In This Is How Immortals Die, we met Kayleigh, Carys’ oldest friend and now a Champion of Ares. The last we saw of her, she was storming Briana’s hidden fort while Carys and Ishana ran in the opposite direction.
It’s time to discover where her path of violence took her in this short story!
(It’s recommended, though not required, to read TIHID first. While this short story gives out no major spoilers for the book, those who haven’t read the novel may feel a little lost on the world-building.)
The Pale Bull
“Slay them all! Flood the palace of Ares with the blood of his enemies!”
Roars reverberated from the throats of five hundred Champions chanting the name of the God of War. Half as many shouts surged from the opposite direction as the Grey Eyes tripped over themselves to prepare for a battle they had not been expecting, their clamours more like whining pleas to the snobbish Goddess of Wisdom.
On the front lines, Kayleigh Rhinotorus tore through the eternal darkness with the blood-soaked tip of her spear. The helmet narrowed her sight to the only thing that mattered: the sickening-yellow targets rushing at her army, deceiving themselves with the illusion of victory.
Pathetic, Kayleigh conceived that one last thought before the opposing barricades of shields crashed against each other, shaking the ground under their feet with thunderous waves. Vicious Light exploded around them, but Ares enveloped his Champions’ wrists and heels with the fire that devoured Athena’s cowardly magic.
Kayleigh easily found a gap in her enemies’ clumsy formation and connected her spear with a thigh, popping a hole in the Army’s defence that was then enlarged by her comrades before it could be closed. Grey Eyes dropped like rotten olives, and Champions fell atop them, burying their blades deep into the enemy’s weak hearts. Kayleigh impaled two at once, spilling a sea of entrails when she yanked her spear back out. An urge to laugh almost overcame her: the God of War himself must be admiring her work.
Another boulder barrelled above the trees, smashing against the fortress. If Carys had been in there, Kayleigh hoped she had left by now. For she had no time to worry about her old friend. Carys had already played her part, giving the Legion of Ares the chance to catch the Army of Athena off-guard in their little hiding hole. Glory was at hand, and Kayleigh would not let this long-awaited opportunity slip, not even for the woman she had once considered a sister.
A xiphos came at her from below, treacherous like a snake. Kayleigh sidestepped it and whacked the Grey Eye with the hardwood of the shaft. Before he fell, she grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head against the nearest wood until she was forced to abandon him to kill another of his sorry companions. She had accomplished her goal, though: the red stain on the bark glowed orange and sizzled as the divine fire of Ares consumed the tree from within.
Other Champions were doing the same. Flames snaked along the grass, spreading from tree to tree. Grey Eyes and even some Champions—bloody cowards—called a truce to stop the flames, but not Kayleigh. She bashed a skull in with her shield, stabbed a woman’s nape, then cast her spear at a man’s nipple. Not one to stay behind, her xiphos continued to sing praises for the God of War.
Blood. That was all she saw. All she smelled. All she thought about.
And it was glorious.
***
That first encounter was a massacre. The princess they so proudly titled Queen of the Rising Sun was dead, killed by “a flaming Priestess and a rabid moon-touched girl.” A shame her servants whisked her body away before Kayleigh could find it. Lord Ares would’ve appreciated a royal offering to round off the day’s crushing victory.
Athena ensured her warriors were ready for the following battles. Good. Otherwise, it would’ve been no fun.
The next weeks merged into one unending day. Kayleigh broke countless weapons, always finding new ones to continue her devotion. Corpses and skeletons grew like crops out of the Tiara’s soil. Deimos and Phobos hovered on her shoulders, afflicting her enemies with fear and hopelessness, but never her or her legion. Nike’s wings of victory propelled her forward as she tore through horde after horde of Grey Eyes. The more she killed, the more blood she spilt, the more powerful she became; a vessel for the devastating ire of the God of War.
More than any other armour piece, the bull helmet became a part of her. Meals often happened so quickly and in small portions that the mouth hole provided enough space. She took off her cuirass to repair dents and scratches, once having to switch for an entirely new piece after a hammer nearly merged her armour with her chest, but even then, the helmet remained firmly in her head. Removing the protection to sleep would be foolish when the enemy could strike at any hour. (And they indeed struck once while Eos slept. She decorated her camp with their charred carcasses to discourage further attempts.)
