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Chapter - 2: Red Blood
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Achilles ran a finger under his nose, calmly wiping away the blood, as if he hadn't just taken a headbutt that would have floored any other mortal.
But he was anything but an ordinary man. He was one of the greatest warriors Greece had ever known, a legendary hero whose body had once been invulnerable to any weapon.
Luckily for me, after his death and entrance into the Elysian Fields, he had lost that invulnerability. Otherwise, I seriously doubt I would have even had a chance against him.
I watched him closely, ready for anything, while he studied me with an expression halfway between surprise and appreciation, holding back a clear smile that could be seen on his lips.
"Now this is more like it," he said with a tone that mixed amusement and challenge, as a spark of pride flashed in his eyes. "That's what I like to see, Zagreus." He stepped toward me with firm strides, never taking his eyes off mine.
"Well, I can't exactly let you down after all the time you've spent training me," I replied without hesitation, moving with the same determination.
We stared each other down, our eyes searching like two challengers ready for anything. In the meantime, we both took our fighting stances, and our knuckles brushed for a moment—a contact charged with tension and respect.
"I am Achilles, son of the Hero Peleus," he declared with a steady voice, and in that moment, I could feel his fighting spirit blaze like a rising flame.
"And I am Zagreus, son of the God Hades," I replied with equal confidence, drawing on every fragment of my fighting spirit, just as he had taught me.
"Let it be a fair fight," we said in unison, our voices entwined as if the battle had already begun.
His eyes, locked onto mine, gleamed with determination.
My gaze didn't waver.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the silence as heavy as steel. Then, without another word, we hurled ourselves at each other, as the ground of the training field beneath us cracked from the force of our clash.
The first impact was like the rumble of thunder. Our bodies collided with the violence of two opposing storms, and the air around us vibrated from the force of the blows.
Achilles was the first to strike—a straight punch to the face that would have been enough to snap the neck of any ordinary man. But I was anything but an ordinary man, I was a god, even if my innate flaws seemed to say otherwise on that point.
I ducked at the last second, slipping under his arm and driving my knee into his exposed side.
I felt the blow rattle his ribs, but he didn't make a sound. He turned, his face twisted into a fierce expression, and answered with a punch to the diaphragm that made me stagger backward.
He didn't give me any respite.
He grabbed me by the arm with a grip of steel, yanked me toward him, and drove a knee into my stomach with deadly precision.
The air exploded out of my lungs in a silent gasp, but my mind stayed clear, clinging to the adrenaline. Growling through my teeth, I dug my fingers into his shoulders and pushed him back hard, forcing him to take a few steps.
But he didn't let go: his hands closed around my tunic to keep me close, and he struck me with a violent headbutt that injured my eye.
My red blood started to stream down my face, hot and irritating, but not enough to stop me. There was something ironic about all this: I was the only god who bled like an ordinary mortal.
The blood of the gods—or rather, ichor—is nothing like human blood. It is a divine substance, gold that flows in the veins of the gods in place of blood.
And yet, even that seemed to have been denied to me. I didn't even have time to finish that thought, because the fight certainly gave me no pause.
With a roar, I took the initiative, unleashing a flurry of punches to his ribs—precise and savage—until I heard a dull crack, a sign that at least one rib had given way.
His breathing faltered.
I shoved him violently and hurled him to the ground, but in doing so, he grabbed my legs and dragged me down with him. We rolled in the dust in a tangle of arms and legs, every move a struggle to overpower the other.
With a hoarse cry, Achilles arched his back and, using the explosive power of his legs, flipped me over in a perfect bridge throw, hurling me away as if I were light as air. I flew for several meters before managing to stabilize just enough to land with a roll, then slid across the ground in a dusty skid.
"As expected from someone who could even defeat a god of speed… you got me in the eye," I said with genuine admiration, barely panting as I got back to my feet.
"And you, Zagreus…" growled Achilles in a low, tense voice, "you're really giving me a hell of a fight." His fingers sank into my shoulders, but I anticipated him, pushing him back with all the strength I had. "You really have no mercy for me."
"Once you've reached your opponent, make sure to destroy him. That's the basis of Pankration, isn't it? You told me that yourself." I couldn't help but say with a grin stretching across my face.
"Yeah, I remember… very well!" he shot back with a fierce smile. He charged at me like a bull, shoulder lowered and eyes locked on me. His impact hurled me into a stone column. Pain exploded down my back like a searing whip, but I ignored it.
I had no time to give in. Not against him.
