Blood of Hercules (Villains of Lore Book 1)

Alexis

I shivered in the damp cave air.

Even though it was the middle of July, the mountain rocks were icy beneath my bare feet.

General Cleandro—an imposing bald man in a long black toga—led us down a shallow flight of stairs, which went straight into the carved-out mountain.

A mammoth hawk the size of a midsize dog sat on his shoulders and glared at us with beady eyes.

Good birdy. Please don’t use your razor-sharp talons to scalp me.

The hawk snapped its beak like it was hungry for my brain juices.

“Disgusting creature,” Nyx hissed into my ear, and I had to agree.

In the center of the short stairwell, a narrow basin was cut through the rock, and long crimson candles hung from the ceiling dripping wax into the channel.

Dim light flickered.

Wax ran red.

Evocative music intensified as we descended into the darkness, and for the first time in a while, it wasn’t in my head.

At the end of the stairs, was a long cavernous room.

The basin expanded into a long shallow pool of red wax with thousands of candles hanging above it, and a narrow walkway led to five doors.

My jaw dropped.

On the high ceiling above the pool, dozens of full-size marble and bronze sculptures depicted men and women in battle—it was a melee of bodies, swords, and shields.

Crimson dripped below the fighting statues, off the candles and into the water . . . as if they’re bleeding.

But what was below them took my breath away.

It’s beautiful.

In the pool there were statues of female musicians. Motorized harps and violins played in their hands as red wax dripped across their faces. Their gowns were carved into the stone in exquisite layers, which created a sopping-wet effect.

It was art, beyond imagination.

“Initiates, stand in a line!” General Cleandro barked, his voice echoing off the rocks, a sharp contrast to the poignant melody playing behind him.

He frowned down at us as we filed into a line, deep wrinkles stretched across his forehead. He seemed to be in his sixties, which meant he was probably hundreds of years old.

“There are five doors”—he gestured behind him—“on either side of the sacred pool: a classroom, a library, a bathroom, a bedroom, and a tunnel that leads to the creature menagerie.”

His dark eyes narrowed as he walked slowly back and forth before us.

Whatever he saw, he didn’t like.

Touché.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” he bellowed.

My left ear rang with sharp feedback as his warped baritone voice echoed louder than should have been possible.

“Yes, General!” we chorused.

The music intensified.

We waited.

General Cleandro’s sandals scuffed across the rock, and the chilly underground air prickled across my skin.

Finally, he scoffed and said, “Luctor et emergo.”

I struggle and emerge.

A new melody played as General Cleandro glared down at us with disgust, and the hawk on his shoulder wore a matching expression.

The tune was gentle and hypnotizing.

Everything was surreal.

“Humans,” he spat like it was a filthy word, “take eight weeks to heal a single broken bone. They can also only go twenty-one days without food . . . ten days without sleep, and only . . . three days without water.”

Wax rained behind him.

The musicians looked like they were crying tears of red.

I wanted to cry with them.

Candlelight cast strange shadows across the room.

“Are you human?” he lunged forward and screamed into the face of the initiate to my left, spit flying, cheeks bright red.

Technically, nine of us were half-human because we were mutts, but even I had enough social awareness not to point that out.

He repeated, “ARE YOU A HUMAN?”

The high-pitched ringing in my left ear stabbed hotter, and I gritted my teeth. “No, General!” we chorused.

He resumed pacing before us with his expression cold as ice.

“Unlike humans,” he said, “Spartans can live forever . . . we heal bones in two weeks, we can go sixty days without food, thirty days without sleep, and two entire weeks without a single drop of water.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“But you’re only nineteen and not full Spartans yet. Some of your minds and bodies are stronger than others. Soon enough, we’ll find out who has what it takes.”

He stopped in front of me. “Do you know what happens when a human surpasses those time frames—girl?” His tone made it clear that I wasn’t welcome.

Their suffering ends, as it should.

“They d-die, General!” I answered, keeping my expression relaxed and nonconfrontational.

To my right, an initiate snickered at my stutter, but I kept my face a blank mask. I was used to the ridicule, the taunts, the name calling.

Nyx hissed in his direction, but per usual no one reacted.

There was a blur of movement from my left, and it was too close to dodge.

Crack. General Cleandro slammed his fist into the head of the boy standing next to me, and he collapsed to the floor from the force of the blow.

“WHAT’S SO FUNNY, INITIATE?”

The initiate scrambled unsteadily to his feet. “Nothing, General!”

