Page 212 of Bonds of Hercules
Fire kept streaming from Achilles’s mouth as he directed the inferno at the wall of the arena. His eyes were two supernovas.
Zeus backed up along the plank, his expression furious. He still did not raise his scepter.
The fire was traveling up into the stadium; everything that was wet was catching aflame.
Rain continued to pour.
Fire climbed across the electric lines of the dome.
Achilles closed his jaw, but the damage was done.
Everything was burning.
Crack.
Zeus scowled like he was making a decision.Technically Achilles hasn’t disobeyed him. He used his powers and fought his labor like he was ordered to.
Zeus must have come to the same conclusion I did, because he leapt away.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
The crowd screamed, sharp sounds echoing as Olympians and creatures leapt out of the smoldering arena.
Achilles stomped, leaving shards behind him.
The sand was glassing over.
Ares stood up a few rows down, pumping his fist into the air. The other Chthonic leaders stood around him, all whooping and hollering as the rest of Sparta fled for their lives.
Our section was the only one staying in the blazing stadium.
Charlie clutched me and I held him back.
It was the end of days.
Kharon whistled behind us and Augustus chuckled.
I’d gotten a mere glimpse of it during the flag ceremony, but now I truly understood the full weight of just who I was.
To be Chthonic was to wield the power reserved for God.
As the flames sizzled hotter, down below, Achilles stompedover to a flaming puddle and picked up his discarded mask. The material was fully intact.
“Magic,” I whispered.
Augustus chuckled behind me. “No—it’s the skin of a fire lizard.”
Charlie pulled away from me, covering his face protectively as the fiery rain whooshed closer.
One man had caused all this carnage.
A memory niggled at the back of my mind.
Weeks ago, Achilles had cornered me in the hall with an unlit cigarette in his mouth—minutes later, he’d told Patro that he didn’t have a lighter, as he sucked on a smoking cigarette.
He’d lit ithimself. That was why Patro had called him a show-off.
Achilles, the man who smelled like amber and fire, with eyes like coals, couldbreatheGreek fire.