After… she lost count of the battles, but it got to a point where she had so much blood encrusted on her that the stench of death became irksome rather than a badge of honour—Ares was a monument to war and strength, after all, not the crow of death—, so she had to wash. When she finally took the helmet out and looked at herself in one of the last lakes in the region that wasn’t polluted with bodies, she was surprised to find crimson spots across her face, as if the blood she spilt was becoming a part of her albino skin. Her purple eyes were black, like the despair she had inflicted on Briana’s forces. After being confined for so long, her beige hair was stiff and brittle, and a tuft fell when Kayleigh touched it.
A pang like a hot iron pressing against her heart made her double over. She clasped at her chest, bunching her shirt into her fist. Images, sharp as broken glass, cut through her memories: running through the forest with Carys, playing together in the River Gwerthwr, drinking mugs after mugs of apple juice on a hot day, laughing around the bonfire at one story more absurd than the other. Seeing Carys again must have awakened those visions, but they were not real, not anymore. They belonged to a life Kayleigh had buried.
She was no longer a foolish little girl dreaming about the heavens. She was an indomitable, ruthless warrior. A proud Champion of Ares who shaped her own destiny, the Moirai be damned. Putting the bull helmet back on, she locked the memories back in the prison where they belonged. Weakness had no place in her new life.
***
“The Pale Bull graces us with her presence!” Esus bellowed, arousing a ruckus around the campfire.
“Shut your hole and pour me some ale!” Kayleigh answered in the same tone, and her comrades guffawed in that loud, throaty laugh that only warriors of Ares could.
“Getting famous and bossy, huh?”
“Remind me again whose leadership is showering us with laurels?”
“Laurels?” Esus snickered. “More like showering us with entrails.”
“And I’d have it no other way,” Laine said to howling cheers.
Kayleigh plunked down on a fallen trunk, gobbling down a fat, bloodied piece of ox.
“Go on, lochagos.” Laine bumped Kayleigh’s knee with her own. “Entertain us.”
A dozen Champions gathered around her, eager for tales of violence and triumph. Kayleigh did not hide her grin. Why should she? For every head she severed and every heart she squashed in her very hands, Fame added another note to the ballad of her name. Its melody echoed in the mouths of her allies, and even louder in the mouths of her enemies. The Pale Bull. Raging through the battlefield with more than horns, a terrible fire in her eyes, her bones of solid bronze, liquid steel flowing through her veins.
Blood watered the seed of her ascension, and all around her, her soldiers applauded, called her name. Greatness belonged to her, Kayleigh knew that. But even she was surprised when a Messenger of Hermes approached her camp one morning to deliver her a letter.
Every blade was aimed at the Messenger.
“I have no family. No friends. That tells me my enemies must’ve sent you,” Kayleigh said, her spear inches away from the boy’s throat. But contrary to every foe she faced these days, he simply smiled. He probably knew they wouldn’t risk angering Hermes, but still. There was so much suffering one could endure without dying.
“That, lochagos, might be about to change.” He waved the envelope, and she caught sight of Ares’ emblem: the bull helmet with its deadly curved horns, flames dancing in the eye holes, and the red-and-black vulture wings spreading behind it.
Nodding for her soldiers to keep their weapons trained on the Messenger, Kayleigh snatched the letter from his hand, broke the seal, and unfurled the rich parchment. She froze as her eyes darted across the page; one, two, three times.
“What’s it, lochagos?” Laine asked.
“Cilissa Brotoloegus.”
“Who?”
Kayleigh glared at the ignorant woman. “One of the most prestigious Generals of Ares in the world, something you’ll never get even close to.” She glanced back at the parchment to make sure the words hadn’t disappeared. “And she invited me to Ellada.”
“Ellada?” Esus grunted. “What about our war?”
“The Grey Eyes are crawling through mud. Just keep killing them until they surrender, then finish off the rest.”
