PREVIOUSLY-
Then—
SWISH.
A glint.
A dagger.
Flung through the air—fast, precise.
Its trajectory—Medusa's throat.
Thrown by a man who refused to let fate change its course.
--X—
Lira raised both arms instinctively, palms splayed wide.
CLANG!
The dagger struck the conjured mercury barrier with a shriek of metal against liquid force, bouncing off and skittering harmlessly across the floor. A breath caught in her throat.
"Perseus!"
Sigmund's voice boomed across the chamber like a war drum.
But the man was already gone.
SWISH—
A blur of motion.
Perseus materialized behind Sigmund like a phantom, his right leg already swinging with surgical intent—
WHAM!
BOOM!
His heel collided with the base of Sigmund's neck, the impact reverberating through stone. The floor cratered beneath the knight's body, veins of cracked marble webbing outward. Blood sprayed from Sigmund's lips as he collapsed face-first into the shattered floor.
"Sigmund!"
Lira's cry cracked with fury. Her hand jerked forward—
THWIP!
A lead spear tore through the air.
But Perseus danced past it like mist. One step, a blur—and he was in front of her.
CLENCH.
His hand snapped around her throat, lifting her slightly off the ground.
His presence had changed—more than a man now, less than a god. The Cap of Hades sat low on his brow, cloaking his body in shifting shadows. In his grip, the crescent-shaped Harpe pulsed with divine malice. And at his feet, the Talaria, feathered sandals of the messenger gods, glimmered with ethereal speed.
"I am done," he snarled, teeth bared.
"No more games."
Lira's lips trembled—then twisted into a smile.
"Well," she rasped, voice strained,
"So am I."
FWISH!
In a sudden cyclone of metallic song, dozens of mercury-tipped spears materialized behind her—floating mid-air, sharp as vengeance, aimed squarely at Perseus's throat, chest, spine.
His eyes widened.
"Very well…" he sneered.
SWOOSH!
He vanished again—disappearing into blur.
CLANG!
Lira's arm twisted on instinct—her mace catching Harpe mid-swing. The clang rang out like a temple bell, echoing through the broken chamber.
"H-How—?!"
Perseus stumbled back, stunned.
WHAM!
A second hammer, heavier than the first, surged toward his ribs.
SWISH—
He dodged—
WHACK!
But not fast enough.
Her blow grazed his side, sending him skidding across the marble with a hiss of friction. His boots carved lines into the dust as he steadied himself.
Perseus's jaw tightened.
And Lira stood firm, mercury dripping from her fingertips like silver blood, the air around her humming with pressure.
WHAM!
The ground groaned beneath Theobald's boots as Kydoimos' massive greataxe came crashing down, meeting his own weapon in a clash that sent tremors through the air.
Sparks danced from the edges, scattering like fireflies in the ruins.
Theobald's knees buckled under the force. He gritted his teeth, breath ragged from the impact.
"You're strong!"
He growled—though his grin never wavered. His arms trembled, not from fear, but thrill.
Kydoimos simply shook his head.
"Not even grain… of Kydoimos' power."
His voice was low, guttural. A rumble of ancient war drums buried in flesh and iron.
Theobald's hands flexed tighter around the waraxe. He twisted his hips, forcing the locked weapons apart with a sharp jerk. The edge of his axe slid free.
SWISH!
He pivoted—fluid and brutal. One step brought him to Kydoimos' flank. His axe followed, slicing through the air in a tight arc toward the daemon's exposed ribs.
"Sorry about this,"
Theobald muttered.
Kydoimos began to raise his greataxe for a counter.
Then—
CRACK!
The weight of the weapon suddenly multiplied. The daemon's arms dropped an inch, muscles bulging as if dragging through invisible chains.
Above, on a hovering pillar of broken stone, Rook raised one wing.
The feathers glowed with orange light.
Gravity magic.
Kydoimos blinked. His wrist twitched—his weapon sluggish. He looked up, eyes narrowing at the orange vulture glaring down at him.
Theobald didn't hesitate.
BOOM!
His axe came crashing into Kydoimos' midsection, flinging sparks off the daemon's armor as the two forces collided—pure chaos versus clever coordination.
