God of Storms |The Anak Series| [COMPLETED!]

Nine

Perseus opened his eyes. He exhaled, releasing tension he didn't know was pent up. He was safe. Immediately, Perseus recognized Typhon's palace.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position. The room was dimly lit. A lone light cast a soft glow in the room. Perseus blinked. He was in his former chambers; it was comforting, though it wasn't anything unique.

Naturally, Perseus' hands found the medallion tied around his neck. The black, ornate carvings shone faintly in the dark. Letting the medallion fall to his chest, Perseus stood. Previously, the medallion had been a source of pride, something that inspired him, but now Perseus felt guilt.

The guilt had crawled through his skin. Now, it was set deep in his bones. Perseus could feel it. There was no turning back, no chance for redemption.

The God of Valor and Heroes — how ironic. Perseus walked down the familiar hallway. Justus, Garmeus, and even Zeus they all deserved better. Still, Perseus kept his chin up.

Perseus opened the door to Typhon's hall. The firstborn of Tartarus lounged his throne. His piercing white eyes glaring through Perseus' soul. For once, Typhon wore no armor.

"Challenge Three, among surviving Challengers, is known for its inevitable, devastating loss. No matter the consequences of your Challenge, Perseus, understand that others have had to make the same choice you've made," Typhon explained.

Perseus nodded slowly.

Typhon rolled his shoulders back. His muscles rippling, he stood up. Typhon undid his shirt. He stepped down from the throne into the light.

Perseus' eyes widened. He knew Typhon' body was scarred, but now, Perseus witnessed it. The entirety of his chest was blanketed with scars. Lacerations as long as a great sword and as deep as a broken tooth.

"I choose to leave all of these scars. Some of them are from your blade," Typhon smirked.

Perseus closed his eyes. He had his own share of scars. He could feel Typhon's eyes staring through him.

"These aren't everything, Perseus. The Arena takes a toll on your soul, your psyche. I brought you here to remind you of something you already know — you are strong in every damn sense of the word. You are my champion."

Perseus clenched his jaw. "Yes."

***

Perseus wanted to believe Typhon's words, but was he strong? He was powerful. The blood on his sword was enough, but was he strong, was he strong like Typhon? 

The gates to the Arena center opened with a now familiar boom. It was Challenge Four.

The golden-eyed God narrowed his eyes. He stalked forward. He had to be strong. The crowd roared to life. As a Challenger, he was building a reputation. They were rumors of titles being thrown around, but Perseus couldn't care.

His gauntlets shifted into his sword and shield, Maros and Celestion. He broke into a run. This Challenge was already over. Perseus was the God of Storms, Heroes, Valor, and Space, the firstborn of Kronos.

From the other side of the Arena, Perseus met the eyes of Challenge Four. The Challenge was a tall, slender man, though clearly, the creature wasn't normal. His eyes were stark red and his skin was pale, almost white as snow. This was a necromancer.

Perseus stalked forward.

"I am . . ."

Perseus narrowed his eyes. He couldn't hear words. No distractions. No hesitations.

He lunged forward, slashing his sword upward. Perseus couldn't hear the necromancer scream. He had lost an eye. That wasn't the only thing he'd lose.

The necromancer's black blood fell to the ground. "You cut me?" He screamed. The blood on the ground pulsed. Hundreds, thousands of dead rose from the ground.

Lifeless beasts, they ranged from giants to dwarfs, each restored with one damning task — murder. They were skeletal creatures, the only skin that hung on their bodies had rotted with time. The smell of death, it was familiar.

Perseus slammed Maros into the ground. Tendrils of lightning exploded from his shield in every direction. Fire, heat, and chaos, through it all, Perseus kept his eyes locked on the necromancer.

The red-eyed necromancer stepped back into the darkness, disappearing into the night, long shadows and red lights. He smiled thinly, a crazed, crooked grin.

Perseus could feel his eyes itching onto the back of his head. The necromancer thought he had delved into the night. Cutting through the dead, Perseus chuckled softly. The necromancer was nothing. The Arena was nothing.

The son of Kronos felt the darkness. Lady Nyx and her gift. He accepted.

Perseus the firstborn of Kronos. God of Storms, Heroes, Valor, and Space. Champion of Typhon and Nyx.

The Storm King. The Challenger.

Perseus.

It came to him like a long lost memory. He let the power course through him. He had been wrong. He was no Zeus. The God of the Skies could never wield this power.

Perseus faded into the shadows. The scream of the Arena was almost as sweet nectar. In the true night, Perseus moved, and he couldn't stop. Celestion and Maros, they were an extension of him now.

The dead returned to death.

The necromancer followed. His shriveled corpse fell back into the mortal realm as Perseus stepped out of the Arena.

He heard the of the Arena. In unison, they shouted, "STORM KING!"

The darkness, it was a part of him. 

He looked forward to Challenge Five.