Trials of Tartarus

Chapter Eight 

I was thrown into the next trial suddenly. One second I was writing to Moon, the next I was laying on my back. Pain erupting from my shoulder.

“Who the hell are you?” a voice demands.

Groaning, I roll over, getting to my feet. The voice belonged to a boy with curly red hair and yellow eyes.

“Who are you?” I ask, redirecting his question.

“My name’s Timothy,” he says. “And I’m a-”

He cuts himself off, hesitating for a second.

“I’m a mortal,” he finally says. “Who are you?”

“Mutt Shax,” I say, yawning. “Man I’m tired.”

“Shax?” Timothy repeats, immediately brightening. “I know your sister, Quinn!! We had this huge fight a few weeks ago, when I still had my powers and was the son of Zeus. Until I shocked the water and she absorbed the lightning and took my powers! Did she tell you that?”

“I uh, haven’t seen her in a few years,” I say. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Oh, well that’s cool. You look like her, other than the gender. And your eyes are a lot lighter blue than hers,” he says.

“They are?” I ask, slightly confused.

No one had ever said that before, and as far as I was concerned they were the same color as my sisters.

“Yeah,” he says. “Hey, you might wanna go see your sister as soon as you can. Rumor has it that she’s been looking for you.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll try my best.”

Timothy shrugs and then looks around, “So where exactly are we you think?”

“No idea,” I say.

I knew that we were in yet another room. That was beyond obvious. But the actual location of the place we were at, yeah, that I did not know. At all. So once again, totally not a lie.

“Well do you think there’s a way out?” Timothy asks.

Before I can answer writing appears on the wall:

Oh yes, there is a way out. Fight, one must die for the other to live. The winner walks out. The loser is buried.

“Is that some kind of sick joke?” Timothy demands.

“I have no idea,” I say. “Probably.”

“Well man, I’m not going to fight you. Your sister did me a favor, hell, she saved my life,” he says, holding his hands and backing away.

Fight or both shall die.

The walls says.

“Um,” Timothy says. “I’m a mortal, why would some sicko want you to fight me?”

It was a good question, and I frown while I try to think of the answer. There wasn’t anything that came to mind, that is, not until it finally dawned on me.

“You’re the son of Zeus,” I whisper.
“Ex son of Zeus,” Timothy corrects me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, grabbing the sword that was on the floor beside me.

Timothy’s eyes widen and he takes a step back, holding up his hands.

“Whoa there,” he says. “We don’t have to listen to the wall. It’s just some sick creep playing a game with us. The d****e won’t actually kill us.”

“That’s baloney and we both know it,” I reply. “The only way out of this is to fight, and for one of us to survive, there’s no point in us both dying.”

“I’m not a demigod anymore!” Timothy shouts. “I don’t want to be a demigod, or be reminded of that life! I hated it!”

“I won’t use powers,” I say, ignoring him.

He glares at me, “You’re really going to listen to this creep? Fine. You’re this eager to die? Fine. I’ll kill you.”

He picks up the sword on the other side of the room, and then turns around and runs at me. He slices towards my feet, I move to block but at the last second he throws his sword up to stab me in the face. I drop to the ground, rolling underneath him and dragging my sword across his stomach.

He yelps in pain, and turns around quickly, kicking me in the gut causing me to fly backwards. I slam into the wall that used to have the writing on it. Writing that was gone now, but the blood stuck to my shirt as I slid down the wall.

Crumbling into a heap on the floor. I groan, rolling over. Timothy comes forward and smashes his foot down against my stomach. The breath is forced from my lungs and for a second I was dazed, I couldn’t move.

He brings his sword down, angling for my neck. At the last second I jerk my hand up, grabbing onto his leg and yanking it towards my face, causing him to go backwards.

He lands hard, giving me time to clamber to my feet. Awkwardly I stumble over to him, he lays on the ground glaring at me. And I raise my sword. Except I hesitate.

That was the only opening he needed to jab his sword into my stomach. I cry out, my hand going to cover the wound. My other one dropping the sword as I drop to my knees. The sound of the sword hitting the ground echoes in the small room.

“Told you,” Timothy says.

He was good, but he was mortal.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, so quietly that he didn’t have time to hear me. Or react if he had.

I will the water around the room to heal me, leaping to my feet and jumping towards him, slicing my sword across his neck.

His head slowly rolls off his shoulders before tumbling to the ground. I drop my sword, staring at my hands like they were foreign. Like they belonged to someone else.

Well done.

The writing starts up.

I must admit, I didn’t think you had it in you… It seems you have survived once more. Rest now.

𝌀

The darkness that came after every trial was now more welcomed than ever. It made me think that for a second, just for a slight moment, I could forget everything that had happened.

That is, until reality chose to resurface once again.