Nemesis scanned the area with his enhanced senses as he followed Rachel through the monsoon, searching for the faintest hint of a trap, yet the only smell of any interest that graced his sharp nose was the Lunar Hare’s sweet natural scent that he couldn’t quite place.

A hail of rain pelted the earth and sharp gusts pulled at the umbrella the Mythickin held, but she didn’t appear strained or bothered in the least by the weather. After a moment, he didn’t care if this was a lure.

He’d never experienced these feelings in anyone’s presence; it was the first time a competent fighter calmed him instead of turning his heart into a drum. At the same time, an enticing allure about her refined demeanor excited a surge in his veins; the contradiction was mystifying.

Saliva sticking to his tongue, Nemesis swallowed it while stepping a few feet away to see Rachel under the shelter of her umbrella; there were various things on his mind, making him anxious and twisting his stomach. “Who was the man and beast you met with?”

“Hmm … so, that’s where you want to start?” Rachel softly replied, twirling her umbrella a little as her head shifted to look at a teenage girl jogging through the streets with what seemed to be her little brother, searching for shelter. “It may sound far-fetched, but it was the Myth of Santa Claus.”

Nemesis’ eyes narrowed, fingers running through his mane and cracking his neck. “Another Myth … What is your connection to this Santa Myth and who is the beast?”

“Dasher, his reindeer?” Rachel said, umbrella lifting a tad to level a questioning eyebrow in his direction. “Do … you not know who Santa Claus is?”

Whiskers twitching with his nose, a low growl rumbled in his throat while shaking his head; all he could focus on when passing through the storming area was what King’s Instinct told him, and Santa affected his self-assured pride in a powerful way—the man was greater than any warrior he’d faced by leagues. “I do not know what a reindeer is, either … Where do they come from?”

“Interesting. Hmm … I noticed your accent isn’t like anyone I’ve listened to from Cuba … I believe I heard a similar inflection in Miami but I can’t place it. Where are you from?”

He had no clue what inflection meant, but unlike what he’d expect from others he’d met, her tone wasn’t condescending or amused at his lack of knowledge; she was adapting to him, which made him restless—King’s Instinct told him there was a mind, ambition, and power behind this Myth, and that deepened his thirst for more of her.

“Somalia,” Nemesis grunted, flexing his fingers; Rachel didn’t seem bothered by his agitation. “No, I do not know who this Santa is, but I can sense his prowess; was he a great warrior in some…”

He trailed off as thunder rolled across the sky and the wind increased, pressing against Rachel’s umbrella, yet it’s unusual resilience wasn’t what made him slow to a stop. Rachel’s revealing foreign outfit shimmered before transforming into a skirt and white shirt; her braid remained, but everything else changed in an instant.

“What … is that?” he mumbled, tail flicking to his right.

A small smile lifted her lips. “Since you aren’t going to attack me, I decided to return to more comfortable attire … I suppose you must have had a rough life in Somalia. Although, I heard you were Greek; is that true?”

“By birth,” he returned, eyes scanning the fabric pressing against her shapely figure; there had to be something special about it but he couldn’t tell if it was her ability or some item someone had crafted for her. “I can’t remember much before I was kidnapped—mmgm…”

His heart rate increased, shrugging his shoulders as a spur of unease cascaded over his arms; he needed answers to why he felt so restless around this Myth. “You work for the U.S. military?”

Rachel didn’t respond right away, keeping her illuminated eclypse-like four-leaf clover eyes on him, yet he could feel her taking in every twitching muscle across his body; in turn, he smelled the pulsing rush in her veins hiding a desire to engage him in battle.

Tempest raging around them, he waited with bated breath for the whirlwind of emotion she’d generate, but in perfect control, Rachel leashed the instinctual desires and gave him a knowing smile as her long ears eased forward. “I wouldn’t say I work for the U.S. military; I’m more of a contractor that’s helping them because our goals currently align.”