Without her leadership, it was conceivable that her Champions would screw everything. But she didn’t care. Soon enough, she would be at the head of a much greater army. Her feats would echo into the skies. The Gods would learn her name, respect it, perhaps even fear it. And then she would leave this forsaken world to dine at Olympus.
“Isn’t that strange, though?” Laine interrupted her train of thought once more.
“What is strange?”
“How did they find out about you, all the way up here?”
A good question. Not that Kayleigh would admit it. “Lord Ares appreciates the good work of his servants. Will you put his wisdom into question, too, soldier?” Laine clamped her mouth shut. “Didn’t think so.” As her last command, Kayleigh ordered her soldiers to stand down. She stepped towards the Messenger and gripped his shoulder. “Take me to Cilissa.”
***
The Messenger met with a Diplomat named Gregorios, and together, the two servants of Hermes escorted Kayleigh to the nearest port. On the way, Grey Eyes and Briana’s soldiers glowered at her, furious but unwilling to violate her temporary immunity. There was a reason so few leaders and armies had ever dared to insult the Messenger of the Gods: for all the docility of his servants, the plagues of Hermes had razed entire governments and armies to the ground.
A ship with billowing blue sails towered over every merchant vessel stranded at the port. The captain, an excitable Merwoman named Kallias, bowed to the “celebrated Pale Bull” as the ramp lowered for the group. It’s not a warship, Kayleigh thought, glancing up at the lofty masts and enamelled hull with a small but distinct disgust. But it’s good enough for now.
Merchants glared at the ship as it left the port untroubled. They would rot in there until the war ended. But with a Diplomat aboard, the Wave Tamer could go anywhere, and so it sailed towards Ellada. Towards greatness, Kayleigh thought as in a prayer.
She leaned over the bow. Lifted her chin to the wind and inhaled deeply. The aroma of battle stayed behind, replaced by salt and moisture. Once upon a time, Kayleigh had doubted she would ever leave the farm where she was born. She had not wanted to leave. Her parents, the apple orchard, Carys as the sister she never had… it had all seemed so perfect.
A lie. Her family, Carys’ family, they had all submitted to their cowardice, became slaves to their weakness, letting the world burn around them while they made apple cider. How could she have not seen how futile and false their perfect little world was? It took Carys dying for her to open her eyes.
Kayleigh pressed her fingers into the hull. Deeper, deeper, her bones crying out for mercy…
Gentle, metallic notes pulled her back into the present. She turned her back to the sea to watch a Prodigy of Apollo strumming her lyre. The Diplomat swayed his head to the rhythm, and Kallias tapped her foot. Kayleigh propped her elbows against the hull, letting the melody swirl around her, envelop her. Drown out the thoughts which did not belong to her anymore.
The journey was calm; too calm for her liking. After weeks of battle, she craved action, and so she sparred with the crew, fucked the captain, shouted in the Prodigy’s ears until she conceded to write a war song in Ares’ glory, and was delighted when a storm put the ship’s name to the test.
Three long weeks later, a warm, sandy breeze blew through the ship as it sailed across the Aegean Sea. Kayleigh turned her palms up, feeling the sun’s tender touch as it faintly shone through the purple crust of Aphrodite’s vengeance. Islands of various sizes emerged out of the ocean, the rooftops of their large temples visible even from a distance.
Gregorios came to stand by her side. “Are you holding on tight?”
“Why? I doubt there’s a storm coming.” She had never seen a clearer sky. Aphrodite’s stars drew such a sharp outline of her divine face that it stung her eyes to look at them.
“This is your first time in Ellada, is it not? It is quite a stunning sight.”
“Who do you think I am, some impressionable farm girl?”
He grinned, but left without another word.
Peiraieús faded into view, its port swarming with merchant ships from the surrounding islands and beyond. Sailors haggled over their fishing nets, merchants and buyers of every sort crowded the agora beyond, Swords of Justice patrolled the streets, a Seed of Demeter preached about whatever atop a stage made of plants, gulls dashed and squeaked about. In short, a normal port city. What should be so stunning about it? Truly, Kayleigh expected more. A line of divine statues formed an arc over the city’s entrance. She hadn’t seen one such arrangement before, and the statues were clearly made by a skilled hand, but that was all. Even the order of the Olympians was predictable: Aphrodite at the centre followed on her right by Ares, Hera…
Kayleigh’s jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of the creature trotting among the sculptures. “Is that a Satyr?” she asked no one in particular, but of course, Gregorios was by her side in the blink of an eye.
