(PS: Please support me on patreon there 135+ chapters there and there also my new GoT: The True Dragon Fanfiction of Game of Thrones
https://patreon.com/BX_XDS)
The moonlight washed over the sandy shore, turning the beach into a silver arena. The rhythm of the waves crashing against the pebbles created a steady, calming beat against the silence of the night. The air smelled of salt and cooling sand.
Kassandra moved through the sand, twirling the newly upgraded Spear of Leonidas. The weapon hummed with every slice of the air, the gold chasing the black alloy in a blur of motion. She thrust, retracted, and swept, testing the balance of the new handle Atlas had forged. It felt lighter than before, but the strike felt heavier, more solid.
Atlas sat on a piece of driftwood nearby, resting his chin on his hand, watching her with a quiet, analytical gaze. He observed her footwork, the way she shifted her weight, and how she held her breath before a strike.
Alexios, sitting beside him, watched his sister's movements with a critical eye. Then, a mischievous thought bloomed in his mind. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face, lighting up his eyes.
He nudged Atlas with his elbow.
"Atlas," he said loudly, his voice carrying over the sound of the wind, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Why don't you and my sister spar for a moment? You know, help her practice like you helped me back in the day."
At the words "back in the day," Lukas visibly flinched.
A cold shiver ran down the giant man's spine. Memories of mud, bruises, impossible drills, and Atlas's terrifyingly calm voice correcting his stance while he was face-first in the dirt flooded back. He rubbed his arm as if feeling a phantom ache.
Lukas looked at Alexios, then at Kassandra. He clamped his mouth shut, crossing his massive arms.
Let her suffer, he thought, a grim satisfaction settling in. She also needs to experience the suffering we felt.
Atlas blinked, confused, pulling his attention away from the waves. "Spar? We leave at dawn. Why would I—"
"I agree," Kassandra interrupted.
She stopped her practice and turned toward them, the spear resting comfortably in her grip. Her chest rose and fell steadily. Her eyes gleamed with the competitive fire of a Spartan who had never met her match.
"When I saw your moves earlier, Atlas, I knew you were strong," she said, tilting her chin and brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But hitting the ocean is one thing. Fighting a warrior is another. I want to see what you can do."
Atlas looked at her, seeing the stubbornness in her stance. Then he looked at the grinning Alexios, and finally at the silent Lukas who was studiously looking at a crab scuttling by. He sighed, standing up and dusting the sand off his pants.
"Fine," Atlas said, his tone reluctant. "But I don't have a weapon on me. My gear is packed in the ship."
"No problem!" Alexios said instantly, jumping to his feet with too much energy. He unslung the Sword of Damokles from his back, the metal singing as it left the sheath, and gestured to Lukas, who hurriedly offered his massive hammer.
"Here," Alexios beamed, presenting the weapons like a merchant. "Borrow my sword. Or Lukas's hammer. Which one will you choose?"
Atlas stared at Alexios. The man was practically vibrating with excitement.
He's enjoying this way too much, Atlas thought.
"The sword," Atlas said simply.
Alexios handed over the Sword of Damokles with a theatrical bow, then scrambled back to sit next to Lukas. He grabbed a handful of dried figs from his pouch, tossing one into the air and catching it in his mouth, settling in as if he were at the theatre.
Barnabas and Phoibe scooted closer on the sand.
"Who do you think will win?" Barnabas whispered, stroking his gray beard thoughtfully. "I heard form the locals that the Eagle Bearer is a demigod in battle. I also heard she slay beasts twice her size."
Phoibe puffed out her chest, her eyes wide with loyalty. "Kassandra, of course! She's the best fighter in the whole Greek world! She beat the Cyclops!"
Alexios and Lukas exchanged a look. It was a look of shared trauma.
"Atlas," they said in unison.
Lukas leaned in, his voice grave and low. "No doubt. Atlas will win. I would bet my entire share of the drachmae on it. Even my body."
