"Is she going to be okay?"
Christopher stared down worriedly at the girl lying on the stretcher, doing his best to mask the anxiety that gnawed at him.
If fate had given her more time in the arena, there was little doubt she would have ended his life for real. Even now, lingering doubts whispered to him, could she still become a threat?
He shifted his gaze to his bandaged wrist, a reminder of the ferocity he had witnessed in her eyes as she had crushed his bones with ruthless strength. As he looked back at her face, he marveled at how quickly expressions could morph from bitter resentment to tender softness.
That change made him uneasy.
For the moment, at least, he felt somewhat safe; he was in the academy's infirmary, overseen by a skilled doctor. To his relief, the girl remained very much unconscious, a small comfort amidst the chaos.
"She had a lot of carbon in her system, but she's going to be fine," Rowan said from a corner of the room, carefully pouring golden liquid into a small tube. "I gave her a shot of elixir. It will keep her unconscious for now, but she should be fully healed by tomorrow."
Rowan was more than just the elder son of Apollo and a staff doctor at Pantheon Academy. He was also a fighter in disguise, hiding behind the image of a healer.
Last year, when a horde of menacing monsters had invaded the academy, he had singlehandedly taken down a beta hellhound, solidifying his reputation.
The academy held a deep respect for him. Whispers even circulated that while his father, Apollo, had envisioned him as a warrior, Rowan chose the path of healing instead, following his true passion.
"You should cut the selfless act, though," he said, approaching Christopher with the healing elixir in hand. He offered the tube, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "Drink this. It will heal your wrist."
Christopher hesitated, his thoughts racing. Finally, he took the tube and brought it to his lips, gulping down its contents.
The elixir tasted just like it looked, sweet, warm honey, but an uncomfortable burn spread through his chest with each sip. It was a magical potion, after all, and he recalled the warnings: too much could be lethal for a demigod.
"It's not an act," he replied, returning the tube. "But thanks, I guess."
He squinted, stifling a cough that threatened to escape. Rising from the stool beside the girl's stretcher, he prepared to leave, eager to escape the tension that filled the room.
"Also, tell Luca and Albert to stop by," Rowan called after him, his voice steady and authoritative. "I need to check their vitals."
"Will do."
The soothing sounds of a flowing stream reached Christopher's ears as he stepped out of the infirmary. The stream weaved its way past several cabins, including his own.
Tonight, as on every other night, the water glimmered with a soft blue hue, revealing the rocks lurking beneath its surface to anyone who dared to lean in close.
Bending down, Christopher scooped up some water to splash across his face, desperate to cool off after a long, exhausting day. The refreshing touch helped ease his racing thoughts, if only for a moment.
Yet, his mind couldn't shake the image of that dark, ominous figure he'd caught a glimpse of back at the arena. It felt too vivid to be a mere hallucination. He could still recall the chilling sight of the screen glowing red with warnings, hovering before him for just a fleeting second.
What dark magic was at play? The god of darkness? This wasn't simply daydreaming.
If it were, a hallucination would have made a lot more sense.
Suddenly, he was struck by that same heavy feeling surrounding him, the sensation of an invisible weight pressing down, almost suffocating him.
He paused, listening to the brushing wind against the forest leaves. Then. . .
"I know you're here," he called out, freezing in place. "Show yourself."
Silence enveloped him. No response, no shadow appeared. Maybe he really was just imagining things after all. After seven days locked away in an underground prison, anyone could start to lose their grip on reality.
But then, something extraordinary occurred. The world around him began to fade, swallowed by utter blackness. The stream vanished, the infirmary cabin disappeared, and he found himself ripped from the academy.
What is happening?
When his vision cleared, he stood in an enormous chamber with hard brick walls, arranged in a circular formation with no apparent exit. Green Greek fire illuminated the space through a series of undying lamps affixed to the walls.
Where am I? What is this place?
"Tartarus," a hoarse voice replied, echoing in his mind. "Sounds familiar?"
Tartarus; a name steeped in myth, the dark realm beneath the underworld where gods imprisoned forbidden foes like Titans and great monsters like Typhon long ago.
Christopher turned to confront the voice and, to his astonishment, a stone-carved throne had materialized. What? He could have sworn it hadn't been there moments before.
Seated upon it was a shadow-clad figure of a man, resting his chin on his knuckles. The figure was unmistakable; he recognized him from the arena, the one who had watched him from a distance, cloaked in darkness.
"Who are you?" Christopher demanded, forcing himself to remain steady. "I really hate obsessed fans, so if you're looking for an autograph, I can't sign one for you."
The figure chuckled, a genuine laughter that resonated through the room.
"You have quite the bold sense of humor," he said, rising gracefully from his seat. "But you're right about one thing. I am a fan."
Christopher regarded him with suspicion as the figure took a step closer.
"From the moment you were born, Christopher, I've always been rooting for you," the man continued. "You could say I'm your biggest fan."
"I'd recognize my biggest fan if I had one," Christopher shot back, frowning. Instinctively, he scanned the room for a weapon, shifting backward as the figure approached.
"And yet, I know every detail of your accomplishments."
Christopher scoffed. "Let's cut to the chase, alright? Who are you, and what do you want?"
"A deal," the figure proposed, pausing mid-stride. "Would you like to become the Monarch of Darkness?"