Page 8 of Becoming Monsterous

She's gone.

Yet she isn't at the same time.

Memories wash over me. They feel long, infinite, and timeless, but somehow I know that I experience them all in the blink of an eye. Each feels precious and weighty, as if they shaped me and changed me forever.

I feel a heavy sword in my hand. See ranks of black-robed magicians in front of me. Feel the support of my warriors on either side, each of us shoulder to shoulder.

Raising my voice in a blood-curdling scream, I charge on the summoners. At my back, rows of monsters join me. Some swoop through the air, while other punch up from the ground below.

Claws and scales. Wings and teeth. Blades and fury. We attack—and they attack in turn, throwing wave after wave of magical power and energy at us.

There are twenty or more monsters for every summoner, and yet they pummel us completely, tearing through limbs and claws and paws alike. Dragon scales peel back to reveal soft, vulnerable flesh. Six-legged monsters with darting claws disappear under flows of magical lava. Monsters made of spirits merely vanish, their entire beings disappearing in midair.

I gather my warrior women close and strike for the heart of the summoners. With our gorgon powers, we freeze those we can. Many of my warriors, like me, are able to temporarily take on the powers of those we turn to stone. This ability comes in handy as we move through the ranks—the summoners throw magic at us, and we throw it back, sending up shields and counter-spells with the powers we got from their brethren.

In the middle of them all, his hands raised high overhead, a cruel smile on his face, is a young summoner named Percy Thomas.

He is cruel. Monster blood splatters his dark robes and pale skin. A twisted grin turns up his lips and lights up his eyes.

As he moves his hands through the air, I know he's going to come for my sisters. He's done it before, mowing us down in the middle of battle. I've lost so many strong warriors to him—I can't lose any more.

So I push them away and charge him myself. Vengeance makes my limbs strong and swift, my heart beating faster, my battle cry ripping through the air.

I strike with my sword, landing a blow across his shoulder and upper arm that leaves him reeling.

He stumbles back, scowling at me and holding the limb close—then flicks his uninjured hand at me. Magic flows from his crooked fingers, striking through the residue of my borrowed summoner's shield and tearing into my body.

I see the blood before I feel the pain.

Then I'm going down, falling to my knees in mud and blood. My warriors cry out in concern as they gather around me and close ranks protectively. Two of them, Hestia and Hectate, throw my arms around their shoulders and drag me to a secluded cave.

As I heal, a vision comes to me. A see the beautiful, perfect face of Nemesis, the God of Vengeance himself. His clear voice echoes in my head like a bell.

I have come to the end of my life.His voice grows weary, his thick brows drawn together. A robe billows around him and light glows from his skin and hair.I wish to pass on my soul, and yours is the only being I found who is worthy. The only one capable of shouldering the burden that is vengeance.

Nemesis reaches out a perfect, glowing hand and presses his thumb to my forehead. As he draws his hand back, a thin, glowing thread forms between his fingers and my head.

This will let my soul carry over into your body as I die—and I will die soon. Once my soul has possessed you, it will be as if I never was... only you will remain, with all my powers within you.

His face grows even more weary. Looking over his shoulder, he sighs, his golden hair flowing back from his beautiful face.

Then he raises his right hand and cries out in anger.

A moment later he disappears—and on the battlefield, a bolt of lightning descends from the sky to rip through the ranks, killing summoners and monsters alike.

"Nemesis," I rasp, my voice croaking as I fight through my injuries. "He's here. On the battlefield."

Hestia looks at me oddly, wringing out a rag that's red with my blood. "He is—he and many of the other deities just arrived. Though who's to say which side they really fight for, or how much longer they'll last now that the summoners have discovered how to kill them."

Killing gods. It always felt like blasphemy to me. But to the humans given magic and power, I suppose it was always a next step. Living their little lives, churning through this wretched world, dying so young, of course they want more years, more power, less mortality.

They will never be the First Children of the Gods, though. No matter what they call us, or how far from grace we've fallen, that's what we'll always be. Monstrous as we've become in the eyes of mortals, they can't take that away from us.

And they can't take away our connection to the gods. This, I discover as I push through the pain to re-enter the battlefield. More than one summoner stops in the middle of their attacks on another, sees the string glowing from my forehead, and comes for it with angry jealousy.

They burn and slash. Cut and tear. Rip it apart.

But the string that connects me to the God of Vengeance always regrows. It is a divine thread, after all.

---