Chapter 6

"Hey! You sun'ava- cm'ere!"

A shaggy looking man, thinly and strange with a strange hobble in his walk, wobbled towards a boy. With bird-like movements, the eccentric man's irritable energy was the stark opposite to the horses that watched the man pass them by.

Their beady eyes, accentuated by their long lashes, would bat at the hobbling man who ignored their attempts at asking for sustenance. At one point, he had to push a horse's muzzle away, swatting it when the creature huffed at him as if taking offense.

"Where are ya boy! Did you feed these gigantic rats?"

A boy who was cleaning horse shoes, released a horse's leg and ran over to the railing.

"Ya! I do that first thing in the morning! Besides, you ain't supposed to feed 'em before the race."

The man stopped before a particular horse. He studied it for a while before continuing his trek towards the rafters where the audience were beginning to seat themselves.

"Yeah, yeah," the man stops at the stairs before turning to the boy, "Feed that one though, I don't like the way it looks. All shiny and proud; them elitist horses ain't shit! Was probably fed organic berries or some shit, thinkin' it can win a race outside its white-picket fence life!"

Micah spat at the floor next to the aloof creature in question.

"Look at it! It thinks that it's above us!"

The boy rolled his eyes and saluted in return, a sarcastic gesture towards his absurd request.

"Aye, aye, Micah!"

"Hey! Stop being such a smart-ass!"

Micah plucked a strand of hay from a nearby bundle and began to chew on it aggressively while hobbling up the stairs to enter the rafters. His eyes were introduced to the sharp light of the morning sun causing him to raise his hand up to shield his eyes. He knew, by the way the shadows were being cast, that it was going to be a long and hot day. It didn't help that half of the arena was built with metal and weather-beaten leather, such materials tend to absorb heat far too much.

But at least the crisp, morning air held the scent of morning dew which clung to the blades of freshly cut grass in the infield. It made standing in the rafters somewhat bearable.

Standing on the very bottom of the arena, he rested his fists on his hips and watched as the ladies and gents began to swarm the seats. His quick, rat-like eyes darted about counting the schmucks that he could potentially swindle out of their money.

'They are rich as fuck anyways, they can afford to lose some hundreds or two.' His hands, thin and bony, held a thick stack of money that he began to count rapidly. The moist sound of his tongue wetting his thumb as he flicked through the bills broke the quaint serenity of the English styled stadium.

Micah was unapologetically himself. He was notorious for being a slimy swindler who clawed his way to a level of disreputable notoriety among the horse racing crowd.

Like a chameleon, he knew how to change his colors to either appeal to unsuspecting victims or hide from the authorities. To him, it is a dog eat dog world and he was done with eating the scraps! At the very moment, he had a new role to fill. His clothes, although of good quality, were worn and faded, the top button of his shirt forever undone, a symbolic declaration of his distaste for decorum.

He strode with a nervous energy toward the upper row of the rafters. He began to scratch his patchy facial hair, mumbling to himself a color that he could cloak himself with. Today, he wanted to be confident and convincing.

A field salesman with a certain kind of irritable charm. For that, he rumbled his voice in his throat, thinking that it was husky as if he was a regular smoker but once he spoke, it sounded like a rusty nail grinding itself on a black board. With a single glance, he began to single out potential betters and adventurers in the crowd, his smile stinging like a whip.

"Goodmorning, good sir! You look like a man who likes to play a game of chess or two."

A well-dressed middle aged man looked up from his female companion. A residual pearly white smile clinging to his lips as he regarded the newcomer in front of him, studying with an eye that could only belong to a seasoned lawyer.

"Ah! Sharp eye. You could say I enjoy playing mind games."

The woman beside him giggled as if catching onto a joke that only the two would know.

"Speaking of mind games, would you fancy playing a game with fate itself?" Micah said with a waggle of a brow.

"Fate? Oh how simply adventurous! I was beginning to feel bored anyways." The woman said whilst clapping her gloved hands.

'Bingo.'

"Oh why the hell not! Let's play your game."

And that was just the first of many bets he scored. Like a conductor to an orchestra, he persuaded a myriad of schmucks to bet on the race. Probably a new record, he would reckon but this time, he let some win. He knew that it's best to keep the game a little bit fair so that it would seem as if this game was about fate rather than choice.

"Hmmm, I would bet on Annie Marie!" A young billionaire said with a confident smile.

