifted in the air where Hiro had fallen. The torches had not relit. The walls, once echoing with cheers, had become silent sentinels to divine intrusion.

  Alecto stood at the center, the blood-trail from her feet still glistening.

  The stone around her seemed to breathe. Cracks widened. Dust spiraled in reverse. Every heartbeat in the arena slowed—as if waiting for her permission to continue. Hiro knelt beside Phinx, body shuddering, breaths ragged. He stared at his hand—at the smear of blood on his palm. He blinked.

  It was gone.

  Only the lightning remained, flickering faint and hollow, as if unsure it belonged to him at all.

  If my father is dead… then why is she here?

  He didn’t understand. Not fully. Not yet. But the question burned deeper than any wound.

  His father’s voice wouldn’t leave him. “Get out of here. Protect our child.” He blinked it away, but it clung like smoke.

  Darius stirred.

  Slowly. Deliberately. Not like a man waking—but like a boulder choosing to move. His mantle had fallen from one shoulder, dust trailing from his arms. He looked at Hiro, then at Alecto.

  "You’ve said enough."

  His voice wasn’t loud. But it landed. A sound meant to wake the frozen.

  He walked forward, slow and sure.

  “Whatever judgment you came for, you won’t find it in a boy who hasn’t had the chance to choose his fate.”

  Alecto turned her head, snake-hair twitching. A smile, thin and unbothered.

  “So the Beastbreaker stands.”

  Darius stopped only a few paces from her. The crowd watched, paralyzed. A warrior in the back lowered his spear. Someone whispered, “That’s not a god… that’s something worse.”

  “You’ve defiled this Den with venom and fear. This arena was meant to test spirit, not bury it. I won’t let that stand.”

  She stepped forward. The snakes at her heels hissed, and the blood beneath her feet shimmered.

  “You call this sacred?” she said. “This stone is soaked with the screams of forgotten warriors. Their trials meant nothing. Their victories burned away. I’m only the end you’ve all been pretending wouldn’t come.”

  Darius dropped into a stance—low, grounded, fists tight.

  "Who are you to decide the lives of man?"

  The ground cracked beneath his feet.

  Alecto calmly spoke, "Give me the boy, Beastbreaker, and I’ll leave your people whole. He owes me a debt. I won’t collect more than I must." She breathed. A deep, hissing breath.

  Hiro couldn’t move. Not because of fear—because he knew this wasn’t about strength anymore.

  And whatever the gods wanted from him… Darius was the one answering for it.

  Darius charged.

  "Then there’s nothing left to say."

  From the floor, snakes erupted like geysers—twisting upward into black, coiling pillars.

  And the Den, silent for so long, finally woke— not with cheer, but with the hiss of war reborn.

  Darius crashed through the first wave of snakes, fists crackling with raw aura. The creatures burst apart under his blows—phantoms and venom unraveling like smoke. But for every serpent shattered, two more slithered from the cracks.

  Above, the stands screamed. The survivors had nowhere to run—frozen between awe and fear.

  Alecto stood untouched.

  She raised a single hand. The ground heaved.

  A pillar of writhing snakes spiraled upward beneath Darius, launching him off his feet. He twisted mid-air, slammed into the pillar with a thunderous impact, and leapt off it before the pillar of snakes could coil around him.

  He landed with a crack of stone, dragging his foot to halt his momentum.

  “You call that an attack?” he spat. “I've faced titans that hit harder.”

  Alecto tilted her head. Her snakes slithered back into her robes like smoke retreating into shadows.

  “They struck with force. I strike with certainty.”

  She pointed—two fingers like a decree.

  The floor beneath Darius turned black, glyphs spiraling out. He moved, but too late. Snakes burst from the circle, biting at his calves and arms—not to pierce, but to inject.

  Darius roared. His aura flared, fire and earth colliding in a sudden burst. The snakes scattered—burned away—but the damage was done.

  He staggered.

  His vision tilted. The crowd blurred.

  He saw not Alecto—but a battlefield of corpses. Men he had failed. Faces he recognized. Their mouths open, weeping black blood.

  “Poisoned?”

  He blinked, grounding his stance again.

  “Is that all you have?”

  “No,” Alecto said, walking toward him.

  “That was the first truth. The second is heavier.”

  She circled him slowly, her voice like oil over embers.

  “You protect him. You fight for him. But at what cost, Beastbreaker?”

  “Do you even know what he is?”

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  Darius didn't answer. He held his stance, teeth grit against the rising haze in his head.

  “A child of Olympus. An heir of Hades. The bloodline you swore to crush beneath your heel.”

