Page 16 of Heroines of Olympus

The horn sounds again, and the trial begins.

She immediately makes for the labyrinth, wanting to inspect it and the other end of the arena more thoroughly.

The stone walls are about 6 feet high and she cannot see over the top of them. A gap exists between the arena wall and one of the stone walls making up the maze. Deciding against getting cornered in the tight corridors of the maze, and preferring more line of sight and ability to look over her shoulder, she stalks along the corridor. When she is almost halfway to the other side of the obstacle, an opponent comes running toward her.

Icarus digs her heels into the ground, anchoring her stance and preparing for battle. Her opponent, however, runs right past her. She cocks her head in confusion, watching his retreating form. The padding of heavy footsteps from the way the man came whips her head around, finding her face to face with a massive lion.

For as long as anyone can remember, the Trials have used illusions. One of Athena’s cunning contributions to the process. Unfortunately, these illusions are still deadly.

Worked into a frenzy, the crowd in the stands just above Icarus is eagerly watching the show, waiting for her blood to spill. A few of them are throwing things down at the lion, trying to rile it up even further.

A roar from the lion reverberates off of the stone walls before it takes a swipe at her, and she jumps back to avoid its claws. Guilt pulls at her over the thought of harming such a beautiful creature. It feels wrong. She huffs and pulls at the collar of her armor.

Get it together. It’s an illusion.

Her empathy might literally be the death of her one day.

Icarus rolls on the ground, under another attempt to slash her, impaling the creature from beneath with her pole-arm. She continues her roll until she is no longer at risk of the lion’s body collapsing on top of her.

Cheers erupt from the crowd, and Icarus cannot tell if the noise increase is just because they got to see bloodshed, or if it is disappointment for the lack of her death. It does not matter. She detests it. Do these people not realize she is doing all of this so that she can protect them, not for entertainment?

Looking at the enormous cat as it lay there dying, Icarus walks over to the lion’s head and puts her hand on its forehead.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re not real, but I’m sorry.”

The lion looks up at her with those words. Does it understand her?

Looking deep into its eyes, she could swear there was something more there before the light left them permanently.

She strokes its forehead a few more times, despite the streaks of blood she leaves in its fur.

Laying the lion’s head back on the ground, she continues her original path toward the other end of the arena from where she started.

As she reaches the end of the length of the labyrinth from outside, the arena opens up before her briefly before there are more stone walls and corridors, but not quite a maze. A few of the walls have slats over the tops of them.

The wall of the arena in front of the podium is lined with spikes. Icarus scans for opponents but sees none so far. A look up at the podium shows all eyes on her. Smirking, she brings two fingers to her forehead in a salute, garnering a few stony stares and a cocked eyebrow from Athena.

A large man comes around a corner and sets his sights on Icarus. The handle of his greatsword is almost completely lost in his burly hands.

Quickly eying one of the stone corridors, she comes up with a plan.

The hair on the nape of her neck stands on end as she backs down one of them, weapon drawn and ready as the man follows. She continues this way until, as anticipated, he gets fed up and charges her, letting out a loud battle cry as he does.

When he is almost right on her, she leaps up and grabs the slats above her, using them to lift her body. With both feet, her heels slam into his throat and face.

He falls to the ground, grasping at his throat, but by the time Icarus drops back down, he is out cold, and the crowd is roaring.

Icarus makes her way back to the middle of the arena, ready to bring all of this to a head.

She makes note of the small spiked traps that litter the ground, barely noticeable in the sand.

A mountain of a man comes out of the labyrinth opposite the one she passed. His flail has blood dripping from it and she wonders if it is from the last opponent, or an illusion.

He spots her, taking in his last obstacle to becoming a Hero, and grins when he sees the golden braid sticking out of her helmet.

They circle each other momentarily before he raises his arms and swings his weapon at her. Her left arm sings with pain as her shield absorbs the hit. Moving around behind him to take advantage of his size, but he is not as slow as she expected and he shatters her pole-arm with his sword as she attempts to get it inside his defenses.

In a fluid motion, her own sword is out. He swings his sword at her again and this strike she meets with her weapon instead of her shield. They trade hits back and forth, parrying and swinging, until she falls complacent at the rhythm. He switches it up, delivering one blow immediately after the other, and she buckles under his strength, falling to her hands and knees.

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