The ground cracked. Dust rose.
Kydoimos staggered back a step—only a step.
Then his lips curled.
"Good… very good."
He cracked his neck, shoulder to shoulder, the tension in his muscles thrumming like an avalanche waiting to fall.
"Now… Kydoimos gets serious."
WHAM!
Steel screamed as Theobald's axe locked with Kydoimos' monstrous greataxe. The collision sent a shockwave rippling through the cracked stone beneath their feet.
Theobald's boots skidded half a step back. He exhaled sharply, arms braced, axe groaning under the pressure.
Kydoimos stood firm. Not a grunt. Not a blink. The daemon's gauntleted hands held the greataxe like it weighed nothing.
Theobald twisted.
A sharp torque of his hips sent the blades screeching apart—his axe freed in a flash.
He flowed sideways. No wasted movement. Ankles pivoted. Shoulders rolled. Axe whistling through air.
SWISH!
The curved blade arced toward Kydoimos' exposed flank.
Kydoimos moved to block—arms rising—
Sudden drag.
His greataxe dipped.
The weapon's heft multiplied mid-motion, grinding like it was submerged in stone.
Above, Rook hovered—one wing outstretched, feathers glowing dim violet.
Kydoimos' stance faltered, his blade dragging slower than it should have.
CRACK!
Theobald's axe collided against his side. Sparks flared. The impact forced the daemon's foot to slide back half a step—just one, but it echoed loud in the stillness.
Theobald didn't pause.
Heel spin. Upward swing.
SWOOP.
A second strike came, cleaving for Kydoimos' shoulder.
Blocked—barely. The greataxe caught it edge-on, arms shaking under the pull of gravity.
Kydoimos dug in. His muscles swelled. He turned, pushing Theobald back with raw force.
Theobald slid but kept his guard. Boots gouged trenches in the stone.
The two reset.
Eyes locked.
No words.
Then—
Kydoimos shifted his grip.
Wrist roll. Blade reverse.
One-handed swing from the side.
WHOOSH!
Theobald ducked. Close. Too close. His hair snapped sideways from the wind.
He retaliated—short hook swing. Hip-led. Targeting Kydoimos' ribs again.
Blocked.
Kydoimos countered with a rising backhand. One that could cleave a centaur in half.
Theobald leaned left. Slid beneath it.
Palm down. Pivot. Axe across his chest.
He surged forward, aiming for Kydoimos' knee.
CHING!
Steel met greave. Sparks burst.
Kydoimos answered with a downward cleave—
BOOM!
The floor cratered where Theobald had stood.
Dust curled.
Theobald appeared behind him—spinning—readying another strike.
CLANG!
Lira caught the Harpe's downward arc with a sharp upward swing of her mercury-forged mace. The impact rattled through her arms, metal howling against metal.
Her eyes darted—first to Sigmund's broken body slumped against the far wall, unmoving. Then to Medusa, kneeling at the shattered altar, lips trembling in silent prayer.
FISS—
Mercury hissed from her skin like steam from boiling water, rising into thick, opaque vapor. The haze coiled through the air, obscuring vision, disrupting the wind.
'Even with Talaria, if he moves, I'll feel it. Mercury listens to pressure.'
For a breath, silence.
Then—
SWISH!
Perseus broke through the mist, cap of Hades shielding him from sight, but not weight. The vapours slowed him just enough.
Lira spun—too late.
SHNK!
The Harpe carved for her throat.
CLANG!
It met a half-formed mercury shield—thin, barely solid, but enough.
Lira grunted, feet skidding.
The shield liquefied mid-contact.
FWIP!
The fluid mercury surged forward, coalescing into a needle-point lance.
THWUNK!
It punched clean through Perseus' collarbone, jutting out his back in a burst of crimson.
His eyes flared wide.
A growl escaped his lips—not pain. Rage.
Perseus grunted, yanked the mercury lance from his shoulder with a savage twist. Blood sluiced down his side, hissing where it touched the metal floor.
"You dare… wound a demigod?"
His wings of wind flared—Talaria blurring as he vanished again.
