War God's Mantle- Underworld

by James Hunter

  It was the only option, but bringing her back only to kill her again would waste our supplies of sacred clay, Thymos Crystals, and my own Divine Essence. Rage filled me. The godstone flared in my chest.

  “I will end her life myself,” I snarled. “I have the weapon for it, the Crystal Scythe I myself won from the god of time!”

  “Contractions,” Phoebe muttered. “Paging Jacob, paging Jacob. We want to talk with Jacob, former Marine, not Ares, the former god of war.” She adjusted the little clay doll on the anvil.

  Her words, though delivered lightly, stung. I shook my head again, trying to cast off Ares’ obvious influence. Apparently killing that many creatures that quickly had really brought his essence to the forefront of my mind. “Yeah,” I finally said, fishing the mirror out from my pack. “Good thinking, Myrina.” Almost reluctantly, I handed over the artifact.

  Again, Myrina gazed on me with uncertainty—no, not uncertainty, outright fear—in her eyes.

  An alert flashed in my gaming display. The fires were hot enough. “Stand back,” I warned before hefting the golden hammer high. “I hope this works.”

  I had to hit Sabra’s doll three times. With a grunt and a heave I brought the hammer crashing down, slamming into the doll with absolute precision. I could afford no mistakes, or the reborn Sabra would pay the price. The figurine grew three feet long as the weapon landed. Basic human features appeared on her face. I laid down a second stroke. I’d done this a hundred times and I’d gotten good at it. The motion felt right and natural, like I’d been born to work these fires and build this army.

  After the second strike, a human woman lay on the anvil, head and feet dangling from the edges. She had a nose, eyebrows, and a mouth, but she still wasn’t fully formed. I swung the Hammer of Hephaestus a third and final time. Sabra, our very own Sabra, thick-thighed, big-breasted, and brown haired, tumbled from the anvil. Phoebe and Steropia were there to catch her. Myrina angled the mirror so she could see Sabra in the reflection.

  I seized the Crystal Scythe and the godstone grew hot in my chest. The gem wanted bloodshed. It wanted Sabra to be a Dark Amazon. It had been quiet when I’d wielded the hammer because it wasn’t about creation; the godstone was all about destruction.

  Sabra was breathing hard, her eyes wide and wild, and she didn’t look right. The Forest-Witch, before, was calm, peaceful, and so kind. This woman was positively terrified and as edgy as a caged animal.

  The godstone whispered to me, Do it. Kill her. She’s not right. Hades got to her. Can’t you feel it in your gut? She needs to die. DIE.

  “Myrina, what do you see?” I demanded, hands tightening around the shaft of the Crystal Scythe.

  Another pause.

  “She is our Sabra,” Myrina finally declared with a sigh of relief.

  I, too, let out a deep breath I hadn’t even been aware I was holding. I then stopped and picked up Sabra. She was a big woman with lots of soft curves, but I was a whole lot bigger and a helluva lot stronger. She’d gone from terrified to sorrowful. She wept in my arms like her heart would break. I pulled her in and held her tightly against my chest. “I have you, Sabra. You’re back with us. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you before, but we brought you back. You’re safe.”

  “For now,” Phoebe said sarcastically, folding her arms across her chest.

  I shot her a warning glance. She just smiled and batted her eyelashes at me, innocent as a blue jay.

  I kissed Sabra’s head and then moved her to the straw. This next part was going to hurt, but I needed the Forest-Witch at her best. From a pouch at my side, I took a hunk of Thymos Crystal the size of a softball—enough to build a fucking siege tower. It glowed as my Essence filled it with Divine energy. I pressed it to the Amazon’s chest, just above her heart. Shimmering, the crystal vanished into her skin. My head grew light as the raw power surged out of the godstone, down my arm, and into her chest. A hundred and seventy-five Essence Points were sucked out of me, about a quarter of my max. The nausea was even worse than when I power-leveled up Ariadne, my Minotaur Beastiamancer.

  I’d only slammed her up two levels, but with Sabra, I was bringing her abruptly to level eight.

  She let out a shriek, the gem in my chest flooded my senses with agony, and we both wound up in the straw, writhing in pain.

  Phoebe dashed over. What did you do, you giant knucklehead?

