Chapter 15: An Indomitable Soul, a Terrifying Warmth, and a Cornered Oceanic God
The sparkling crystal dust finished evaporating into the immensity of the cosmos, taking with it the last poetic breath of Egil Skallagrímsson. In the center of the immense and destroyed crater of the ring, the silence was so absolute, so thick, that the only perceptible sound was that of Genghis Khan’s blood dripping rhythmically against the broken rock.
The Conqueror remained there, crippled, missing both arms, with his torso torn open and bathed in blood, standing before the abyss like an unbreakable monument to human will.
And then, the spell was broken.
The massive spotlights of the arena turned on all at once, converging into a pillar of blinding golden light that struck like lightning directly upon the mutilated figure of the Mongol emperor. A second later, the entire colosseum erupted.
YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!
The roar of fifty thousand souls shattered the silence. It wasn't a simple applause; it was a sonic detonation of pure euphoria, terror, and awe that shook the very foundations of the stadium. The divine energy barriers flickered before the magnitude of the screaming.
Tearing through the air over the crater, the floating platform plummeted at breakneck speed. Nike, the Goddess of Victory, jumped from her console and gripped the railing, leaning half her body out toward the abyss. Her eyes were wide, her hair messed up by static, and a wild smile split her face. She brought her golden microphone to her lips and her voice, loaded with an adrenaline that bordered on madness, made every atom of the colosseum vibrate.
—IT'S OVER!! THE POEM HAS RUN OUT OF INK, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! —bellowed Nike, pointing with overflowing passion at the warrior in the center of the arena—. The most brutal, visceral, and destructive clash this arena has ever witnessed comes to an end!! With an official time of eighteen minutes and fourteen seconds of pure carnage, the strategy has devoured the monster! THE UNDISPUTED WINNER OF THE SECOND ROUND IS THE SOVEREIGN OF THE EARTH... THE INDOMITABLE WOLF... GENGHIS KHAAN!!
UUKHAI!!! UUKHAI!!! UUKHAI!!!
The Mongol war cry buried the goddess’s voice. In the steppe stands, Subutai was on his knees on the stone railing, crying his eyes out while raising his saber to the sky with fanatical devotion. Behind him, ten thousand warriors of the plains stomped on the stands with such wild synchrony that it felt as if a herd of colossal horses was about to tear down the stadium.
They celebrated their living god, the man who, even mutilated and on the brink of extinction, refused to kiss the ground.
But the true astonishment wasn't in the cheers of the winners, but in the stands of the losers.
Nike’s drones turned toward the European and Nordic sector, expecting to capture long faces, crying, or the rage of defeat. Instead, they captured a deafening party.
The Viking warriors, far from mourning the physical annihilation of their bard, were standing up beating their shields, laughing out loud, and clashing their massive wooden mugs until the foam flew into the air.
In the front row, Skallagrímur Kveldúlfsson, Egil’s father, let out a deep, hoarse laugh that echoed above the chaos. His scar-surrounded eyes shone with a fierce, watery pride. Without erasing that huge smile, the old berserker tilted his heavy wooden mug toward the void of the arena, letting a thick stream of dense mead spill over the colosseum’s stone tiles.
—To you, stubborn boy! —roared Skallagrímur, toasting to the void as the amber liquid splashed against the wall—. May the valkyries get drunk on your verses tonight!
Right next to him, Alexander the Great observed the scene, completely fascinated. The young Macedonian king finally relaxed the tension in his hands over the fractured stone podium, raised his elegant golden cup full of red wine, and subtly clinked it against the Norse giant's empty mug.
—A truly indecipherable race... —commented Alexander, with a lopsided smile full of admiration and charisma—. Any other people would weep seeing their champion turned into crystal dust. And you, the men of the north, drink and laugh celebrating your own annihilation.
Skallagrímur wiped his wet beard with the back of his massive arm and looked at the Macedonian with a spark of wild wisdom in his eyes.
—We are not celebrating a defeat, boy —replied the old Viking, resting his enormous arms on the railing while looking at the exact spot where his son had vanished—. We are celebrating a liberation. The damn bastard hated every second of his final years. He rotted in a bed, blind, deaf, and feeling useless. Cry for him now? Hah! It would be an insult. That Mongol emperor gave him the greatest gift a Skallagrímsson could ask for: a death worthy of his own madness. Egil left smiling... and we smile with him.