FWWWWMP!
A sonic boom cracked through the mist as he reappeared above Lira.
SWIPE!
The Harpe came down like a guillotine.
CLANG!
Nyx intercepted. The leopard's claws—silvered by mercury—slashed upward, knocking the sickle wide. Sparks spat from the collision as Nyx twisted in midair.
PRR-RAHH!
He drove both hind legs into Perseus' ribs, launching the demigod back.
Lira didn't waste the opening.
FWSHHHH—!
Spikes of mercury jutted from the floor like growing fangs. Perseus dipped between them, but Nyx was already on his flank.
SLASH! SLASH!
Each swipe of the leopard's claws met a blur of sandals and sickle.
"Persistent mutts!"
Perseus hissed, flicking blood from his arm.
WHAM!
Theobald's axe collided with Kydoimos' greataxe. The impact cracked the stone beneath their feet like thunder made flesh.
Rook hovered above the arena, talons glowing orange.
"Krr!"
The vulture shrieked, and gravity bent.
Kydoimos staggered.
His axe, now tenfold its weight, sank into the floor with a crunch.
"KHHH!"
The daemon roared, shoulder veins bulging as he wrenched the weapon free.
Theo moved.
SLIDE. SPIN. RIP.
His axe carved low, aimed for the Achilles.
Kydoimos jumped—barely—landing on the shattered rib of a marble column.
BOOM!
His axe carved down, the force cratering the ground.
Theo dove to the side.
SKRRRT!
Dust clouded.
Then—
FWWMP!
Kydoimos burst from the smoke like a living comet.
"GRAAAH!"
Their axes met mid-air.
CLANGGGG!
The force rippled through the hall—sending debris rolling. Rook flapped once and vanished into shadow.
SWISH!
Lira ducked under a sweeping arc of the Harpe. A strand of her hair floated free—cut clean.
"Tch—"
Perseus smirked.
"You're not bad."
Then his eyes widened.
"But you're distracted."
Lira glanced—Nyx was on the ground, struggling to rise. A deep gash burned across his flank.
Perseus lunged.
WHAM!
He never reached her.
A force from the side—raw, blunt—slammed into him.
BOOM!
Sigmund.
His sword cracked across Perseus' chest, hurling him back.
The knight stood there, panting, face pale, left arm limp and bloodied.
"I… am not done yet."
"RAAH!"
Kydoimos fought like war incarnate.
Every swing of his axe was a hurricane. Unrefined, unrelenting.
Theo ducked, twisted, vaulted off broken stone.
"Rook!"
From above—
ZNNNK!
Chains of molten iron wrapped around Kydoimos' arm, pulling him off balance.
Theo leapt.
"THIS IS—"
CRACK!
His axe slammed into Kydoimos' ribs, denting the armor. The daemon snarled, coughing blood.
Theo smiled through the sweat.
"—MY HUNT."
Perseus crouched, bleeding, smirking. The cap of Hades shimmered on his head. His sandals glowed.
"You all bleed well…"
He vanished again.
But this time—
CRUNCH!
A mercury spike erupted from the ground, impaling where his heart should've been.
But nothing was there.
A shadow flickered to Lira's right.
CLANG!
Sigmund blocked the strike—barely. The Harpe bit into his sword.
"Your tricks are getting old," he spat.
"Then I'll get creative."
Perseus roared.
And this time—Talaria ignited.
He split into three illusions, each holding a Harpe.
Lira's eyes widened.
Nyx rose again, blood dripping from his jaw.
And the battlefield surged into chaos.
Even the clash of steel and screams of daemon and man became distant, like a storm heard from across a valley.
Medusa knelt.
Alone.
Before a forgotten altar veiled in ivy and broken stone. Her blindfold hung loose, a pale scrap of cloth resting in her lap. Her palms touched the cracked marble, trembling as her lips moved silently—lips that had not prayed in decades.
Her voice quivered with each word.
"Goddess of shadowed crossroads… Queen of liminal paths… Hecate…"
Tears slid down her cheeks, dripping onto the moss-dark altar.
"I have been broken. Hated. Feared. Abandoned."
