Slaughter

Blood dripped from Tlepolemus's chin. In one massive fist, he clutched the severed head, its spine still dangling about like a broken necklace.

Tlepolemus raised his head. His eyes rolled back; his voice booming in ancient Greek as he chanted divine praises.

"For the fallen gods!" Tlepolemus finally bellowed. He raised the head before tossing it aside like discarded fruit.

Wildfoot boomed in glee. "The champion dedicates his kill to the gods. May they drink deep and remember their sons who still honor them!"

The harpies screeched and dove for the fresh offering.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Some stood from their seats in a frenzy. They chanted their thirst for more violence.

Damon circled cautiously to the left. He kept his distance from the demigod. Nearby, the old man Demippos seemed to glide across the sand in his worn leather sandals.

They never took their eyes off the champion, who had begun to stare at the rest of the survivors like prey.

Seven were thrown into the arena. One fainted, ignored in the sands. Another's head just got ripped off. Only five men remained. One of the rebels picked up an abandoned sword from a corpse.

"Move your asses." Some demigods from the stands yelled annoyingly as they continued watching each other with caution for about five minutes.

As if he decided to damn all consequences, the largest of the remaining rebels charged with a bellowing war cry. Fear is evident across his face.

Tlepolemus smiled, a predator's grin. He watched curiously as the brute punched him hard in the face.

There was a dull crack as the entire hand of the rebel shattered into pieces. Blood sprayed on the sands, and the rebel howled in agony as he tried to clutch his destroyed arm.

"Too direct," Tlepolemus critiqued, as if instructing a student, "Overly reckless."

"You puny humans should learn how to think with your brain and not your asses."

He lifted the struggling man off his feet with one hand. He squeezed until the rebel's face turned purple. The man's legs kicked uselessly in the air as he tried to shrug free.

"Please..." the rebel rasped.

"A man should not cry," Tlepolemus said with a steeled voice, "he must accept the fates."

With a casual flick of his wrist, Tlepolemus snapped the man's neck. The crack echoed across the suddenly silent arena, followed by the dull thud of the body hitting the sand.

Four more to go.

Damon used the distraction to edge closer to the swordsman.

"You seem like you would be more useful than the rest."

The man scratched his eye, avoiding the scar bisecting his left eyebrow. He nodded grimly.

"I will keep him busy. You find an opening."

"Don't go too close," Damon warned," or you are fucked."

The swordsman barked a humorless laugh. "We are already fucked."

Tlepolemus turned toward them. He rolled his massive shoulders.

"Alone, you can do so little. Together, not so much." He said, grinning widely like a maniac.

The last standing rebel. The one who snapped his ankles at the beginning. He was driven by sheer terror and broke into a run…not toward Tlepolemus, but toward the arena gates that led into the streets.

"Argh," Tlepolemus sighed. "There's always the one who runs."

Casually, he reached down and grabbed a discarded dagger from the sand. He hurled it toward the runaway with an inhuman force.

It cut through the air like a bullet and struck the runaway in the back of the head with such impact that the man's skull shattered. It sent fragments of bone and brain matter spewing on the ground.

The rebel was just a foot away from the arena.

"This is getting boring," the champion drawled with a lack of interest." I'm one of the top thirty most powerful sons of Heracles. I was promised a fight!"

The old man had strangely disappeared.

"And you will get one." The swordsman whispered and lunged forward, his blade moving in a silver arc in the sunlight.

It was a skilled attack, one that would have gutted any normal man, but Tlepolemus twisted with impossible agility, the sword merely grazing his side.

"Some skill at last!" Tlepolemus laughed, genuinely delighted. "Perhaps I'll keep your skull as a drinking cup!"

Damon used the moment to circle behind, studying the demigod's movements. There was always a pattern. Weaknesses, or merely habits formed over centuries of victories.

The swordsman pressed his attack, a flurry of thrusts and slashes that forced Tlepolemus to give ground. Sweat beaded on the demigod's brow. It was not from exertion rather from pleasure.

"Good! Very good!" Tlepolemus smiled. "Only your physical energy seems to be higher than ten percent. You make good use of it."