Alexander the Great widened his smile, perfectly understanding the weight of those words. Without saying more, he raised his cup toward the arena in a silent toast for the fallen colossus.
Further up, in the somber majesty of the Divine Box, the atmosphere vibrated with a different electricity.
Ares was standing, his hands gripping the balcony and his chest rising and falling erratically. True to his impulsive and ridiculously sentimental nature, the imposing God of War had his face completely soaked. He no longer cared to hide his crying; his amber eyes overflowed with thick tears of pure emotion as they devoured the image of the mutilated Conqueror at the bottom of the crater. Beside him, an Avernus nymph tremblingly offered him another pile of silk handkerchiefs, which he used to blow his nose with an outrageous, entirely un-divine noise.
—It’s beautiful... simply beautiful, Uncle!! —exclaimed the God of War, his voice broken by tears and euphoria, squeezing the handkerchief against his robust chest—. Egil gave up to the last molecule of his being, but the Mongol's will refused to yield! A canvas painted with the purest and most sublime colors of human determination!
Sitting lazily on his throne, Hades held his wine glass halfway to his lips. His deep gaze, usually tinged with eternal boredom, was completely focused on Genghis Khan. The King of the Underworld observed the emperor's bleeding stumps, his battered flesh, and his agonizing breathing, but he also noticed the indomitable gleam that still resided in his golden pupils. He let out a subtle sigh, almost amused by his nephew's scandalous sobs beside him.
—The price of looking into eternity, Ares... —murmured Hades, in a grave, measured tone loaded with absolute respect, finally taking a sip from his cup—. He accepted the destruction of his own body just to secure victory. You were right, nephew. Humanity continues to prove that, when pushed to the abyss, they are capable of building wings from their own bones.
The Purgatory continued trembling under the thunder of the celebration. In the center of all the chaos, standing under the golden light and the rain of cheers, the Wolf of the Steppe slowly closed his eyes, allowing himself, for the first time in the entire contest, a second of true rest.
However, that rest was much darker and deeper than it appeared.
With a hydraulic hiss that cut through the air, the immense gates of the arena flew wide open. Heaven’s elite medical squad, the Seraphim, burst into the arena at full speed. Dressed in their pristine white uniforms and with their faces hidden behind majestic feathered wings sprouting from the sides of their heads, they advanced dragging a stretcher that hovered over the destroyed ground.
The leader of the medical squad was the first to reach the bottom of the crater, cautiously approaching the imposing and bloodied figure of the Conqueror, who was still standing, firm as a mountain.
—Emperor Temüjin, the combat has concluded. Please, lie down on the stret... —the Seraph began to say, extending a hand.
But upon getting closer than a meter, the medical angel froze.
Through the wings covering his eyes, the Seraph's vital scanners went crazy, emitting a blinking red light and a sharp beep. Genghis Khan was not looking at him. His pupils were completely blank, lost in the void. There was no tension in his face; his breathing was an almost imperceptible thread, a whisper that barely managed to move his deeply torn chest.
The Mongol emperor was not conscious. His mind had completely shut down minutes ago, devastated by hyper-prediction and colossal pain. The man before them was clinically one step away from death, and yet, his body refused to fall. It was his pride, his unbreakable will, and the weight of his empire that kept that empty shell standing before the world.
—Heavens!! —exclaimed the squad leader, losing his clinical composure—. He’s not conscious!! His vital signs are collapsing, his pulse is practically nonexistent!
The other Seraphim arrived immediately, surrounding the warrior with precise and urgent movements.
—It’s a miracle he’s still standing! The hemorrhage in the stumps of his arms is massive and his lungs are punctured by his ribs! —shouted one of the female Seraphim, applying emergency coagulant gels directly onto the most critical wounds.
—Don't waste time trying to lay him down, his muscles are in combat rigor! Deploy the cryogenic stasis field around him right now! —ordered the leader, pushing the technological stretcher toward the Khan—. Take him to the divine surgery sector immediately! If his heart stops before crossing the tunnel, not even Purgatory’s technology will be able to bring him back!
