Trees.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves. The scent of roses and blood in the air.
Damon hung his head. His back towards an apple tree, sweat clinging to him like film. His white hair, brown and muddy was all over his face, covering his eyes.
Two boys circled him, their eyes clinging at him like he was prey.
He was.
"Look at him, Anti," the bronze-skinned boy sneered," he's a weakling…just like his brother."
Anti limped forward, his twisted leg doing nothing to diminish the cruelty in his eyes. "Yeah, that coward ran away from home and left this useless rat behind."
Damon said nothing. His eyes fixed on a point in the distance. This only infuriated them more.
"Hey!" Anti slapped him hard. "You look into our eye when we are talking to you!."
...….
The orchard blurred. It shifted to stone walls, the stench of sweat and fear nearly making him gag. Damon gasped for breath, the poison coursing like fire through his veins.
"He thinks he's better than us," the bronze-skinned boy hissed as he slammed a punch at Damon, breaking his nose. Blood dripped, staining the grass in crimson.
"You're nothing, maggot!."
Shadows swirled around Damon's fingers as rage flowed through him. His hands shook violently causing the boys to back off in fear.
"What the hell do you think you are doing!," Anti yelled in confusion.
" My brother…" Damon muttered silently. The shadows grew larger. Faster. It slithered toward the two boys like a snake.
"…is not a coward."
The bronze-skinned boy stumbled on the ground, his heart beating wildly as he looked to Anti for help, but the other boy was gone, limping away in fear without looking back.
The shadows rose up above him. It blocked out the light. He turned back his head slowly, his entire body shaking violently.
He let out a piercing scream as the darkness swallowed him.
The scream pulled Damon back to consciousness just as the darkness claimed him again.
Cold metal pressed against Damon's cheek. He opened his eyes and squinted against the darkness.
As his vision adjusted, he started to make out the shapes of others. They were all chained up heavily, about seven of them.
"Finally awake, are we?" came a voice to his right.
An old man with cracked spectacles and a mischievous smile sat against the wall. "Thought you might sleep through your own execution."
Damon's eyes darted quickly around the dungeon. It was empty. Not even a bucket. Only the cold steel walls and door. The others sat in silence, some tight-jawed, others looked resigned.
"You're thinking about escape," the old man said chuckling to himself.
"Don't bother. The god Hephaestus himself made this place. No rust, no weakness. We are completely surrounded by steel."
Damon's mouth was dry. He managed a hoarse whisper. "Glad to know."
Across the room, a lanky, wimpy man stood up and tried to tiptoe around the chains. A terrible idea. He tripped, flailed, and stepped squarely onto a brutish man's foot.
"Oi, watch it!" the brute roared, swinging a heavy fist.
The wimp squealed, darted sideways — and practically collided with Damon.
The human's wide eyes met his. He became wide-eyed as recognition dawned on him. He quickly backed away in terror. Damon sighed.
"You are D…Damon Fallenstar,"he stammered. The others became incredibly curious as they turned towards him. The old man's eyes twinkled in glee.
"How the hell did the last Son of Apophis get caught?" A shaggy-haired guy asked but before Damon could answer, a sudden, piercing wail cut through the murmurs of the dungeon.
It came from above, distant yet clear enough to freeze everyone in place. The scream lingered, then abruptly stopped.
The wimpy guy put his hands on his head, as he began to have a panic attack.
"They're coming for us next. Oh gods, they're coming for us!"
" Be quiet! "the brute barked. It was useless.
"Did you hear that? Did you hear them? That's what happens in the arena. They tear you apart while everyone watches!"
The old man stood up and shifted closer to the trembling man, who buried his face in his hands.
" Old Demippos could snap your neck," he said, surprisedly gentle."it's painless and quick."
"Are you mad?" He quickly recoiled from the old man.
"What's an old man like you doing in here anyway?"Damon asked in curiosity.
His eyes flashed with something. Anger, perhaps, or fear, before settling back into weariness. "What does it matter now?"
"Your friends here," he nodded toward the others, "were part of the fools who attacked the western garrison yesterday."
He snorted. "Amateurs. They actually tried to take on General Iskander. A son of Hades and is not only a 24 percent external but a 28 percent brawler."
The shaggy-haired guy bristled. "We had intelligence….."