A furled smile, Micah agreed and handed him the betting ticket upon which the horse's name and number was written and in return, he received a wad of dollars.

"Good choice! I have heard that the horse comes from a line of cavalry horses of the British! Best of the best!"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't rub it in, I know you just want the money."

He presented the amount discussed but before Micah could take it from his hands, the man grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer so he could whisper in his ears.

"If you try to play me, know that I'm sittin' right here. I'll have my eyes on you, slimy bastard."

After berating Micah for a solid minute, the man let him go. Just for the sake of keeping up appearances, Micah laughed nervously and told the man to not worry! He wished him Lady Luck's love and quickly weaseled his way to the stables. Quick and twitchy, his gait made him look like a mouse and some children shouted that out so.

"Look Mama! That man looks like Swiper from Dora!"

His eye-twitched at the allegation but he didn't stop until he was standing under the shade of the empty stables. He heard the hub-bub of the racers being lined up at the starting line. The announcement chased away some of his worries and now, he was excited to see his plan come into fruition.

His grin widened as he spotted potential customers, prospective bettors who he could coax into placing their wages on his 'sure winners.'

"Horses are such majestic creatures, aren't they?"

"HOL- JESUS CHRIST!" Micah screams out, jumping to a side causing the fat wad of money to fly everywhere.

"Hey, maaan! That's not right!" Micah begins to recollect the fallen currency. One by one, he plucked them from the ground and gently wiggled them to free from dust and hay.

"You should've told m- wait." Suddenly realizing that he was disturbed in a restricted area, he began to back up.

"W-wait. Wait, wait, wait… you shouldn't be here! This area is restricted! How did you get there?"

"Oh, I have my ways." The mysterious man adjusted his charcoal fedora, most of his features shrouded by a shadow except for his peppered beard.

Once Micah had calmed down, he took notice of the mysterious figure. The tall man was an intimidating figure, dressed in a fashion harkening back to the 1960s gangster style, but it wasn't as over the top.

He could look like a government official or a sleazy dirt bag from wall street. Both were gangsters, anyway. Clad in a navy-blue, pinstriped suit, it was tailored impeccably to his broad-shouldered and muscular frame.

The more he looked at it, it reminded him of the sea that they show in those nature documentaries. Majestic but scary, really scary like those deep depths of the sea or how it looked at night.

His shirt underneath is a pristine white, offsetting the deep blue of his suit and hinting at the frothy white caps of the waves he commands. His tie, a darker hue of the suit, and cufflinks that probably looked like the mother of pearls.

Despite the overall gangster aesthetic, the suit wasn't all that bad but it exudes old money. Probably a Georgio Armani or a Louis Vuitton.

His long, wavy hair was slicked back and bound in a low ponytail, reflecting his practical yet stylish approach.

"I come here for knowledge," the man turned to face Micah, the shadows from his hat churning over his lips as he spoke, "Do you know anything about Adamantia?"

The man's question elicited a jump from the other man, a clear indicator that the man indeed had some information about her.

"I-I don't know who you are talking about."

Micah shifted towards the exit but suddenly stopped. An unexplainable force nailed his feet towards the ground. Micah stared at his feet, begging them to move but to no avail. For some reason he was frozen at the very moment where the man took his first step.

His aura was so constricting that Micah was involuntarily gripping onto a nearby wooden railing for dear life.

"Listen, half of the town wants information and I won't give it for free otherwise, this isn't the place for whatever you want," he murmured, eyes darting to a bulb over them. It languidly swayed, its golden hues casting a terrifying shadow over the man who eventually eclipsed the light.

With a swift motion, the mysterious man moved closer, his sharp jawline visible.

"Compensation? I should be compensated for my time."

The horses, sensing the tension, grew restless. Their hooves shuffled, and some let out nervous whinnies.

"Nah man, sorry. Can't help you with that." Micah's voice began to quiver.

"Don't waste my time, boy! Where is Adamantia." The man's voice dripped with annoyance.

Before Micah could respond, the loud roar of the crowd announced the beginning of the race. The mysterious man seemed to consider something for a moment, then leaned in, his voice a whisper.

"I'll give you one more chance. Tell me where Adamantia is, tell me the exact location."

The horses buckled. Their front hooves madly lashing at the air and their eyes displayed unbridled anger. The discordant noise of the animals screeching was so loud that it threatened to burst Micah's ear drums. It felt as if the very Earth was going to erupt but the man was as cold as ice. Unmoving and intimidating.