She stepped further into the center of the street as the flood began to rise, and he noticed her outfit didn’t hold a drop of water or mud. “Why don’t you tell me why we’re doing this? You’re nervous—I hear it in every breath you take—there’s a rush in your blood to rip me apart, yet despite everything I expect, you restrain yourself. What is your goal?”

Nemesis’ fist tightened, applying pressure against his palm yet his claws didn’t puncture the skin. That’s what I want to know…

Silence stretched as his glowing topaz irises fixated on the Lunar Hare and she returned it with a thoughtful muse that highlighted her beauty; the sound of falling liquid, howling wind, and rolling thunder filtered into the foreground, but again, all his senses focused on her pleasant scent, captivating presence, and the incredible thrill of the moment hazing his mind; a million thoughts blurred together, running circles around each other.

Several seconds passed before she chuckled, entertaining eyes turning to the west and breaking the tension. “Some group two miles in that direction are trying to cast a hex on you using some hair from your mane they were able to acquire; this is seemingly the fourth curse they’ve placed on you in the past two weeks—they’re adding up.”

Nemesis’ vision narrowed, tongue sliding out to sample the rain water sliding down his nose. Is she trying to distract me from her?

“It won’t change the outcome,” he muttered, loosening his shoulders. “I want to know why you’re here … What is your purpose—to take my crown?”

“Crown?” Rachel giggled, head tilting to the left while smiling at him. “My job is to bring order back to Cuba and cut out its potential risks to the United States—mainly the warlords trying to gain power by massacring the people of this country … My desire is simple though; I want to grow stronger to protect what I hold dear—among other things.”

She paused, hypnotizing eyes narrowing slightly, and Rachel’s searching irises appraised him. “What do you want? You were kidnapped as a child, and from what I’ve gathered, you were an enslaved prize fighter, but you broke free—now that you are free, is this really all you want—to fight in some arena until you finally meet someone that can kill you, or stand at the top of the world as its king—maybe more?”

The woman’s probing interest unsettled his tight gut, forcing his vision to the muddy streets with the wind and rain beating against his fur; no one had ever asked him that question.

His jaws tightened before he swallowed more sticky saliva and licked his jowls, muscles loosening as the query hit him harder than any blow throughout his life of violence. “I … don’t know,” he finally muttered.

Rachel’s pink full lips fell with her own gaze; it was rare someone spoke so freely to him without a hint of fear. “Hmm … By the tone of your voice, maybe it’s something you should think about.”

Nemesis stared at his ripped pants, showing the impact of the day’s savage battles by the mud and blood caking the wet rags he wore, and he walked away, Rachel watching him leave without a word; eighteen years of memories passed through his mind as he aimlessly trudged through the collapsing heavens.

The enchanting Lunar Hare was right to question his path; yes, he was the Myth of the Nemean Lion, a beast, yet he was also a man, and after meeting the mythical woman, something he hadn’t felt in all his eighteen years of life-struggling combat surfaced. What is my purpose?

He’d never felt so vulnerable; ears pulled back and tail sliding over the surface of the gushing flood he trekked through, Nemesis surveyed the buildings, spotted with lights from those that still had electricity.

Laughter could be heard in several Spanish voices, mothers and fathers spending time with their children as they prepared them for bed. Men and women sharing tender moments that he’d never experienced or seen in all of his years in his war-torn country.

What do I want?

Some of the conversations Ana had with Mara filtered back into focus regarding the Legend’s fight for a good life for the women of Cuba. He had no idea what this country was truly like, nor did he really care, but after meeting Rachel, he couldn’t help but wonder how the Lunar Hare’s life was—what went into making her into the indomitable woman he sensed.

He blinked as water dripped down his soaked fur, looking at his open palm while turning down random alleys and roads, lost in thought.

Rachel is more than just a prime challenge … there’s something more that I can’t explain … What is it, though? Is it the drive I sense … fearlessness … I don’t know, but there’s something there I want.