Barnabas looked at the giant curiously. "You are that certain? Against a Spartan trained since birth?"
Alexios smirked, popping another sticky fig into his mouth and chewing happily. "Just watch, Captain. You'll know soon enough."
On the sand, Atlas and Kassandra stood ten paces apart.
The wind rustled the palm leaves overhead. The waves lapped gently at the shore, washing over their bare feet.
Kassandra fell into a low crouch, arms raised, spear poised like a viper ready to strike. Her muscles coiled tight. Her focus was absolute.
Atlas stood relatively straight, the Sword of Damokles held loosely at his side, the tip resting in the sand. His stance looked open—careless, even. He looked like he was waiting for her performance, not a duel.
Kassandra narrowed her eyes. He's underestimating me. Big mistake.
She moved.
With an explosive burst of speed, she charged. Sand kicked up in a cloud behind her heels as she closed the distance, thrusting the spear straight for Atlas's chest with lethal precision.
Atlas didn't raise his sword. He didn't panic. He didn't even blink.
He simply shifted his left foot back a few inches and leaned his torso slightly to the side.
Whoosh.
The spear tip sailed harmlessly past his shoulder, missing by a single inch. The wind of the strike ruffled his hair.
Kassandra's momentum carried her forward. She stumbled slightly, expecting impact but finding only air. She braced herself for a counterattack—a knee, a pommel strike, anything.
But nothing came.
She spun around, guard up, sand flying.
Atlas was standing a few feet away, watching her. He hadn't attacked. He had let her go.
Kassandra frowned, confusion mixing with anger. He missed the opening? No… he ignored it.
Atlas began to walk in a slow circle, his expression calm. "Your thrust is fast," he commented, sounding like a teacher grading a student in a classroom. "But you commit too much weight to it. If you miss, you're off balance. You leave your side exposed."
Kassandra gritted her teeth, her grip on the spear tightening until her knuckles turned white. "Less talking, more fighting!"
She lunged again, this time feinting high before slashing low at his legs.
Atlas didn't retreat this time. He flicked his wrist casually.
CLANG!
The Sword of Damokles intercepted the spear with a heavy, jarring impact. Sparks flew in the dim light.
Kassandra gasped. The shock traveled up the spear shaft and exploded into her arms. Her muscles went numb instantly. It felt like she had struck a solid wall of iron, not a sword held by a man.
How is he so heavy? she thought, shaking the feeling back into her vibrating hands. He looks lean, but hits like a mountain.
Atlas didn't give her time to think. He stepped in, swinging the sword in a controlled, horizontal arc.
Kassandra brought her spear up to block.
THUD.
She was knocked back two steps, her boots sliding deep in the loose sand.
"Your footing is wide," Atlas said calmly, advancing one step for every two she retreated. "Good for stability, bad for redirection. Tighten your stance."
"Shut up!" Kassandra snapped.
She unleashed a flurry of attacks—stab, slash, spear bash, stab. She poured her Spartan rage into every motion, moving faster than most eyes could follow. The air hissed with the speed of her strikes.
Atlas blocked every single one.
Parry. Deflect. Sidestep. Block.
He wasn't even sweating. He moved with a smooth flow of motion that was infuriating to watch. He barely moved his feet, just shifting his weight and turning his wrist.
"Focus on the battle, Malaka!" Kassandra shouted, frustration boiling over. She swung the spear with enough force to crack a skull.
Atlas caught the blow on his blade, absorbing the force effortlessly.
On the sidelines, Barnabas's mouth hung open. He forgot to blink. "By the gods… she is fighting like a storm, and he is… he is just walking through it."
Phoibe looked worried, clutching her knees. "Why isn't she hitting him? Usually, they fall down by now."
Lukas smiled a helpless, knowing smile. "You see it now?"
Barnabas looked at him.
"The frustration," Lukas whispered. "Look at her face. That's what we felt every day for years. You want to go all out, you want to break him, but he just… toys with you. He turns your anger into a lesson."
