I look away, breathing in and out, slowly. “How much longer?” I whisper to Demi.
She touches my back in comfort. “Nearly done. I can’t imagine the council would let it continue for much longer.”
Death, or surrender.
“Oh,” the goddess whispers in horror. “Oh, no.”
There, in the middle of the arena, the East Wind battles against some beastly creature. I thought Eurus was a giant amongst gods, but this behemoth is the largest I have seen, towering nearly as high as the arena wall. His skin is a lumpy gray, and his single reddened eye churns in the center of his forehead like a vast, boiling sun.
I gasp as he pins Eurus to the trampled grass. The East Wind kicks out unsuccessfully, trying to twist free with a wildness that speaks of a deep-seated fear. Using his ax, he slashes at the god’s beefy forearm. At one point, his hood falls back, revealing a shock of black hair, but I’m too far away to discern any individual facial features.
A violent wind hammers into his foe’s wide chest. There is a splintering crack, and the god releases him.
The East Wind launches himself skyward, narrowly dodging a flaming arrow, before plummeting back toward the ground. He flips mid-air and lands with a sickening crunch on the back of the god’s neck.
I recoil from what Eurus does next. Even Demi curses beneath her breath, her bag of chestnuts forgotten, scattered at her feet. “Oly should have known better than to touch him,” she murmurs.
I look to her. It is safe, this face, lovely and pristine. “Why should he have known better?”
She doesn’t answer me, her attention fixated below. The East Wind has abandoned his winds for his ax. Bone crunches; blood sprays. I cover my mouth with my hands as he hacks the immortal to tiny pieces.
The Fates, having vanquished their most recent opponent, regroup and spear toward Eurus.
“Behind you!” I scream. “Eurus!”
He’s tackled by three at once. They roll, their kindling hair flickering against the dark of his cloak. He catches two around the neck, slams them into the ground. The third, he punches in the stomach.
A horn sounds, and the Fates scatter. Moments later, Eurus’ legs give out.
I gasp as the air shimmers across the field. A door has materialized at the center of the arena. Those nearest to it have already begun stumbling through, but those still locked in battle have failed to notice. My fingers dig into my thighs as the screams peak.
The East Wind pushes up onto his knees. He bows forward, struggling to stand. I chew my lower lip as competitor after competitor sprints or hobbles past him.
“He’s not moving,” I say. “Why isn’t he moving?” Leaning forward, I belt, “Hurry up, Eurus! I never figured you’d be the slowest one on the field!” Harsh? Perhaps. But, injured or not, he needs to make it through that door.
He’s up, his wings spread. A few great beats send him soaring over the field, straight through the open doorway. Satisfied, I resettlemyself, catching Demi’s quirked eyebrow in the process. “What? He was moving too slowly.”
She shakes her head, actively fighting a smile.
“The first trial has reached its end,” booms the lightning god. “Those that have passed through the door are granted entry into the next round, which will take place seven days hence.” With that, he returns to his chair. Meanwhile, the competitors that survived stumble toward the door leading from the field.
“Well,” Demi quips beside me. “That finished sooner than I’d hoped.”
Lunging from my seat, I hurl myself down the stairs, shoving aside those making toward the exit, the elation high and the air bristling with static. When I reach the lowest level of the stands, I search for an access point onto the field, yet find none.
I am likely breaking all sorts of rules, but I vault the arena wall. My feet hit the blood-soaked mud with a squelch. Hand pressed over my mouth, I race toward the open doorway, dodging severed limbs and crimson puddles. My loafers slide across the drenched grass, but I manage to cross the threshold, entering what appears to be an infirmary.
I find the East Wind lying on one of the many cots, his cloak in tatters. In seconds, I’ve reached his bedside. “Eurus.”
“Hello, bird,” he grinds out. “Come to…” He hacks a wet cough. “Finish me off?”
I gaze down at him. My fear has morphed beyond its hovel, wrenched into a thousand minute points. His cloak may very well be shielding a fatal wound. “You’re hurt. We need to remove your clothes.”
“No.” He catches my wrist. His fingers quaver, then fall away. “No,” he whispers again.
Stupid immortal. “Fine,” I grit out. “It’s y-your death.”
“The divine possess extraordinary healing capabilities,” he counters in a strained voice.