As he tried to grab me, I drove two fingers into his eyes. He screamed, and I took the opportunity to grab his head between my hands and slam it against the stone. Twice. Three times. Four.
Until the blood started to pour in streams.
He struck my jaw with a blind punch, making me lose my balance. He rolled over me and tried to strangle me, his hands tight around my throat.
Coughing, I kneed him in the chest, then kicked him in the face. The sound of his nose breaking was like a small victory. But Achilles, even wounded, was a demon on the battlefield.
He charged me again. This time I stepped to the side and intercepted him with a side kick to the knee, which made his leg buckle with a sinister crack.
He screamed, but didn't fall. He turned, teeth clenched, and struck me with a brutal forearm blow to the jaw. Before I could recover, a harsh shove to my chest made me stumble backward.
He wasted no time: he took advantage of my moment of weakness and overwhelmed me, beginning to pummel me with punches. The first, the second, the third—I lost count.
I tried to raise my arms, but my guard was too weak to stop him. I wanted to back away, to get some distance, but his foot pinned my tunic to the ground. I could feel my blood running down my face, hot and sticky.
Every punch made my skull tremble, and my vision grew blurrier...
I was about to die.
I recognized this sensation all too well — I had felt it many times before, when I tried to escape my father's domain to see the outside world.
Always chased by death, always walking the edge.
Achilles' blow was coming, a perfect trajectory, deadly, the kind only a hero forged through the Aeons could deliver. But in that very instant — a heartbeat, a breath barely drawn — something broke inside me.
A spark.
A sudden understanding.
An invisible thread pulled taut within me. It was as if, for one brief moment, I had come to understand more clearly what my divine domain truly was.
An illusion, perhaps.
Or maybe not.
But it was enough, since I could feel my heart rate rising and the blood coursing through my body beginning to move twice as fast as normal.
My pupils dilated, improving my overall perception of the surroundings. Not only could I sense how my body now pulsed with more energy than before.
Achilles' blow — so perfect just a moment ago — slowed, imperceptibly, as if the world itself had warped around it. And I, with a clarity that did not feel like my own, took advantage of that minuscule opening.
"Here I come, Achilles!" I shouted, throwing a punch with everything I had. In it was everything: my fighting spirit, my determination, the weight of my divine heritage.
My fist struck his abdomen directly, my fingers digging into the flesh and tearing through his stomach. Achilles folded over himself, gasping as blood spilled from his lips.
Then he looked up at me, hinting a tired smile, and in a hoarse voice whispered, "Well done… my student." A moment later, his body began to dissolve, breaking slowly into golden sparks that scattered into the silent air.
I stood still, watching that solemn spectacle, and the only thing that came naturally was to bow my head slightly in a gesture of respect.
I knew it would take time before his body could fully reform in this domain, but he deserved that moment of silent honor.
In that moment, finally, I allowed my tense muscles to relax. A silent sigh escaped me, as relief mixed with exhaustion inside.
He had had the upper hand for almost the entire fight, but I was still standing. And the truth is, for me, even the smallest mistake would have meant death.
I coughed.
I brought a hand to my mouth and felt warm blood slide into my palm. Gritting my teeth, I tried to ignore the pain that wracked my body. My veins felt like they were vibrating, as if each heartbeat was a jolt threatening to bring me down.
But I was alive.
And that was enough.
With one last glance behind me, I began walking in a clear direction. I needed to tend to my wounds — but more than anything, I wanted to speak with someone I hadn't been able to stay close to lately, no matter how much I'd wanted to.
...
I woke up with an unexpectedly pleasant sensation as awareness of my body slowly returned. There was neither cold nor pain, and to my great relief, I saw that my wounds had been healed.
I was immersed in the River Styx, and I could see how it stretched out endlessly. It wasn't just vast: it was boundless. Its immensity defied logic, surpassing the shape it presented to ordinary vision.
It was evident that this river was much more than it appeared to be. It had a consciousness. A life of its own. It was a world that cared for thousands of souls every day, guiding them, swallowing them, welcoming them—or destroying them.
The River Styx wasn't just a river.
It was a Titan.
A divine being. Ancient, powerful, and certainly not one to be disturbed for something trivial.
But luckily, I considered myself an idiot.
I sighed, letting my fingers slowly stretch toward the water. My connection with the underworld reawakened in that moment, like a submerged current rising to the surface.
And the river responded.
A surge of energy rushed through me, as if I had pressed the heart of a sleeping beast. The waters, once calm and silent, stirred in growing turmoil.
I had awakened something.
The water took shape, rising and twisting until it formed a humanoid figure.
