Page 109 of Crown of Olympus
He growled, curling his fingers like claws and raising his hand to the sky. Water converged behind him in a giant wave, pausing at the precise moment an ordinary wave would have crashed down upon the shores.
The sea god threw his hand forward, sending the wave crashing toward Caelus.
I watched with nervous rapture as Caelus exploded. Like a storm made flesh, lightning bolts ruptured from every part of him — his palms, his chest, even his eyes. With an echoing boom, the bolts collided with the wave, and mist encased the arena, knocking Leander to the ground with the force of the explosion. The taste of metal filled the air.
But Caelus did not stop there. He lifted his sword and stalked forwards, vengeance written in the brutal set of his jaw, fists clenched with barely restrained power.
Leander finally — wisely — appeared afraid.
Caelus raised his sparking sword high above his head.
I wondered if this was how the soldiers Leander had slain looked as he sliced them apart, one by one. I wondered if they, too, begged, pleaded, and soiled themselves.
With hands splayed out before him, Leander surrendered.
But it was too late.
The blade came crashing down.
Steel bit through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch, and Leander howled in agony. His hands hit the dirt with two dull thuds. Ichor jetted swiftly, staining the dirt and painting Caelus’ face in a grisly, shimmering warpaint.
Leander collapsed, clutching the bloodied stumps to his chest, screaming his surrender.
Caelus turned without a word, without a flicker of remorse, and walked back to his place beside me, sword still dripping with violent retribution.
A heartbeat of silence passed.
Then another.
And the crowd goes wild.
Not a single soul remained seated. Everyone — whether they had two feet or more — were standing, stomping in furious rhythm, cheering for the bloodshed. Screaming for more.
Poseidon raged. The Primals battled to subdue him until Hera, of all people, managed to knock him unconscious with the staff of his own trident.
Ares strode to the centre of the field, each step unhurried but calculated. The cheering turned to murmurs, then to silence. The air was rife with anticipation. He turned in a slow circle, eyes touching on the faces of creature and god alike.
“Olympians!” he called. “We fight for you. We bleed for you. We endure foryou. The rite is almost finished. Just three trials remain. Today, there is but one battle left to witness. One final claim for the crown.”
Ares turned to me, extending his hand, a wicked glint in his amber eyes.
“Nyssa, daughter of Hades. Join me. Discover who fate has demanded you face.”
A large hand subtly squeezed mine before I could move. I didn’t need to look back to know the calloused fingers belonged to the caramel scented, stormy-eyed warrior.
Charon stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
Emotion threatened to crack my cold facade — the mask was getting harder to don every Furies-damned day. He grasped the side of my face, pulling our foreheads together. His grey-blue eyes stared right into the heart of my emerald ones.
“Now it’s your turn to give them hell,” he growled.
“I don’t even know who I’m up against,” I replied, panic snaking in.
“It doesn’t matter. You can beat anyone.Anyone.You havethe skill — I made sure of it. And I don’t give adamnif you have to send them to my ferry yourself. Just come back to me.”
“Us,” Caelus whispered from behind me. “Come back to us.”
Us,Velira agreed.
