I woke up to cold water slapping across my face. Gasping, I sputtered, coughing as the liquid ran down my throat and into my nose. My arms flailed as I tried to push myself upright, only to discover I was laying on uneven rock, half submerged in what had to be a pool of freezing water.
"What—what the hell—?" I spluttered, blinking against the harsh light.
"Ah! Finally awake!" a deep, resonant voice said from above me. I squinted, and there he was: Tartarus, standing over me, holding a basin and looking far too pleased with himself. "Here I was worried you were done for. Nearly fried yourself and half the coast with your… exuberance."
I froze, trying to get my bearings. Tartarus? In the Abyss? Why the hell am I in the Abyss?
"You're in Tartarus," he said before I could ask. His hands hovered over me, checking my shoulders, arms, and legs. "Your body's going to heal fully in a few hours. Muscles, bones, nerves… all of it. Just try not to explode the place while you recover, hmm?"
I blinked. "Heal? What do you mean to heal? I'm alive, sure… barely. But why am I here?"
Tartarus snorted. "To be reminded that godhood is not a toy, and you have no idea what you're doing. What do you do the moment your body can even hold your powers for a second? Go and nuke half of Greece, create a new sea, and nearly burn out every divine domain you control. Brilliant."
I sat up fully, still shivering, hair plastered to my face. "Nuke half the land? What happened to the war?"
"Ended," Tartarus said simply. "Just a couple hours ago." He leaned against the basin, smirking. "And, oh, quite a way it ended. By a horse of all things."
I stared at him. "A… horse? Are you seriously joking?"
"Nope." Tartarus' smirk widened. "Some of those crustaceans had found some wild stallions and had captured one to give Neptune, so bad that as soon as Neptune came walking right behind it and slapped its rear the creature freaked out and kicked him hard in the head. Knocked him flat out. I didn't think it would be physically possible, but there you go. Apparently a god is no match for a particularly determined equine kick."
I blinked. "You're not joking."
"Not a lick." He gestured vaguely toward the air. "Somehow that kick caused Typhon's hold over him to slip. Poseidon freed himself from Neptune's manipulation… only to pass out in a coma immediately. Hilarious, in a 'you might want to rethink your life' sort of way."
I shook my head, leaning back against the basin. "And I… I did all that?"
"Yes." Tartarus' tone was dry, almost bored. "You, and your wild little tantrum of divinity. Congratulations. Half of Greece is now a crater. That's quite a resume entry."
I groaned, clutching my head. "Why am I even here, then?"
Tartarus sighed, shaking his head. "Because clearly, you need retraining. You've no idea how to handle what you're capable of, and you can't go around letting your power go rampant like that. Now spill the details. Everything."
I swallowed, still sore from the explosion. "Well… first, I… surgically had Kampe's bones altered. Replaced my old ones with—well, dragon bones. To increase durability, allow my body to handle more power."
Tartarus tilted his head, as though weighing my words. "Did you train and push your body to the limits to allow them to adapt?"
I froze. "I thought that the bones would just... make me stronger?"
"That explains a lot," he said, nodding slowly. "And explains why your body's been straining lately."
I groaned. "So… I'm basically a ticking time bomb?"
"Precisely." Tartarus set the basin down. "Now get up. We start proper training."
I blinked. "I don't have time! Typhon will—"
"Stop worrying about Olympus for now," he interrupted, snapping his fingers. The next instant, the world around me dissolved into a scorching, endless horizon. Sand, heat, wind—and nowhere to hide. Lava fissures crisscrossed the ground, steam rising in the distance. No water, no shelter, nothing to lean on.
I staggered, shading my eyes. "Where… am I?"
"Welcome," Tartarus said, gesturing expansively with both hands, "to the Dunes of Tartarus. Hot, unforgiving, and designed to remind you what survival means."
I squinted across the expanse. Lava flows glittered like molten gold, jagged rocks jutted up like teeth, and the air shimmered with heat. "All I have to do is… survive?"