And then it lunged at me.
The blow wasn't physical, but spiritual. For a few seconds, I could feel a massive pressure crushing my soul, as if the sky had suddenly collapsed on my shoulders.
"Zagreus… why have you awakened me?" Its voice echoed deep and ancient. I wasn't speaking with just any god: standing before me was one of the primordial entities, born from Chaos itself, older even than the gods of Olympus.
I scratched the back of my head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to have a quick chat. Keep you some company. You know how it is—I haven't died much lately, haven't even tried escaping really—and I thought it was a good time to drop by and say hello."
The waters paused for a moment, as if the entire river was contemplating my response. Then, slowly, the water-humanoid tilted its head, observing me in silence.
There was no anger in its liquid eyes, but no understanding either—if anything, a touch of irritation. "How many times must I repeat myself? No one seeks the company of Styx, Zagreus…"
I swallowed, raising my hands in a peaceful gesture. "Well, yeah." Then I hesitated, realizing the irony in my own words. "Okay… maybe I shouldn't have disturbed you. But I don't like the idea of you being here alone, with no one around. You're important to me."
The river remained still, but I caught a faint tremor in the air, almost imperceptible. A subtle echo, as if it were amused. "Your tongue is insolent, child of the Underworld. But not without courage. Or madness."
I shrugged. "They often go hand in hand, don't they?"
There was a long silence. The water figure stared at me, unmoving, and for a moment, it seemed almost puzzled. As if it hadn't expected that kind of approach from me.
Then, slowly, its aura shifted. The divine pressure that had wrapped around me like an invisible chain began to ease.
It didn't disappear—because a Titan can never truly hide what it is—but it softened, as if bending to the tone of the conversation.
Its form, once jagged and turbulent, smoothed into gentler lines. The waters around it became calmer, and its face, still lacking defined features, now seemed to hint at an expression.
"Zagreus…" Its voice was no longer a thunderclap, but a deep and almost melancholic echo. "You've always been a strange god—that was clear from the moment of your birth."
I lowered my gaze with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of my head. "Eh… I try to improve, but I think this is the best version of myself in the whole universe."
Styx rippled slightly, as if walking on water. "I remember when you used to play on the banks of my domain. You tried to catch souls with your bare hands. Your father was furious, and your mother feared you'd get hurt, despite the many guards who followed you to keep you safe."
"Only because I'd brought them to Cerberus. I thought he wanted some friends to play with!" I admitted with a certain embarrassment, thinking back on those not-so-bright moments.
An undefined sound slipped through the waves. It wasn't a laugh, but it came close. "And now here you are. A prince of the Underworld waking a millennia-old Titan just to have a chat."
I drank a bit of the water, since I had no adverse effects from doing so. "Well, you told me how hard it can be to be the goddess of oaths, so I don't mind spending time with you and listening if you need someone to vent to."
The waters trembled slightly—not from anger, but from something subtler, almost melancholic. "You've always had a heart too human to truly belong to this Pantheon. But perhaps that's what makes your path different from that of the other gods."
"Maybe…" I murmured, lifting my gaze, more serious now. "And you? Aren't you tired of being invoked only when the oaths sworn in your name no longer mean anything?"
"Hmph!" she snapped, raising her hands in a rare show of frustration. "You're absolutely right. It's always the same story. I don't even know why they named me the Goddess of Oaths if no one actually honors them! What am I supposed to do, when I have no real power over them?"
I remained silent, letting her vent. I had a feeling she'd been holding it in for a long time—and maybe that was my fault, too. I hadn't visited her in a while, caught up in my escapes and battles…
When her eyes met mine again, for a moment there was a flicker of embarrassment. But it lasted only a moment: she quickly regained her composure, aware of the dignity she had to maintain.
"You should talk to them directly," I said, my tone calm but firm. "Even if I know it's useless, I'll admit that. But if one day I really manage to reach the surface, I promise I'll try to fix all this. Once and for all."
For a moment, there was only silence. The river flowed slowly, as if it too were reflecting on my words. Then Styx gave the faintest smile and nodded.
"If you truly manage to do that, then I will name you my champion," she said, her voice softer now, almost solemn. "So that my oaths might finally have meaning, since you'll be the one carrying them."
I looked at her, surprised. Not so much by the offer, but by what it meant. In a world where promises were often hollow, and words faded in the echo of divine power.
Styx had just made me an oath. And she did not take oaths lightly. "Then I'll make sure it's worth it," I replied softly, clenching my fist over my heart with respect. "Not just for me, but for you too."
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