Chapter 62:
– Blake Himejima –
A waiting room inside the Ganesha stadium…
The Ganesha Familia owned the biggest stadium in Orario, and Apollo had apparently shelled out enough coin to rent the whole damn thing for this little circus of his.
The waiting room alone was bigger than my dorm at SIT.
Through the tunnel that led out to the arena floor, I could hear the dull roar of a crowd that was still filing in. Hundreds, maybe thousands of spectators.
The War Game format was about as simple as it got. Full Familia versus full Familia, the last side standing took the pot. Apollo had probably pictured a quick, humiliating curb-stomp followed by him collecting Hestia like a trophy.
Instead, he was about to find out exactly what kind of mistake he'd made.
"It still ain't fair," Tony muttered from across the room. "I'm a member of the Familia now too, aren't I?" He flashed me that shit-eating grin of his.
And technically, the bastard wasn't wrong.
Yesterday, both he and my mom had asked Hestia for her Falna. Mom because she figured any boost to her strength meant a better chance of keeping all of us alive, and she wasn't the type to leave a power-up sitting on the table.
Tony, on the other hand, had practically vibrated with excitement at the idea. He'd called it a "real life video game system" and made some long-winded pitch about how he was certain he'd have a ridiculously high intelligence stat, and that maybe, just maybe, he could finally learn magic. The man had built himself a flying suit of armor and still wanted more.
Hestia loved it. Two more members on her first week in Orario meant she could lord it over Loki for at least a month, and I was pretty sure she was already drafting the gloating speech in her head.
The Falna ceremony had been an experience. Mom had gone first, casual about peeling off her top like it was nothing, and Tony had needed an actual elbow to the ribs from Pepper to stop staring. Then Tony had gone second and made jokes the entire time about Hestia tickling his back. When the divine script had settled, Mom had come back as a Level Four (she'd been holding back even more than I'd realized during our years of training, apparently), and Tony had bounced up at Level One, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
His intelligence stat was, to his absolute delight, freakishly high. Hestia had blinked at the readings twice before confirming.
"Tony," Pepper said from her perch on one of the stone benches, crossing one long leg over the other in a way that pulled my eyes for a second longer than was probably professional. "We already went over this. The contract is very specific. Only members of the Hestia Familia at the time of signing are eligible to participate in the War Game. I read every word thoroughly."
Of course she had.
My girlfriend, the CEO with a law degree, wasn't about to let a contract her boyfriend's life depended on go unexamined.
She'd spent half of last night curled up on the couch in our new house, glasses perched on the end of her nose, going through that thing with a fine-tooth comb. I'd brought her tea and tried not to be obvious about staring at the way her blouse rode up when she stretched. She'd caught me looking once and given me that small, knowing smirk that always did things to me.
Tony grumbled something uncharitable about lawyers in general and shoved his hands in his pockets, retreating to sulk in the corner like an oversized toddler.
I let my gaze drift across the room.
Hestia was perched on a low bench, swinging her feet a couple of inches above the floor. She was wearing her usual ribbon-strained white dress. Her twin tails were a little crooked, like she had retied them twice already this morning. Her blue eyes kept flicking to mine and away, and her lower lip was caught between her teeth.
Beside her, Bell was even worse off. He was sitting bolt upright with his hands clenched in his lap, his white hair sticking up in places like he had been running his fingers through it.
Both of them were far more nervous than I was and hadn't slept well last night.
I pushed off the wall and went over to them. I crouched down in front of the bench so I could be eye level with both of them, resting one hand on Hestia's knee and giving Bell's shoulder a small squeeze.
"Hey," I said quietly. "Both of you. Breathe."
Bell exhaled in a shaky rush, like he had been holding his breath for a while. "Big Bro, I-I'm sorry, I just..."
"Bell." I tipped my head. "It's fine. You don't have to fight anyone today. You're here, you're with the Familia, and that's enough. I told you yesterday and I meant it."
He nodded quickly, jerkily, and I gave his shoulder one more squeeze before turning to Hestia.
She looked up at me, and for all her divine warmth, she looked very small in that moment. "Blake..."
"My goddess," I said, just to watch the color jump into her cheeks. It worked. She made a tiny, scandalized squeak and swatted at my arm.
"Don't do that here, you bully," she hissed, but she was smiling.
"I'm going to make Apollo regret every word he ever said to you," I told her, and I let her see that I meant every syllable of it. The smile slid off her face, replaced by something soft and serious. "I promise."
Her hand covered mine on her knee. "I know you will."
Soft footsteps came up beside me, and then my mom was wrapping her arms around me from the side, tucking herself under my arm and pressing her cheek against my shoulder. "My baby boy," she said warmly, squeezing me tight. "You make sure to kick plenty of ass out there, you hear me? Those people thought they could underestimate my son."
I huffed a laugh and ruffled her hair, which earned me a swat on the chest. "You know I will, Mom."
"Good." She pulled back just enough to look up at me, those violet eyes of hers softening for a moment. "And remember what I taught you. Don't toy with them. Make it clean. Make it final."
I nodded once.
She gave me one more squeeze, then stepped back and rolled her shoulders, working out the stiffness.
Kunoichi blended in well with this world.
She'd already changed into her kunoichi gear, the same fitted black and dark grey set she'd worn during our training in Konoha. Twin katanas crossed over her back, kunai pouches strapped to her thighs, talismans tucked into the wraps around her forearms. She looked like exactly what she was. A weapon shaped like a beautiful woman.
Tony had not stopped sneaking glances at her since she'd suited up, and I was very pointedly not thinking about that.
…The knock came right on cue. A young man in the white and gold uniform of the Ganesha Familia stuck his head through the doorway, looking both bored and professional.
"Apologies for the interruption," he called out. "The War Game is set to begin. If the Hestia Familia would please make their way to the staging area, and any non-participants to the private viewing booth."
He gave a polite half-bow and disappeared back into the hallway.
I pushed off the wall and rolled my shoulders. This was it.