“Wonderful creatures! A bit too tactile, but once you establish boundaries, they make for excellent company.”
It wasn’t just the Satyr, though. One of the flying creatures Kayleigh had assumed a gull was, in fact, a Harpy. And another there, and there. She knew magical beings existed, of course, but she had never seen one. Sightings were extremely rare in Haillikós, and most alleged encounters were discarded as delusions. Carys’ mamau had loved to talk about their “Gryphon friend,” one of the most absurd tall tales shared around the family’s bonfire—and that was saying something. Stymphalian birds, Keres, and Eurynomos were supposedly common appearances during wars, but despite the carnage Kayleigh had wrought, none of those beasts and demons had ever visited her battlefields as far as she knew. Here, on the shores of the ocean that birthed the Supreme Goddess, they walked and flew among people as if it were the most common thing in the world.
“Do be careful with the Arae.” Gregorios pointed at a haggard woman with ashen, scruffy hair falling over her face, covering what Kayleigh knew would be a terrifying sight. She was hunched down near an alley, not moving, not breathing, yet her presence alone sent shivers up Kayleigh’s spine. “They won’t bother you, but if you bother them… well, they are not in this world to make friends.”
No, they are not. Cursed spirits summoned by the dead whose only purpose was to haunt the killer. Kayleigh had nearly invoked one against the woman who caused her first death: a drunken fool, but one who knew how to employ her fists much better than Kayleigh, whose rage had yet to be shaped into a weapon by Lord Ares. At the last second, however, she stopped herself. Sending a demon against her enemy would have been a dishonourable move. No, she did better. She trained day and night, night and day, and when she was ready, she took revenge into her own hands. Far more satisfying.
Wave Tamer eased into the dock. While Gregorios praised the impeccable work of the crew with his flowery turns of phrase, Kayleigh climbed down the ship with a note of perfume under the stink of salt and fish and an undeniable glint of awe in her eyes.
***
Since her chiton had already seen countless battles and got in an even poorer state after the last weeks of conflict, Kayleigh bought a new one. Linen this time instead of wool. More suitable for Ellada’s weather.
Meanwhile, Gregorios hired a carriage. After one last glance at a Satyr sashaying nearby, Kayleigh climbed into the vehicle and closed the door with a little more force than necessary.
“So, how are you liking my homeland so far?”
She shrugged. “It’s beautiful, sure. But I’m not here for the beauty.”
“No, of course not. You are here for blood.” Gregorios grinned. “And you have come to the right place.”
Have I? Kayleigh wondered as she looked out the window at white-washed houses and tents adorned with roses, violets, lotus, poppies, a myrtle tree every twenty steps, coloured and perfumed candles at the foot of statues. Peiraieús flaunted the delicate charm of a blushing maiden, and for a split second, it nearly fooled her.
But the flowers, the candles, the ever-present perfume, it was all for Aphrodite. Her presence in Ellada was far more intoxicating, far more pervasive than anywhere Kayleigh had visited. Lord Ares taught their disciples that strength was the only attribute that deserved respect. Aphrodite conquered the world; reshaped the laws of the universe to fit her desires. Her title of Supreme Goddess was not because of her beauty but because of her strength. Love was the strongest weapon in the world.
Olive trees and vineyards dotted the hilly countryside beyond Peiraieús. Merchants and other travellers accompanied their carriage, and even there, on the battered road connecting the port to Athênai, the worship of Aphrodite remained strong.
Beside the arc at the entrance to the capital, Athena posed with her spear and her shield, proud in her golden armour… but a smaller statue of Aphrodite stood beside her, watching the Goddess of Wisdom like a hawk.
“Kayleigh!” someone squealed as soon as she stepped out of the carriage. “You’re finally here!”
She frowned at a woman around her physical age—thirty-two—, with dazzling blonde hair and the large eyes of an abandoned puppy. “Should I know you?”
