“What a mess,” said a gentle voice.

Ceto sobbed when his bare feet came within her line of sight.

Stay away from me! The terrified plea was trapped in Ceto's throat, unable to find freedom.

Trailing his approach was a line of bloody footprints that led to a pile of death at the centre of the welcoming hall. All the servants and guards had been slaughtered.

“Do not weep, Rose.” He touched Ceto’s head with a cold hand and patted her like she were an animal.

“Please, please, please,” Ceto whispered.

His aura, that awful coppery smell of blood, stuffed down her nostrils, worsening her terror.

And Phorcys. The gaping hole in his chest, dead eyes staring ahead, and essence completely sucked out of him. “Please,” Ceto begged again with a choked sob.

“Why do you plead? He is gone.”

Ceto shook her head, denial leading her to the bowels of Insanity.

Phorcys wasn’t gone. Deities can’t die. Phorcys can’t be dead. She blinked at the drops of tears on the marble floor.

Was this even real? Why did it feel like this has happened before? Ceto's memory was a fickle thing. There were things she should know—things that lingered on the surface, begging to be remembered. Like why Phorcys had sent a carriage away. Who was in the carriage?

Why was he here? Ceto could not get herself to look up. There were some truths her weak mind could never forget, a driving self-preservation when it came to him. Pleading only made sense. And there was something else she could never forget.

“Phorcys…my love.” He was crumbling to ashes before her eyes.

Lies! Gods can't die.

Ceto flinched when a cold thumb wiped at her tears. “Pretty even when you grieve.”

Letting his hand fall away, he turned.

“Drain.”

That command said in that voice. Ceto was certain she had heard it in the past. There was something she should remember.

Ceto spied blood moving like a stream, further draining from the pile of bodies.

I should lift my head. Maybe I’ll remember if I look.

Daring to look up, Ceto took in his white toga that matched his waist-length hair, and that small frame dwarfed by his two large companions. The sight of him triggered only terror, and her memory remained stubbornly elusive.

The bodies crumbled to a heap of ashes and clothes as the streams of blood gathered above him and formed a swirling large ball. Lifting a slim hand tattooed with numerous runes, he made a fist.

“Gather.”

The blood shrunk to a red pebble before sinking into his open palm.

Closing his fist, he took a step towards the door then paused. “Where is your mortal child?”

The question twisted Ceto's heart. What was this sorrow? She frowned. “I—” She stared down at her empty trembling hands. “I have a mortal child? How?”

He turned to the side, and Ceto spied one blood-red pupil framed with sweeping white lashes. “Then sleep,” he muttered, voice oddly soothing.

As sleep came, Ceto recalled Phorcys’ last words. Be strong. Do not let him see you weep again.

Oh, Phorcys. I wept, and he saw my tears.

----------------------------------------

Hands that held her down. They took her bow and quiver. A sharp blow to the back of the head. That rancid smell of rotting blood at the altar. The knife that stabbed her heart and twisted.

Mother, save me.

Medusa opened her eyes, hand flying to her chest. Beneath, her heart raced. Tongue heavy and bitter with raw fear, she swallowed.

When would her past lives stop haunting her dreams?

It was impossible to forget that feeling of betrayal—the quickness with which her mother gave her up in her second life. Yet, in Medusa’s last moment, she still called out to the one who betrayed her. The same way she cried for Athena in her first life.

Pushing aside the tattered curtain of the rickety carriage, Medusa looked out the window.

The bogs.

The morning sky was dim with a dense spread of dew, and that musty odour of decaying vegetation and stagnant water caused Medusa to wrinkle her nose.

Dotting the water were still black herons, their yellow unblinking eyes the only things that moved as they tracked the carriage. One of the birds unhinged its beak and released a shrill frog-like croak; the others gave no responding call.

Suppressing a shiver, Medusa quietly dragged the fraying curtain back in place.

They had made it past the city the night before, journeyed through less populous villages, and now sped down a decrepit road. Galene explained that it would lead to Phorcydes' home by mid-morning.

An hour after leaving the villa, they changed carriage six times, went to the lesser-known Hesperides port, and pretended to board a ship headed for Athens before sneaking away on a boat circling to the city's other end. From there, they hired this rough but sturdy carriage pulled by a single horse and driven by a quiet aged coachman.