Everyone moved at once. Hestia bounced up on her toes, grabbed my hand for a quick squeeze, then released me. Bell looked like he was about to throw up but squared his shoulders and followed her toward the door. Mom adjusted the wraps on her forearms one last time and gave me a wink. Tony muttered something about how he could fight in heels and a tutu if Pepper would just let him, which earned him a flat look from my girlfriend.
We filed out into the stone corridor. The hallway split in two directions. Left led down to the arena entrance, where the rest of the Familia and I would walk out onto the sand. Right led up to the spectator level and the private booth that Ganesha had set aside for us.
I started toward the left.
"Blake, wait a second." Pepper's voice. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her hanging back from the group, waving the others on ahead. "Go on without me," she told them. "I'll catch up."
Mom gave her a knowing look and shepherded the rest of them up the right corridor. Tony lingered for a beat longer, his eyes flicking between me and Pepper, but Mom hooked her arm through his and tugged him along before he could say something stupid.
Pepper waited until the sound of their footsteps faded before she walked over to me.
I smiled at her, taking in the picture she made. She'd worn a charcoal grey pantsuit, perfectly tailored to her body, the blazer fitted at the waist and the slacks hugging her hips in a way that ought to have been illegal. A cream blouse underneath, the top two buttons undone. Her strawberry blonde hair was swept up in a loose twist. She looked like she'd just walked off the cover of a magazine that was running an issue on the sexiest CEO's, and it was doing things to me.
"You know," I said, slowing my pace so she could keep up in those heels, "I just want to point out, even in a literal fantasy world with elves and catgirls and goddesses walking around in togas, you are still the hottest thing in any room you step into. That suit is doing things to me."
She rolled her eyes at me, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Charmer..."
"Always." I waited a beat. "Everything okay?"
The playfulness slid off her face, replaced by something tighter. She glanced down the hallway after the others, then back at me. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a second before letting it go. "I have to confess something."
I blinked. "Okay?"
"I lied to Tony back there."
That made me straighten up. "Lied how?"
She drew in a breath through her nose, like she was steeling herself. "He could have participated in the War Game with you. The contract doesn't actually exclude people who recently joined the familia. I made that up."
I stared at her for a long second. "Pepper. Why?"
She wrapped her arms around herself, a small uncomfortable gesture I hadn't seen on her before. "Because the technology in this world is centuries behind ours. If Tony walked out there in the Mark Three, with the repulsors and the flight system and the weapons suite, every god, every Familia, every kingdom in this world would see it. They'd see what's possible. And they'd want it. We aren't anywhere close to ready for what that could mean. Reverse engineering, theft, kidnapping, full-blown wars over the tech. I just." Her voice softened. "I couldn't let him do it. Not yet. And he's stubborn enough that telling him the truth wouldn't have worked. He'd have argued that the suit could fly out before anyone got a good look. He'd have done it anyway."
She finally looked up at me, and there was real guilt in those soft eyes of hers.
"I'm sorry. I should have told you first. I know this is your fight, and I went behind your back to handle it before you could weigh in. I just." She trailed off, jaw tightening. "I still feel guilty about it."
I reached out and caught one of her hands, drawing it gently away from where she'd been gripping her own elbow. Her fingers were cool against mine.
"Pepper. Listen to me." I waited until she met my eyes. "I'm the one who blundered through a magic rune in New Mexico and got tossed into a whole new world. I'm the one who slapped that bitch in Apollo Familia's manor. I'm the one who picked this fight. None of this is on you. You were thinking three moves ahead and protecting Tony from himself, which honestly somebody needs to be doing on a daily basis."
She let out a small huff that was almost a laugh.
"You did the right thing," I told her. "And if Tony finds out later and gets pissy about it, I'll back you up."
"I still feel guilty though," she said quietly.
I tugged her closer by the hand I was holding, and she came willingly, stepping into me until her chest was against mine and her face was tilted up. I cupped her jaw with my free hand, thumb brushing along her cheek, and leaned down.
The kiss was slow. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that said we had all the time in the world even though we very much did not.
Her lips parted against mine, soft and warm, and I tasted the faint mint of whatever she'd been chewing earlier. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, "mmh," and her hand came up to rest against my chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of my shirt.
I pulled back just far enough to speak against her lips. "You're going to have to make it up to me, Miss Potts."
"Oh?" Her voice came out a little breathier than usual. "And how would you like me to do that?"
"You're taking me out somewhere fancy when we get home. Reservations and everything. The kind of place where you have to wear that little black dress I like."
Her lips curved against mine. "That's your big punishment for me?"
"Mm-hm." I brushed my nose against hers. "And then maybe you can keep apologizing back at your place. For as long as it takes."
She laughed softly, a warm sound that I felt more than heard. "Deal."
I kissed her once more, quick and firm this time, then stepped back before I lost my discipline and wound up late for my own War Game.
"Go on," I said, tipping my head toward the right corridor. "Watch me work."
Pepper squared her shoulders, that CEO armor sliding back into place, but her eyes stayed soft. "Don't do anything reckless."
"No promises."
She rolled her eyes one more time, turned on her heel, and walked off down the corridor. I watched her go for a second longer than was strictly necessary, because the way that pantsuit fit her from the back deserved a moment of respectful appreciation, then I turned and headed left toward the arena.
Time to go to work…
– Pepper –
Pepper made sure to check her lipstick in the small compact she kept tucked into her blazer pocket before she pushed open the door to the private booth. Experience had taught her well. Walking into any room containing both Tony Stark and Shuri Himejima with smudged lipstick was an invitation for teasing she did not have the patience to deal with, especially considering that Shuri also happened to be the mother of the much younger man who had just had said lipstick all over his own mouth thirty seconds ago.
Satisfied that her lips looked perfectly professional rather than thoroughly kissed, she snapped the compact shut and stepped inside.
The booth was massive. Stone walls hung with dark gold tapestries bearing the Ganesha Familia crest, plush velvet seating arranged in two tiers, a polished wooden table along the back wall already laden with carafes of wine and trays of cured meats and cheeses. Magic stone chandeliers cast a warm glow over everything, and the front of the booth opened onto a wide balcony with a wrought iron railing that offered a panoramic view of the arena below.
