"I was not expecting a daughter of Olympus to dine with me," he said, stopping just short of the blood-slick stones. "But I must say... I'm delighted."
Thalia raised her spear. Her face was a portrait of rage.
"You're the one who did this?," she hissed. "You slaughtered them. Twisted their bodies into this. You think this is clever? Funny? I swear, by the skies above, I will kill you for this."
The man's smile didn't falter at first. Then, it shifted. Curved. Turned cruel.
"Such righteous fury," he said, voice deepening. "Do you truly believe your wrath matters to me? You, who bears the blood of the cruelest of all tyrants?"
Thalia's grip tightened. Sparks danced along the shaft of her spear. Lucas could feel the shift in the air, static crawling over his skin, a warning hum of what she could unleash.
"Tell me, little storm," the man continued, stepping closer, "do you truly believe me to be an abomination, that I am the worst of the worst? You think I'm a monster, yet you serve the court of monsters. The worst of them sits on the throne as their king."
He stepped closer. His boots squelched softly in the blood as he moved. Every word was measured, each syllable carved like stone. His smile then faded to a sneer.
"All of his children share a common story. Suffering. Loss. Pain. Despair. So tell me, what is the origin of yours? The death of a lover? Maybe it's having to survive alone while being hunted by monsters? Is it burying friends? Or the classic, the old tale, family being torn apart, murdered, by that wife of his."
Thalia flinched.
Just a twitch.
But it was enough.
The man grinned wide again, his teeth far too sharp. "Ah," he breathed. "There it is. The wound Olympus gave you. And what of your father? Where was he? Flirting. Drinking. Laughing. That's all your suffering is to him and his court, a pastime. A show to go with their wine. Forgotten as soon as a new show appears."
Thalia stepped forward, spear raised. Her voice trembled with fury, with something deeper beneath it, something raw. "You're wrong. Zeus may be a bastard, but he's nothing like you."
"No, he's worse," the man said, voice suddenly colder. "He wraps his cruelty in law. In righteousness. I make no excuses. I offer power. Truth. You don't have to crawl beneath his throne anymore."
He extended a hand, palm open. There was no glow of magic, no spark of light. Just his words and the weight behind them.
"Join me, and I will give you the strength to remake Olympus in your image. To avenge your pain. To be free of their chains."
"You're truly mad." Lucas stepped forward.
"Lycaon," he finished.
The man paused. Turned. Raised a brow, curious.
"To be recognized before proper introductions were made... How uncivil of me."
Luke frowned. "Who?"
"Lycaon," Lucas repeated. "King of Arcadia. He tried to trick Zeus by serving him the flesh of his own son. Zeus saw through it. He turned Lycaon into the first werewolf and killed all his sons in punishment. All but one, the one Lycaon murdered. Zeus brought that child back to life."
Thalia scoffed. "So for once that bastard did the right thing."
Lycaon's eyes narrowed. A snarl twisted his lips, contorting his already ghastly visage.
"How blind you are. Do you think he spared the child out of mercy? No. It was a performance. A show of dominance. He let one live so the lesson would echo louder. That is what gods do. They punish. Not out of justice, but to remind us who holds the leash."
He turned toward Thalia again, eyes filled with false pity.
"It is a shame. I would have enjoyed watching Zeus realize one of his own had turned against him. But if I cannot have that joy, I will settle for something simpler."
He grinned, revealing yellowed fangs that were stained with rotting flesh. .
"I'll turn you into a pie and send it to his throne, a little gift for him to remember me by."
He whistled.
The trees around them stirred, bushes rustling. Dozens of red eyes gleamed in the dark.
They stepped forward from the shadows, massive and sleek.
Wolves.
Behind them came something worse. Humanoid shapes with elongated limbs and snouts, mouths lined with fangs dripping saliva.
Lycanthropes.
Thalia stepped back, raising Aegis. The face of Medusa screamed silently from her shield, sending a wave of terror through the oncoming pack. Luke drew his sword in one smooth motion.
Lucas reached for his daggers, fingers curling around the handles.
Then he stopped.
He slid them back into their sheathes.
Luke noticed. "What are you doing?"
Lucas didn't answer immediately. He stared at the beasts, eyes narrowing, mind working. Then, softly, he replied.
"They're werewolves," he said. "Celestial bronze won't work. Only silver. Or fire."
Thalia's eyes flicked to him. "So how do we kill them?"
"We don't. We burn them. We break them. But unless one of us is hiding a silver stake…" He met her eyes. "We can't kill them. Only drive them off."
The wolves were closer now, their breathing ragged and loud. The lycans snarled with anticipation, claws twitching. The ground beneath their paws was soaked with dry blood and soon, it would receive fresh blood.
Lycaon stood behind them all, arms spread wide, as if welcoming an audience to his feast.
"Then come," he said, his voice gleeful. "A true feast must always start with a show."