A chill ran through Nemesis’ bones, the frustration eating at his heart, causing pain he’d never experienced and forcing his hand to hover over his breast, yet no matter how long he deliberated on his meeting with the Lunar Hare, answers didn’t come.

Losing track of time and his environment, eventually, he found himself back outside of Estadio Latinoamericano; mutters shot across the crowds of people in the lobby, taking shelter from the lingering hurricane as he moved up the steps to enter the stadium.

Nemesis couldn’t focus on the hushed cheers and gibberish Spanish they spoke to him, likely thanks for his protection; Rachel’s words stung and left his muscles feeling weak. What do I want because this…

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He slowed after moving into the private hallways, Beastkin keeping the area clear by posting themselves outside the zone to the locker rooms; he was operating on instinct at this point, and naturally, it led him to the place where Nemesis was most at home—in the pit—yet upon realizing where he was, he shied away from the idea.

The crowds at his back, shining eyes fixating on him with hope, thankfulness, and many Beastkin’s admiration at the powerful image he cast. Why does this feel so empty now?

A low rumble shook in his throat as he felt a weight pressed in on all sides, trying to hamper his movements—the curse Rachel mentioned—instinctively sensing his defenses decreasing, but he just shrugged off the discomfort; it couldn’t compare to the heavy emotions battling inside his mind.

Entering the locker room, he ripped off his pants with a low growl and started the overhead water to stand under the hot spray, head tilting to the ceiling while closing his eyes for the liquid to wash off the storm’s grime.

In the well-insulated and thick walls, he found peace in the rattling of the spray for once. All I’ve known is this life, but is there something more … something better?

His solitude didn’t last long; Mara walked into the men’s locker room, and he heard the shifting fabric of a new pair of pants in her arms.

Eyes opening, he turned to spot her through the steam slowly filling the enclosed room; the cool air she let in caused the mist to swirl while revealing her amused smile. The woman’s green hair and bronze skin shimmered as she casually moved to a bench and dropped off the item before promptly inviting herself to sit.

“Well, you returned sooner than I expected,” she chuckled, her lovely musical voice holding a smirk while examining his naked body in the haze. “I assume you tore a few people to pieces—feeling better—no?” she questioned, lips tightening upon catching his expression. “How are you feeling?”

Reaching down to grab a shampoo bottle, Nemesis could feel her probing verbal magic bouncing off the walls, analyzing various things to better understand what mood he was in. “Meh, I’m alright … I just have some things on my mind.”

“Is that right?” Mara mumbled, getting up while stretching out her back and holding her arm behind her back. “I can help with that if you like?” she asked, showing an innocent smile while her green locks swept to the left, partially covering her stunning light-brown eye, sparkling with an invitation, yet he wasn’t feeling it.

Hands working the suds into his fur, Nemesis shook his head. “I’m not interested in that right now.”

Mara blinked, a melodic hum in the mythical siren’s throat as she moved into the showers to lean against a wall to face him, her left arm held across her stomach. “I suppose it must be serious then … I’m sorry, did I cross the line?”

Nemesis’ snout creased while grabbing more conditioner; there were three people practically screaming their presence while creeping through the hallway toward them; Mara would be able to sense them through the rippling soundwaves in the environment. He wasn’t concerned for her safety—she could handle herself—it was just a poor time for another assassination attempt.

Ignoring them, he sighed. “You’re fine … I need a little time to think … A little time away from the screams, blood, and guts … But no, I’m not bothered by you.”

“I’m happy about that; I wouldn’t want our friendship to sour,” she said with a small smile. “I don’t want to press, but it sounds like something’s eating you up inside … If you need someone to talk to, who better than your rival; am I correct?”

He smirked, moving to the conditioner as the three would-be assassins calmed themselves to ready the assault. “I’ve been searching,” he muttered, glaring at his cleaned, gleaming golden fur.