“Not yet. But we’ll soon be sisters!” The woman extended her arm, and Kayleigh dumbly gripped it as she stared at Ares’ emblem on the other’s chest.
“Are you… a Champion?”
Her stupid question—for surely no one would be foolish enough to wear Ares’ symbol without his permission—was met with a laugh. “Isn’t that amazing?”
“You are the… happiest Champion I’ve ever met.”
The woman’s laughter boomed, and Kayleigh controlled her urge to throttle her. “They said you were all serious, but you’re the funniest person I’ve met in a long time! My name’s Ariadne, and I’ll be your guide!” She winked. Kayleigh groaned internally, hoping her idea of a joke didn’t include a labyrinth.
“Well, my mission here is complete,” Gregorios said. “I expect to see you around!”
Oh, you will.
The smile was swept off her face when Ariadne seized her hand and dragged her along the street. “Are we going to Cilissa?”
“You’ll meet her soon enough. For now, you’re mine!”
To her credit, she showed Kayleigh to a Maenad-owned tavern where they purchased large amphoras of wine. The sweet drink wasn’t among her favourites, but the taste was undeniably appetising, especially after three weeks on a ship, with the salt of the ocean still on her tongue.
While they drank, Ariadne led Kayleigh on a tour through the city’s winding streets. Aphrodite’s Petals danced and leered at the passers-by; one curled a finger, beckoning Kayleigh. She had passed by four brothels before the tavern, two more after it.
“You can’t say you’ve visited Ellada until you felt a touch of Aphrodite’s delights!” Ariadne beamed.
“I’ll pass.” Kayleigh was not against it, and she would be lying if she said the idea wasn’t tempting. But despite their title, the Petals were not always graceful and delicate, and their perfume often disguised toxins. To put herself in the hands of Aphrodite’s disciples, so close to the Goddess’ home, seemed reckless.
“In that case, perhaps later I could introduce you to more private places.”
Kayleigh crossed her arms. “Are you trying to seduce me, soldier?”
“Is it working?”
To her surprise, yes. “I’ll consider your proposal.” Ariadne giggled, and that might’ve been the wine speaking, but the sound wasn’t as annoying as Kayleigh had initially thought.
Priestesses abounded, and while the sight of them didn’t disturb Kayleigh since she had nothing to hide, their behaviour bothered her. Until she figured out why. In Haillikós, a hood usually covered their faces, and when it didn’t, they showed sombre, murderous expressions that made hearts, even innocent ones, skip a beat. Here, they strode among commoners, dressed in purple peplos or chitons, their arms bare, their eyes soft, petals in their hair, and only a dagger or a short sword at their belt. Some still shrunk in fear, but most expressed a nobler sentiment: reverence. Ellinikós Priestesses exuded power with their every breath, their every step, and they had no need for the theatrics of their Hailliken brethren.
This will be my new home, Kayleigh thought, excited to meet her fellow soldiers. Other than Ariadne, that was. Admittedly, she enjoyed the company of the strange Champion, but unless the woman was hiding an indomitable warrior beneath all her smiles and flowery gestures, which was extremely unlikely, Kayleigh would never in her right mind give Ariadne an important position in her army. An archer, or more likely, a fire mage who stays well behind the warrior lines.
Going around a temple for Hephaestus, they turned a corner into the agora. Kayleigh stared, wide-eyed, at the spectacle of two Champions duelling at the feet of the tallest, most magnificent Aphrodite statue in the entire world. Many stories had travelled from Ellada about the marvellous monument built for the Goddess of Love; the very first built after the Vengeance. None did it justice. Aphrodite was a giant clad in full armour, gripping the hilt of a colossal sword with hands covered in iron, a cyclopean bow on her back. Her lush red hair fell off her shoulders like lava, and her stern expression was matched by eyes that held a compassion earned by few. If Kayleigh had to describe the statue with one word, it would be glorious.
“It has already started!” Ariadne squealed.
Kayleigh cocked her head. “What has started?”
“Don’t you know what day is today? The first moon of Phobos!” Endless battles followed by three weeks at sea had truly scrambled her sense of time. “Our oracle told us you’d arrive today, and Cilissa thought this would be the perfect moment for us to meet you.”