  I couldn’t talk, not through the agony, but I could message. Leveled her. I felt bad. Needed combat Forest-Witch. Fuck. I can’t do that again.

  No, you can’t. I’m surprised you’re still conscious. Phoebe grabbed an oily cloth and wiped the sweat from my brow.

  However shitty I felt, I wasn’t done yet. In my gaming display, head swimming, I managed to distribute her Attribute and Ability Points.

  Once I was finished, I reviewed her character sheet.

  <<<>>>

  <<<>>>

  I NODDED IN APPROVAL. She’d died at level ten, but at least I’d gotten her to level eight. And, with the constant attacks, I figured she’d regain the last two levels in no time flat.

  I crawled over and scooped Sabra up in my arms. She came around, thankfully, then reached up and touched my face. “Thank you, War God. We do not have much time. Hades found me seconds before you brought me back. My salvation was ... it was a near thing indeed. And now, I bring grave tidings—a warning of darkness and dire death.”

  The Madness of the Godstone

  I WAS IN MY PRIVATE quarters, leaning against the marble balcony railing, watching waves break on the beach far below. Gauzy curtains fluttered in the sea breeze behind me. At one time, I found the ocean view beautiful, but now, the darkness in that water seemed sinister.

  I couldn’t shake Sabra’s warning ...

  With the Forest-Witch’s words lingering in our ears, Phoebe and I forged additional Amazons, using more of our Thymos Crystals, sacred clay, and my own Divine Essence Points. Steropia was there, of course, but Brontia, another Rune-Caster joined the fun.

  At level twenty-five, I could manage an army of 113 Amazons and we only had ninety on hand. Phoebe decided to stop using Greek names and went into my memories of various shows I’d watched on Netflix over the years. We wound up with an Earth-Witch named Jojo and other Amazons named Kimmie, Sammi, Deana, Asuna, and Kira.

  We kept forging warriors until my vision started to blur, the world reeling around me, my legs threatening to betray me at any instant. It had been nonstop battle and then work for hours on end. I needed a break, so finally—reluctantly—I returned to the palace.

  My room had a nice big bed, a table with a model of the city on it so we could plan, and another table with Hestia’s Cup and Hestia’s Bowl. The cup provided an unlimited supply of fresh drinking water, while the bowl gave us olives and cheeses without end. We’d picked them up during our travels in Nyx. Another item, the Sower’s Glass, sat on the table near them. The big bronze hourglass was two feet tall and a foot wide. Phoebe had devised a handle for the Sower’s Glass, as well as a strap that let me use it as a shield. What better thing to use than something that was indestructible?

  Even better, the Sower’s Glass could stop time for ten minutes once per day if it was in the hands of a god, which I was, thank you very much.

  I remembered the battle when I first utilized the strange artifact. Freezing time around me. Winding my way through statue-still enemies, minutely adjusting the world around me in my favor. I wanted more of that. I wanted battle and bloodshed.

  Whatever. I needed sleep before the next attack, but I couldn’t quiet my mind. And the godstone wasn’t helping. Some part of me wanted to venture into the tropical forests to practice more with the Crystal Scythe. In all my combat training—I’d been a Marine, so I’d had a fair amount of MCMAP—the drill instructors never focused on a big stick with a curved blade on the end. If I’d grown up on a farm—well, an ancient farm, maybe—I’m sure wielding the scythe would be second nature. I’d probably have been cutting down fields of w
heat, or whatever, since I could walk.

  No ancient farms for me, though. Which meant I was going to need a bit of practice.

  And then I thought of Necro Earl. Why not practice on him? the godstone ever so subtly suggested. I thought about our last brawl. I’d beat the shit out of him, no doubt about that. For a moment I smirked, thinking about how he’d begged for his life at the end. How he’d argued that the craziness we’d found ourselves in wasn’t real—that this whole experience was some kind of mental delusion. Some enormous psychotic break. Tell that to Sabra. Her tears had dried on my chest, and the experience had been all too real for her.

  Thinking of Earl, and his escape, filled me with primal fury. The godstone burned hotter in my chest with every passing second.