Pepper crossed the booth and stepped up to the railing, and her eyebrows climbed.
The stadium was almost completely full.
Tier after tier of stone seating ringed the enormous oval arena, and nearly every single seat was occupied. Adventurers in mismatched armor jostled shoulder to shoulder with merchants in fine robes, with families clutching children, with what looked like off-duty Guild employees still in their uniforms. Vendors moved through the aisles with trays of food and drink, and the dull roar of conversation rolled up from the bowl of the stadium like ocean surf. Banners in Apollo's blue and gold hung from the upper balconies, alongside the white and orange of the Hestia Familia.
And scattered throughout the prime seating sections, in their own private booths much like this one, were figures who positively radiated divine presence. Gods. Actual gods, lounging in their boxes with their Familias arrayed around them, waiting for the show.
"I had no idea there were going to be this many people," Pepper said, settling into one of the plush chairs near the front of the booth. She crossed her legs and smoothed her slacks down absently. "Half the city must be here."
"More than half, probably," Hestia replied. She was perched on the edge of her own chair, looking too small for the upholstery, her twin tails swinging behind her. "There's not really a lot of public entertainment in Orario, you know? No movies, no, um, what was that thing Blake described? Television? Nothing like that. Most people work, train, hunt monsters, and drink. So when there's a War Game, especially between two godly Familias, the whole city turns out. It's a big deal."
That was interesting. Pepper filed it away in the part of her brain that never quite stopped being a CEO.
A whole market. An entire civilization starved for entertainment. With Blake's portal capability and the right approach, Stark Industries, or rather a carefully constructed subsidiary that operated under a different name, could absolutely capitalize on something like this. Of course, she would have to be incredibly careful. She had just told Blake exactly how dangerous it would be to dump too much advanced tech into this world.
But there were workarounds.
Concerts, for instance. Live performances translated across worlds with relatively low risk. Theater productions of the more elaborate kind, with proper costuming and effects. And films. The medieval fantasy genre alone could keep audiences in this world entertained for decades, and the production technology stayed back on Earth where it belonged. They could screen the films using carefully designed projection equipment that wouldn't reveal too much about the inner workings.
Maybe even partner with a willing god who had jurisdiction over performance or storytelling. Were there gods like that here? Probably. There seemed to be gods for everything.
She would have to ask Hestia later.
Bell was sitting closest to the balcony railing, leaning forward and gripping the iron with both hands, his red eyes huge as he tried to take in the size of the crowd. He looked like he might actually be vibrating. The poor kid was twitching with nerves.
The door to the booth swung open behind them without warning.
Pepper turned in her chair, expecting one of the Ganesha Familia attendants. What she got instead was a tall blonde man in a flowing white toga edged with gold, a golden laurel resting in his perfectly tousled hair, his expression set in an arrogant little smile that made her want to slap him on principle. He had the bearing of a man who had never once in his entire existence been told no.
Hestia shot to her feet so fast her twin tails snapped. "Apollo!" Her voice was tight with fury. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Apollo turned that arrogant little smile fully on Hestia, and Pepper watched his eyes do something that made her skin crawl. They raked over Hestia head to toe, lingering at her bare thighs where the short white dress rode up, then climbing higher to rest unsubtly on the strained ribbon across her chest.
"Oh, don't be like that, my dear Hestia," Apollo said, his voice rich and oily. "I am simply here to inspect my prize before the festivities conclude."
Pepper was not Hestia's biggest fan. As far as Pepper was concerned, Hestia had attached herself to Blake within hours of meeting him, slept with him within a day, let him buy her a house, and was currently coasting on his strength to support a Familia she did not yet have the means to support herself. Pepper had concerns. Pepper had a list of concerns, in fact, alphabetized.
But there were times when women had to stick together. Particularly in front of arrogant, leering creeps in togas who looked at another woman the way Apollo was looking at Hestia.
Pepper rose smoothly from her chair, smoothing her blazer with one hand, and pitched her voice into the tone she used for hostile board members and aggressive reporters. "Your presence is not needed here, Apollo. I would suggest you return to your own booth."
Apollo's gaze drifted off Hestia and landed on her instead, and Pepper had to fight not to physically recoil. His eyes traveled the length of her with appreciative slowness. Then his attention slid past her to Shuri, and the same lazy assessment played out all over again.
"Well, well," he murmured, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "It appears you actually managed to recruit a few quality Familia members, Hestia. I am impressed. There may be some redeeming value in your little operation after all."
He stepped further into the booth, and Pepper resisted the urge to put herself bodily between him and Hestia. Just barely.
"You two lovely creatures," Apollo said, his attention now split between Pepper and Shuri, "after my Familia wins this little contest, you will of course be welcome to join my Familia. And my bed. I am a generous god, you understand. I take very good care of those who serve me well."
"Fuck off, you fucking prick. Stop hitting on my best friend and my wife." Tony said in a tone he very rarely used, the one that meant he was somewhere between furious and ready to do something deeply unwise.
Apollo only grinned wider. "Mm." His eyes did that same slow sweep over Tony. "You are quite handsome. My offer extends to you as well. You would be more than welcome in my bed alongside the ladies. I am nothing if not accommodating."
Tony Stark, billionaire, philanthropist, former weapons designer, Iron Man, the man who had charmed his way through three continents worth of journalists and never once been caught flat-footed in his life, actually gaped at Apollo like a landed fish.
His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. No sound emerged.
In any other circumstance, Pepper would have enjoyed the moment immensely. She might have even pulled out her phone to take a photo for blackmail purposes. As it was, she filed the memory away for later and kept her attention on Apollo.
Hestia stepped forward, planting herself between Apollo and the rest of them. "If that is all you came for, you can leave now, Apollo," she said, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "Get out of this booth so you can go watch my Blake crush your pathetic excuse for a Familia."
"Yeah!" Bell piped up from his place at the railing. He had finally torn his eyes away from the crowd and was glaring at Apollo with all the ferocity a teenage boy could muster, which was not much, but Pepper appreciated the effort. "Big bro is not going to lose!"