The first moon of the month of Phobos celebrated Ares and Aphrodite’s twins, Phobos and Deimos, Fear and Terror. Per tradition, the siblings were honoured with duels between Champions and ritualistic killing and dismemberment of victims to build effigies in their names. Kayleigh had never cared much about the latter, but a chance to show off her skills in combat to one of Ares’ most acclaimed soldiers?
“Perfect, indeed.”
As she marched into the agora, she inspected the large audience. Citizens divided the space with Eagles of Zeus, Guardians of Hera, Seeds of Demeter, Maenads of Dionysus, freaking Grey Eyes, Priestesses of Aphrodite, and as expected, a large group of Champions of Ares clad in black, red, and gold. It was the first time she saw so many Pantheonic Warriors gathered in peace. No sign of Cilissa, though.
“That’s her.” Ariadne laughed when Kayleigh told her about the description of the “brawny, red-headed fortress of a woman” she had heard. “She should already be here. Maybe something held her back. Not uncommon, especially on such days.”
Kayleigh’s future siblings-in-arms saluted her. Strangers they may be, but they recognised her strength, and she theirs. Soon, she would fight alongside them. And then she would command them.
A loud ring echoed in the agora as the spears of the Champions ricocheted against each other. Kayleigh measured their movements, studied their combat, and placed her bet.
“Why did you come to Ellada?” Ariadne asked.
Kayleigh eyed her from the corner of her eye. “Are you playing games with me?”
“So suspicious, sister!” Ariadne laughed. “I mean, why did you accept Cilissa’s invitation? And don’t tell me it was because you had to. You’re not one to follow orders just because you should, I can tell that much.”
Kayleigh went for another gulp, but her amphora had finally dried. “Because my destiny lies here,” she answered. Ariadne stared at her, waiting for more. Looking up, Kayleigh discerned the rough outline of the Acropolis with its immense temple for Aphrodite towering above the other temples. According to legends, many warriors had climbed that hill to have audiences with their Gods. To receive gifts beyond human comprehension. Seeing no reason to lie, she obliged the girl’s curiosity. “What better place to prove my devotion than in my God’s homeland? Lord Ares will see my worth, no matter how many of his enemies I must slay, how many mountains I must destroy, how many seas I must paint red.”
“You dream of becoming a hero, then?”
Kayleigh clenched her fists, ready to defend her honour… but then she realised Ariadne wasn’t mocking her. Behind the girl’s curiosity, a glint of admiration sparked in her big eyes. “Dreams are for those who lack the will to seize their fate. I’m no dreamer. I’m a warrior.”
In the back of her mind, she remembered Laine’s question about how the Legion had found her all the way in Haillikós. “You mentioned an Oracle. Was that how Cilissa found me? Did they say why I was needed here?”
“Oh, yes! The Oracle had never sent us to retrieve someone from so far away, so I knew you were special. As for your other question”—Ariadne shrugged—“If the general knows anything, she didn’t share it with the rest of us.”
In the improvised arena, one soldier—the one Kayleigh had bet on—gutted the other, then strangled him with his own entrails, chanting to Deimos and Phobos until the adversary stopped squirming. The gathered Champions erupted in roars as the winning soldier raised his blood-soaked hands into the air.
Let’s show them how it’s done. Kayleigh took a step forward. The winner saw her movement, and as she planned, pointed his spear at her. “Your name?”
“Kayleigh Rhinotorus,” she answered, already putting her helmet on.
“Flesh-Piercing,” he translated, grinning under the helmet. “We’ll see about that. Iason Stra’tius challenges you for a duel to the death.”
Warlike. How unoriginal. Kayleigh put her shield down—shields made for too-long duels, and shedding the protection was symbolic of embracing fear—and entered the circle marked for the duels. “Give me your worst.”
Cheers signalled the start of the match. Iason thrust his spear, an attack Kayleigh easily dodged. He’s testing me. They circled each other, eyes darting, seeking a gap.
Kayleigh went for his left thigh but changed the trajectory to a vertical slash aimed at the unprotected flesh on his right arm. Iason didn’t fall for the trick. Her spear met the end of his, stunning her for a long enough moment for him to ram his elbow against her chest.
