The Last Ballad of Olympus: The Waltz of the Vulture and Owl

In Flesh of Scarlet and Plum

Scarlet—violent like the sorrowful sunset.

Blue—as the bluest Tyrian sap from the most precious and torturous shell.

And wicked as one can be—with no mercy and not a hint of remorse on those souls who hoped for Athena's immediate demise.

Lashes after lashes—

One could count the days on these red lines that scared her body.

Bruises after bruises—

Once skin white as the most precious ivory, now all battered by the goddesses' hatred.

Athena was slowly withering. Heavy chains, as strong as her forgotten strength, bounded her to the pillar like a slaughtered calf. And with her recent ordeal, a receiver for those sharp blows by Enyo and Eris, her lips were sealed from crying. She could not even wail the pain out, biting her tongue and not even a little note to escape from her mouth.

The two goddesses reveled at the poor maiden's struggle, continuing with their heartless whips.

With every lash that horrifyingly ornate her back, the crowds cheered—men and women screamed for more. Enyo and Eris gladly obliged their wishes, cheekily grinning as they added more and more wounds onto her.

It was a scourge worthy of a criminal—but the one on the pillar was far from that disposition.

"Not feeling any pain, Athena?" Eris jestingly questioned as she added one more strong slash on top of another one.

From this loathsome performance, blood gushed out like waterfalls. New wound after new wound, Athena's back was like a canvas painted with hatred and wrath.

After Eris's turn, Enyo went for hers and gave another blow to the restrained Athena. Her laughter resonated—maniacally echoing throughout the room once she saw how her slash left a large slice into the flesh, causing the maiden to give out a little whimper.

"Oh dear, is that a cry I hear, Athena?" Another blow onto the helpless prisoner. "Come on now, we need to hear another of that sweet voice."

Athena looked away, leaning into the pillar as she tried to seal her tears. "Please do not break. Please do not break!" She repeatedly thought while the two goddesses continued to inflict horrors on her.

The cheering got louder.

Athena slowly looked at the audience and realized how large the room was, enough to keep savages inside—creating a circus, a nightmare that pushed through the boundaries of reality.

By those claps and glee voices, Enyo felt the strong encouragement—awakening some brutality in her and immediately responded with a fiery scourge on Athena as if she was slaughtering a bull. A liter of scarlet dripped down to the prisoner's feet, tainting the floor of her unspoken pain and struggle.

Athena's ears were hurting from all the booming noise that hoped for her instant death. As the spectacle went on, Athena gazed again at the wild audience and noticed familiar faces—who had once called forth for her help when darkness almost choked them out of air.

There was that woman she remembered crying before her statue, beseeching her aid for her son's safety during the fifteen-year conflict between Athens and Sparta. As a matter of fact, her son survived but paid the price of losing an eye. But despite the bittersweet aftermath, the whole family rejoiced at his second life.

But now, Athena understood that perhaps her gift had a limit. From being a devotee, the mother became her ruthless persecutor—shouting her judgment of death along with the others.