  Before I crashed my plane on Lycastia, when I was in the Marine Corps, I’d fought, I’d trained, I’d passed every test along the way, but that hadn’t been enough to earn the respect of blue falcons like Earl. I wasn’t your typical kill-’em-all jarhead, and while some of the COs saw that as a plus, it hadn’t helped me with assholes like Earl Echo Earl, who thought of himself as some Ricky Recon badass—despite the fact that he’d never done a mission with Force Recon or even been SOC qualified. Hell, I was more of a badass, at least on paper.

  Earl had busted my balls then, and he’d been a pain in my ass ever since landing on this island. I’d beat the shit out of him, sure, showing I was the real warrior, but he was still out there. And that? That was unacceptable. That douche canoe bro-hole needed to die. And why shouldn’t I take up the Crystal Scythe, march south to the Temple of Hades, skate right in, murder anything in front of me, and cut off Earl’s head? I was powerful enough to do it. And once I finished off Earl—and Antiope, I couldn’t forget about her—then I could go and march across the Earth killing anyone who looked sideways at me.

  I raised a fist and lightning curled around my knuckles. I possessed the ability to manipulate time, I could become a werewolf, I had a sword that could fight on its own, and I could turn my skin into steel. No more Mr. Nice Guy for Jacob Merely. I was the motherfucking god of war now.

  “Jacob.”

  I whirled. My eyes blazed lightning. “What?” I demanded.

  Myrina stood, tall and strong and blond, in the balcony entryway, the curtains fluttering around her like a gauzy veil. She raised her face to me. “I’ve come to speak with you about Sabra’s warning.” Her blue eyes searched my face, no doubt looking for signs of Ares’ influence.

  I relaxed and nodded. I left the balcony and the sea at my back, made for a tall amphora of wine in the room proper, and filled up a glass. I poured one for Myrina and offered it to her.

  We sipped the wine together. Rumor had it, when Myrina was drunk, she put on quite a show. I wanted to see that, although now was probably not the time. I figured a little alcohol might relax me some, so I could sleep before our afternoon battle. Two o’clock was about six hours away, and as much as the godstone hungered for death, I knew my body needed a reprieve.

  I recalled what Sabra had said. “Okay, so basically, Hades is on high alert. If any of the Amazons die, he scoops them up right away. That’s not such a big surprise. We’ll just have to be careful.”

  “But you cannot be careful with us.” Myrina’s jaw muscles tightened, her resolve and determination obvious. “We are pawns in your chess game. You must be willing to sacrifice us, and we are ready to die for your cause. You, however, cannot die, or we lose the life force that comes from the godstone in your chest.”

  Yeah, it was my Divine Essence Points that kept them upright.

  “The other news is more troubling.” Myrina paused, brushing an errant strand of hair behind one ear.

  I nodded. Sabra had overheard Hades talking about the old gods. Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, and the rest of Mount Olympus’ finest. At least some of them were dead, I knew, while others had vanished. But the fact that Hades was interested in them could only mean trouble for us down the road—I mean, what if he knew something we didn’t? Shit, he’d been doing this a lot longer than me, so it was almost certain that he knew something we didn’t.

  “The Olympian gods are powerful,” Myrina continued, “but we must not forget about the Titans. They are trapped in Tartarus, in the Underworld, and Hades could free them if pressed. Already, we have battled such ancients and barely escaped with our lives. We were victorious, but not completely. Both Entomo and Cronos escaped.”

  Cronos had been a tough fight, but I’d gotten the upper hand. He’d seemed like an okay god. But Entomo? My flesh crawled thinking of that mess of insect grossness. From Sabra’s memories, Hades had mentioned Poseidon, over and over, as if they might be partners. Ares, himself, before he died, thought that Hades might’ve been in league with Poseidon since the three portals had been on islands, in the middle of the ocean, which was the sea god’s domain.

  Myrina went on. “If Hades has the old gods—even a few of them—on his side, we won’t survive. They did not think too much of humans.”

  “Yeah, but Sabra only overheard Hades saying their names, so that doesn’t tell us much. And we know that Ares killed Hephaestus, but we don’t know why or how.” I couldn’t believe the storybook legends I’d read about in elementary school were real. And I was in the middle of the drama. “Myrina, I think I should take the Crystal Scythe, walk right into the Temple of Hades, and end this. If I wiped out Earl and every single one of their monsters, we’d be safe for the moment. Plus, I’d level up. A lot. And once I get strong enough, I can fix the sigil.”