Instead of fighting for her balance, Kayleigh let herself tumble back and used the momentum to flail her spear. Iason had to interrupt himself in the middle of what would’ve been a lethal strike to jump away from the wild blade, narrowly avoiding it. The jeer of the audience painted his face red.
“So eager,” Kayleigh mocked, having successfully put her theory to the test. “You haven’t fought in many battles, have you, brother?”
“My blade has shed a demigod’s blood. Can you say the same?”
Around them, the Champions jibed and cheered, the noise only growing louder as the spears clanked and thudded against each other. Iason was strong, each of their traded blows making Kayleigh’s arms tremble. But while she had not (yet) slain a demigod, she had slain hundreds of soldiers in the name of Ares, and each kill sharpened her awareness as well as her violence. Iason relied on his muscles, seeking to unbalance her and follow through with a brutal finisher, just like he had done with his previous opponent. Once she understood her enemy, it was easy to finish them off.
She let their spears clash a few more times before dodging an attack and going for his ankle. He jumped away and shoved the blade’s tip at her. When she evaded once more, he gripped the shaft’s end and spun the weapon around with enough force to shatter her skull. Kayleigh stepped back, pretending to stagger in a desperate escape. Confidence bloomed in Iason’s smile. He gripped his weapon with both hands and came at her, prepared to spill her entrails onto the floor as well.
Kayleigh waited until the last second before ducking under his spear and shoving her blade through his armpit.
Roars of approval drowned out his screams, and amidst the noise, she heard Ariadne’s high-pitched scream. Kayleigh found the girl in the audience and grinned at her as she kicked Iason down, trapping him against Aphrodite’s legs. She raised her foot to bash his head in and give her fellow Champions a true spectacle… when an explosion shook the city, throwing her to the ground and silencing the agora.
Giant black flames erupted near the hill of the Acropolis, the fire screaming like a thousand condemned souls. People fell over each other in their desperation to flee. Half a dozen Champions sprinted toward the fire, but to Kayleigh’s horror, the rest joined the terrified crowd running in the opposite direction.
“No, no, no, no…” Ariadne repeated, every ounce of joy drained from her face.
“What’s that?” Kayleigh grabbed her arms, shaking her. “Ariadne, focus! What is that?”
She blinked at Kayleigh as if momentarily forgetting who she was. Fat tears streamed down her cheeks. “S-Soul Eater.”
Another explosion released dark fumes into the air, obscuring the bright Constellation of Vengeance. Kayleigh equipped her spear and shield.
“You can’t go!” Ariadne screamed. “You can’t fight her! No one can!”
Kayleigh yanked her arm away, and the girl tumbled to the ground. “You dare tell me I can’t fight? You are pathetic and weak. Everything that I am not.”
She tightened the helmet around her head, deafening herself to the cries of the cowards.
Heat and smoke intensified as she approached the explosion site. Kayleigh invoked the flames of the God of War, wrestling against the elements that seemed to physically push her away. It didn’t take her long to reach the ruins of a magnificent library, its columns crumbling like the mutilated limbs of a Giant. Among them, she found the broken statue of a serpent so massive and nasty it could only be Python. A temple to Apollo.
All around, there were fallen warriors covered in dust, their armour and skin turned black by the unnatural fire. Kayleigh was no stranger to death, but those corpses were nothing like she had ever seen. Their flesh was dry and wizened like the bark of an old, sick tree, and chunks of it had… not melted, for there was no fat beneath the grievous holes, but dissolved. Black, hollowed eyes sat atop slack-jawed faces, as if the last thing they saw had been their worst fears.
What power could have done this? The Legion taught its Champions how to deal with every divine magic: light, fire, thunder, water, plant, blood. But it had never shown or even alluded to the existence of… this. Not that it mattered. A soldier’s wits for improvisation should be as sharp as their blades.
Among the corpses, Kayleigh spotted the missing Cilissa. In that state, her armour fused into her flesh and her hair burned to piles of dust, she didn’t look much more than a rotten apple.