"I do not beg for vengeance. I ask only… to be seen."
The air thickened.
The vines around the altar blackened, curling like smoke. The wind stopped.
And then—
A third moon bloomed in the sky.
A pale, spectral sphere—soft lavender in hue—manifested above the altar. And from it stepped a figure cloaked in twilight.
She wore no crown, no armour. Only a robe of drifting shadows, stitched with the glint of lost stars. Her hair—black as the void—flowed unnaturally slow, as if submerged in water.
Three pairs of eyes blinked open on her face, all variations of midnight. Three torches burned behind her.
"Hecate…"
Medusa's voice cracked.
The goddess raised a hand.
"You have suffered enough, child."
Her voice echoed, layered—three tones speaking at once: old, young, and ageless.
"You were a priestess. A loyal one. I watched."
She stepped forward, touching Medusa's hair.
"You were not cursed for your sin, but for your silence. For their shame."
"Do you… believe me?"
Medusa choked.
"I always did."
The torches flared.
"I offer sanctuary beyond the veil. And I shall cleanse your name across the divine halls. The blame shall return to those who deserve it."
Medusa's shoulders shook. For the first time in centuries, her lips curled in something faint, fragile—
Hope.
But hope is fragile.
And it shattered.
FWIP!
A black shadow darted from the corner.
SHHHNK—
The Harpe burst through Medusa's back, steel glinting with divine light as it punctured her chest—its jagged curve emerging from her sternum.
Blood. So much of it. A spray across the altar. Onto Hecate's robe.
Medusa's mouth opened, but no sound came. Her knees buckled.
"NO!"
Lira's scream tore the silence.
Sigmund surged forward, too late.
Perseus stood behind her, hand still clenched on the Harpe's hilt, face unreadable.
"She is a monster," he whispered.
"This is mercy."
Medusa collapsed.
But before her body hit the stone—
Hecate caught her.
One hand cradled her temple. The other touched her wound. Her lips moved in silence—ancient, sacred syllables only the dead understood.
Then she stood.
And something in the air broke.
The altar trembled.
The moons flickered.
The altar was quiet.
Lira ran to Medusa's side, her voice hoarse from panic.
"Stay with us—please, just a little longer!"
Blood soaked through Medusa's dress, the Harpe still lodged in her chest like a final curse. Her hands trembled, reaching blindly toward the sound.
Sigmund limped beside her, eyes hollow.
"Don't speak," he whispered. "Save your strength. We'll… we'll figure it out."
Medusa smiled faintly. Her lips parted, soft and dry.
"I'm glad,"
She whispered, her words little more than breath,
"That in the end… someone believed me."
Her blindfold had slipped slightly to reveal a ruined eye—once feared, now just tired.
"I was so afraid I'd disappear... as a monster. But you gave me... dignity."
She exhaled.
"Let me rest."
Her hand fell still.
A silence spread. Like the hush after a great storm.
Like the breath the world takes before mourning.
"She didn't deserve this!"
Lira's scream tore through the ruin.
Perseus, leaning on his blade, shrugged without apology.
"I gave her mercy. A clean death. Better than—"
He never finished.
The temperature dropped.
The ground groaned.
CLANG!
A hundred mercury spears tore through the air.
BOOM!
Leaden hammers slammed down like divine judgment.
Each blow struck with enough force to rupture stone.
The temple shook.
Perseus staggered, blood trailing from a dozen new wounds.
He lifted the aegis, but Lira was faster. Her spells came like rain.
Mercury. Lead. Rage.
By the time she stopped, Perseus was on his knees, coughing blood, his eyes wide with something approaching fear. He vanished with the cap of Hades—but not before looking back.
Kydoimos stood silently watching it all.
His axe rested on his shoulder.
"Is this... justice?" he asked no one.
And then he left.
No sound. No goodbyes. Just the fading echo of footsteps into the mist.
A cold wind swept the temple ruins.
Theobald knelt beside Medusa's body. He didn't speak.
Nyx curled near her feet. Rook bowed his head.
Lira sat numbly, blood drying on her face, hands shaking, eyes vacant. Sigmund stared at his hands.
"I said we would protect her."