Medusa had remained silent through the trip, and Rico had been mostly asleep save for the two times Galene fed him milk mixed with minced meat.

Try as Medusa may, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was amiss judging from her parents’ reactions. And she had heard nothing from Clotho since she left the villa.

Once it was bright enough, Medusa planned to read Phorcys’ letter to Phorcydes. She hoped it wasn’t written in Theos tongue; if that were the case, she would have no choice but to go in blind.

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Soon the morning grew brighter and Galene fell into slumber. Retrieving the letter from her satchel, Medusa opened it. It was written in Greek, to her relief.

I used my powers. He would come for me. Please, protect my child and only send her back when it is time for Athena’s Demand.

How fitting. Her father’s instruction merged well with Medusa’s plan to stay away for at least three years, but...

Medusa read the first two sentences over and over. Dread came, a feeling similar to what she felt before she discovered Antonii and Rico.

“Deities can't die. Father said so,” Medusa whispered as she folded the parchment with a shaky hand and placed it in her satchel. But it wasn't working; the dread remained and grew worse with each breath. High gods could ruin ant deities in many—

Rico jerked awake, back arching as he bared his little teeth. He focused on Medusa's right as if reacting to something beyond the coach door.

Galene opened her eyes, body tensing as she leaned to the side in search of an elusive sound.

“What—”

“Shhh.” Galene brought a finger to her lips. Half-rising from her sitting position, she flicked her wrist. A short sword materialised in her grip.

Medusa’s eyes widened. “You are a blood—”

The horse’s neigh was the only warning Medusa got. With a sudden force, she was snatched from her seat and slammed against the door to her right.

There was a ringing in Medusa’s ears. Flying splinters of wood tore the skin of her arms. Amidst the chaos was a shower of what seemed like raindrops. She formed a protective ball around Rico as she struck the ground before rolling to a stop.

Finally finding the courage to blink an eye open, Medusa took in the scene around her as her heart thundered.

Amidst the other half of the shattered carriage was the crushed corpse of the horse and coachman. The area was also wet like it had rained for an instant.

Hissing at the throbbing pain across her back and arms, Medusa staggered to her feet.

Where was Galene?

A hand settled over Medusa’s shoulder, causing her to jolt in fright.

“Don't worry,” Galene said as she glanced around, eyes sharp even as a line of blood dripped down her temple. “I set up a barrier.”

Rico hissed again. Trembling, Medusa's gaze darted about as she took in the road that cut through the spread of marshland to the left and right. It felt like eyes were watching through the shadows of the thick mangrove borders. The dew and still herons were not helping matters.

Medusa froze up when she saw it. “Do you see that?” She pointed with a shaky finger.

Something was slowly emerging from the marsh. First a large grime-covered head with long stringy black hair that hid their face. Then narrow feminine shoulders and a slim torso pushed through. A green serpentine pattern formed from her waist downward. Curved talons for fingers.

She rose and rose from the murk, a horrifying fusion of a bony woman and a massive serpentine truck. Medusa’s gorgon form would be a child next to that size.

“Ekhidna,” Galene muttered the word through clenched teeth. “Of all the…”

Medusa's knees buckled as she hugged a growling Rico to her chest. She didn't know how powerful Galene was, but lessons on beasts had taught her ekhidnas were as strong as ant deities. And it was more likely that Galene merely possessed the blood of an ant deity and not a high one.

The ekhidna glided forward, clawed fingers scratching the dirt path and water dripping down her stringy hair as she pulled her bulky form from the water.

She tilted her head, observing them through the curtain of her tresses as she drew even nearer. There was a sound, something between a click and a hiss.

“Stay behind me,” Galene said in an urgent voice. Her short sword trembled as she held up her other hand, yet she stood her ground, eyes fixed on the approaching creature.

With unbelievable swiftness, the ekhidna whipped her tail against Galene’s barrier in rapid succession.

A large crack formed across the semi-transparent barrier at the same moment blood splattered down Galene’s nose.

The ekhidna struck again, the landing of her tail causing the earth beneath Medusa’s feet to shake.

An even bigger crack formed, and this time Galene fell to her knees with a deep groan. Refusing to relent, the ekhidna threw herself at the barrier, slithering this way and that with flashing speed, scratching at the weakening wall and screeching.