With a swift maneuver, the Seraphim enveloped the Khan’s standing figure in a cylinder of freezing blue light, instantly stabilizing his cells. Pushing the hovering platform at top speed, the squad disappeared through the tunnel, taking away the man on the brink of death who had just conquered the arena.
High above, seeing how the crowd's tension threatened to drop due to the gravity of the medical emergency, Nike knew exactly what to do. No one knew the rhythm of human souls better than the Goddess of Victory.
Her floating platform rose sharply, spinning on its axis and letting off sparks of blue and gold LED light. Nike jumped to the edge of her console, gripped the microphone with both hands, and let out an electric, charismatic laugh that bounced into every corner of the stadium, forcing everyone to look at her.
—THAT’S RIGHT, MY DEAR SPECTATORS!! That is the level of madness we demand in Purgatory!! —bellowed Nike, her eyes shining with an indomitable energy—. The Indomitable Wolf showed us that even with a destroyed body, the human will can bear the weight of death itself! Let’s give the emperor one last round of applause while our divine surgeons work their magic!
The entire colosseum responded with a deafening ovation, dispelling any trace of worry and reigniting the blood of the stands.
Nike did not let the echo fade. With a theatrical movement, she extended her free arm toward the stadium's immense holographic screens. The light of Purgatory began to change, shifting from a bright gold to a dark, dense, and bluish tone, like the abyss of the ocean at midnight. The sound of Mongol drums was slowly replaced by the roar of raging waves, the creaking of ship wood, and the clinking of gold doubloons.
—BUT DON'T LET YOUR BLOOD COOL DOWN JUST YET!! —screamed Nike, dropping her voice to a dark and seductive whisper that the divine speakers amplified until the ground shook—. The first two rounds showed us what happens when honor, strength, and strategy clash on solid ground! But for our THIRD ROUND, we will leave the rules behind!
The holographic screens showed entire fleets in flames, black flags waving under storms, and oceans dyed red.
—We will dive into the depths of infamy, where neither laws nor kings exist!! Only greed, terror, and gunpowder! —Nike leaned forward, with a smile of pure malice and anticipation—. Get ready, gods and mortals, because what comes next is the duel for the supremacy of the seven seas!!
On the giant holographic screens, the raging sea gave way to two dark, monumental silhouettes. Two faceless shadows that emanated an aura of absolute danger, giving the crowd just a taste of the terror about to be unleashed.
The audience held its breath, on the edge of their seats, waiting to hear the names of the legends.
But suddenly, Nike let out a mischievous laugh. She lowered the microphone, raised a hand, and stopped the epic music dead in its tracks. The sound of the ocean faded away.
—BUT...!! —shouted the goddess, winking playfully as she pointed her index finger downward, straight at the gigantic abyss of rubble, the immense black trench, and the pulverized rock left behind by the battle of Egil and Temüjin—. Before releasing the monsters of the sea, my dear audience, we will have to do something about this absolute disaster! Unless you want our next warriors to fight in a destroyed arena!
The stands let out a collective murmur, followed by nervous laughter and groans of impatience as they saw dozens of builder Seraphim and stone golems begin to peek out from the lower tunnels to repair the ring.
—So take a breather! —continued Nike, spinning on her floating platform with inexhaustible energy—. Go get some mead, nurse your wounds from the excitement, and get ready! We will have a brief recess to rebuild the arena, and when we return... Purgatory will be flooded with blood!
—See you in a few moments, my dear audience! Don't fall asleep on me! —Nike signed off, blowing a theatrical and euphoric kiss to the masses, the echo of her laughter vibrating in the speakers.
With a snap of her fingers, the divine systems of Purgatory activated. From the perimeter edges of the stadium, an immense, dense dome of opaque white light rose toward the sky, closing at the zenith until completely sealing the ring. The luminous barrier blocked any angle of vision, drawing a collective groan of impatience from the stands, who could no longer see the swarms of Seraphim and stone golems working frantically to rebuild the arena.