“WHAT HAPPENS”—he leaned down so his face was pressed against the boy’s, nose to nose—“TO SPARTANS WHO SURPASS THEIR LIMITS?”

“They go into a coma, General!”

“No. The key is that they live, initiate,” he snarled. “Snicker in front of me again and I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth.”

“Yes, General!”

I hunched and made myself a smaller target.

General Cleandro resumed pacing in front of us and said, “Some of you have the misconception that this is a generic military boot camp, but this is not a pathetic human physical test. This . . . is the most civilized test in the world.”

He paused.

“WE SEPARATE THE ANIMALS FROM THE GODS!” Rocks vibrated from the force of his bellow.

It took everything I had not to clutch my left ear and wince.

General Cleandro whirled around and stopped in front of the blond initiate in the laurel crown.

“Cassius Hermes—I hope you know that being an heir means nothing down here,” he snarled in the boy’s face. “There is no dishonor here, no fancy golden rules. I don’t give a flying shit if you have perfect posture, wear diamond-encrusted clothes, know how to eat a fourteen-course meal, or court another heir with ancient jewels so he agrees to suck your sorry, limp dick for all of eternity—DO YOU UNDERSTAND, HEIR?”

“Yes, General!” the initiate shouted, Olympian crown glinting as he held himself perfectly still.

Diamonds in clothes and a fourteen-course meal can’t be real—right? Also, do Spartans really trade jewels for sex?

I pursed my lips.

Can I do that instead?

Sadly, the opportunity to join the Spartans giving fellatio—and not competing to literal death—did not present itself.

Disheartening.

“This is a mental test.” General Cleandro backed up and addressed all of us. “Until next January, you will not eat when you are here, unless we say so—spoiler, we won’t—you will also not bathe, and . . . you will not sleep unless you’re seconds from death. Also, if you’re injured, you’ll heal yourself. There will be no doctors to coddle you.”

The song changed, and the energy in the mountain shifted.

It was ominous.

He showed his teeth. “What you will do is study until your eyes bleed, and then”—he smiled maliciously—“you’ll study fucking harder.”

This is exactly why I avoid people.

“The crucible trains the mind.” He smiled. “The question we answer in this mountain—how will you react when everything crumbles around you?”

He lunged forward like he was going to hit us, cackling as we flinched back.

“If you manage to survive the crucible,” he said with deceptive softness, “you’ll graduate and be named a citizen of Sparta. You’ll be an immortal god.”

His smile was wicked.

“But that’s a big if . . . remember—” He thumped his fist against his wide chest and bellowed. “—THERE ARE NO STUPID GODS—BECAUSE I MAKE SURE THERE ARE NO STUPID SPARTANS!”

I flinched again.

This was not good.

“Welcome to the Spartan War Academy. Follow me.” He stalked along the edge of the pool, stopped at the first door, and opened it. “This is the sleeping quarters.”

Inside the dark low-ceilinged room were ten cots laid out across the rocks, nothing more.

The door slammed shut in our faces.

“I advise never going in there,” he said. “Not if you want to survive. Don’t tempt yourself with what you can’t have. It will make you weak.”

He moved on to the next door. “This is the bathroom—a privilege you don’t deserve. Back in my day, we shit in a hole.” He puffed up his chest like he was proud of that statement.

Were people okay?

The room was tiny with nothing but a rusted toilet that would probably give me diseases and a broken sink.

“Luxurious,” he spat and shook his head with disappointment.

He moved to the next door. “This is the classroom.”

It was another windowless cave-like room. The only difference was the red candles hung from the ceiling, along the perimeter of the wall, and their wax dripped into a smaller basin. Smoke from the candles hung along the ceiling in a misty cloud. My eyes watered.

There was a desk with a chair and a chalkboard on the front wall.

Ten separate piles—each with a notebook, three textbooks, and one pen—were spaced out across the floor.

There were no other desks or chairs.

It was barren and cold.

Dark.

Damp.

Depressing as heck.

Honestly, it has the same vibes as high school.

“This is where you’ll be spending most of your days.” General Cleandro vibrated with barely constrained glee.

He could also benefit from a few whacks of a shovel.

He led us to the fourth door. “This is the library, the second place you’ll be spending all your time.”

My head tipped back, eyes widening.

It was palatial.

Towering stacks of books, velvet chairs, mahogany desks, and fireplaces with flickering flames filled the long, narrow space. Unlike the other rooms, the rock ceiling towered high above. Much larger red candles hung down the center of the stacks, and their wax dripped into a long, narrow pool.