Apollo gave Bell a glance that was equal parts amused and dismissive, then scoffed openly. "Oh, my dear boy. I shall thoroughly enjoy watching my Familia kill that arrogant little Level One Captain of yours in just a few moments. Do try to keep your eyes open. The lesson will be educational."
With a final theatrical sweep of his toga, he turned and strolled out of the booth as casually as he had entered.
For one long beat, the booth was silent.
Then Pepper and Hestia spoke in perfect unison.
"Fuck that guy!" "Fuck that guy!"
Hestia whipped her head around to stare at Pepper. Then a brilliant smile broke across her face, and she clasped her hands together against her large chest. "Pepper! Pepper, are we friends now?"
Pepper looked down at her, took in the hopeful, eager expression on Hestia's face, and gave her own small, controlled smile. "No."
Hestia's face crumpled. "Awww."
Pepper turned back toward the balcony and the arena below, hiding the slightly larger smile that wanted to surface, and settled back into her chair to watch her young, ridiculous, extraordinary boyfriend wipe the floor with Apollo's entire Familia.
– Blake –
I stepped out through the wide stone archway and onto the sand of the arena, and the roar of the crowd hit me like a physical wave.
Without stone walls to muffle it, the noise was something else entirely. Cheering, whistling, stamping feet, voices layered over voices in a wall of pure sound that vibrated up through the soles of my boots and into my chest. The arena itself was enormous, a flat oval of pale gold sand ringed by stone walls that climbed up into tier after tier of packed seating. Banners snapped in the breeze high above. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue, and the sun beat down warm against the back of my neck.
I rolled my shoulders and let myself enjoy the moment for a second. This was the first time I had ever walked into anything like a real arena fight, and I had to admit, there was a thrill to it. I had missed out on the finals of the chunnin exams when I was stationed in the forest outside of Konoha.
A magically amplified voice boomed out across the stadium, cutting through the crowd noise. "Citizens of Orario! Honored gods and goddesses! Welcome, one and all, to today's War Game between the brand new Hestia Familia and—the infamous Apollo Familia!"
The reaction was immediate and very, very telling.
The moment the announcer said the name Apollo Familia, at least half the stadium erupted in loud, sustained booing.
I let out a short laugh and looked across the arena.
Apollo's Familia was already arrayed across from me. Dozens of them. Maybe thirty or so by my quick count, all decked out in matching blue and gold armor, weapons drawn and ready. Spears, swords, shields, a couple of bows toward the back. Their captain, Hyakinthos, stood at the front in heavier armor with a longsword on his hip, his pretty face twisted into a scowl as he glared up at the booing crowd.
The whole lot of them looked absolutely furious. Their pristine little parade was being interrupted by the entire city making it very clear what they thought of Apollo and his people.
Apparently these pricks were universally disliked by everyone in Orario. Good to know.
I am not even a little surprised.
Hyakinthos's glare shifted away from the crowd and locked onto me across the arena. He looked like he was trying to bore a hole through my skull with willpower alone.
I held his stare for a beat. Then, very slowly and very deliberately, I lifted my right hand, extended my middle finger, and flipped him off.
The crowd lost their absolute minds. The cheers that erupted from the stands somehow managed to get even louder, peppered with whistles and laughter and a few impressive whoops from what sounded like an entire section of dwarven adventurers. Someone behind Hyakinthos in the Apollo ranks actually flinched at the volume.
I grinned.
The announcer's voice came back through the stadium, slightly strained, like the guy was trying to maintain his professionalism through the chaos. "And now, before the War Game commences, a few words from our gracious host, the noble god Ganesha!"
The crowd settled, the noise dropping from a roar to a low hum of anticipation.
All eyes turned toward one of the largest and most ornate booths along the upper tier, where a man in elaborate ceremonial robes and an extremely loud elephant-themed helmet rose to his full height. He spread his arms wide, took a deep breath, and bellowed out across the stadium with enough volume to rattle teeth.
"I AM GANESHA!"
He sat back down.
I waited for the rest of the speech. The crowd waited for the rest of the speech. The Apollo Familia waited for the rest of the speech. Ganesha appeared to be settling comfortably back into his seat, accepting a goblet of wine from an attendant, looking immensely satisfied with himself.
That, apparently, was the entire speech.
The announcer cleared his throat very audibly through the magical amplification, the sound echoing awkwardly off the stone walls. "Ah. Thank you, Lord Ganesha! Truly, ah, inspiring words. Let us, ah, let us get this War Game started!"
The cheering kicked right back up, as enthusiastic as before, the crowd apparently considering Ganesha's bizarre little non-speech to be a perfectly normal part of the ceremony.
I supposed if you lived in a city full of gods, you got used to all kinds of weird divine quirks.
I rolled my neck side to side, popping the joints, and let out a slow breath. Across the sand, Hyakinthos drew his sword. Behind him, the Apollo Familia tightened their formation, spears leveled, shields raised, archers nocking arrows.
Thirty against one.
– Ais Wallenstein –
The Loki Familia had been given their own private booth.
She was leaning out over the wrought iron railing, both hands gripping the cool metal, her golden eyes locked onto the lone figure standing at the far end of the arena below.
Blake Himejima.
Ever since their spar in the mountains, she had not been able to get him out of her head. She did not know what these feelings were exactly, but she was reasonably certain she liked them.
A hand brushed across the curve of her ass.
Ais reacted on pure instinct. Her free hand snapped up and slapped the offending appendage away with a crack that echoed off the booth's stone walls.
"Owwww!" Loki yanked her stinging hand back and shook it out in the air, her crimson eyes squeezed shut in dramatic pain. "Aaaaaais," the goddess whined, pulling the name out into a wounded warble. "You did not have to hit me so hard! A woman who is always on guard like that is not cute, Ais! You will never get a partner if you keep hitting the people who try to appreciate you!"
Ais turned her head just enough to give Loki a flat look. "You are not trying to appreciate me. You are groping me."
"That is one form of appreciation."
"It is not."