"Yes. For a week." He smiled, just enough to make it unsettling. "No powers. No weapons. No assistance. You're completely on your own."
Before I could argue, he pressed sharply on several pressure points along my neck and spine. Pain lanced outward, and I gasped, feeling every bit of my domains vanish. My body, for the first time in centuries, felt human
"Careful," Tartarus warned. "And watch for the—" He vanished mid-sentence, leaving only the echo of his warning behind.
I blinked. "Watch for the… what?"
The ground beneath me groaned. I barely had time to spin before a geyser of dirt and rock erupted behind me. My heart leapt into my throat as I took in the source: a centipede. Not a normal one. Red, armored, segmented like a mountain, legs like tree trunks, eyes glowing like coals. Its body stretched for what seemed like miles, its mandibles snapping.
I swallowed, backing away, hands shaking. "Oh… gods."
Instinct took over. I ran. Feet digging into the sand, lungs burning, heart hammering as the heat of the Dunes pressed against me. Every step felt like wading through fire.
The centipede's legs hit the ground with earthquakes. Its head swiveled unnaturally, sensing me. I knew—knew without seeing—that if I slowed for even a second, it would crush me like the insect I suddenly felt I was.
The sand burned my feet, the heat rising in waves that made the horizon shimmer. Lava cracks hissed, sending up miniature geysers. I skidded around one, narrowly avoiding molten spray. Behind me, the centipede's massive head snapped downward, mandibles churning the earth where I'd been.
I veered left, using the jagged rock formations as cover, feeling the sand quake with every step of that monstrous centipede. My body, though stripped of its domains, was still healing at a pace I didn't expect—albeit slower than normal. Steam rose from my skin as open cuts cauterized themselves, and bruises faded into nothingness. I realized quickly: Tartarus wasn't entirely cruel. Even powerless, I was still a god in body, if not in dominion.
I ducked behind a jagged outcropping of volcanic stone and forced myself to breathe. My mind raced, running through everything I knew about giant arthropods. The creature's size, speed, and segmented body screamed Ōmukade. Blind, yet aware of its surroundings through vibrations and heat. Predatory. Merciless. And—most importantly—its only known weakness was human saliva.
I groaned. "Of course it would be human saliva. Why wouldn't it be human saliva."
I checked myself. No weapons, no abilities, no shadows to aid me. My bident lay miles away in the dunes. My powers were sealed. I was mortal. I would have to fight this creature with my own hands. Fists and cunning.
The first day passed in a blur of running and hiding. I forced myself to conserve energy, staying low behind boulders, timing my movements to avoid the centipede's vibration-sensing legs. Its mandibles chewed the sand where I had just stood, the ground vibrating in warning. I realized quickly that it could sense heat, not just movement. When the sun rose high, I pressed myself against a cool lava fissure, my body steaming as if the desert itself was trying to scald me. I learned to let my shadow melt into the rocks, blending with the environment, becoming part of the desert rather than a target.
By the second day, I had begun mapping the Dunes of Tartarus in my mind. Lava flows, fissures, vents of hot air, jagged stones—each could be a trap, each a potential weapon. I noted the centipede's patterns: blind, yes, but precise. Every vibration I caused was a potential death sentence. Its heat-sensing was sensitive, but not omniscient. If I could mask my heat signature, I could force it to miscalculate.
I found a small cavern near a lava vent and made camp there for two nights. No food, no water, but I didn't care. Survival was no longer about comfort; it was about observation. I dug shallow pits around the vent, noting how the sand shifted when the creature crawled near. The heat of the vent masked my body's signature somewhat, and I realized I could use this knowledge to set traps.
By the fourth day, I had refined my plan. I would bait the centipede into a series of pits I dug along the dunes. Each pit was covered with thin sand, enough to hold for a second, enough to support a human but not a centipede's enormous weight. The idea: collapse the pits beneath it, trap it, and then… beat it to death. If that was what Tartarus wanted me to do, I would obey, damn it.