The scent of old parchment filled the air, and the roaring fireplaces chased away the underground chill.

It was lovely.

A few women in white togas milled about, putting books on the shelves and translating texts at desks. I almost cried because I wasn’t the only female around.

“Here is our new batch of initiates,” General Cleandro announced, and a few women looked over, but most ignored us.

“You’ll show the muses respect,” he spat. “Or you’ll be killed.”

It was potentially not a good sign that he sounded hopeful.

Before I could devolve into a full-on panic attack, we followed him to the last door, which opened to a long dark tunnel.

“As I said before,” he said as his hawk (government surveillance drone) stared at us. “The animal menagerie is down this hall. But you won’t be seeing the animals until September, so this door should have no use for you.”

He paused.

“Some of you won’t live that long, so you don’t need to worry about this hall at all.” He smiled meanly. “Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed your tour. There is no kitchen or bath house—because you will not eat or clean yourselves while you’re studying here.”

The door shut with a thud.

I wanted to cry.

“Your studies start now.”

His expression was cruel. “You will attend the classes: Thagorean, Lost Classical Lore, and Defense and Power, in that order. The sessions will last for varying amounts of time determined by your two professors, and I will announce when you have breaks and for how long they will last . . . it’s all quite simple.”

Simply awful.

“Oh, one more thing.” He took a step closer. “You have three guest professors filling in this year—General Pine and General Augustus will be your classroom professors, and General Kharon will be working the circuit.”

Initiates whispered with horror around me.

Augustus and Kharon—both the infamous Chthonic heirs are teaching us?

General Cleandro bared his teeth. “We use the Socratic method here. You’ll be called on at random, and if you answer a question wrong, your mentors will be notified and they’ll lead your entire class through the circuit—which is a run through the mountains and swim through the River Styx, where Kharon will be waiting there for you.”

There was a long awkward pause.

“Any questions, initiates?”

Someone whimpered, but no one spoke. What idiot would ever ask him something? You’d be eaten alive.

Drex, the other abandoned mutt, who I was pretty sure was secretly Chthonic, slowly raised his hand.

General Cleandro arched his brow. “What?”

Drex cleared his throat. “What about Titans on the circuit? I didn’t see any fencing outside marking this a protected zone.”

Great question.

General Cleandro burst into laughter.

After five long minutes of howling, he wiped tears out of his eyes and scoffed. “Of course, these lands aren’t in a pathetic human protected zone. We’re Spartans. The Titans fear us, not the other way around.”

The other initiates chuckled.

“However”—the general smiled cruelly—“some Titans have been known to . . . attack the weaker initiates up in the mountains. So keep your eye out.”

No one was laughing now.

Cassius raised his hand, laurel crown gleaming. “But, General, isn’t it the job of the Chthonics to fight the Titans? Not Olympians, like ourselves? That was the entire point of the Assembly of Death.”

General Cleandro’s smile fell.

He scoffed, “This is about separating the weak from the gods—if the Titans picking you off helps do so, then so be it. Understood?”

“Yes, General.”

Actually, I don’t understand, and I have a lot of questions.

A muse walked up to General Cleandro, and he turned away from us to talk to her, but his hawk swiveled its head fully around and kept staring at us.

Yep, that is one-hundred-percent a robot.

“At least Augustus is known to be honorable and fair,” whispered an initiate to my right. “He’s the sanest heir the House of Ares has ever born.”

A boy with curly brown hair replied, “Yeah, but we have to deal with Kharon—I thought it was a rumor meant to scare us this year. Kronos save us, he’s almost as unstable as Medusa—and she sided with the fucking Titans.”

They nodded in agreement with grave expressions. “Kharon’s literally the Hunter and Hades’ favorite soldier. Why would he agree to work the crucible?”

“Probably because he’s insane and likes torturing Olympians.” All the initiates shivered dramatically. “That’s what happens when Artemis procreates with Erebus—they say Kharon is more monster than man. Rumor is Artemis birthed him to punish Olympians for killing her daughters in the war—he’s her vengeance.”

I blanched. That doesn’t sound good.

Tim-Tom loved to theorize that Kharon’s creature heritage gave him a massive dick. In contrast, Father John preached he was a descendant of the devil.

I pursed my lips; technically, both could be true.

Mental note—start praying for my soul.

Aggressively.

General Cleandro whirled around with an intense glare that immediately shut everyone up, then he led us into the chilly, austere classroom.

