The Sixth Life of Medusa

28. Death Is The Reward

"No!" Perseus shouted and immediately dropped his gaze. It was still hard to directly look at the goddess, so he focused on the thorny band around her exposed ankles. "I... I don't want to die," he whispered as he scowled at his reflection on the still water.

That helpless feeling as life leaked out of him, the wild but useless panic as his breath and ability to speak was taken. Her cold eyes. Even in this alternate space, the phantom pain remained. It washed over him in hot pulses, especially his face. Raising a shaky hand, he gingerly touched his jaw. It felt numb. What he'd give to put that bitch in her place. His fist clenched on his thigh as visions of revenge burned his mind.

You are angry and desperate. Good.

Perseus hung his head and succumbed to humility. The goddess claimed he was going through the inferno, and the more he considered her words, the more it made sense, especially the mormo attack and how easily he had been kidnapped. There was also the odd way Antigoni acted before his killers made an appearance. Another awful possibility teased his mind, daring him to form a logical conclusion.

What if Dictys... No. Perseus fiercely rejected the thought.

Dictys would never. When their mother abandoned them and his father died, Dictys took them in without a complaint. He cared for them, especially Linos.

"Please," Perseus mumbled. "Please, make me strong." Zeus' power and this goddess before him, he'll grab them all. "I will do anything," he added.

There was a long pause and just like the first time he came to this space, a sharp pain spread from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck. Gritting his teeth, Perseus bore it down.

First, I must show you, she finally said.

When Perseus looked up, he gawked. The goddess, now thrice her height, loomed over him like a tower. Her curly damp hair escaped her hood as she bent and touched his forehead.

A war between two unfamiliar forces unfolded before Perseus' eyes. They wielded spears and shields like Grecian soldiers but the quality of the winning army's weapons and armour was far superior to anything he had ever seen.

Their helmets, possessing the appearance of white skulls, came with a brass mask that completely hid their faces, and their shields released occasional puffs of fog as they advanced.

It was an obliteration.

The snowy plane was stained with blood and vomit from soldiers in fur and leather armour, their faces, purple and twisted in agony as they were coldly speared by passing white-armoured soldiers. Even the horrors Perseus witnessed during his father's death did not come close to this massacre.

War is inevitable. Though the goddess' words reverberated around Perseus, he couldn't see her.

As soldiers died, white smoke curled off their bodies like snuffed candles before draining into the earth. Perseus frowned. Why did he suddenly remember Drain?

Before he could pursue the thought, the scene changed to another of equal decimation. A city square with thousands of dead people in tall heaps. A woman wearing a pristine robe walked amidst it all. In her grip was a chain holding a smoking brazier, and she mumbled words as if in supplication for the dead.

Disease is inevitable, the goddess said.

The woman stopped before one of the hills of death, raised a slim tattooed arm and shouted a word Perseus could not understand. The same thing happened, only this time the curling smoke gathered and formed a dark orb before sinking into the woman's open palm. She walked to the next heap of bodies and repeated the strange ritual.