A puzzled look crossed her curious light-brown irises as her studious gaze examined him. “What does that mean, Nemesis?”

“I’ve been learning.” His vision dulled with exasperation as the door flew open, letting out the hot air and steam for the two men and woman to burst through, armed with machine guns and several explosives.

“¡Vete al Infierno!”

[i.e. Go to Hades!]

Mara sighed, snapping her thumb and middle finger while muttering, “I’d rather not…”

The woman let off a single bullet that ricocheted off Nemesis’ skin to a tile before they all locked in place.

Mara’s vocal spell paralyzed the group, leaving them entirely aware of what was happening while experiencing the stress of their muscles being forcefully strained in the tight position; it would persist so long as they weren’t strong enough to overpower the magic, and she could just renew it with a word.

“Go on,” Mara invited, practically forgetting about the sorry group; they weren’t the first people without powers to try to kill them today. “Learning what? To me, it sounds like you’re growing bored with your kingdom, my king, and that concerns me.”

“Mmgm,” Nemesis ran the conditioner over his ears, rubbing it in. “Maybe you’re right,” he grunted, cracking open his eyes to see the tears leaked down the woman and two men’s red faces from the agony of being denied the ability to breathe while their muscle tension increased. “Everything’s a blur right now … I’m restless, and everything goes back to Rachel.”

Mara’s smooth forehead creased. “Rachel … I believe that was the name of the Lunar Hare, or so I recall from the rest of that report before you rushed off to tear her in half … Did she escape?” the woman tentatively asked, pushing herself away from the wall; every word she spoke could be used to reinforce her magic.

He didn’t respond for a few seconds as her eyes hounded him. “No, I didn’t fight her … We spoke, and then I left.”

“I see…” The enchanting green-haired myth’s vision absently turned to the three quivering people, a harmonic note in her throat; he could practically see the gears turning in her head. “Was she weak?”

“No … Quite the opposite.”

“Mh-hmm,” Mara’s left hand rose to play with a lock, focus slowly returning to slide up his legs, torso, and arms. “Let me get this straight … You, the Lion King—lover of competition—met a woman that could offer you a desirable fight, yet … you talked … and it was you that broke away to sit in the shower, hazy-minded, and trying to work through a form of emotional crisis. Am I correct?”

He didn’t have any issues or embarrassment about expressing what was true or how he felt, and after internalizing the woman’s words, Nemesis nodded. “I can’t explain why … I’ve never felt this way before.”

A confusing smirk lifted Mara’s plump lips that made him frown. “Cute … My king has a crush.”

His left eye narrowed at the word, not understanding the English implications. “Crush … I don’t know how turning her to pulp would answer how I feel.”

“No, darling,” Mara snickered. “You like her—puppy-dog love, as the English call it!”

Still bewildered, Nemesis folded his hands across his chest, whiskers twitching under the spray of water. “I have made love to many women from my years as a child—Khewzi insisted it be a way to train our minds against pleasures other warlords might tempt his prized possessions with—this is not that.”

Mara rolled her eyes, but there was a wry look that crossed her face. “Yes, you are quite practiced in sex, but I’m not talking about that—by the way, the more you tell me about Khewzi, the happier I am to know you gutted the pig—no, my friend,” she muttered, taking a long breath, “you find her more interesting than on just a physical level—you sense a connection—a commonality, and you want to explore it.”

His focus fell to Mara’s long legs, searching his heart as her words resonated inside him. “Is that the word for how I feel? I don’t know any other, but what I do know is that I want her by my side … for what, I can’t really tell, yet I can’t deny it, and not in the manner Khewzi taught me … which frustrates me … What do I need to do to rid her from my mind and chest?”