  She leaned closer, serpents flicking near his feet.

  “So tell me—what happens when the monster you swore to kill looks like a boy worth saving?”

  Darius’s breath caught.

  What if she was right? What if the boy was Olympus’ seed buried in mortal soil? And what does that make me? A blade protecting divine rot?

  The battlefield faded—but something else rose.

  A memory.

  Screams. Fire. A god descending through golden clouds, face wreathed in calm cruelty.

  Darius stood in a village that no longer existed, knees soaked in ash and blood. People he knew—his cousins, the girl who once gave him bread, his old mentor— all twisted and burning under divine wrath.

  He had sworn that day:

  Never again. Never another child offered to the gods.

  The vision blinked out. But the ache stayed. The weight returned.

  Alecto was watching.

  She stopped walking.

  “Step aside, Beastbreaker. Leave the child. You were never the target — only the shield.”

  Darius didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not because of fear — but because he’d rather die than abandon what little faith he still had.

  His knees trembled. Just once. But enough for Alecto to see it—and smile.

  Alecto tilted her head.

  “You remember, don’t you?” she said, almost softly. “This isn’t the first time Olympus has asked you to kneel.”

  She stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

  “Even your strength bends beneath fate. That’s all the gods ever wanted—from any of you.”

  Darius took one breath. One final breath to burn away the haze.

  He looked toward Hiro—shaking, silent, small—and something softened in his jaw.

  “Don’t listen to what the gods say you are,” he muttered, barely loud enough for Hiro to hear.

  “You’re not born to be their pawn. You’re born to choose.”

  Then he roared and charged.

  The crowd gasped—this time not in fear, but hope. The Beastbreaker wasn’t finished yet.

  He struck with everything: a hammering blow that cracked the air, cracked the Den. His fist lit with molten aura, and he drove it straight into Alecto’s midsection.

  It landed.

  Her body twisted. Her feet skidded back. Smoke curled from the folds of her robe.

  Darius didn’t stop.

  He stepped in again, unleashing a barrage—fists, elbows, knees. He struck like a godkiller, like a storm finally set free.

  “This is for them,” he snarled. “All of them.”

  And then— For the briefest moment, the crowd believed.

  Alecto’s head turned slowly, even with his fist still pressed to her jaw. Her smile was still there.

  “Finished?”

  Her robe split down the back.

  A serpent—not summoned, not conjured, but grown from her spine—unfurled behind her. Huge. White-eyed. Silent. Divine.

  It coiled around Darius mid-strike, catching him in the air like a hand snatching a spark.

  He thrashed. Aura flared.

  The serpent constricted.

  “You were never the threat,” she whispered. “You were the delay.”

  She raised one hand, and the serpent slammed him into the ground.

  Once.

  Twice.

  A third time—until the earth cratered, and the walls trembled.

  Then she released him.

  Darius lay still.

  He breathed—but only barely.

  A warrior in the stands rose—only to sink to one knee.

  Someone shouted Darius’s name, hoarse and broken.

  Homiros dropped his scroll. The parchment hit stone like a verdict.

  They watched the strongest man in the Den become prey.

  The serpent vanished into smoke.

  The Den was silent again.

  Hiro watched, wide-eyed, as Phinx stirred beside him—wings twitching, fire barely flickering.

  Phinx let out a low, broken cry. Not rage. Not warning.

  It sounded like mourning.

  The crowd heard it — and even the loudest voices fell quiet. It wasn’t the cry of a beast. It was grief.

  His chest rose too fast, too shallow. Darius was down. The king. The shield. The man who stood between gods and children.

  Why did she come for me?

  What did I do?

  He remembered Athena’s voice. Gain recognition. Reach the capital. Let the people see you.

  But none of that had saved Darius. None of that explained the serpent-woman demanding his soul.

  Was it ever about recognition?

  Or was I born as bait?

  His fingers dug into the stone beneath him.

  He stood for me. And I just watched.

  Am I someone’s son… or someone’s weapon?

  Alecto turned her gaze to the boy.

  She stepped down from the broken ring, her bare feet touching the dust with unnatural silence. The cracks in the stone curved around her path like roots recoiling in fear. The blood from her earlier trail hadn’t dried — it followed. Her presence moved like prophecy.

  She tilted her head, watching Hiro like a teacher watches a trembling child. Her hand rose, two fingers outstretched — not in attack, but in invitation.

  "Let me see what you are without the flame."

  “Now,” she said, her voice velvet and final, “Shall we begin with the soul?”