"Is too!"
"Is not…."
"Loki, please leave Ais alone," Riveria said from her seat near the back of the booth, not looking up from the wine she was nursing. "We are in public."
"That has never stopped her before," Tione muttered.
"And that is the tragedy of my life," Riveria replied serenely.
Ais turned back to the railing and let the booth's familiar background noise wash over her. All the executive members were present. Finn was seated in the most prominent chair near the front. Riveria was behind him with her wine, the picture of composed elven poise, though Ais noticed that her eyes kept drifting toward the arena floor and the figure standing on it. Tiona was draped sideways over a couch, kicking her bare feet in the air, practically vibrating with excitement. Tione sat upright beside her, arms crossed, watching Finn more than the arena, although her eyes did drift to Blake occasionally. Lefiya had tucked herself into a corner chair.
And Bete was pacing along the back wall like a caged animal, his ears flat against his skull and his tail twitching.
"This is bullshit," Bete snarled, kicking a loose pebble across the booth floor. "This whole farce is gonna boost that pretty boy's reputation for nothing. Apollo's lot are a bunch of overdressed weaklings. He's gonna walk through them in five minutes flat and the whole city's gonna be drooling over him by sundown. I hate it."
"I think it is going to be amazing!" Tiona crowed, kicking her feet harder. "It is going to be an epic beatdown! The most fun thing to watch all month! I am going to cheer so loud my throat hurts!"
Finn chuckled softly from his chair, then his expression sobered. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes finding Ais at the railing. "This may actually be a good opportunity for us," he said, his voice pitched just loud enough for the whole booth to catch. "We will finally get to see some of Blake's combat abilities in a proper open setting. Since Ais refuses to share what she learned from their spar."
Ais narrowed her eyes at him.
She caught Riveria's eyes shifting toward Finn at the same moment, and she watched the elf give their captain a small, cool glare of her own. Riveria did not say anything, but the look spoke volumes.
Ais held Riveria's gaze when the elf's attention slid sideways and met hers.
Riveria looked away first, a faint flush rising on her cheeks, and pretended to be very interested in her wine.
Mm.
Ais might not know much about feelings or romance. She would be the first to admit she was bad at it. But she could tell that Riveria was still interested in Blake. The way the elf had stiffened when Hestia teased her about him, the way she had refused to look at him when he had walked in the room, the way her ears had twitched when he spoke. Riveria thought she was being subtle. She was not being subtle.
That was exactly why Ais had to move first.
She would steal Blake before Riveria figured out what her own heart was doing. Then she and Blake could adventure together. They could train together. They could go deeper into the Dungeon than anyone had ever gone, side by side, and they could get stronger and stronger, and one day they would finally be strong enough to wipe out every single one of the vile disgusting monsters that infested this world!
SHE WOULD KILL THEM ALL. THEY WOULD KILL THEM ALL TOGETHER. THEY WOULD—
Ais drew in a careful breath through her nose and let it out slowly, the way Riveria had taught her years ago when her thoughts started to spiral toward the dark place. In. Out…
"...Bete, sweetie, ya don't know what yer talkin' about," Loki drawled, having recovered from her injury and now lounging across an entire couch with one leg thrown over the armrest. She gestured lazily with a goblet of wine. "This War Game is gonna be great. I put a whole pile of cash on Hestia's brat to win. Odds are sittin' at one to thirty and not in his favor, which means I'm about to make a killing!"
Tiona shot upright on the couch. "Wait, you bet on him? Even though you hate Hestia?"
"Of course I bet on him." Loki took a long sip from her goblet, grinning over the rim. "I might not be the biggest fan of shorty and her big tits, but everyone likes free and easy money!"
"Why are the odds so stacked against Blake even when we know how strong he is?" Riveria asked.
Loki frowned. "Somebody has been suppressing the news that he is a Level Six. I have been askin' around. Nobody outside our Familia and the Hestia Familia seems to know. The Guild has not put it on his public profile. Which means the rest of the bets are all stacked against him even if everyone hates the apollo familia, and I am about to be a very rich goddess."
Ais turned away from the railing and looked at Loki properly. "Loki," she said quietly. "Who do you think is doing that? Hiding the news about his true level?"
Loki's grin disappeared entirely.
"Schemes like this," she said slowly, "the kind that take real influence at the Guild, the kind that need people on the inside paid off or charmed quiet, the kind that suppress information across an entire city... schemes like this usually involve that bitch Freya."
Ais frowned at that.
The Freya Familia had always been something she was told to stay away from. From the moment she had first started growing strong enough to draw attention from other Familias, Riveria had pulled her aside and made her promise not to engage with any of them. No sparring. No conversations. No accepting drinks at the same table. Not even eye contact if she could help it.
And the rule had held even when Ais had really, really wanted to break it.
She had wanted to spar with Ottar. The captain of the Freya Familia was the only Level Seven adventurer in Orario, the strongest mortal in the city by any measurable standard, and the idea of crossing blades with him had kept her awake on more than one occasion. She had asked Loki about it once. Just once. Loki had looked at her with an expression Ais had never seen before, something tight and serious that had nothing to do with the goddess's usual playful chaos, and had said no in a voice that left no room for argument.
Freya had sent letters too, over the years. Beautifully written invitations on heavy cream paper, sealed with silver wax. Suggestions of joint Dungeon expeditions to the deepest floors. Offers of resources, knowledge, equipment. Even an open standing invitation for Ais to come visit the Freya Familia's tower for tea whenever she wished.
Loki had thrown every single one of those letters into the fire without reading past the first line.
When Ais had asked why, the answer had always been the same. 'Freya is dangerous, Ais. She is not like the other gods. Stay away from her. Promise me.'
Ais had promised. She always did. But she had never quite understood the reason behind it, and Loki had never elaborated.
Now, watching Loki's expression in the booth, that hard look back in those crimson eyes, Ais wondered if she should have pressed harder for an explanation. She wondered if Freya was somehow connected to Blake now. The thought made something uncomfortable shift in her chest. If Freya was scheming around Blake, then Blake might be in some kind of danger he did not even know about, and Ais did not like that idea at all.