Kayleigh smiled. Once she killed the Soul-Eater, once she succeeded where the great Cilissa failed, the Legion would have no choice but to make her a general. General Kayleigh Rhinotorus! It had a wonderful ring to it. Depending on how much this Soul-Eater character had enraged the Gods, it might as well be the first stepping stone in her path to Olympus.
A figure emerged from the flames, her long, orange dress trailing behind her without even a spark in it. A cloud of red curls crowned her head, standing out against her dark skin and the dark surroundings. She held an object, studying it with care. Kayleigh squinted. Is that a mask?
“I didn’t expect a grand battle on my first day in this country, but I’m not complaining.”
The Soul Eater spoke without lifting her eyes off the object. “Go away, girl. My fight is not with you.”
Girl? Rage inflamed Kayleigh’s blood, and she let it flow through her veins, empowering her. “You are the Soul Eater everyone is so afraid of? I expected more than a feeble old woman.”
The woman retorted her provocation with a smile. She wasn’t physically old, not truly, but there was something… ancient about her. Her voice, Kayleigh realised. Its echoing depth shouldn’t belong to any living creature. “It’s curious what fear does to people, wouldn’t you agree? Many must flee at the sight of your horns. And you enjoy the power it gives you, don’t you? I do as well. With me, everyone either ignored or scorned Anastasia. Now, at the mere suggestion of the Soul-Eater, they crumble to nothing but shadows of their former selves, hollowed out of courage, of strength. Of will.”
Kayleigh struck the base of her spear against the smouldering floor. “You’ll find that my will cannot be broken. I feel no terror. You chose the wrong night to make your attack. For today, Deimos and Phobos are my closest companions.”
For a split second, the Soul-Eater’s eyes went dark as the abyss. “The Gods are not on our side, girl. They never were and never will be.”
Kayleigh dropped her shield and gripped her spear with both hands, channelling her fury into the weapon until it became an extension of her arm, the tip as sharp as a dragon’s tooth. Her eyes burned when she shouted, “For Ares!”
Unimpressed, the Soul Eater remained still as Kayleigh charged, spear aimed directly at her heart. Beneath the helmet, Kayleigh grinned at the prospect of an easy kill. The sharp point got to a centimetre of the Soul Eater’s chest… and stopped.
Dumbfounded, Kayleigh stared at the Soul Eater’s hand on her spear. She pushed and yanked, but couldn’t get the weapon into her chest or away from her. The Soul Eater simply held the spear without breaking a single drop of sweat.
Kayleigh locked eyes with the Soul-Eater, and her fire flickered. Her legs shook under her, and without control of her body, Kayleigh descended lower and lower until her knees were on the floor, the rest of her body frozen as if captured by Medusa’s gaze. She cursed the Soul Eater, begged for Ares’ intervention… but deep down, she knew there was no escaping this.
“You may kill me now,” she said through gritted teeth, refusing to give in to the shame and despair worming its way through her. “But you won’t escape forever. Once I revive, I will hunt you from here to eternity if I must. You’ll know no peace!”
“Revive?” The Soul Eater smiled, a mirthless motion of the lips that was the most terrifying sight Kayleigh had ever seen. Because then her epithet made perfect sense. But it couldn’t be possible, it couldn’t. By Aphrodite’s decree, they were immortal! “Where I will send you, there is no Aphrodite. No Nyx. There is only Chaos. And It has no Love to give.”
Her eyes swelled with darkness, purple dots swimming inside them like stars in the cosmos. Kayleigh knew death, and that was not it. Her life was not going out of her. Emptiness seeped through her eyes, her mouth, her ears, hollowing out her insides. Her blood dissolved into mist, and she felt light and inconsequential as a feather with nothing to anchor her to the world. Agony crushed her as her soul shrunk under the weight of the void, but she could not scream, for she had no voice.
An image of the world going up in dark flames sprung to her mind. And that was her last thought before Anastasia swallowed what remained of her soul.
***
Thank you for reading – I hope you enjoyed Kayleigh’s journey (as tragic as it may be!) as well as this first peek into Ellada and Anastasia, both of which will play a big role in Book 4! 😉
Nicole Hidalgo 