Page 20 of Blood of Hercules
On the screen, a Titan flew through the air and slammed against a tree, hideous black veins covering every inch of its exposed skin.
Long black claws protruded from gnarled fingers.
Shouts echoed.
The video had been taken by a Spartan chaser, one of the humans who stalked Spartans across the globe trying to get footage of the Assembly of Death while they fought and captured Titans.
There was a reason the Crimson Duo were famous.
The other Chthonics—the leaders and heirs and heiresses—were rumored to live by an archaic set of rules centered around maintaining honor. They were part of a secretive high society that spent their vast money and resources on being reclusive from humans.
But the Crimson Duo, who were raised by Spartans since birth, were not governed by the harsh honor rules of high society.
They were global celebrities.
The camera angle shifted. A muscular Spartan grabbed the Titan and threw him hundreds of feet across the forest like he weighed nothing. Then the Spartan stalked toward the Titan with his back to the camera.
The Titan moaned in pain and begged, “Please, no,” as he clawed at the man’s arm with sharp talons.
An obscenely built black wolf walked into the frame and knelt protectively beside the Spartan. The beast growled ferociously. Itturned its head toward the camera—crimson eyes and vicious fangs hung below its jaw.
Goosebumps erupted across my arms and legs.
In a blur, the Spartan pulled out a knife and thrust while the wolf lunged. The Titan screamed in agony.
I looked away.
From the noises of awe in the class, I was the only one repulsed.
If Olympians were the heroes whose technologies and advancements saved our civilization, then Chthonics were the new dark gods, revered for their heinous power.
God save us all.
On the screen, black blood sprayed.
The Spartan repositioned to straddle the monster, and for the first time in the clip, his side profile was visible—a black muzzle with a grate pattern was wrapped around the lower half of his tan face.
“Holy crap, it’s him,” a student said. “It’s Achilles.”
Everyoneknew about Achilles.
He was the only Spartan who wore a muzzle.
The Spartan Federation had constrained him after his terrifying performance in the SGC three years ago because his voice powers did one thing: torture. He’d put dozens of creatures into comas with merely a few words.
He was a monster among monsters.
Which made sense—the House of Ares was nicknamed the House of War for a reason.
Every Spartan to ever come out of that House was psychotic.
Their powers were pure evil, even compared to the other Chthonic Houses.
They tore people to shreds.
For fun.
“He’s so hot,” Jessica whispered.
