by James Hunter
I only half-listened to the Fury’s ravings, instead focusing on the Huntress. Vara, Sophia, I sent to the Teleporters. Game plan, but I need you to move quick. While she’s busy running her mouth, I want to hit her. Vara, you grab my helmet from her belt. Sophia, you get Loxo.
“I played you, War God,” Praxidike said, smug to her core. “I saw the power of the Shield of Perseus the first time you used it. Did you think I would make the same mistake again?” She threw back her head and laughed, a deep belly chuckle. “This whole gambit”—she waved a hand at the field—“was merely a ploy to force your hand. Now you’ve used the only weapon capable of stopping my real wea—”
Her words cut off short as dual flashes of purple light appeared next to her. Vara snatched the helmet with a grin, and poofed from existence, reappearing next to me with the helmet in hand. I slipped it on at once, comforted by its presence. But a sharp crack filled the air as Sophia dropped to the ground, struck down by the Fury’s powerful magic. The Teleporter was alive, but Loxo still dangled, her Health dropping by the second.
The Fury sneered. “You are weak, War God. Pathetic. And I will crush you. Crush you as easily as I can crush your precious warriors.” The sneer turned into a vicious snarl as she jerked the whip with her wrist. Loxo’s body lurched, her neck popping, the light and life in her eyes fading in a heartbeat.
No, no, no—that’s not how it was supposed to go!
I selected Loxo and hit her with a Healing Touch, but like when I’d tried on Hippolyta, nothing happened. She was gone in the snap of a finger. My friend, stolen from me. Rage and hate exploded from the godstone … that bitch was going to pay big time for this. She was going to suffer.
“Now, War God,” the Fury said, tossing Loxo’s body to the ground like a piece of trash ready for the dump, “behold your reckoning.” She lifted her free hand into the air and conjured a flare of emerald light, which streaked up into the early evening sky, exploding with a sharp boom. The awful light seemed to invade the dark clouds above, and suddenly it began to rain. Great fat drops of water, rushing down. The ground quivered beneath my feet, and the waters off the western shore began to boil and froth as a huge limb rose from the waters.
At first I thought it was a tentacle, but it wasn’t. No. It was a forearm, topped with a hand as big as an M1A1 tank.
What in the holy hell was that?
A head emerged next, the skull alone as big as an African elephant. I watched, shocked, as a kaiju-sized cyclops, a hundred feet tall, emerged from the bay. The freak was the mega version of the cyclopes we’d battled earlier, except his body was covered in coppery scales that looked capable of turning aside even the most brutal attacks.
“I present to you Polyphemus Omega! The end of you all!” Praxidike crowed.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Polyphemus Omega
The cyclops let out a thunderous howl that sounded like a fucking earthquake given voice, and then the red fire of a laser beam erupted from his single eye. It sizzled across the sky and smashed into the battlefield in front of the south wall. The beam didn’t discriminate between friend or foe—it was sheer destruction, digging deep furrows into the ground, obliterating bodies, and leaving flames in its wake. Instantly an alert sounded in my head. Just like that, we’d lost five more Amazons, dead without a fight.
“The temple, you mindless brute,” Praxidike roared, jabbing a finger at the columned building jutting up from the center of Lycastia City. The monster broke into a lumbering gait, the rush of displaced waters following him as he pulled himself up onto dry land. Rain pattered down on him, but couldn’t dim the crimson glow of his one terrible eye. Again, like the chainmail on the sons of Lycaon, this seemed out of place. There was something very X-Men going on with Praxidike’s secret weapon.
“Ground forces, back! Off the walls!” I screamed into the air, panic surging through me. I wasn’t ready for this. “Find cover, and protect the temple. Now!”
Amazons jumped into motion, leaping from the walls, sprinting toward the city—and just in time, too. Another laser beam exploded into a portion of the southern wall, eradicating the ballistae there with pitiful ease. Stone exploded, debris shooting out in every direction as choking smoke curled upward.
