“Are you human?” he lunged forward and screamed into the face of the initiate to my left, spit flying, cheeks bright red.
Technically, nine of us were half-human because we were mutts, but even I had enough social awareness not to point that out.
He repeated, “ARE YOU A HUMAN?”
The high-pitched ringing in my left ear stabbed hotter, and I gritted my teeth. “No, General!” we chorused.
He resumed pacing before us with his expression cold as ice.
“Unlike humans,” he said, “Spartans can live forever... we heal bones intwoweeks, we can gosixtydays without food,thirtydays without sleep, andtwoentire weeks without a single drop of water.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“But you’re only nineteen and not full Spartans yet. Some of your minds and bodies are stronger than others. Soon enough, we’ll find out who haswhat it takes.”
He stopped in front of me. “Do you know what happens when a human surpasses those time frames—girl?” His tone made it clear that I wasn’t welcome.
Their suffering ends, as it should.
“They d-die, General!” I answered, keeping my expression relaxed and nonconfrontational.
To my right, an initiate snickered at my stutter, but I kept my face a blank mask. I was used to the ridicule, the taunts, the name calling.
Nyx hissed in his direction, but per usual no one reacted.
There was a blur of movement from my left, and it was too close to dodge.
Crack. General Cleandro slammed his fist into the head of the boy standing next to me, and he collapsed to the floor from the force of the blow.
“WHAT’S SO FUNNY, INITIATE?”
The initiate scrambled unsteadily to his feet. “Nothing, General!”
“WHAT HAPPENS”—he leaned down so his face was pressed against the boy’s, nose to nose—“TO SPARTANS WHO SURPASS THEIR LIMITS?”
“They go into a coma, General!”
“No. The key is that theylive, initiate,” he snarled. “Snicker in front of me again and I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth.”
“Yes, General!”
I hunched and made myself a smaller target.
General Cleandro resumed pacing in front of us and said, “Some of you have the misconception that this is a generic military boot camp, but this isnota pathetic human physical test. This... is the most civilized test in the world.”
He paused.
“WE SEPARATE THE ANIMALS FROM THE GODS!” Rocks vibrated from the force of his bellow.
It took everything I had not to clutch my left ear and wince.
General Cleandro whirled around and stopped in front of the blond initiate in the laurel crown.
“Cassius Hermes—I hope you know that being an heir meansnothingdown here,” he snarled in the boy’s face. “There is no dishonor here, no fancy golden rules. I don’t give a flying shit if you have perfect posture, wear diamond-encrusted clothes, know how to eat a fourteen-course meal, or court another heir with ancient jewels so he agrees to suck your sorry, limp dick for all of eternity—DO YOU UNDERSTAND, HEIR?”
“Yes, General!” the initiate shouted, Olympian crown glinting as he held himself perfectly still.
Diamonds in clothes and a fourteen-course meal can’t be real—right? Also, do Spartans really trade jewels for sex?
