21 BCE

"Forgive me, brother," Perseus could barely speak through the swelling around his mouth. He looked like a pale shadow of the man he once was; blood dampened his hair and ran in thick rivulets down his leaden face, his eyes were so puffy that he couldn't open them properly, and he had lost all but four teeth which still lay scattered around the arena. "I had no choice."

"Do not speak to me of forgiveness," Heracles spat, eyes wild beneath the jaws of the Nemean Lion, which he wore like a second skin. He had been cut and stabbed by Perseus' dori enough times to pale his usually golden complexion, but still he remained upright. The club in his hands was soaked with gore, so much so that he found it difficult to keep his grip steady. "You are a coward!"

"Her death came swiftly with the sting of my dori. I spared you the pain of bludgeoning her with that...thing," Perseus muttered, nodding at Heracles' bloody club. "I knew that you would never forfeit glorious victory, not even for her."

"You know nothing!" Heracles roared, lifting the club over his head and swinging it down with so much force that Perseus' skull collapsed inward with a terrifying 'crack'. He did this again, and again, and again, until there was nothing left of his brother's face but a splattering of puréed meat and hair.

"Oh, well done!" Zeus cried from the stands. It took all of Heracles' strength to meet his father's gaze. There was no sorrow for the son that he had lost, only an unbridled joy for Heracles' victory. "I knew that my children would be the last standing!"

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The other gods, seated around the arena in thrones of solid marble that towered several storeys above the battlefield, let out a universal groan. They had watched hundreds of their own offspring fail and die in the past trials, but despite this they only harboured mild disappointment. None but a small handful of them actually appeared to be grieving at all.

"You had twice the amount of children as the rest of us," Poseidon hissed scornfully. "Hardly seems fair, does it?"

"It is no fault of mine that the Lord of Olympus attracts a horde of willing maidens," Zeus remarked.

"Willing?" Athena scoffed. "You are aware that there is a difference between willing and unknowing?"

"Okay, that's enough," Hermes finally interrupted, and the Gods of Olympus seemed to obey. Not because they respected him in any regard, but they were eager to watch the culmination of the demigod trials. "Heracles, your final test is simple. Choose a previous champion to face in battle, and if you emerge victorious, then you will attain full godhood. If you lose...well, at least you won't be alive to know about it."

Heracles didn't need to study the very small group of past winners. He was still fuelled by an all-consuming rage and didn't care who he unleashed it upon. He nodded to the first champion that he saw, lifting his blood-stained club over his shoulder.

Poseidon suddenly leant forward in his seat, laughing lowly. "You have doomed yourself, boy."

"Arise, Theseus!" Hermes cried.

Theseus slowly stood from his alabaster throne. He shrugged off the cloak that was wrapped around his shoulders and tensed his jaw as he unsheathed his xiphos.

Hermes' voice boomed, "Minotaur's Bane, Master of the Labyrinth, King of Athens, God of vigilance and foresight!"

"Save your honeyed words, messenger," started Theseus. He leapt from the wall and plummeted to the arena floor. Landing with a hand planted firmly on the dirt, Theseus sent his eyes to Heracles. "Let this be done."