She opened her mouth to ask Loki more about it.
A massive horn blast rolled out across the stadium, drowning out every other sound.
The War Game had begun.
Ais turned back to the railing fast, both hands gripping the iron rail, and leaned out as far as she could without falling. Down on the sand, the Apollo Familia was already moving.
And Blake just stood there. One man against thirty, his hands loose at his sides, his head tilted slightly like he was studying a particularly interesting puzzle.
A grin spread across Ais's face before she even realized it was happening.
– Blake –
The horn blast was still echoing off the stadium walls when the Apollo Familia charged.
Hyakinthos thrust his sword toward me from the rear of the formation and barked a command, and the front ranks broke loose and came sprinting across the sand.
The lowest members. The Level Ones. Half a dozen of them, swords and spears raised, fanning out to surround me while their captain hung back with the heavier hitters and watched.
A classic move. Throw the expendables at the unknown quantity, see what he does, learn his patterns, then commit the real forces.
The problem with that strategy was that it assumed I would be challenged by Level Ones.
My senses shifted gears the way Tsunade and Mom had drilled into me over months of brutal training, the world sliding into that heightened state of supernatural combat perception. Sound stretched. Movement slowed. The roar of the crowd dropped into a low, syrupy drone, and the six adventurers charging me decelerated until they looked like they were sprinting through wet tar.
The first sword came at my neck in a horizontal cut. I leaned back and let it sail past my chin with a couple inches to spare. The follow-up spear thrust toward my ribs arrived almost politely, and I rotated my torso just enough to let it slide by. An arrow whistled in from somewhere behind the charging group, fired by one of the archers in the rear ranks, and I tilted my head four inches to the left. It buzzed past my ear like a sleepy hornet.
Another sword. Another spear. A wild overhead chop that telegraphed itself so hard I could have written a letter home in the time it took to fall. I stepped, shifted, swayed, and pivoted through all of it without ever moving my hands from my sides. Six people attacked me at once from every direction, and not one of them put steel anywhere near my body.
"Wha... what the hell!"
"He is so fast!"
"I can't... why can't I hit him!"
The Level Ones' formation started falling apart around me, their coordinated assault dissolving into frustrated, panicked flailing. One of them, a young guy with a spear and wide terrified eyes, actually stumbled over his own feet trying to track me and nearly skewered his own teammate.
From the back of the Apollo formation, Hyakinthos's voice cracked across the sand like a whip. "What are you doing, you useless fools! He is one weak Level One! Kill him! Kill him immediately! You are embarrassing Lord Apollo in front of the entire city!"
I snorted.
A weak Level One? Sure. Let's go with that.
Time to stop playing.
I let my hands blur.
To the crowd, I'm guessing it looked like I simply twitched, and then six armored adventurers folded in half all at once. From my perspective, it was six individual punches, each one delivered to the stomach with exactly the amount of force Natasha had spent hours beating into my muscle memory. Enough to end a fight instantly against a baseline human or a fresh Level One. Not enough to liquefy organs.
Thwump. Thwump. Thwump-thwump. Thwump. Thwump.
The first three dropped where they stood, eyes rolling back, unconscious before they hit the sand. The remaining three doubled over, and their bodies made an executive decision about what to do with breakfast.
"Hurk... BLEUGHHH."
They vomited spectacularly onto the arena floor, swayed for a heartbeat, then collapsed face-first into the sand next to their friends, out cold.
Six down in under a second.
The entire stadium went dead silent.
Thousands of people, gods included, and you could have heard a feather hit the ground. The Apollo Familia's remaining members stood frozen in their formation, staring at the pile of their unconscious comrades like they couldn't process what their eyes had just shown them.
Then the silence shattered.
"BLAAAAAKE!"
"BLAKE! BLAKE! BLAKE!"
The crowd erupted, and this time it wasn't just cheering. It was my name, chanted from a thousand throats, rolling around the stone bowl of the stadium. Somewhere up in the stands, I was pretty sure I could pick out Tiona's distinctive whoop cutting through everything else.
That girl has some lungs on her.
The announcer's amplified voice boomed out over the chaos, pitched high with genuine excitement.
"Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable, ladies and gentlemen! Six members of the Apollo Familia eliminated in the blink of an eye! Could we be watching history in the making here today? Can one man truly destroy an entire Familia by himself? It has NEVER been done before in the history of Orario's War Games!"
Across the sand, Hyakinthos's face had gone from smug to murderous. He swept his sword up and snarled orders at his remaining forces. "Regroup! Tighten the formation! Shields front, mages to the center, NOW!"
The Apollo Familia scrambled to obey, pulling into a defensive cluster around their captain, shields overlapping, the glint of magic circles beginning to spark to life behind the wall of armor.
Hyakinthos glared at me over the rim of a shield, hatred radiating off him in waves I could practically taste.
"Don't get cocky, you arrogant bastard!" he shouted across the arena. "That was nothing but luck!"
I looked at him. I looked at the six unconscious bodies scattered around my feet. I looked back at him.
Then I raised my hand and flipped him off for the second time that day.
The crowd's roar nearly took the roof off the sky.
The mages in the center of the formation raised their wands and staves in unison, and the air around them began to shimmer as magic circles bloomed to life at their feet. Glowing rings of script rotated slowly around them, and their voices rose together in layered chanting.
"O flames of judgment, gather at my call, burn bright the path of..."
"Spirits of wind, heed your servant, lend your fury to..."
"Crimson arrow, scarlet bolt, pierce the heart of mine enemy..."
And there it was. The fundamental problem with magic in this world.
Unless it came packaged as a rare skill, almost all magic here was painfully, fatally slow. Chant-based casting meant standing still for five, ten, sometimes twenty full seconds, reciting your incantation while your magic circle charged up, completely vulnerable the entire time. It worked fine in a Dungeon party where a wall of tanks kept the monsters off your backline. It worked fine in formation warfare where the shields up front bought you time.
It did not work fine against someone like me.
I grinned and moved.