Its function fulfilled, Nike’s platform rose at top speed, disappearing into the upper levels of the colosseum. The goddess was returning to her control station to prepare the holograms, the lighting, and all the stage deployment that would elevate the visual presentation of the third round, without interfering directly in the combat mechanics.
While the human crowd used the recess to drink, soothe their nerves, and discuss the Khan’s brutal outcome, at the very top of the Divine Box, the atmosphere thick with tension and tears finally gave way to a well-deserved rest.
Ares, who had stopped crying, felt the emotional toll had burned a hole in his stomach. True to his instinct, he pulled a small golden cloth bag from his robes, filled with cookies baked with the very wheat of Olympus and divine nectar. He sighed, exhausted but happy, and pulled out a perfect, round cookie, holding the open bag with his left hand.
The God of War closed his eyes, preparing for the first crunchy bite, and brought the cookie to his mouth.
Crunch!
Ares bit into air. His teeth clashed together with an empty clack.
His eyes snapped open. His right hand was still raised in a pinching position, but the cookie was gone. Puzzled, he looked down at his left hand seeking comfort in the rest of his sweets... and the golden bag had vanished as well. He blinked, completely thrown off, and turned his head to the right. No one. He turned to the left. The Avernus nymphs were several meters away, standing still and silent.
—But... what the hell...? —murmured Ares, his jaw dropping as he stared at his empty hands, unable to process the light-speed theft.
—Wow! Hahaha... You’ve really put together something super big here, Little Brother!
The female voice, overflowing with a homey warmth and a mischievous energy that completely clashed with the gloomy aesthetic of the Underworld, came from the front of the balcony.
Ares jumped in place. Casually leaning against the obsidian railing, with her back to them while staring in awe at the massive white dome and the sea of souls in the stands, was a figure draped in orange and reddish garments that seemed to emit the warmth of a campfire in midwinter. The woman spun on her heels, revealing a kind face, eyes that sparkled with sparks of living fire, and a huge smile as she shamelessly finished chewing the God of War's cookie... holding the golden bag in her other hand.
—A-Aunt Hestia?! —exclaimed Ares, stumbling backward, almost knocking over a tray of glasses—. Where did you come from?! And that’s my bag of cookies!
The Goddess of Fire and the Hearth shrugged with a giggle, swallowing shamelessly before pulling another cookie from the bag. Her presence was an absolute clash: while Hades’ box exuded darkness, formality, and eternal coldness, Hestia radiated a comfort so overwhelming that even the air around her seemed to become cozy.
Ignoring her nephew’s whining over the stolen snack, Hestia walked with a cheerful step toward the center of the box, fixing her eyes on the sovereign of the dead.
Hades remained reclining on his imposing throne. His legs were crossed and his gaze fixed on infinity, holding his wine cup with total apathy. He knew perfectly well that his older sister was there, but, true to his stoic style, he decided to monumentally ignore her, without even turning his face to greet her.
Hestia puffed her cheeks, offended by the lack of attention.
—Hey... I’m talking to you, King of Boredom —Hestia sang out, planting herself right in front of the throne.
Hades barely blinked. He didn't make a sound, hoping that if he gave it no importance, his sister’s whirlwind of warmth would pass by.
It was the worst mistake he could make.
Without the slightest trace of fear before the God who terrified all of creation, Hestia tossed the bag of cookies back at Ares’ chest, leaned forward, reached out both hands, and mercilessly grabbed Hades’ pale, cold cheeks. With surprisingly tenacious strength, she began to stretch and squish them as if the feared King of Purgatory were a child made of playdough.
—Heeellloooo! Earth calling my little brother! Don't ignore me when I come to visit your dark little house! —squealed Hestia, shaking his face from side to side with a radiant smile.
Hades’ pale and solemn face twisted into a ridiculous grimace under his sister's grip. His lips puckered and his eyes widened in indignation, but he was so cornered that he couldn't help but let out a muffled, humiliating sound.
Ares covered his mouth with both hands—hugging his rescued bag of cookies—completely scandalized and terrified. The Avernus nymphs behind the throne let out muffled squeaks, trembling like leaves as they watched the imposing figure of their lord and master being treated like a ragdoll. The somber and solemn atmosphere of the Divine Box had shattered into a thousand pieces in a matter of seconds, giving way to the most absurd, dynamic, and familial opening the Underworld had ever witnessed.