Alexios nodded, watching the fight intently, noticing the small details. "He's observing her fighting style. Analyzing it. And fixing it."
Back in the fight, Kassandra was breathing hard, sweat stinging her eyes. Her chest heaved. She realized brute force wouldn't work. She needed to be smarter.
Atlas stepped forward, swinging the sword in a predictable arc.
Now.
Kassandra didn't block. She spun her body, dropping low to the ground to sweep his legs with the shaft of her spear.
Atlas hopped back lightly to avoid it, sand puffing where he had stood.
Got you, she thought, smiling fiercely.
The sweep was a setup. Using the rotational momentum, she coiled her muscles and exploded upward, bringing the butt of the spear around in a lightning-fast strike aimed directly at his ribs. It was a move that had floored mercenaries twice her size.
Atlas's eyes widened slightly. "Good strategy."
He didn't have time to bring the sword back to block.
So he didn't.
Instead, Atlas reversed his grip on the hilt and drove the Sword of Damokles straight down into the sand between them.
BOOM!
He channeled the Isu energy into the ground. A golden shockwave erupted from the impact point, glowing bright in the night. It blasted sand and compressed air outward in a violent ring.
Kassandra's strike never connected.
The shockwave hit her mid-air.
"Ah!"
She was blown backward as if hit by a giant invisible hand. She tumbled through the air and landed hard on her back, skidding across the beach.
She groaned, blinking up at the stars, the wind knocked out of her. The sound of the ocean rushed back into her ears.
Before she could scramble to her feet, she felt a presence.
She looked down. The tip of the Sword of Damokles was hovering inches from her throat. The golden light of the blade reflected in her eyes.
Atlas stood over her, not a scratch on him, breathing evenly. The moonlight framed him against the dark sky.
"That was a good fight," he said, his voice calm and encouraging. He sheathed the sword and extended his free hand to her. "You adapt quickly."
Kassandra stared at the blade, then up at him. She let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. She took his hand, and he hauled her to her feet effortlessly.
"You…" She shook her head, dusting off the sand from her armor. "You are not normal, Atlas."
The spectators ran over, kicking up sand.
"That was incredible!" Phoibe cheered, hugging Kassandra's leg. "You almost had him! I saw it!"
Barnabas shook his head, looking at Atlas with new fear and respect. "I have sailed the seas for forty years. I have never seen a duel like that. You fight like the sea itself—calm, then crushing."
Alexios strolled up, clapping his hands slowly, a smug grin on his face. He slapped Kassandra on the back hard enough to make her stumble forward.
"Don't worry, sis! You'll get him next time! Maybe!"
Kassandra froze. She looked at Alexios's shit-eating grin. Then she looked at Lukas, who was suddenly finding the starry sky very interesting, whistling a tuneless melody.
"Wait a minute," she said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You two… you knew."
Alexios started to stutter, backing away. "K-knew? Knew what? That Atlas is a monster? Pfft, no…"
"You set me up," she accused, poking Alexios hard in the chest. "You wanted to see me get beaten up!"
"I wanted to see you learn!" Alexios protested, holding his hands up. "It was educational!"
"And you, Lukas!" Kassandra barked.
Lukas pointed at the sky with a trembling finger. "Look! Is that Orion? Very bright tonight. Lovely stars."
Atlas chuckled, watching the siblings bicker. It was a scene of chaos, but it was warm. It felt like a team.
Kassandra turned back to Atlas, opening her mouth to demand a rematch or perhaps an explanation for his absurd strength.
Atlas cut her off, flipping the Sword of Damokles in his hand and offering the hilt back to Alexios.
"Alright, that's enough," Atlas said, his tone signaling the end of the night. "We sail at first light. We need to rest."
He looked at them—his chaotic, mismatched family standing on the moonlit beach.
"Megaris is waiting."
(PS: Please support me on patreon there 135+ chapters there and there also my new GoT: The True Dragon Fanfiction of Game of Thrones
https://patreon.com/BX_XDS)