  The Spark that Wouldn’t Die

  Alecto paced the broken ring like a queen surveying her dominion. Each step made the air colder. The blood on the stone curled behind her heels like a shadow that refused to dry.

  Phinx stood between her and Hiro, wings outstretched. He screeched—in warning.

  Alecto smiled, slow and sharp.

  “Still burning? How quaint.”

  She raised a hand. From the broken ring, a pillar of serpents surged forward—massive, writhing, inevitable.

  Phinx flared, summoning a lance of flame. He hurled it—but it wasn’t enough.

  The snakes tore through the fire and slammed into them both, pinning them to the stone.

  “You’ve flailed long enough,” she said. “Let’s end the fiction of your defiance.”

  Phinx rose to fight again, letting out a heavy cry.

  Alecto turned. She flicked her fingers.

  A serpent of flame and smoke burst from her palm, slamming into Phinx mid-air. He crashed to the floor with a screech of pain, skidding to Hiro’s side.

  "I'm gonna burn out your kind for good," she said, voice cool and quiet as poison.

  She summoned a spear of snakes, lifted her hand to finish him.

  He saw Phinx—wings scorched, feathers falling like ash—and something in him refused to let go.

  Something cracked in Hiro’s chest. His heartbeat spiked, fire and lightning surging from deep within—not as control, but a scream.

  They all think I'm some cursed piece on their board.

  Olympus. The Underworld. Even her.

  But I don’t take orders.

  Not from gods. Not from monsters. Not from fate.

  Touch what’s mine—and I’ll tear the world apart to make it right.

  Lightning burst from his shoulders as he broke into motion, tearing free of the last lingering coils. Fire coiled at his fists, and his body became a blur—every strike fast, brutal, instinctual.

  He moved like a storm let off its leash.

  A flaming elbow spun toward her skull.

  A thunder-coated knee aimed for her chest.

  A rising uppercut cracked the air like a war drum.

  The ground shattered beneath each step, each movement drawing shocked gasps from the crowd.

  But Alecto didn’t fall.

  She weaved through his blows—dodging some, absorbing others like they were wind through silk.

  She didn’t dodge — she drifted. A shadow wrapped in blood and venom.

  One punch grazed her cheek.

  She touched the faint line it left, looked at the blood, then smiled.

  But just as he drew back for another strike, Alecto flicked her wrist.

  A tiny serpent—thin as thread and green as bile—shot from her sleeve.

  It sank its fangs into Hiro’s shoulder mid-motion. The bite was small—but it felt like acid threading through his spine.

  A crackle of lightning erupted behind her—wild, unfocused. It streaked into the stone wall beyond the ring, exploding in a shower of sparks.

  The crowd screamed. The bolt had passed too close.

  Panic rippled through the stands—people tried to flee, only to remember the exits had sealed.

  Some pressed against the gates, others dropped to the ground, shielding loved ones.

  The Den, once silent in reverence, now trembled with chaos and helpless terror.

  Hiro staggered, teeth grit, a cold ache rushing through his veins. I have to calm down. His breathing staggered. I'm losing control of my strength.

  His fists clenched tighter, but the power surged anyway—erratic, volatile, slipping past his will like a storm breaking loose.

  You will burn everything, Damaric's voice echoed in his mind. "You'll be the reason she dies!"

  The venom wasn’t just in his blood—it was in his mind.

  The ring twisted, shadows warping. Faces flickered at the edge of his vision—Damaric’s warning, Athena’s scream, the sound of chains.

  Must… focus.

  Hiro stumbled forward, vision blurring, every swing loosing arcs of lightning and fire.

  He wasn’t aiming anymore—he was just trying not to fall.

  Alecto’s smile widened.

  “You can’t even stop an illusion.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Are you really Athena’s child?”

  She extended her hand and snakes rose from the ground, wrapping around his limbs and lifting Hiro into the air.

  She stepped in close, so close he could feel the cold radiating off her skin.

  "Just like your father," she whispered, eyes glowing with contempt. "The greatest mistake the Underworld ever made."

  Hiro gritted his teeth, but his limbs remained bound. The venom coursed through him, slowing every thought, every breath.

  If I go to Hades… what will be left of me?

  Alecto smiled wider, savoring his helplessness.

  "But I have a better idea."

  "Since your father is gone... you will replace him."

  "I’ll take you to Hades myself, and we’ll fix this little problem."

  She traced a glowing finger through the air, forming the faint outline of a gate behind her—its edges flickering like a wound in reality.

  Behind her, the gate began to breathe—slow, pulsing, and hungry.