First Labor

A Chapter by gemini moon

Small part of my book on Theseus.

Theseus laughed at the sight of him.

“You’re quite the ugly one, aren’t you?” He cracked a wide smile at the large man before him.

Compared to Theseus, who was only of a slightly taller than average height, this man stood two feet taller and had a large stomach that pushed out the bottom of his breastplate. One foot was tucked nicely inside a pigskin sandal and the other was twisted and deformed, toes sprouting from places toes should not be and black nails curling at uncomfortable lengths. The ankle this foot was attached to was a dark purple and situated at the front of his leg instead of to its respective side. This was not the most unpleasant feature of him either, as his two eyes had met in the middle of his face, and he was almost a cyclops, however one could see that they had not completely merged in the womb.

“I’m guessing you want to be bashed into a bloody mess, don’t you?” the man gargled, and his voice seemed to almost make the ground shake. Theseus laughed at him.

“With what, that small twig you carry there with you?”

“This--” the man seemed almost confused at Theseus’ comments.

“I would be you on the life of Zeus that it’s not even real bronze.”

“Of course it’s real bronze. My father Hephaestus crafted it himself in his godly forge.”

“Hephaestus,” Theseus looked him up and down again. Well, that certainly makes sense. “I can see the resemblance.”

“Stop with the insults,” he said, his strange eyebrow wrinkling his face and smushing his strangely formed eye. Or eyes? Theseus couldn’t decide.

“Either way,” Theseus said, folding his arms, “I’m not convinced that’s really bronze. I could easily slice through it with my sword.” He mocked, patting the hilt of his double-edged xiphos. This made the man laugh.

“A miniscule blade like that could not even scratch fine craftsmanship such as this!” Glowing with what Theseus assumed was pride, the man took his club and handed it to Theseus. He took the mans weapon, almost surprised at its weight.

“What a shame, it seems as though your father lied to you.”

“What? That can’t be.”

“It’s true! I can prove it to you now!” Before the man could react, Theseus lifted the giant club above his head and swung, landing a direct hit on the cyclops’ right temple. The quality of the weapon and the strength Theseus put into his swing caused the mans skull to shatter as soon as the club met his face. The cyclops fell, holding his giant hand to where his skull had just collapsed. Theseus was surprised that the blow had not killed him instantly, as he stood over him. The man started whimpering, his body shaking, blood soaking into the white of his eye. As Theseus raised the club once again, the man lifted a hand up to him, grabbing the bottom of his exomis, staining it with blood and clay. His grip released once Theseus brought the club down once more, blood splattering Theseus’ calves and sandals.

Theseus stood there for a couple moments more, staring at the deformed eye peaking out from the mess of bone, hair, and skin below him. It still stared at him, the unsettling blue iris piercing through him, and then Theseus swore he saw it glance away.

“Poor b*****d.” Theseus mumbled, throwing himself onto the ground. He took the club and wiped off the brains and blood from it, and finally saw the name written on the hilt of the heavy weapon: PERIPHETES. He looked at what remained of the cyclops, and then to the club. So this was the man he was warned of. He supposed he should probably return to Epidaurus and inform them that the bandit had been slain, but he needed a moment to rest. Despite how quickly he was able to kill Periphetes, the club surely was a gods weapon, and lifting it so high took a toll on him.

After sitting for a few moments, he realized he couldn’t possibly go back covered in gore. He tried wiping off the blood on his calves with his hands, but it only because dry and sticky, and looked more like he smeared it onto his legs on purpose. He pushed himself off of the ground and turned, remembering the stream he passed over just a while ago. He could still hear it bubbling, so he knew he had not gone too far. He carefully stepped through the overgrowth towards the sounds of toads and water until his sandals sunk deep into the mud. He scrunched his face up in disgust and forced his foot out, the suction of the mud emitting a pop once his foot was free. Theseus cursed to himself as he removed both his sandals and carefully tip-toed to the creeks edge. He laid his sandals down into the water and scraped off the thick mud from the bottom. Once his sandals were clean, he scooped water into his calloused hands and washed his thighs. He looked at where Periphetes had grabbed his exomis, the cloth a dark brown and red. He plunged that part of the cloth into the brook and scrubed, getting most of it off, but it would forever be the faintest hue of red.