He swallowed hard.
"We failed."
Lira wiped at her eyes, but more tears came.
"She trusted us."
They sat in silence, the kind of silence that lives in ruins and the empty spaces of a heart.
Then—
A white light bloomed from the altar, quiet and warm. Like moonlight on still water.
A woman stepped forth, clothed in shadows and silver flame. Her eyes were a void and a torch all at once.
Hecate.
She looked down at Medusa, then at the mortals.
"You could not save her," the goddess said softly.
"But you believed her. That is more than the world ever did."
She raised her hand.
The blood on the floor vanished. The ruin grew still.
"I will carry her name through the underworld,"
Hecate whispered.
"I will etch her truth into the stars, into memory. No bard will sing her as beast again. She will not be forgotten."
Lira choked back another sob.
Sigmund bowed his head.
Theo clenched his fists and wiped his face.
"Rest well, child,"
Hecate said to Medusa's still form.
She turned to the others.
"You may leave now. There is no need to carry guilt. Her story is no longer one of shame… but of sorrow turned sacred."
The light flared. A soft hum filled the temple.
Their eyes opened.
The familiar marble of the trial chamber greeted them, though it felt distant now, like a memory they were still walking through.
At the far end of the room sat the woman on the throne—Medusa.
But she no longer bore the serpents or the glare of a gorgon.
She stood as the maiden she once was. Radiant. Human.
"Travellers,"
She said gently, stepping forward,
"Thank you for showing me a better ending."
"But—"
Lira's voice cracked as she stepped forward.
"We failed to protect you. We failed every single time."
Sigmund stood beside her, his left arm whole once more, the pain gone—but the shame still etched in his posture.
His jaw clenched. His gaze fell to the floor.
Medusa only smiled.
"Dame Lira,"
She said, reaching out to pat her head gently,
"All I ever wanted… was a different ending. Nothing more."
She turned to Sigmund next, her smile softening.
"Sir Sigmund. Thank you for staying with me… until the very end."
Sigmund's lips trembled.
"…Whatever."
Then her gaze turned to Nyx, Rook, and Theobald. She offered them a slight bow; her voice filled with warmth.
"Sir Nyx. Sir Rook. Sir Theobald. Thank you."
Theobald, cheeks tinged red, scratched his nose awkwardly.
"Ah—it was nothing, really!"
He narrowed his eyes.
"Wait, but… how did I even get here? Was I transported?"
Medusa tilted her head with a playful hum.
"Perhaps because the labyrinths were connected?"
Theobald squinted suspiciously.
"No way. We've got krakens back home too."
Sigmund stepped forward, his voice sharper now.
"You're not just a fictional character, are you? This doesn't make sense—none of it does. You're not some myth born from Socrates' stories."
Theobald's eyes lit up.
"Socrates—the Wandering Quill?! I thought the same thing!"
Lira joined them, stepping closer to Medusa.
"It felt too real. The pain. The voices. The choice."
Medusa looked at them with something close to reverence. Not condescension. Not sorrow. Just truth.
"This was but a repetition of the past," she said.
Her eyes flicked to the throne behind her.
"That boy offered me a chance… to witness a different ending. So I gave him a sliver of my soul."
Sigmund frowned.
"Who was that? When? Where did this happen? Was it… Socrates?"
Medusa sat gracefully on the throne once more. Her eyes swept over them like the turning of a page.
"I'll say only this—I'm a resident of a different engine."
She smirked faintly.
"If you want answers… ask the boy."
Lira's brows furrowed.
"Who should we ask?"
Medusa let out a gentle laugh, folding her hands in her lap.
"Find him yourself."
Lira's lips parted as if to protest, then closed again.
"…Will we ever learn the truth?"
Theobald raised a hand like a student desperate for clarity.
"Can we reach him? The boy you mentioned? Can we meet again?"
Medusa tilted her head, musing.
"You'll find out," she said softly.
"When the war of Transcendents ends."
Her eyes turned upward toward the distant dome of stars above them.
"At the end of the Transcendent Odyssey."
And then—
GLOW.
A radiant white light engulfed the chamber.
And they were gone.