Mara fell back against the wall with a short chuckle while shaking her head against the wet tile. “I cannot wrap my head around how helpless you are right now … I could squeeze your heart to paste if I put my voice to it—something’s weakening you considerably, and I doubt it’s just this—but I can’t believe how attached I’ve become … Mmh, it’s like I’m watching my younger brother bloom…”

She grimaced, “Although, egh, that could be weird if considered in the light of our past engagements … Hmm.” She shook her head, “Whatever! Whatever! Fine! I suppose we’ll have to invite her over for dinner!”

The thought made his gut tighten; Mara wanted to bring them together again, and he wasn’t sure if he should trust her or not, yet he’d confided in her this much, which was unusual for him. “If … that’s what you think will help.”

She clapped her hands, causing the sound to echo off the walls. “I’m actually starting to get excited! We do need to be prepared for the worst, though,” she sighed, eyeing the three assassins; they wanted to release their bladders yet couldn’t from the stress.

“Hmm … In any case, you have some challengers from the northwest that stopped by; I’ll clean up here—my, this is going to be a long and amusing journey,” she chimed, walking up to the near-comatose woman to study her unfocused eyes. “You can die now.”

Blood leaked out of their ears, eyes, and noses as the three collapsed, brain hemorrhaging from the focused sound she guided. “Such a shame; she had a sweet face.”

Leaving Mara to clean up the corpses, Nemesis tugged his pants on and stepped over the man in front of the door to exit and head for the field. Why does this suddenly feel like a chore … Because there’s someone so much more enjoyable I’d rather be with right now, but at the same time … I don’t?

He smashed the side of his fist against the wall as he went, crushing the concrete and causing cracks to spiderweb out of the impact. I want to see her again, yet I was the one to run … It’s so irritating!

* * *

Only the sound of the swelling surf came through as his throat convulsed, sputtering as tears leaked down his cheeks; his heaving chest seemingly trying to expel some foreign entity, Anthony clutched at his breast while writhing on the ground.

There was no pain, yet he couldn’t rid himself of the thought of something wriggling through his guts and veins, seeking to find a nest; without warning, it ended, replaced by a woman’s warm voice in his mind. “Can you hear it?”

A current of dread flowed through his blood nonetheless as Anthony rubbed his chest, and through the haze of tears, he caught sight of a stone woman; wisps of shadow flitted like the wind as her gray frame fractured to reveal tanned skin underneath.

He couldn’t look away as a chunk of her left eye cracked, falling away to show a glowing mixed iris of yellow, pink, and white; it was as if her pupil was a swirling, mesmerizing galaxy.

At a glance, he knew this creature could wave her hand, and he’d cease to exist, yet instead of crushing him, her unmoving stone lips repeated her question. “Can you hear it?” This time it was as if spoken aloud.

“W-What?” Anthony’s tight neck lifted to follow her gaze as it drifted to the fog that swept over them. “Is … Where am I?”

“Come…” she hummed, exposing her back to him to walk toward the unseen path that would take them to the beach. “Perhaps together … I can finally find it.”

Cold sweats broke across Anthony’s skin as he hugged himself, jerkily stumbling after the creature while shifting to view the ruined manner; his quakes only increased as the slow-moving mist met him—yet his perfectly maintained home had returned—the shapeless horror was nowhere to be seen.

“Is that thing…” he stammered, hesitantly looking after the tall stone woman; more rifts were collapsing down her shoulder blades, revealing unblemished skin as it broke away. “Who are you?” Anthony questioned, gut churning at the implications.

The entity met his decreased pace, head tilting to view the fog thickening around them. “I … don’t know who I am … I only know that ahead is the secret … the answer … the end.”

She fell silent, and Anthony didn’t have anything left in him to respond; a hollow opened in his stomach as his legs operated on their own. They continued, and the fog drew them closer together—or did he move closer—the bell rang in his ears again when they arrived at the stairs.

“It’s close,” she apprehensively whispered, “the road to ruin.”

Anthony coughed, tasting water in his mouth and salt on his lips again; it was as if a veil was lifting from his mind, and at the same time, a crying fear echoed through his bones with every step, yet he descended into madness nonetheless.