A second later, Polyphemus Omega adjusted the beam, sweeping through the center of our wall with his laser eye, widening the hole until there was a thirty-foot gap in the ramparts. He could walk right through if he wanted to. Not that he actually needed to, of course. The dude was a hundred feet tall—the walls only came up to his shins—which meant he was doing it just to be a dick.
Aerial squadron, I sent, get ready to harry that ugly asshole. Wait for my mark! Phoebe, bring up the other harvesters, launch every fucking missile we have at that thing!
On it, Boss-man, she replied somberly before the connection died.
The whirl of clockwork motors and hissing steam hit my ears as three of the improvised harvesters waddled into place. Each had been carefully modified with hulking firing platforms capable of holding their payload. One harvester carried two AIM-9 Sidewinders, while the other two machines each held a pair of AIM 120 AMRAAMs. Yep. Six of the finest, most badass war munitions the United States military had at their disposal. If it absolutely, positively has to be destroyed overnight, call the Marines, I thought.
“Fire at will,” I yelled, thrusting my sword into the air.
Harvester motors whirled, steam leaking up as the rocket triggering mechanisms engaged. In a flash, missile after missile streaked away—boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom—carving through the air on a crash course with the titan of a cyclops now stomping through the dense island vegetation. The first hit with a thunderclap, light and smoke blossoming like a flower in spring. The second followed hard on its heels, slamming into the creature’s gut and detonating with a meaty thumpf.
Thumpf, thumpf, thumpf, thumpf. More light. More heat. More smoke. By the time the six had hit, only a giant cloud of gray smoke could be seen. There was no way that thing had survived a barrage like that. No way. But I kept waiting for the ground-shaking rattle of his fall … and it never came. Instead, a huge scale-covered palm broke through the smoke, waving left and right, dispelling the acrid gray cloud. As the smoke finally cleared, my stomach dropped.
Even if he hadn’t died outright, there should’ve been some kind of damage. Missing limbs maybe. Or colossal loops of intestine hanging down from his belly, swaying like chains. But nope. There were black scorch marks marring his scaled flesh, but no sign of actual damage.
What. The. Fuck.
“You think your puny weapons could harm him?” Praxidike asked, wings holding her aloft and just out of reach. “Weak. Pathetic. Predictable. I know you better than you know yourself. You have played your hand and lost, War God. Surrender now, and perhaps I’ll treat you to a quick death.”
“Eat a dick,” I yelled. In my head I sent, Aerial squadron, scramble! Hit that thing with everything you have. Slow him down. Try to blind him if you can. We have to make sure he doesn’t get in range to hit the temple with that damned laser beam.
The aerial Beastiamancers exploded into action, wings pumping as eagle and Pegasus riders blasted forward like shooting stars. If military-grade missiles couldn’t hurt that thing, I wasn’t sure what chance swords and javelins had, but we had to try. Phoebe, Myrina. Pull the remainder of the ground troops back to the temple—I’m gonna try to kill this thing, but I have no doubt Praxidike will head for the sigil. Stop her at all costs.
It was like this last time, Myrina replied. We retreated to the temple. We were killed. Is this the end for us, Jacob Merely?
No, I sent, the word burning with utter conviction. What Ares did sucked. But this time is going to be different, because I’m different, and I trust you to do your job.
Understood, War God. I could feel Myrina’s pride and determination burning in my head. We will not fail you.
I turned my eyes to Asteria, who swooped overhead, waiting for or
ders. Asteria, let’s ride. Time to give that asshole a piece of the War Blade.
She cawed in response, the sound malicious and triumphant, then dove, wings folding up against her sides. I broke into a run and launched myself up as she drew near. Before, my vertical jump wasn’t much to brag about, but as god of war? Yeah, I had mad game. NBA star for sure. Up, up, up, I went, fifteen feet easy, and just as I started to drop, Asteria slipped beneath me, catching me on her back. I wrapped my legs around her neck as we cruised like a living missile toward the cyclops.
My riders were already circling the creature, diving, wheeling, and banking as mounts struck with talons or hooves and Amazons hacked and slashed with their blades. But even at a glance, I could see how woefully ineffective the attacks were. The weapons barely left scratches in the creature’s metallic scales. They were annoying him, maybe, but they were like flies trying to bring down a medieval knight in full plate mail. This shitstorm was clearly an exercise in futility—and a dangerous one, too.