“I have to hold on,” Galene muttered, the arm she held up wavered. “I have to…”

Medusa stood with Rico in her arms, feeling useless. And this paralysing fear, this clueless helplessness. She had no idea how to tap into whatever that was when she yelled at the cliff.

And there was also a deep knowing in Medusa’s heart that even though by some miracle she was able to repeat what she did on the cliff, it wouldn't be powerful enough to stop the ekhidna.

When the ekhidna screeched again, Medusa’s legs gave out. She crumbled to her knees next to Galene.

Blood was beginning to leak from the servant’s eyes and ears. Flashes of the night Antonii and Rico died rushed in.

Don’t die, please. Medusa hugged Galene’s arm and pleaded, “Please, don’t die.”

Blinking in Medusa’s direction with unfocused eyes, Galene shook her head. “You should stay behind—” She coughed. Blood bubbled past her lips and splattered to the ground.

The ekhidna leaned back and unhinged her jaw, exposing those knife-like fangs before releasing a stream of deep green sludge. Like acid, it melted a hole through the barrier.

Please, stop.

Rico whined in the confines of Medusa’s arms.

Medusa spied a grin beyond the covering of the ekhidna’s hair as the beast gripped the opening she created and easily ripped the barrier apart.

As if Galene was the one ripped apart, she cried out and fell to her side, twitching. Slithering her great bulk forward, the ekhidna snatched Galene and curled her massive trunk around her body. Squeezing.

“Stop,” Medusa whispered. She wouldn’t be able to take it. If this thing kills Galene, she won’t be able to bear it.

The ekhidna unhinged her jaw over Galene’s head.

“STOP.”

It happened like it did when Medusa yelled at the cliff. A roar rose from the pit of her belly, travelling up and gathering momentum as it moved before ripping past her lips.

This one was even more powerful. What remained of the carriage rose and formed a sharp point that flew straight for the ekhidna.

A clean slice through her head. Trunk going slack, Galene slipped from the beast’s hold and thudded to the ground.

Please, don’t be dead.

When Medusa rose and took a step in Galene’s direction, shredding pain ripped through her midsection.

Screaming, Medusa dropped Rico and collapsed to her side. It was like being sawed in half. Each wave of agony topped the last.

Blood flooded her mouth and spilled past her lips. Renewed pain shot to her head and spread through every nerve.

Too much. It was too much. She vaguely sensed Rico whining as he nudged her face with his nose.

Even in the consuming pain, Medusa sensed it. The danger remained.

A long shadow fell over Medusa’s twitching form. She didn’t need to look to know the ekhidna did not die.

How ironic. Days ago she had longed for death and just when the motivation to live returned, a horrific end was served.

The consuming pain switched to cool relief, but, for some reason, Medusa could not move. Cold sweat slid down her forehead. Her body was locked in a foetal position, eyes filmy with what she suspected was blood and ears leaking the same.

“Go,” Medusa wheezed at Rico through clamped teeth. “Run.” Instead of doing as she urged, Rico pressed against her side with another whine and laid on his belly.

A dizzy spell hit Medusa. She longed to sink into the deepest of sleep.

But the ekhidna was drawing closer. Medusa blinked bleary eyes when water from the ekhidna’s hair dripped on her face.

The monster loomed over Medusa as her glowing serpentine eyes reduced to slits. Not a single scratch in sight. Medusa’s earlier attack had achieved nothing.

Rico growled when the ekhidna scraped Medusa’s blood off the ground and tasted it with a forked tongue.

The ekhidna straightened with a hiss and whipped her attention to her left.

Was somebody… had someone found them? Medusa blinked hard as she struggled to focus.

A few feet away, a stooped figure leaning on a cane stood in the middle of the path.

Aunt Phorcydes?

“Rest, child.”

No. Medusa struggled against sleep. She wanted to see. Her vision blurred then focused. How was the ekhidna floating midair?

Medusa blinked hard again, struggling with every sliver of will she possessed to make sense of what she saw. When clear vision returned, all that remained of the ekhidna was a scattering of chunks of flesh.

Herons swooped in, flapping their wings and madly gorging themselves with the feast.

Aunt Phorcydes walked towards Medusa, her gait slow and light. “She resisted my will this long. Interesting. Sleep.”

Unable to continue fighting, Medusa submitted to the command.