He grunted as he sat down at the only desk in the room—positioned in the front so he could loom over us—and kicked his feet up.

We awkwardly sat on the floor next to the ten piles of textbooks.

A few initiates sneered at me and snuck glances at the heir, but for the most part, everyone stared at the front with nervous anticipation.

The tension was palpable.

The door slammed open, and everyone jumped.

A man in a long white toga entered the room. “Hello!” He smiled and waved.

Young—with a pleasant face, short brown hair, and kind brown eyes—the new teacher seemed friendly. A shiny black raven sat calmly on his shoulders.

His congenial expression seemed genuine.

What a creep.

“Hello, initiates,” he repeated gleefully. “Welcome to your first day of the crucible. My name is Pine.”

He clapped with excitement, like we weren’t literal hostages being held in a cave against our will.

I want whatever fancy Spartan anti-depressants he’s on.

“I’ll be teaching your Thagorean classes during the circuit.” He chuckled. “More commonly known to some of you as advanced mathematics, or as I like to call it—fun.”

No one laughed.

He wrote his name on the chalkboard in big loopy writing.

“Like most of you,” Pine said, “I’m a Spartan mutt. However, unlike most of you, I’m a mutt who was born in less-than-ideal circumstances.”

His gaze darted around the room, then lingered on me.

We’re not bonding over abandonment issues.

He quickly looked away.

“All right, everyone.” Pine clapped. “Turn to page one of your textbook. We’re going to go over the basics of the philosophy and ethics of mathematics. In my class these two principles will combine into glorious equations.”

Pages rustled as we cracked open the heavy tomes.

“Don’t worry,” Pine said cheerfully. “This is not a simple math class where normal boring math has no object permanence. Every number and symbol we use will be tied to a real-life ethics problem.”

Interesting. Maybe this won’t suck?

From the frowns and groans of boys around me, I was in the minority.

Pine immediately launched into solving an equation.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Candle wax fell in a relaxing rhythm. Classical music drifted in from outside, and Pine’s teaching cadence was pleasant as I took copious notes.

This doesn’t seem too bad at all.

“Alessander Poseidon.” Pine stopped teaching and pointed at a short initiate who sat in the back of the room. “What did I just say the function of Platonism was?”

The raven on his shoulder tilted its head to the side, like it was also waiting for an answer.

Alessander’s face paled. “You said . . . it is the postulate of the—square root?”

Pine arched his brow, his smile falling. “Not even close.”

He turned and nodded to General Cleandro, who gleefully tapped a small black paging device.

Hawk wings flapped with excitement.

BOOM.

A tall man with gray eyes appeared in the front of the room in a cloud of smoke. A pink ferret the size of a small cat clung to his arm.

He’d leaped straight into the mountain.

“Vorex, heir to the House of Poseidon,” General Cleandro said to the new man. “You’re the mentor of Alessander, correct?”

“Yes, General!” Vorex held up his palm and bowed his head, laurel wreath gleaming even in the shadows.

His pink ferret nodded up and down.

Aw, cute.

General Cleandro stared at him. “Lead the class through their first round of the circuit. And you might want to advise your mentee about paying attention in class. He’s a fucking imbecile.”

Not cute.

“Yes, General!”

Vorex gave Alessander a hateful look that promised retribution.

I shivered because Patro hadn’t been physically violent with me—yet.

“GET UP!” General Cleandro bellowed in his booming voice, and we scrambled to our feet. His hawk screeched louder. “FORM A LINE BEHIND HIM!”

My left ear burned with pain.

We followed Vorex, who jogged out of the room.

“Stay here,” I whispered to Nyx as I forced my stiff legs to cooperate.

Scales tightened around my neck, and I choked. “No way am I leaving you alone, kid.”

That was unfortunate.

A few minutes later, we emerged from the mountain, and I struggled to adjust to the warm weather and bright daylight. The July sun was scorching, and grass squished as we ran across it.

It was a shocking contrast to the dark chilly classroom.

Vorex cut toward the nearest mountain and led us along a dirt path.

In school I’d participated in a grand total of one gym class—I’d been starving, and the movement had made me want to pass out, so I’d hid behind a shed, doing math problems, for the rest of the year.

They’d never assigned it to me again.

Now I suffered for my inactivity.

I ascended the side of one of the dolomites, my lungs burned, calves and thighs cramping, as sweat dripped. I pumped my arms desperately.

One by one the other initiates passed me.

Nyx was deadweight around my neck.

Halfway up, the temperature cooled, and my sweat froze, making it hard to open my eyes.