The cyclops flailed his enormous arms, huge hands whipping through the air. Asteria and I dodged an incoming haymaker with a lightning-fast corkscrew roll, but his other fist nearly batted us from the air. Only some seriously fancy flying on Asteria’s part saved our asses. We banked right, circling around his thigh, and then we were climbing. I hunkered down, grabbing a handful of feathers and muttering a silent prayer as we streaked straight up at a ninety-degree angle.
My heart galloped, and I thought I might pass out as the wind and rain battered against me, trying to knock me from my seat, but then we leveled out, breaking left. We were even with its head now, and I knew if anyone had a chance to hurt this sucker it would be me and the War Blade. After all, it had managed to pierce Stheno’s hide when nothing else worked. Stheno … something tickled in the back of my head at the thought, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I shook the thought away and focused as Asteria darted in, bringing me close enough to strike.
I leaned over, whipping my blade out with a war cry. The tip hit metal scales with a screech, yellow sparks flying up as my weapon left a deep gouge in the creature’s armor—but not deep enough to pierce skin. I struck again, putting my shoulder into the swing, but once more the War Blade left little more than a divot. I looked at the mystical sword, shocked. No. That was impossible. The War Blade was … well, the fucking War Blade! It was the weapon of Ares, god of war. How could it be so ineffective?
Was it me, maybe? Me and my failure to invest in the Path of War? I didn’t know, but, holy crap, were we screwed.
Asteria spun away, wings pumping as a huge hand flew toward us.
The strike missed, but it didn’t really matter, did it?
I mean if my sword couldn’t penetrate this thing’s skin, what hope did we have? There was no way to stop it. I was seriously flabbergasted—I just couldn’t believe it. The sword had worked against Stheno, dammit! It should’ve worked here, too. Wait … A half-formed thought from earlier reared its head again. Stheno. Holy shit, she was the answer. Praxidike had given it away in her stupid villain monologue—the moron. She’d said the Shield of Perseus was the only weapon capable of stopping the creature.
I felt like throwing back my head and cackling like a maniac. It wasn’t the shield itself, it was the effect it produced: petrifaction. There was the slight issue that the shield didn’t have any charges left, but I had an ace up my sleeve. An artifact so gross, I’d forgotten all about it.
I pulled up my Amazon roster and let out a sigh of relief when I saw my two Teleporters were still among the living. Vara, I have an urgent mission for you, and I need it done this second. There’s a burlap bag in the forge. I need you to get it, and bring it to me. I’m riding on Asteria, so it’s gonna be tricky, but you can do it. Oh, and whatever you do—don’t open the bag.
Anything for you, came a velvety reply that made me gulp despite the craziness of the current situation. These women were going to be the death of me.
Alright, aerial squadron, I sent to all the Beastiamancers currently harassing the enormous cyclops, fall back toward the temple. Guard the sigil. Asteria and I are gonna take care of this clown ourselves. A wave of replies rolled in, one after another, as the riders turned and retreated. Good, the field was clear, so I didn’t need to worry about any casualties when this S.O.B. toppled like a redwood. Asteria, get ready to move. I need to get directly in front of that thing.
How directly, my love? came a chirping reply.
Real, real directly. Like right in front of its giant fucking laser beam eye. Can you manage?
A puff of purple smoke caught my eye as Vara the Swedish volleyball player appeared right on top of the cyclops’ ugly bald dome. And she had the burlap sack from the dungeon dive clutched in her hands. The huge cyclops didn’t even seem to notice her presence—probably couldn’t feel much with all that copper plating in place—which was fine by me. We’d have the element of surprise on our side, which was always a bonus. And we were going to use that surprise to metaphorically smash his face in with a sock full of magical quarters.
Vara tossed me the bag then poofed away, disappearing like a ghost back to some other plane. I caught the bag and grimaced at the terrible smell wafting through the cloth. The head inside was only a few days old, but it smelled like a rotten ham left out too long in the sun. Yeah. Probably shouldn’t have stored it in the forge. Well, live and learn.
