Page 211 of Bonds of Hercules
The Minotaurs pounded their meaty fists against their chests in synchronicity and the sound vibrated through the coliseum, a sharp, terrifying warning.
Achilles raised up his head.
Sharp wind gusted—shoulder-length brown hair blew behind him, sticking to the sides of his face. His hair tie had snapped in the last round—and his eyes were brighter than I’d ever seen them.
The X of scars across his lips made him look sadistic.
Slowly, Achilles reached down.
He slashed his knife across the back of his right heel, then rose up to his full height, and pointed the bloody knife straight at Zeus.
Even if he loves him, why would he mutilate himself for …
I fingered my left ear.
Not my ear.
The full extent of Kharon’s gesture hit me. It was romantic, in the worst way possible. The sentiment was … overwhelming.
Steam rose around Zeus, sparks sizzling as he scowled, but he didn’t wield his scepter.
Achilles was sending a message back to the Olympians.
This fight was for Patro.
Achilles limped forward, blood washing away in the downpour, but there was no pain in his expression, only rage.
The stadium shook as the Minotaurs charged forward as a unit, their hooves pounding the sand like earthquakes.
Achilles kept limping forward.
His lips parted.
Jaw opening wide, he tilted his head to the side—fireexploded everywhere.
Drex, Charlie, and I reared back as heat burned the air. Coughing, the scent of kerosene and napalm scorched my nose as I rubbed at my watering eyes.
Down below, bright scarlet flames were shooting from Achilles’s mouth, painting the arena.
Gruesome wails echoed.
The Minotaurs writhed, covered in an inferno. Rolling in the sand, they screamed as they melted to death in an inferno.
“Holy …” Nyx trailed off.
The sand itself was lit.
Every single puddle was on fire.
The flames crawled vertically, lighting the rain as it fell.
The gates of Hell had opened wide.
It was the infamous Greek fire, flames that somehow burned water. It was real, and it was coming out of Achilles’s mouth.
The Minotaurs were now steaming piles of melted goo.
I made the sign of the cross.