“Are—you—” Gasp. “—trying—to—kill—me?”

“Stop talking,” Nyx snapped rudely. “You need to conserve your energy—concentrate, kid.”

I breathed heavily (asphyxiated) and concentrated on not committing amicide.

My lungs rattled.

Vorex yelled something, but I couldn’t hear him over my suicidal thoughts.

The path narrowed. On the left was a jagged cliff—one wrong step and I’d be dead. Hopefully.

I hugged the side of the mountain, since the blind spot on my left made it hard to judge depth.

One foot in front of the other. Coming down will be easier. Just get to the top. Don’t stop.

I tried to think positive thoughts.

How do I summon a Titan so he kills me? Immediately.

I failed.

The space between me and the last initiate was widening, and I gritted my teeth, moved my legs faster, desperate to not lose the group.

Nyx felt like she weighed a million pounds.

Near the top of the biggest freaking mountain on earth, the boys finally stopped running. They were keeled over, hands on their knees in a circle.

When I approached, a handful looked over and watched me, their eyes filled with hatred.

“I didn’t know a Spartan woman could be so pathetic-looking,” said a tall initiate with red hair. “Aren’t they all supposed to be stunningly strong and beautiful? No wonder you weren’t wanted.”

He had big Jessica and Tim-Tom energy.

Two other boys in the group shuffled closer to him and laughed. “Good one, Titus,” one of them said.

Ears ringing from exhaustion, I stared at them incredulously.

Drex rolled his eyes and didn’t join them.

“How is it possible that you look weaker than a human?” Titus said louder as he glared at me. “Aren’t you embarrassed?”

Ignore him. He’s not worth your time.

He spat at my feet, then lunged forward and yanked on my ponytail.

I stumbled away from his disgusting touch.

“How is it possible that your brain is smaller than your tiny balls?” I shouted aggressively and shook my fist at him.

In my head.

In reality, I said nothing, because I didn’t like interacting with people. Also, I couldn’t breathe. So there was that.

My legs gave out.

Knees banging against cold rocks, shaking palms digging into pebbles, I lowered my head and dry-heaved. Mucus dribbled attractively out of my mouth.

Ah, womanhood.

Titus sneered, “Of course you’d be a useless bitch who couldn’t even swallow.” His cronies snickered.

My eyes ached from the force of rolling them back in my head.

“Do you want me to bite him?” Nyx asked as I lowered my body and groaned in pain.

“No,” I whispered. She’d killed enough people for me in the massacre.

Also, I wanted to be the one to choke the light out of his eyes.

I do?

Mental note—physical exertion makes me homicidal. Avoid anything above a brisk walk.

Titus said something else, but I stopped listening, because I had free will.

Coughing, I spat more mucus onto the rocks.

Should I be concerned that it’s bloody?

“That’s it, let it out,” Nyx said. “Take deep, calming breaths. It’s totally normal to spit up blood. Very common.”

“I’m going to kill you,” I whispered as I swatted the air in front of my neck like I’d seen a bug. “Slither on the ground beside me.”

Nyx grunted as I hit her head, and scales tightened around my throat.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she hissed as she loosened her grip. “I’m not some common dog—you will carry me, and you will enjoy it.”

“You’re the worst,” I whispered.

The boy throwing up next to me gave me a strange look.

I made a face back at him.

“Everyone, listen up,” Vorex said, standing tall with his hands on his hips, looking bored. His ferret hissed, flashing long pointy fangs.

He wasn’t even sweating. God had his favorites—I was not one of them.

Another initiate keeled over and emptied his stomach.

Relatable. Let it out, brother.

Vorex rolled his eyes as he looked down at us. “Right now you’re going to pull yourselves together and follow me back down the mountain. We’ll have another break at the bottom, so stop acting so dramatic. This will be the easiest lap of the circuit you ever do.”

He gestured up to the blinding sun. “The weather’s perfect.”

Spoiler, he was deranged.

The weather was heinous. I’d describe it as a burning day in hell before I used the term perfect.

Vorex trailed off and muttered something under his breath about pathetic, weak bitches.

I would have been offended, but I was too busy trying to find my will to live, like the aforementioned pathetic, weak bitch. The edge of the mountain was looking mighty tempting.

“Let’s go.” Vorex stretched his heavily muscled body, then started jogging easily down the side of the mountain like he was weightless.

The rest of the group groaned as they followed, and I obeyed sullenly.

Alas, the journey into hell continues.