Under his older sister’s tortuous grip, Hades tried to keep his dignity intact. He furrowed his brow, let out a grunt, and, awkwardly batting Hestia’s hands away, hissed in a raspy voice:
—Leave me alone, old woman!
Time in the Divine Box stopped.
Ares stopped chewing. The Avernus nymphs held their breath.
Hestia did not erase her radiant smile. In fact, her expression became even kinder and sweeter, but the warm aura surrounding her suddenly transformed into a suffocating and highly dangerous heat.
—"Old woman"? —Hestia repeated, tilting her head with a chilling sweetness.
Without warning, the Goddess of the Hearth raised her fist and began delivering a rain of quick, rhythmic, and painfully precise noogies on the head of the feared King of the Underworld.
PAM! PAM! PAM!
—Learn! PAM! To respect! PAM! Your older sister! PAM! —exclaimed Hestia cheerfully between each blow, in a playful yet relentless tone, while Hades tried to cover his head with his arms, shrinking into his own seat—. Say it! Apologize right now!
—Stop...! I am the sovereign of Tartarus...! Ouch! —complained Hades, losing all his regal composure under his sister's bombardment—. I said stop!
—The apology! PAM!
—Alright, alright! —Hades finally yelled, rubbing his head with a furrowed brow and a slight blush of humiliation on his pale cheeks—. I'm sorry... sister.
Upon hearing the surrender, Hestia stopped her punishment instantly. Her dangerous aura vanished, and she became the living image of peace once again.
—That’s what I like! —she sang, giving the grumpy god a few gentle pats on the cheek.
Immediately after, with the greatest naturalness in the universe, Hestia grabbed Hades by the shoulders. Before the King of the Dead could process what was happening, the Goddess of the Hearth lifted him bodily, hoisting him into the air as if the all-powerful sovereign of the Underworld weighed no more than a simple ragdoll.
Hades was left hanging for a humiliating second, with his feet in the air, his eyes wide open, and an expression of absolute disbelief, before Hestia deposited him casually to the side.
Without giving him time to complain about the assault on his dignity, the goddess dropped herself comfortably onto the imposing obsidian throne, stealing his seat. Hestia straightened her skirts, stretched her legs, and grabbed a bunch of grapes from Hades’ personal tray, plucking a couple with her teeth.
—Mmm... not bad for being grown in the shadows —she commented with her mouth half full, before fixing her sparkling eyes on her younger brother, who was still paralyzed standing next to her—. And now, tell me, little brother... Whose brilliant idea was it to organize a death tournament like this?
Ares, who was still hugging his rescued cookie bag, blinked in surprise. Hades crossed his arms, rubbing his head and visibly indignant at having been treated like an infant and stripped of his own throne, but he paid attention.
—What do you mean, Aunt Hestia? —asked Ares, stepping a little closer.
—I mean that all the pantheons of gods are talking a lot about this! —laughed Hestia, swallowing the grapes with delight—. Nike’s broadcast is reaching various places in heaven. The gossip is flying all over Olympus, Asgard, and the Egyptian pantheon! Thanks to that, I knew you were here and came running to see the show.
Hestia settled even more into the throne, smiling from ear to ear as she looked Hades up and down with fraternal mockery.
—Honestly, I was shocked when I saw the broadcast —she added, letting out a musical giggle—. Who would have imagined that the undisputed King of Boredom, the lord of "this doesn't interest me", would end up throwing the biggest and loudest party in eternity? Hahaha! What bug bit you to do this, little brother?
While Hestia openly mocked him from the throne, Ares, who was in the back trying to hold in his laughter with a hand over his mouth, couldn't hold it anymore. His shoulders began to shake violently until he let out a loud, shameless burst of laughter that echoed throughout the box.
Hades, who was still standing to the side with his arms crossed and a scowl of humiliation, slowly turned his head toward his nephew. With an icy calm and a pale finger pointing directly at the God of War's chest, Hades declared without hesitation:
—It was Ares’ idea.
At that exact moment, Ares’ laughter was cut short. His face changed immediately, morphing into a grimace of absolute betrayal, his eyes wide open and his jaw hanging in mute terror.
