The battlefield blurred as I ran, boots sliding over fractured marble, divine energy pulsing under my skin. I didn't know how many gods I'd fought—ten? Twenty? My blade was cracked, scorched black from overuse, and my vision swam from exertion.
Then I felt it.
A gust of wind and a presence moving faster than thought.
I turned, just in time to parry the strike.
The force of it nearly took my arm off.
It was Hermes.
He landed lightly, as if weightless. Cloak fluttering, sandals glowing faintly, caduceus in hand. His body was unmarred, flawless as always, but his expression—his eyes—were shadowed by a grim expression.
"Hermes, wait." I breathed.
He didn't respond. Instead, he lunged.
We collided like stars—divine speed against raw force. Our blades clashed in a flurry of sparks, his movements impossibly fast, mine driven by instinct and desperation. Every strike from him was precise, measured, held back. I could feel it.
He wasn't trying to kill me. At least, not yet.