Micah nodded hastily, willing to promise anything for an escape. The man let Micah's collar go, causing the skinnier man to catch his balance when his feet touched the floor. It was then Micah realized the difference in their stature.

"Okay man, okay! I'll tell you where she is. Free of price but don't kill her yeah?"

Micah pulled on his collar, straightening himself before the man.

"Look, the race is about to start, I'll tell you what you wanna hear but let's go outside."

The tension in the stable slowly dissolved, but the impact of the encounter left Micah shaken. He wanted fresh air and a space devoid of tall-legged rat demons.

***

"Breakfast is almost ready! Could you pour the coffee?"

"Alright, I'm there."

Sunlight seeped into the elegant studio apartment, reflecting off the pristine white walls, accentuating the modern aesthetics of the room.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of pancakes and sizzling bacon. There was a soft hum in the background, a soulful jazz tune playing from a chic speaker on a floating shelf.

Ahmanet, with her golden brown skin, was by the kitchenette flipping pancakes. Her long raven-black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and she swayed slightly to the music, humming along. She wore a comfy oversized shirt and soft pajama pants, the epitome of a lazy weekend morning.

Across from her, lounging on a plush beige couch was Adamantia, her wheat like golden hair cascading down her back like a shimmering waterfall. She jumped off the couch, lazily walking towards the kitchenette where the coffee machine lay. The device was intricate, seeming like an apparatus which could have been used by chemists.

But with just a few twists and pulls of levers, Adamantia watched as pumps of caffeine infused liquid poured into pristine white cups.

She yawned whilst stretching herself into the sky.

"So Tia," Ahmanet began, using her nickname for Adamantia, "what's the plan for today? Do we debrief, scout or will we be going to one of the shelter's today?"

Adamantia smirked. "Scouting seems tempting at this point. I feel like we are blind to some things at the moment. Especially after that strange, Earthquake. Say, do you think your father could spare a few sentries for us?"

"My father? If he could look up the bell he keeps on ringing, maybe he can spare us his time. That man makes Judgement feel like another day at the DMV."

Their laughter filled the space, a bond of several centuries echoing in their camaraderie.

Suddenly, the soft chime of the doorbell cut through the moment. Ahmanet, closer to the entrance, rose gracefully, her brows furrowed. "Were you expecting someone?"

Adamantia shrugged, sipping on the fresh coffee.

Pointing at the plates, Ahmanet gestured for Adamantia to plate the food before she walked towards the door. Staring into the peephole, her face immediately darkened. Before her stood a tall figure, broad and imposing.

The suit he wore was a deep color of a navy blue, but it was his presence that was most overwhelming. Though his eyes were not visible, his very presence was akin to a stormy sea. It felt as if he was being held together by the rules of this world otherwise his hidden wrath would crash through like a tsunami. 

"Poseidon," Ahmanet hissed, anger evident in her tone when she backed away from the door. She was pondering whether she should open the door when the man knocked on the door.

"I know you are there, Ahmanet. And I also know that Adamantia was there."

'Fuck.' Ahmanet turned to look at Adamantia who was standing behind her. Still like the glaciers of the north but she could tell that it would not take much to set her old friend off…and that she truly feared because she highly doubted that this building would uphold to a battle between one of the oldest Gods of the Sea and one pissed off Gorgon/demigoddess. She internally cursed as she remembered the first and only time both had met…her old friend had actually came close to killing him but it was only because that Adamantia had no desire to take over his mantel as Ruler of the Seas and Oceans that she stayed her hand and spared that bastard's life…she grimaced as she noted her friend's eyes flashed brightly to her Gorgon ones before settling back to her normal ones.

The sea god's voice was unwavering. "I only wish to speak with my daughter."

Adamantia stood taller, her demeanor shifting from relaxed to tense. "What do you want? And! I am not your daughter! I thought I had made that clear the first and last fucking time we had met a thousand years ago, you are nothing but a goddamn sperm donor!"

"Open the door and I will tell you."

Adamantia and Ahmanet shared a duality of emotions within a single glance. One of rage/hatred and the other of concern.

"I won't start a fight; I simply have a proposal to make."

Adamantia was first to extend her hand towards the knob, twisting it to allow Poseidon's frame to cross the threshold of her sanctuary.