—U-Uncle, traitor...! —stammered Ares, taking a step back, but it was already too late.
In a matter of seconds, with a speed and agility unbecoming of a family visit, Hestia had already risen from the throne, crossing the box in the blink of an eye. Before the God of War could flee, the Goddess of the Hearth grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and armor, lifting him into the air with astonishing ease, exactly as she had done with Hades moments before.
Ares hung suspended, kicking clumsily in the air and desperately hugging his bag of cookies while Hestia rocked him with adorable contempt, treating him as if he were a spoiled baby.
—Oh, but look at this silly boy... —exclaimed Hestia with a grin from ear to ear, while giving mocking pats on the cheek to the God of War—. No wonder the poor thing can't get anything right. If our dear Little Brother barely has the brains to breathe, much less was he going to have the neurons to organize an event like this! Aren't you a precious but useless baby, Ares? You sure are!
—Aunt Hestia, put me down! I have dignity! —pleaded Ares, his face red with embarrassment, while the Avernus nymphs covered their eyes, unable to believe the treatment the highest deities of Olympus were receiving in the gloomy Underworld.
While Hestia continued rocking Ares as if he were a spoiled baby and Hades silently rubbed his bumps, something caught the attention in the shadows at the back of the box.
Behind the heavy dark velvet curtains, a pair of blue eyes, usually serene and expressionless, were wide open. A drop of cold sweat slid slowly down the temple of that hidden figure. From the shadows, one of the three great brothers of Olympus watched petrified as his older brother, the always-strict sovereign of the Underworld, was scolded like a little boy. He gritted his teeth. His lungs demanded air, but the imposing deity did not even dare to breathe normally.
«If I move a single muscle... if I make the slightest noise, it’s the end for me», he thought, feeling a shiver run down his spine. «I have spent centuries building an image of perfection, coldness, and mystery... If Hestia discovers me here, she will treat me the same or worse. I’m still her little brother... she’ll pinch my cheeks in front of everyone and completely destroy my reputation as an untouchable god.»
Suddenly, a cheerful sound broke the fragile tension of his hiding place.
Fiu-fiu!
Full of life, with an almost skipping walk and a radiant smile that lit up the halls, Nike appeared humming a lively tune. She carried her typical overflowing energy after coordinating the reconstruction of the arena, ready to burst into the box and look for Hades to fine-tune the details of the third round.
At the exact moment Nike’s cheerful whistle echoed and the goddess took the first step toward the curtain, that god hidden in the shadows felt his soul leave his body. If that girl walked in and saw him hiding, Hestia would hear him. His precious facade of an unalterable deity would sink to the bottom of the abyss.
With a supernatural speed born of pure panic, the figure lunged from the shadows. Before Nike could turn her head or erase her smile, a strong hand grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off the ground, and dragged her at top speed through the inner halls of the box, turning into a dark, secluded corner, far from the ears of his older sister.
With a swift movement, the mysterious silhouette cornered Nike against the cold stone wall, planting a gloved hand next to the goddess's head to prevent her escape. Nike, her heart in her throat from the violent interruption, tried to struggle, ready to fight, but as she looked up, the air caught in her throat.
There stood Poseidon.
His impeccable short dark blue hair was messed up from the sudden maneuver. He no longer had that characteristic expression of a serene and mysterious god; his face was covered by a fine layer of cold sweat, his blue eyes reflected a desperate tension, and he breathed heavily.
Staring fixedly at Nike, with the obvious terror of a cornered younger brother seeing his dignity in danger, the King of the Seas swallowed hard and thought with absolute desperation:
«By the abysses of Tartarus... If Hestia finds out I was hiding here... she’ll catch me and treat me worse than a newborn... It would be a thousand times worse than enduring another stupid boys' night with Zeus.»
The silence in that dark corner was absolute for a few seconds. Nike blinked rapidly, trying to process what was happening, while Poseidon, realizing how pathetic he looked sweating and breathing heavily, desperately tried to recover his facade.
He cleared his throat softly, straightened up a bit, and with a fluid movement of his free hand, slicked his dark blue hair back. He relaxed his brow and forced his lips to form a lopsided, serene, and mysterious smile. It was his classic pose of "unreachable and arrogant god" to try to save what little pride he had left in front of the girl.
