He howls, spittle flying from his mouth as he curses me from here to the Underworld. Then he winds up, and his great big fist comes hammering toward my head.
I cringe, but his hand never connects. Griffin appears from out of nowhere and grabs the man’s arm from the side. He spins him around to deliver a jaw-crushing punch. The Magoi staggers back, spitting blood. A snake starts growing from his back, but the serpent is slow to form and much smaller this time. The Magoi is likely out of juice, and he knows it. He swings at Griffin with the knife in his hand.
Griffin ducks. Then his arm shoots out in a blur. He snatches the Magoi’s thick wrist, crushing until the other man drops his blade. Griffin gives a savage jerk, and the bone snaps. The Magoi gasps.
The knife is bright, shiny, lethal, and not too far away. I crawl toward the dagger, pick it up, and then lurch to standing. The whole arena seems to tilt beneath my feet.
Griffin yanks on the man’s broken wrist, pulling him in close to lop the small snake from his back. The creature disintegrates before it even hits the ground, and the Magoi hisses in pain.
Griffin sinks his fist into the man’s abdomen and then shoves him back hard, leaving the Magoi doubled over and struggling for breath.
“Do you know what happens to anyone who tries to hurtmy wife?” Griffin’s voice is both iron and thunder as he flips his sword around and then delivers a punishing backhanded blow with the base of the hilt to the man’s ribs. He hits the same place where the Magoi kicked me. “Either she kills that person”—Griffin flips his sword back around—“or I do.”
He runs the Magoi through and then brutally lifts his blade, cutting a foot-long gash straight to the man’s chin before drawing his sword back out.
I blink. Mercy is off the table. Clearly.
Gingerly, I touch my aching side. “He called me stupid.”
Griffin’s eyes blaze anew. “Then it’s a bloody shame I can’t kill him twice.”
Feeling steadier now, I find Thanatos among the blades on the ground. I pick up my sword and then sheathe as many knives as I can. Griffin gathers weapons as well.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Our teammates yell warnings to us as the Cyclops pounds our way.
“Go!” Griffin shouts. He runs one way, and I run the other. The club slams down between us, flinging up sand.
Griffin races toward Flynn, tossing him his ax, while Jocasta flaps around, trying to keep the monstrous creature’s attention from landing on Kato and Carver who are up against the wall. Kato has his mace but doesn’t look all that capable of using it. Carver is terrifyingly inert.
I crane my neck, looking at our final opponent. There’s only one sure way to kill a Cyclops, and it means going up. I dart back under the coppery smelling club to get behind the creature. The Cyclops’s gigantic boots are back-laced and knee-high. Securing Thanatos on my back, I sprint alongside the monster, jump, and then grab a thick rawhide strap, holding on while the Cyclops stomps forward. I swing and bang against the hard leather boot until I finally get a secure hold. Breathing through the pain in my side, I start to climb.
The boot bindings chafe my venom-damaged hands, weakening my grip, and the creature’s thudding steps threaten to shake me loose. Still, I could make this climb without too much difficulty if it weren’t for my bruised ribs. Until I reach the Cyclops’s enormous naked back, that is. I’m not sure what to do then.
The Cyclops swerves. I lose my footholds, and my legs swing out over the pit. My shoulders wrench in their sockets, and pain darts across my side. My hoarse cry is drowned out by the loud, collective gasp that sweeps the arena.
Sheer determination gets my feet back under me and somehow propels me to the top of the gigantic boot. I pull myself up to standing with the help of the rough linen of the Cyclops’s brown pants and then let my shoulders sag for a few thundering heartbeats. I don’t bother looking up. I already know there’s a long way to go.
The Cyclops seems to forget about me once I’m not on the sand. With the rest of its team gone, it’s only imperative is to kill us before we kill it. I don’t think it even feels me start to climb the back of its tree trunk of a leg, using its pants to haul myself up, arm over arm. It definitely can’t hear my groans over the noise of the crowd, which is going berserk. I can barely hear myself—my pounding blood, my rasping breath, my aching muscles—but I feel them all under my skin, violently loud.
Throbbing hand over throbbing hand. Reach. Grab. Pull. My shoulders burn. My arms lose strength, and my fingers start to cramp. None of that compares to the pain in my side. I almost weep with relief when I reach the Cyclops’s belt and somehow loop my trembling arms around the leather strap.
My breath sawing in and out, I look down. Griffin, Flynn, and Jocasta are running around like mad rabbits in order to keep the creature occupied while I climb. The Cyclops’s club smashes down terrifyingly close to Griffin and then nearly bowls Flynn over on the backswing. Griffin snags its attention again while Flynn races in from behind and swings his ax with all his mighty force, sinking the blade deep into the back of the creature’s boot. The ax head comes away bloody, probably with essence of heel tendon on it.
The Cyclops bellows and whirls. I keep my arms wrapped tightly around the belt, but my legs fly out, my body stretches flat, and I lock everything down, tensing from head to toe. I slam back into the monster’s hard buttock with a groan.
Below, Jocasta darts in with her sword, swings with her whole body behind it, and plants the blade in the same exact indent Flynn already made. She slices hard as she pulls the sword back out. The Cyclops kicks and nearly hits her, but she bounces out of the way and then takes off running.
Griffin shouts and throws a knife. The blade sticks in the monster’s shoulder, tiny and ineffectual, but enough to distract the Cyclops away from Jocasta. Seeing that Jocasta is safe, at least for now, Flynn changes course and charges back in for another hit to the same spot.
The Cyclops limps its next step and then staggers. They’re trying to bring the creature down. They’re trying to save me the other half of going up. But the Cyclops is so huge, its skin so tough. They’ll need time. They’ll need a saw. And even on its knees, no one on the ground will even come close to reaching its one sure vulnerability.
The team scatters again, pulling the Cyclops’s attention in different directions and always away from our injured. With his good arm, Kato begins carefully moving Carver toward our exit, getting him that much closer to Selena. Carver’s chest seems too flat, and he leaves a trail of blood in the sand. Even from high up and far away, his face looks chillingly blank.
I turn away, fear for him twisting my insides into a tight, hard knot. Gathering my strength, I swing my legs up and onto the thick ridge of the Cyclops’s belt. Sideways and not hanging on by much, I grab a knife from my belt, throw my arm up, and plant the dagger in the base of the Cyclops’s back.
The skin twitches, sending vibrations down my arm. I drag myself up using the handhold I created and then crouch on the edge of the belt. Balancing against the Cyclops’s beefy back, I stand and drive a second knife into the muscle above my head. I grip the sinew-wrapped hilt with both hands, put my foot on the hilt of the first dagger, and then push off the belt.
