Kryptic ↟ Deimos

three: a night raid

WHEN THE FINAL competition commences, there is no doubt Deimos will emerge victorious among his opponents. His is the blood of gods and with it, he can harness the power of the Pyramid and Damoklean sword. No one would stand a chance against him. The name given to him was chosen with apt foresight —he was the personification of dread. Soon all of the Greek world will come to fear the mention of his name alone.

If he is to be dread, then his counterpart will be destruction. With them, the Cult will control everything. Some of the gathered Cultists place bets on Elena to best Lesya, while others are quick to realize should Lesya fail, reining in Deimos would be impossible. It's not much of a competition between Enyo and Elena either, in truth. 

The match had only just begun, but it already looks as though it's coming to a close. Enyo lifts her sword, parrying the blow aimed at her calf. She flicks the blade up —slicing Elena's cheek. Elena stumbles and Enyo spins, slashing a clean line up the girl's spine. She cries out, slipping to her knees.

Enyo levels her blade at Elena's neck. Their eyes meet and there's a moment's pause. A moment where the Cultists fear Enyo will not carry through. Killing soldiers is nothing compared to killing someone who'd been raised alongside you. Any doubt is chased away when Enyo pulls the sword back and swings. It's not just a slash to the throat —the strength and speed behind the blade takes the girl's head clean off.

She turns, glancing around at those gathered to watch and finds Deimos among them. He goes to her wearing a grim smile —face painted with the blood of Polyas and Kyberniskos— and presses his forehead against hers.

Chrysis and the Ghost of Kosmos watch the pair from afar, both their identities concealed from one another behind terrible masks weeping tears of red. "What have we done?" The Ghost whispers, betraying the feminine voice she'd kept concealed for years. The Ghost had never believed children could be turned into weapons. This display of carnage proves her wrong.

The old priestess grins behind her mask, pride filling her as she looks at her children. Deimos and Enyo. Dread and Destruction. All of Hellas would learn to fear them. "We have built machines," she proclaims.

IT'S ONLY SIMPLE tasks at first. Disposing captains, sinking ships, killing soldiers in the night —building strife between Athens and Sparta. War is inevitable, and the Cult will profit from the chaos. All it will take is a push for the two city-states to collide. Whispers begin spreading around Hellas of two demigods garbed in white-and-gold —fighting with the strength of twenty men— and one of them is a woman. No one can match their prowess. Deimos and Enyo spill blood for the thrill of it.

Tonight is no different. In the distance, moonlight glints off the still waters of the Gulf of Korinth and the lanterns and braziers pocking the city give the horizon a soft golden glow. Rising from the land is a massive monolith, the Temple of Aphrodite sitting proudly atop it with the Akrokorinth fort in the background. The Spartan-controlled fort will be filled with only corpses by the time the birds sing.

"You have the letter?" Deimos asks. Enyo nods, patting the scroll of papyrus tucked into her belt. It bore the seal of the Athenian general, Perikles, and held forged commands to conduct a raid on the fort —more fuel for the fire.

Deimos approaches the fort's entrance alone —out of the corner of his eye, he can see her, scaling the uneven stone wall with ease. "That's close en-" the sentry's statement is cut short by a knife plunging into his neck —he hadn't heard Enyo drop down behind him. She pulls the blade free with a spray of blood and lets the body fall limp at her feet with a flourish. This is too easy she thinks, smirking at her counterpart.

Together, they heave the great wooden doors shut and barricade them —trapping the sleeping Spartans. Deimos smashes several jars of oil and then kicks over a lit brazier, he craves the thrill of combat, not a silent slaughter. Flames jump into the night and above the roar of the fire is shouting —calls for the sleeping men to wake. A small group flows out of the barracks with spears and shields at the ready. Deimos draws his sword and Enyo spins her twin short-blades.