Time to do this thing, Asteria. Get me right in front of his eye.
The eyes always taste the best, she sent. Well, after the liver, she amended as she thrust her wings out, catching an updraft, and slingshotted us around the creature’s head—at exactly the wrong moment. Of course, we maneuvered into position half a heartbeat before a new laser blast burst out like the beam of a lighthouse. Asteria squawked and swerved, narrowly avoiding an instantaneous death, but even from a few feet away, the heat radiating from the beam was enough to singe her feathers and blister my skin.
The attack cut off an instant later, and I knew it was now or never. Up and hold us steady, I thundered while reaching into the sack and pulling Stheno’s head free by her snaky hair.
A strong gust of wind snatched the bag from my hands, but I didn’t care, focusing on the Gorgon’s head instead. I thrust the morbid trophy straight out so her terrible black eyes, devoid of life, were staring directly into the single red eye in front of me. The effect was nearly instantaneous and absolutely glorious: gray flecks of stone rushed along the surface of the cyclops’ eye like a thin sheen of ice spreading over a car windshield. And it just kept spreading, up across his cheeks, arcing over his nose, down to his chin and neck.
Down the gray stone spread, running over his beefy shoulders, then sprinting down his arms, petrifying them in place. I held the Gorgon head in place as long as I could, wanting to make sure the big bastard got a full dose of mojo. Then, for safe measure, I hurled the head into his yawning mouth, now frozen in a soundless roar by a layer of stone. The head rolled across a sleet-gray tongue and vanished down the monster’s throat, bound for his belly.
With a grimace, I wiped my hand along my linen skirt—rubbing away a layer of disgusting, oily residue—then slapped Asteria on the back. Job’s done, let’s beat feet before this thing falls and crushes us like an ant.
Beat feet? Is that some sort of sex act? I don’t think we have time, featherless one. This creature looks unstable.
I just shook my head. Yes, it’s highly unstable, so let’s fly.
She cawed a thunderous reply this time, then wheeled left and dove, rocketing toward the city as the cyclops—almost entirely stone, now—took one final step, then pitched forward, its sheer momentum too great to stop. I watched its fall over my shoulder as Asteria rocketed away. The giant landed like a capsizing aircraft carrier, shock waves rippling through the earth as the whole island rocked from the impact. Apparently, “the bigger they are, the harder they fall” wasn’t just a figure of speech, because that thing hit hard.
I felt a surge of pride flow through me as we cruised over the walls and past the barracks. I’d done it. I’d just war-goded the hell out of that situation. Let no one ever doubt the power of Jacob fucking Merely of Rockford, Illinois. Still, I couldn’t celebrate just yet. As we swooped over the temple, the clang of steel hit my ears. I had one more monster to put down before this battle was won—time for Praxidike to die.
THIRTY-NINE
Bye Felicia
The temple was under siege by what remained of Praxidike’s forces: a fistful of sea centaurs, a platoon of chainmail-clad werewolves, a contingent of scimitar-wielding nagas, a handful of harpies, and, of course, Praxidike in the flesh. At a glance, I counted about thirty Amazons fanned out around the entrance of the temple, which seemed like more than enough to hold the monsters at bay. No, the real threat here was the Fury. If I could take her out, that would be check and mate, but doing so would be a challenge.
She was dancing with Myrina and Phoebe both, and she was holding her own without so much as breaking a sweat. But maybe Asteria and I could fix that.
Let’s cannonball that bitch, I sent to the shifter as we closed in.
My pleasure, Asteria sent. Bear eat, bear kill. Her body shifted below me, wings wavering and morphing into powerful arms tipped with meaty paws and killer claws. I tucked my feet up under me and spring boarded off Asteria’s back before the shift was complete. Asteria came down first, smashing into Praxidike’s back like an actual cannonball. The Fury went down under a mountain of blue fur and bulky muscle. My feet hit the cobblestones a second later; I angled my fall, gliding into a forward roll that brought me upright in a blink.