To them, I'm sure it looked like I simply vanished. One blink I was standing forty meters away beside a pile of unconscious bodies, the next blink I was gone. No dust cloud, no blur, nothing their Level One and Level Two eyes could track.
I reappeared directly in the middle of the mage cluster, inside their shield wall, standing casually among them with my hands in my pockets.
"So," I said conversationally, "what kind of magic are you all gonna try and use on me?"
Every single chant cut off mid-syllable.
The magic circles flickered and sputtered out around their feet. A dozen mages stood frozen in a loose ring around me, wands and staves still raised, mouths hanging open, eyes stretched so wide I could see white all the way around their irises. One woman made a tiny strangled squeaking sound. The guy directly in front of me was trembling so hard the tip of his staff rattled.
"Sorry," I told them, and gave a little shrug. "But also not sorry, because you guys suck."
My hands left my pockets.
Thwump-thwump-thwump-thwump.
I worked my way through the cluster in a tight spiral, two percent body shots, fast and clean. They dropped one after another like someone was cutting puppet strings, wands clattering against the sand, robes pooling around crumpled bodies. The last mage managed to get half a syllable of a new chant out before my fist found her stomach and she folded over my arm with a soft "guh" and went limp. I lowered her down gently. No reason to be rude about it.
A dozen more down. The shield wall they'd been hiding behind was now a shield wall protecting a pile of unconscious people.
"DAMN YOU, BLAKE HIMEJIMA!" Hyakinthos's scream tore across the arena, raw with fury. He stabbed his sword toward me, his handsome face twisted into something ugly. "Were you hiding some kind of teleportation skill this entire time, you deceitful cheater!"
"Nah." I stepped over an unconscious mage and rolled my shoulders. "I'm just that fast. You guys are slow."
The crowd howled with laughter. Somewhere in the stands, I distinctly heard someone scream "HE'S JUST THAT FAST!" followed by an entire section dissolving into cackling.
Something in Hyakinthos snapped. I watched it happen in real time, the last threads of his composure burning away, leaving nothing behind but wounded pride and hate.
"EVERYONE!" he roared, his voice cracking. "DOGPILE HIM! ALL OF YOU AT ONCE! KILL HIM! KILL THAT FILTHY CHEATER AND PAINT THE SAND WITH HIS BLOOD!"
And the air changed.
I felt it wash over me from every remaining member of the Apollo Familia at once.
Genuine killing intent. These people were no longer trying to win a War Game. They were trying to end my life, all of them, together, with their god watching from his booth and the entire city as witnesses.
Something old and dark stirred in my blood in answer. The fallen angel half of me wanted to meet that killing intent in kind. It would be easy. So easy. A lightspear through each of them before they crossed half the distance. Holy lightning arcing through the whole formation at once. I could strike every single one of them down in the space of a breath and the part of me that came from Baraqiel purred at the thought.
But…
My family was watching from that booth. My Familia. Hestia, who built her entire divinity around hearth and home and warmth. Bell, who looked at me like I'd hung the moon and called me big bro. Pepper, who already hated watching me fight at all.
If I painted this sand with thirty corpses, Mom would probably approve. She was a kunoichi to her bones, and dead enemies were safe enemies in her book. Tony might shrug it out as justified. Maybe?
Everyone else? I'd be putting something in their eyes that would never fully leave.
And honestly, beyond all of them, there was the simpler truth. I didn't want to be a monster. Killing when there was no other way, when it was them or my people, that was one thing. I'd crossed that line in the Elemental Nations and made my peace with it. But killing when I could end a fight just as easily without it?
That wasn't strength. That was just laziness wearing strength's face.
So I let the dark impulse pass through me and out, exhaled it into the warm arena air, and got to work.
They came at me in a screaming, disorganized flood. Swords, spears, axes, a flail, daggers from the rogues circling for my flanks, arrows arcing in from the two archers smart enough to stay back. Fifteen, sixteen people converging on a single point with murder in their eyes.
I moved through them like water through a net.
A sword cut at my head and I slipped inside it, and my palm cracked against its owner's solar plexus. Thwump. Down. A spear thrust grazed where my hip had been a quarter-second earlier, and my elbow met the spearman's temple. Thud. Down. Two more came in high and low at the same time, decent coordination actually, and I jumped the low cut, twisted over the high one, and snapped a kick into each of their guts on my way back down to the sand. Thwump-thwump. Down, down.
An arrow whistled toward my throat. I caught it out of the air without looking, spun it in my fingers, and threw it back hard enough to shatter the archer's bow at the grip. He stared at the splinters in his hands, then at me, then very wisely fainted (pretended) before I could reach him. I appreciated the time savings.
The flail guy got a leg sweep and a tap to the back of the skull. The rogues got introduced to each other, headfirst, with a gentle clonk. A big bruiser with a two-handed axe got three rapid body shots that folded him over like laundry, and a woman with twin shortswords managed to last almost four whole seconds before my knuckles found her jaw with feather-light force and her eyes rolled back.
"GAH!"
"Hurgh!"
"Wai... wait, plea..."
Thwump.
One by one, the killing intent in the arena guttered out, replaced by groans, whimpers, and unconscious silence. Bodies piled on the sand around me, every one of them breathing, every one of them going to wake up tomorrow with spectacular bruises and broken bones.
I dusted off my hands and turned.
The arena had gone quiet again, in that breath-held way that crowds do when they realize they're watching the climax arrive.
At the far end of the sand, standing entirely alone now amid the wreckage of his Familia, his sword trembling in his white-knuckled grip, was Hyakinthos Clio.
Just him and me.
I cracked my neck to one side, then the other, and smiled at him. "So. You wanna do this the easy way, or the fun way…?"
– Apollo –
Apollo stood frozen at the railing of his private booth, his wine goblet shattered at his feet where it had slipped from nerveless fingers, and watched his entire world come apart on the sand below.
His Familia had lost.
No! Lost was too gentle a word. His Familia had been dismantled. Erased. One man, one single insolent man, had walked through thirty of his children like a scythe through wheat.
And then came the worst part.
