𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐑𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

17 - finally, some light (heavy) stabbing

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

THIS WAS SOME GLADIATOR TYPE SHIT, and honestly, after the month Elia's had, she was ready to welcome some stabbing. But the centaur getting mauled by a giant in the center of the arena still made her queasy— she couldn't help but think of Chiron.

There were seats about twelve feet above the dirt floor, filled with tons of monsters, all cheering and shouting at the fight happening. And, of course, because things couldn't get any weirder, the arena was full of skulls. Some looked human, some didn't, and some looked very, very fresh. Elia swallowed.

Then, her eyes drifted to the spectators wall. Just above a very familiar banner sat a very familiar boy. Elia wanted to throw up right there in the dirt.

"Luke," she whispered under her breath. Her fingers curled. 

As if he heard her, the blond's lips curled into a cold smile and he propped his chin on his hand like all this was mildly interesting to him. Next to him, an enormous giant was sprawled atop a throne, his skin dark red with waves tattooed across it.

Okay, breathe, Elia. Just think. She took a deep breath, ignoring the stench of blood in the air. There were chains hanging from the ceiling, strung with skulls and other assorted, gory things that she didn't want to dwell on just now. Overall, the decor was very gothic and she didn't really fuck with the aesthetic. 

When she looked back to the center of the arena, the centaur was gone, reduced to a pile of gold dust and a single hoof, which the giant grabbed and bradished to the crowds. The masses roared until the big red dude stood from his throne, holding up a hand for silence. 

"Good entertainment!" he bellowed, a wide, animalistic grin on his face. "But nothing I haven't seen before. What else do you have, Luke, son of Hermes?"

Elia couldn't help but laugh under her breath at the title. Luke hated his father. Just being associated with the god probably irked the boy to no end. But, he rose to his feet, eyes glittering like he was in a good mood.

"Lord Antaeus," he bowed his head, speaking loud enough for the crowd to hear. "You have been an excellent host. We would be happy to amuse you, to repay the favor of passing through your territory."

As her brows pulled downwards, Elia frowned up at the older boy. How diplomatic of him, and hypocritical. He denounced the gods, yet sucks up to any diety to get what he needs. Survival of the fittest, she guessed.

The giant, Antaeus, crossed his huge arms over his chest. The guy was seriously ripped. "A favor I have not yet granted," he growled, red lips curling over yellow teeth. "I want entertainment!"

Luke bowed, though Elia could see his shoulders tighten. "I believe I have something better than centaurs to fight in your arena now. I have a prophecy child." He pointed to Elia, lips curled into a condescending sneer. "Elia Bassett, daughter of Apollo. Hey, Ella!"

The blonde ground her jaw. "Don't fucking call me that, Castellan," she snarled, chin raised proudly as the crowd tossed stones at her. She dodged as many as she could, but one caught her across the cheek, leaving blood trickling down her face.

Antaeus looked mildly amused. "Ah, the sun girl. She should fight well. Or die well!"

"If her death pleases you," Luke tried, looking eager, "will you let our armies cross your territory?"

"Perhaps!" the giant shrugged his enormous shoulders.

Luke didn't look too thrilled with that answer, turning his gaze down to the blonde in the center of the arena. He sent her a pointed glare as if warning her that she'd be in big trouble if she didn't die spectacularly. Great talk.