A slight pause before a dodge…

Damon seized that moment. He rushed in from the side and slammed a punch at Tlepolemus's lower body. Hard enough to puncture his organs.

The demigod's roar was not of pain but of outrage. He backhanded Damon with enough force to send him flying across the sand into a wall.

"Cowardice!" Tlepolemus bellowed," A real man doesn't attack from behind, you twat."

The swordsman attacked again, but this time the pissed off Tlepolemus was ready. He slammed his fist at the sword, snapping it in two. Tlepolemus grabbed one of the pieces and buried it in the lower body of the swordsman.

He spat out blood and yelled in blind pain. Blood rushed without stopping. The swordsman, to his credit, didn't surrender. He raised his fists in a fighter's stance, blood streaming from his shoulder. His legs also shook violently.

"Now," Tlepolemus laughed, "we fight man to demi-god. With our bare hands."

The champion moved like the wind. A fist collided with the swordsman's gut, entirely lifting him off his feet. The man gasped, blood spraying from his mouth before he even hit the ground.

Tlepolemus grabbed his leg and slammed him again on the ground with enough force that it created a large crater.

"Your courage honors my father's arena," Tlepolemus said with a slight bow. "I shall make your end swift."

What followed was not combat but a slaughter. Tlepolemus moved with terrifying speed, his fists like sledgehammers. Each blow cracked bone. The swordsman returned a punch to Tlepolemus's jaw.

"Too weak." Tlepolemus sneered.

From nowhere, Tlepolemus produced a glittering bronze shield, deflecting the swordsman's next desperate punch. The rebel's knuckles shattered against the metal, and he howled in agony.

"A gift from my father," Tlepolemus explained, admiring the shield's gleam. "One of many benefits of divine parentage."

He brought the shield's edge down on the rebel swordsman's collarbone, shattering it. As the man crumpled, Tlepolemus discarded the shield and lifted him by the throat.

"You fought well," he said, almost mockingly. "But you are not demi-gods."

Tlepolemus lifted the swordsman high in the air. The crowd held its breath, trying to anticipate how the death would be executed. The champion slammed the rebel hard on his knees, shattering his entire body.

Damon struggled to his feet, his ribs screaming in protest where Tlepolemus had struck him. He watched the demigod drop the swordsman's mangled corpse. A cold rage replaced his fear.

" Son of Apophis," Tlepolemus turned his full attention to Damon. "To think a two million gold coin bounty like you got caught easily…what a letdown."

Damon said nothing. He wiped blood from his mouth as he stared down the champion.

He twitched violently, nearly stumbling backwards. Darkness began to curl up like smoke on the ground beneath him. Damon groaned as the darkness began to thicken.

Tlepolemus paused, his eyes narrowing. "Ah. Heard you lot powers has something to do with darkness."

The shadows curled around Damon's boots, climbing his legs like living vines, responding to his will. The temperature in the arena seemed to drop, despite the noon sun beating down.

Tlepolemus smiled.

The crowd grew hushed, sensing a shift in the combat's nature. Even the harpies circling overhead retreated, screeching their disapproval of the darkness spreading like ink.

A voice suddenly echoed from above the arena. A familiar voice.

"Enough."

Damon looked up, his eyes nearly consumed by the darkness.

Demippos hovered in the air, far above the stands. Behind him, a storm of about a million spears shimmered into existence. Each one pointed towards Tlepolemus.

The crowd murmured in fear as Demippos's forehead glowed with the crimson image of a burning flame.

A demigod. A son of the god Prometheus.

(External energy. 27 percent)

(Physical energy. 14 percent)

Damon stared, chest heaving, as Demippos glowed with power. Tlepolemus stepped back, uncertain for the first time.

Demippos's voice echoed a thousand times across the stands. "Your games end here, son of Heracles."

Damon straightened. His eyes locked on Tlepolemus. The sand beneath his feet felt suddenly lighter. Maybe, there was a chance after all.

"Let's see what you've got, old man," Tlepolemus growled as his smile returned.