Hyakinthos. His beloved Hyakinthos, the jewel of his collection, his Level Three captain, had stood alone. Apollo had watched, as Blake Himejima had calmly closed the distance, slapped the sword out of his captain's hands, and then proceeded to slap Hyakinthos across the face.
And then again.
And again.
Crack. Crack. CRACK.
Open-palmed, almost lazy, each blow snapping Hyakinthos's head around and sending teeth flying out of his mouth in little white arcs that scattered across the sand. The crowd had counted along. The crowd had counted, roaring out each number with mounting glee, until somewhere around the eleventh slap Hyakinthos's eyes had rolled back and he had crumpled to the ground, unconscious from pain or despair or some merciful combination of the two, his beautiful face swollen and ruined and toothless.
The announcer screamed the result. The stadium had thundered. And Apollo had stood there in his booth feeling the entire structure of his existence in this city crumble beneath his sandals.
He was going to lose EVERYTHING.
Everything he owned in Orario. His manor. His treasury. His business holdings. All of it forfeit to that big-chested, twin-tailed gnat of a goddess. And the final clause she added would also demand his permanent banishment from the city! He had foolishly signed it, certain it would never happen.
But here it was! Banished. Permanently. From Orario, the center of the world, the stage upon which all divine drama played out. He would be a laughingstock across heaven and earth for eternity.
NO!
No, no, no. It is not over yet!
His mind scrambled, clawing for purchase, and found it. They cheated. Of course. Of course they had cheated! That bastard Blake Himejima really had been a Level Six all along!
They had concealed his true level from the Guild records, lured Apollo into the challenge, manipulated the terms, tricked him! The contract had been signed under false pretenses! That had to count for something!
That HAS to be grounds for annulment!
But he would need influence to make that argument stick. More influence than a freshly humiliated god commanded on his own.
He needed her.
Apollo turned and ran.
He burst out of his booth and sprinted through the curved stone hallways of the stadium's god-tier level, toga flapping around his legs, golden laurel sliding askew in his hair. Attendants and servants flattened themselves against the walls as he passed. He ignored them. He ignored everything except the door at the far end of the corridor, the booth he knew belonged to the only goddess in this city who possessed both the power and the inclination to help him.
After all, she owed him. They had an arrangement.
He threw open the door without knocking.
The booth beyond was larger than his own and far more elegantly appointed.
Freya sat in a high-backed chair near the railing, a vision of impossible beauty, silver hair spilling over one shoulder, her gown cut to make grown gods forget their own names. Beside her chair stood her captain. Ottar. The Level Seven. A mountain of scarred muscle and rust-colored hair, his eyes flat and empty as he regarded Apollo with all the interest of a man looking at furniture.
"Ara." Freya's voice lilted with playful warmth, those silver eyes glinting with amusement. "Hello, Apollo. That was certainly an interesting War Game to watch. Your Familia will go down in history, you know. The first to ever lose an entire War Game to a single man. People will be singing about it for a hundred years."
Apollo grimaced, swallowing the humiliation like bile.
"Freya. I need your help." He crossed the booth toward her. "I am calling in the favor you owe me. You know perfectly well that whenever my Familia acquires genuinely talented adventurers, the truly promising ones, I have always sent them over to your Familia, exactly as we agreed. For years I have done this. For years I have fed your collection. And it is because my best talent always ends up in YOUR ranks that my Familia was left too weak to win today! You owe me this!"
Freya tilted her head slightly, saying nothing, that small smile still playing at her lips. Apollo took it as permission to continue and barreled forward.
"I need you to use your connections at the Guild. Get the Hestia Familia disqualified. They cheated, Freya. They concealed their captain's true level from the official records to bait me into the challenge. The contract was signed under fraudulent pretenses and you and I both know you have the influence to make that argument stick." His voice climbed, cracking at the edges. "And that bastard Blake Himejima. That arrogant, insolent FILTH." Spittle flew from his lips. "I want him executed for humiliating me! I want him dead, Freya! Whatever it costs, I want him DEAD!"
Freya's smile vanished.
Her silver eyes narrowed.
The temperature in the booth dropped. The booth felt small. Beside Freya's chair, Ottar had not moved a single muscle, and somehow that was worse.
Huh? Apollo's thoughts stuttered. What was going on? Why was she upset? What had he said?
"I'm afraid," Freya said softly, and her voice was beautiful the way an unsheathed blade is beautiful, "that I cannot have anything threatening my precious Odr."
Apollo's eyes flew wide.
Her what? Odr? The one she had spent eternity searching for, the obsession behind the legend, the singular fixation of the goddess of love herself? That insolent mongrel was her...
Oh no….
"Freya," Apollo said, taking a step backward, his voice dropping into something placating and thin. "Freya, my dear, I did not realize. Obviously I spoke in haste. Obviously I retract every word, we can simply forget this entire conversation ever..."
"Why don't you spend a couple of decades reforming in heaven, Apollo." Freya leaned back in her chair, draping one arm elegantly along the rest, and regarded him the way a woman regards a stain on an old tablecloth. "I will be sure to tell everyone that you simply ran away from your debts and your shame. No one will ever find your body. No one will even look very hard, I suspect. You are not particularly well liked."
The words landed in Apollo's mind one at a time, each one colder than the last, and the full shape of his situation finally assembled itself.
He was in danger. He, a god, was in genuine mortal danger, right here, right now.
He turned for the door.
"Ottar," Freya said.
That was all.
It was enough.
Apollo heard the whisper of an enormous blade leaving its sheath, and he opened his mouth, perhaps to bargain, perhaps to beg, perhaps simply to scream.
He never got the chance to find out which.
The greatsword crossed the space between them faster than Apollo's divine senses could track, and there was no time to dodge, no time for anything at all.
His head left his shoulders before his knees had even begun to buckle.
The last thing Apollo's fading consciousness registered, as the booth spun lazily around him and the floor rose up to meet him, was Freya already turning back toward the arena railing, her chin settling onto her palm, her silver eyes finding the dark-haired young man standing victorious on the sand far below.
She was smiling again.
XXX