The days bled into one another, my body beginning to ache in ways I hadn't felt in centuries. Mortality was uncomfortable, painful, slow. Every step burned my feet, the sun seared my back, and the desert winds stripped away moisture until my lips cracked and my tongue was raw. And yet I survived. I survived because I had to, and because retreat was not an option.
By the sixth day, I had learned everything I could from observation. The centipede was blind but intelligent, reactive to vibrations and heat. It could crush boulders with its segments and tunnel through sand faster than any human could run. Its mandibles were deadly, but if I could immobilize it, I could strike. I would have to use every ounce of cunning and every bruise-hardened muscle I had.
The seventh day arrived. I had set my traps, dug my pits, covered them carefully with sand, and marked safe zones for retreat. I crouched behind a jagged black rock, the desert sun beating down on me, arms trembling with exhaustion, but my mind sharp.
The centipede appeared just as the wind shifted, sending a whiff of hot, sulfurous air across the dunes. Its body erupted from the sand in a massive wave, mandibles clacking, red segments stretching as high as a mountain. It roared—or what I assumed was a roar, since sound was relative to something that size—and the ground shivered under my feet.
I rose slowly, fists clenched, jaw tight. "Ready for an actual fight, huh?" I called, voice steady despite the adrenaline pulsing through me. "Let's see what you've got."
Its head tilted, mandibles snapping, sensing the vibrations of my voice and heat signature. Every segment of its body coiled, preparing to strike. I could feel the energy of the desert in my feet, the tension in the air, the anticipation thrumming through every nerve.
For a heartbeat, we just stared at one another—predator against predator, monster against mortal. Its many black eyes glistened like polished stone, studying me with an intelligence I didn't like.
My arms tightened, every muscle coiled like a spring. My heart pounded, but not from fear. Not anymore.
"You don't know who you're messing with," I muttered under my breath, voice low, almost a promise to myself. "I may not have connections to my domains… but I sure can adapt."
It surged forward in a blur of armored segments, mandibles snapping with enough force to shear through stone. The ground vibrated beneath the rapid-fire hammering of its countless legs. I ran—not away, but toward the first pit I'd dug.
Sand collapsed beneath its weight exactly as planned. One segment plunged down, throwing the rest of its body off balance. It screeched, a noise like grinding metal and breaking bones.
I dove sideways, rolling behind a jagged shard of stone as it thrashed violently. A spray of sand pelted my back, but I came up grinning.
"Not bad," I growled, brushing grit from my face. My lungs burned, my body screamed for rest, but I could feel it—fire in my veins, the mortal kind, mixed with something deeper. "But I'm just getting started."
It reeled back, body curling upward like a massive, living whip, recalculating its approach. I could almost see it realizing I wasn't prey anymore.
That's right. Learn fear.
I sprinted for my next trap, weaving between buried stakes and collapsed dunes. Every step was deliberate, every breath measured. Every pitfall and stone spike was part of a rhythm I'd built in my head, a pattern the centipede couldn't read.
It struck again, faster this time. The air whistled as those massive mandibles cut through where I'd been a second earlier. I rolled to my feet, pivoted, and slammed a heel into its exposed joint. Not enough to break it, but enough to make it stagger.
The sand beneath us shuddered. My body ached. My knuckles were raw. And I was grinning like a lunatic.
Because this wasn't just survival anymore. This was training. This was learning how to fight something stronger, faster, deadlier than me—and win.
It lunged a final time, the force of its movement cracking the stone underfoot. I sidestepped, my body moving almost before I told it to, and drove forward—not with a weapon, not with a trap—just my fist.
The world went silent for a split second. Then my knuckles connected with its face in a brutal, bone-shaking crack.
The centipede screamed as one of its massive mandibles shattered, splintering like brittle glass. The shockwave of the blow rattled through my bones, but I didn't care.
I stood over it, chest heaving, blood—my blood—dripping down my arm.
"Remember my face," I told her, voice rough. "Because I'm only getting stronger."
It hissed, retreating into the dunes, vanishing into shadow. I stayed there, fists still clenched, the taste of victory—and grit—thick in my mouth.