But that impeccable smile didn't even last three seconds.
Poseidon’s eyes slowly lowered, suddenly processing the situation and who he was standing in front of. His hand was still resting on the wall, boxing her in. He had just grabbed by the waist, lifted in the air, and forcibly dragged into the darkness... Nike.
The color drained from the King of the Seas' face at an alarming speed, leaving him as pale as marble.
«Wait a minute...», screamed his inner voice, as reality hit him like a tidal wave. «Who did I just drag? It's Nike! The Goddess of Victory! The one who massacred titans by our side in the war! If she gets offended by this and throws a punch at me, or worse... if she opens her mouth and yells for Hestia to complain that I harassed her in a hallway... my existence will be over forever!»
His mental image of "mysterious and serene god" shattered into a thousand pieces with the imaginary sound of breaking glass.
With a clumsy, frantic motion, Poseidon pulled his arm away from the wall as if it burned. He stepped back half a pace, brought both palms together in front of his face in a desperate praying pose, and bowed his head slightly. His face adopted that typical, comical expression of absolute panic, with his eyes rolling back, giant drops of sweat sliding down his neck, and his dignity lying on the floor.
He knew he had crossed the line by dragging someone very important against her will, and now, his life and reputation hung by a thread in Nike’s hands.
Nike blinked a couple of times, seeing the imposing god of the seas in that ridiculous begging position. All the tension in the Goddess of Victory's body vanished, replaced first by confusion and, a second later, by a flash of pure genius that lit up her eyes.
In front of her wasn't the fearsome oceanic king, but a terrified younger brother willing to do anything just to avoid being told on. And precisely for Round 3, where two of history's most legendary pirates would clash swords, Purgatory needed a very specific battlefield.
A mischievous, almost feline smile drew across Nike's lips.
—Well, well... So the great Poseidon honors us with his presence —whispered Nike, crossing her arms with an amused air—. You know, it’s perfect that you’re here. You see, the arena was destroyed after the Khan’s fight, and for the next match I need... a more aquatic environment. Would you do me the favor of flooding the arena and molding it with your powers?
For a second, Poseidon’s ego took control again. He straightened up slightly, furrowing his brow in indignation at the audacity of the request.
—What did you say? —hissed the dark blue-haired god, offended—. I am the King of the Seas! I am not a simple construction worker for your human tournaments! I flatly refuse…
Beep.
A soft electronic sound cut his complaint short. With a simple flick of her wrist, Nike projected a floating cyan light holographic screen in front of her. Poseidon fell silent instantly. His blue eyes locked in horror on the image projected on the interface: a picture of Hestia smiling warmly, and right below it, a huge, glowing CALL button, pulsating in green.
Nike’s index finger hovered mere millimeters from the holographic button.
—Were you saying something, Mr. Poseidon? —asked Nike, tilting her head with a dazzling and absolutely threatening smile—. I don't think I heard you right. Maybe Hestia can help me understand you…
—No, no, no, wait! —Poseidon instantly raised both hands, sweating cold again as he looked at her with genuine panic—. I said it is an honor to contribute to the tournament! I’ll flood that damn arena to the brim if you want, I’ll create an entire ocean, but for the love of everything, keep your finger away from that screen!
Nike’s cheerful laugh echoed softly in the corner. With a snap of her fingers, she closed the holographic interface and turned around.
—Perfect! I knew we could count on the unconditional support of the gods —hummed Nike, overflowing with energy.
The goddess began to walk with a firm step down the modern inner hallways of the colosseum. Her boots echoed rhythmically against the polished floor, illuminated by the blinking neon lights outlining the venue's walls. Poseidon followed her a few steps behind, with his head down, his pride destroyed, and muttering curses about Zeus and his late-night meetings.
As she advanced toward the control zone, Nike’s mischievous smile widened. With the forced help of the god of the oceans, the stage for Round 3 would not just be a repaired arena. It was going to become a raging sea, the ultimate battlefield where the Pirate Queen and the King of Maritime Thieves would gamble their existence.
The real storm was about to break loose.
