Page 106 of Crown of Olympus
His brows shot up, waiting for me to explain.
“At least, no one Ares will name. Everyone else was matched up. I was leftover; the odd one out.”
He scoffed. “Of course you were.”
“So, I get some mysterious opponent at the end.”
He tipped his face down until our eyes were level. “Doesn’t matter who it is. Keep your guard up,” he said, tapping the underside of my chin, “and mind those damn feet.”
I nodded, pivoting towards where the others were assembling.
“Hey, Nyss?” Charon called. I glanced back at him.
“Let them know who they’re dealing with.” He smirked devilishly, settling my racing heart.
You got it, Char.
There were four entire matches to sit through before it was my turn. By the end of the day, four gods would be joining the others on the sidelines.
“Ah, what a glorious afternoon for battle!” Ares roared tothe spectators who were hanging off his every word. “The future King or Queen of Olympus stands before you.”
A hush swept over the crowd as they dissected each of us — champions and Primals alike.
“They have triumphed over eight trials thus far, displaying the wit and strength you deserve in a ruler!”
More cheers.
They’re really eating this up,I scoffed.
I will eat them up,Vel drawled.
I was only half certain she was kidding.
“Today, they have endured the heat of Hephaestus’ forge,” Ares continued, “and now, they shall demonstrate the prowess of their weapons, their powers, and their minds! Without any further ado, let the first battle begin!”
With screams of excitement as his soundtrack, Ares called Archimedes and Tychon to the arena’s centre.
They obeyed, wordlessly planting their feet and raising their weapons.
“Begin!” the god of war thundered.
Tychon struck first, relying on speed and agility, but Arch deflected him at every turn. In fact, he looked downright bored — like this was nothing more than a training exercise.
Arch’s newly forged sword glinted under the sun as it clanged against Tychon’s crooked blade. The superior blacksmith was also the superior swordsman. The match lasted all of five minutes. Despite the gleaming golden sandals laced to his feet, and the wings fluttering at his ankles, Tychon surrendered.
Pinned to the ground, Arch’s blade skewering his tricep, the son of Hermes cried out, tapping the earth three times in defeat — not just from the match, but from the entire competition.
The crowd erupted. Slanders were thrown and booing ensued. Hermes shouted down from the stands, scandalised.
“No! Boy, no! Get back in there! Get me my crown!”
Ares tutted. “Now, now, Herm. It was inevitable. Nobody is beatingmyboy. Just watch.” He turned, shouting. “Aros! Athena! Begin!”
The arena waited with bated breath. Aros and Athena circled each other slowly, neither willing to make the first move.
Athena eyed Aros warily. She was a tactician of war, studying his every move before he made it. Aros, meanwhile, wore a feral grin, his eyes sharp with the same lethal focus. Though he was a gifted god of war, he would be a fool to underestimate the goddess of warfare.
Between blinks, Athena moved. She lunged forward sharply, her sword a streak of silver as it flashed towards Aros’ ribs. He jerked out of range just in time, narrowly avoiding the strike, and simultaneously brought his axe up to deflect the next blow.