"Intelligence?" Demippos laughed bitterly. "You had nothing but dreams and delusions. You can't beat demigods."
Another of the prisoners snapped. "Don't you dare…."
Heavy footsteps interrupted their conversation. Four guards appeared at the cell entrance, flanking a woman with cropped hair and a military bearing. Her eyes scanned the prisoners with boredom. She looked like she would be rather anywhere else.
"Round them up," she said, her eyes lingering on Damon for a split second.
The guards hauled them up roughly. Dark cloth bags were forced over their heads. The wimpy man thrashed wildly.
"No! Please! I wasn't, I didn't…"
A guard struck him hard across the face. "Shut it!"
They were dragged through corridors, upstairs, the sounds around them changing from echoing stone to the growing roar of a crowd. The heat intensified. Then, without warning, they were thrown forward.
Damon hit the sand. He sighed as his body absorbed the impact. One of the humans wasn't so lucky, a sickening crack followed by a howl of pain signaled a broken limb.
They ripped off their hoods. Blinding sunlight instantly assaulted their eyes. Damon blinked.
The arena rose around them, filled to capacity with demi-gods thirsting and calling for blood. The sand beneath his feet was stained rust-red in patches.
They were in the black palace, or rather. It's execution arena.
Damon forced himself to his feet, ignoring the ache in his ribs. 'How long had he been in the dark?'
A voice boomed, dragging his attention upward.
Wild Foot.
The Arena announcer was a giant of a man, standing on a raised platform. He wore a cape made of stitched-together animal pelts, a golden spear clasped in his hands.
"Ladies and bloodthirsty scum!" Wild Foot howled, eliciting a wild cheer that shook the ground itself.
"Today! Today you are in for a freaking treat! Not only do we have the pathetic rebels that tried and failed to sabotage the western garrison.." jeers rained down from the crowd. Some of them threw fruits at the seven prisoners. One threw a lightning bolt.
"—but also, the prodigal beast himself! Damon Fallenstar! Last son of Apophis, the devourer of light! Murderer of his own bloodline!"
The crowd erupted. The jeers grew louder. In the seventh circle, betrayal against one's kind was considered taboo.
" You are quite popular." Demippos smiled. Damon flashed him a glare.
Wildfoot continued, "And who better to deliver the Seventh Circle's justice than our undefeated champion? I give you... TLEPOLEMUS, SON OF HERACLES!!!!!"
A massive iron gate groaned open at the far end of the arena. The ground trembled with each approaching footstep. The prisoners instinctively backed away.
" We are dead men," whispered the wimpy before passing out face-first into the sand. Damon lips curled.
Shaggy hair frantically tried to rally the others. "We stick together," he hissed urgently.
"Charge him! We move as one, overwhelm him—"
Damon snorted. "Probably what you tried doing the last time."
Alekos glared at him. "You have a better idea?"
Tlepolemus finally stepped into view.
He was….well, enormous. Seven feet at least. His skin gleamed with sweat and dried blood that was probably not his.
A simple loincloth hung around his waist, as heavy golden earrings swung from his ears with every movement. His hair, dark, shoulder-length, matted with filth whipped about his shoulders as he moved.
His mouth curled into a smile, wide and feral.
The shaggy-haired guy swallowed hard. His voice steeled. "He's huge. Huge guys are slow, we can take him."
Tlepolemus didn't charge.
He blurred.
One instant, he was ten paces away; the next, the shaggy-haired rebel found himself staring into a pair of yellow, animalistic eyes.
Saliva dripped from the corner of the champion's lips, spattering onto his forehead.
The other prisoners backed away instinctively, stumbling, too stunned to react.
"Wait—!" He stammered, throwing up his hands.
"Wait! Let me tell you something!! Let me tell you something..."
Tlepolemus' head jerked forward. One swift, grotesque movement and his massive jaws clamped around the rebel's skull.
There was a crunch like stepping on dry leaves.
The crowd roared with thunderous approval as the twitching body slumped to the sand, blood jetting in thick, pulsing arcs.
Damon smiled wildly, heart hammering, but his mind cold and clear. He could read the bastard's energy level.
(Negative Energy. 30 percent)
(Physical Energy. 27 percent)
(Spiritual Energy. 13 percent)
(External Energy. 17 percent)
Now this was what a monster looked like.