"It had better be good and if you did start a fight? I would not spare you this time"

Poseidon's gaze shifted to her, an odd mix of sternness, pride and sadness. "I've come to check up on you. You are my daughter after all." He eyed the one offspring that, though he buried it, he was proud of. She made herself into something great, never seeking praise…and though he never liked to admit it? He was proud of the fact she had almost ended his life over a thousand years ago when he had mistaken her for her mother. Focusing back on the woman in front of him, he banished his past thoughts as he would rather not think of the past at the moment…it made him feel regret.

 "Oh bullshit!" Adamantia's voice was filled with venom. "You don't have the right to check up on me! You have lost that right!"

Poseidon sighed and knotted his fingers in front of him. Not as a sign of nervousness but that of impatience. The two girls could tell that he did not seek them for repentance.

"Listen to me, what has happened has happened."

Ahmanet shook her head, knowing that he had just roused the beast. When turning to Adamantia, all she saw was the spirit of Typhon.

"Let bygones be bygones for the world is going to witness a new era. Or, to say, the land of the old. What shall be, will return. And I want to offer you a place by my side."

Elegantly, he extended a hand towards her. He not only offered peace but offered her a pardon of the past but Adamantia knew that pardon meant jack-shit for Gods.

"Fuck. You." She spat at her father's shoes and was about to lunge at the man but was held back by Ahmanet, whose arms were encircled around her waist.

For a moment, Adamantia's hands were clawing at the air blindly until she was aware of the fact that something was holding her back.

"Ahmanet! Let me go dammit! He doesn't deserve to be spared this time!"

Ahmanet said nothing, with an impassive gaze, she simply uttered to Poseidon.

"She's not interested."

But Adamantia, chin raised, eyes flashing, pulled herself forward. Her torso buckled due to gravity but her friend was quick to balance her.

"I don't need your offers or your concern! And shove that offer up your ass! Along with that bimbo friend of yours!" Adamantia hissed, baring her teeth in rage and hatred as the vision of her mother's headless body was replaying within her mind.

Poseidon looked genuinely hurt. "Times are changing, my child. The tides shift and I thought perhaps... together..."

Ahmanet's patience snapped. "She said no! Just leave! Lest your blood seep into the dirt!" She lashed her power against the male actually making him step back once. She saw the tightening of his jaw at her warning attack but knew the Ocean God would never raise a hand to her considering not only her mother and father would come for his head? But her Grandfather Ra would interfere, which would bring all of the other Greek Gods down on the fucker's head. Her grandfather never really interfered in anything simply choosing to let things play out…but he would never stand aside as another God touched someone of his direct bloodline. Aeron, who was the Welsh God of Battle and Slaughter, had tried that once and after getting his ass handed to him by Adamantia? Let's just say that they needed a new God of Battle and Slaughter after her father and Grandfather were done with him, especially her grandfather, Ra.

Poseidon's gaze never left his daughter's. "Beware the coming storm, Adamantia. I hope, for your sake, you choose wisely."

With that, he turned and departed, leaving an unsettling stillness in his wake. Ahmanet attempted to hold Adamantia as long as she could before the woman broke free, she ran towards the window where she saw Poseidon.

The man had the audacity to meet her eyes and smile. His smug expression was filled with pity and joy, at the same time.

"I will kill him." Adamantia muttered as she plastered herself against the window, her balled fist resting against the glass that separated her from killing the man.

Ahmanet took a deep breath and joined her. "I will contact my father. He has to know what these Gods are brewing under us. They are planning something and we need more intel but this was a start."

Ahmanet hummed and watched as the God of the Seas crossed a jaywalking sign, completely disregarding the laws of the human world. "Whether you like it or not, we need him alive. So this little incursion was helpful."

"What do you mean?" Adamantia tore her eyes from the scene to Ahmanet whose golden hues were glittering with intelligence.

"I mean that the man is foolish enough to offer you a place at his side. What does that mean? It means that he was not only offering you shelter but a chance at redemption. The Gate has opened, Adamantia…"

Ahmanet placed a cup of coffee on a table beside Adamantia's raging body. She walked off, calm and collected knowing that a new war was brewing. It was only time that the Earth will erupt and time will cease to exist on their terms.

"Leave the window, he won't die if you just stare at him. We need him as a pawn. I am afraid that the battle will begin soon."