  “You would do this thing alone?” Myrina asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  “I would,” I replied. “I can’t risk any of you now that we know Hades is waiting to torture you right away.”

  Myrina moved over to me, and—surprise, surprise—she took my hand. For Myrina, this was like a sloppy wet kiss. “Look at me, Jacob.”

  I did, gazing into her eyes, so blue, so beautiful. Ares had hurt Myrina badly, betraying any trust she’d had in him. He’d paralyzed her and had forced her to watch as her sisters were butchered by Hades. She’d wanted to stop him from engaging in the fight directly. When Ares had released her, it had been too late for them all.

  “Jacob,” Myrina said quietly, “we have no idea how Hades and Earl are generating so many soldiers so quickly, so we must be careful. We must use our wits, not our muscle. You know I love unrestrained battle—I was made for it—but we are at a critical time. I fear you are losing your mind. Losing control to this.” She tapped a finger against my chest. “To the power. It is mighty, the godstone. Look at what it has done to your body. Do you not think it can change your mind just as drastically?”

  I wanted to laugh off what she was saying. But I couldn’t. It would be madness for me to try to take on Hades’ entire army on my own. Yet, that’s what the godstone wanted. Maybe it was really getting inside my head.

  Myrina squeezed my hand. “It is worse with the Crystal Scythe, I think. Not even Ares had such a weapon. I spoke with Phoebe, and she agrees. We do not think you should use it in the coming battle. For two reasons. One, every time you use such power, you are liable to be seduced by it. The second? Hades and Earl have only seen you use the scythe once. If we keep it secret, it becomes a mystery to them that they cannot plan for. That gives us an advantage when you do decide to wield it.”

  Then Myrina hugged me. She circled her arms around me, and I found myself holding her. I felt her skin pressed against mine, the strong muscles of her back, the smell of her hair. She’d bathed. She smelled clean and so good.

  What was happening? Myrina was my general, my Battle Warden, and here she was, clinging to me.

  Then the moment was over.

  She stepped away. A fierce light blazed in her blue eyes. “You and I cannot be together, Jacob. It must not be. At the end of the day, you are the god of war, and I could never trust you to be anything different. Nor should you be anything other than what you are. You created me to lead your forces and
to defeat Hades. I will do that. Anything else would be unwise, for I will not allow myself to be hurt again. And you have others to satiate your ... other hungers.”

  “Myrina.” I said her name, but I didn’t have any kind of follow-up.

  She continued. “Think on what I have said. And rest while you can. You will need to fortify our walls.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll review our defenses on the western walls. If Poseidon comes walking out of the ocean, we’ll need to stop him.”

  Myrina’s face grew dark. “If that happens, I will bring you the Crystal Scythe myself. However, I fear if you use it to kill a god, you yourself will be lost completely to the godstone. You will stop being you, and you will be Ares. Jacob will be gone and, for what it is worth, I prefer you. I ... I love ...” Her voice broke.

  She turned on her heel and strode away.

  The whole encounter left my head spinning. Light glimmered off the Crystal Scythe. I’d stuck it in the corner next to the War Blade. Everything Myrina had said made sense. The godstone raged against her words, but now I saw it for what it was. The gem was Ares—he wasn’t dead, not really, just biding his time, which might have been the war god’s plan all along. After I grew in power, he’d come back and take me over so he could have a second life. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He’d screwed the pooch in the end.

  As Jacob Merely, not that arrogant dickhead, I could use my Amazons to their maximum potential. Working together, we were simply more powerful than if I went in alone searching for glory and feeding my ego.

  A flutter of wings came from the balcony. Asteria had come to visit, and she hadn’t come alone. Phoebe came limping in with Loxo at her side, and Asteria slithered in as a snake before she grew arms and legs, turned human, and walked toward me.

  “We were afraid you’d still be awake,” Phoebe said with a frown.

  “And smelly,” Loxo added with a smirk. She was a gorgeous woman with dark skin and braided hair. That wicked smile of hers was like a torch thrown on the gasoline of my lust. “There will be songs written about the great stink of Jacob Merely, god of war!”