THE DEMIGOD LUNGED again. He would give it his all. If he was going to die, in the very least, then he did not intend to die a weakling. His blade was in the air again, this time with a stronger force. But it didn't matter to whom he was sparring against. The minotaur ducked and gave him a headbutt in his torso.
Christopher registered the stout horns of the beast piercing into his chest. He was airborne until he staggered down again against the ground. He coughed after regaining himself, and blood spilled from his mouth. Warm. Crimson.
Was he dying already?
He had but sustained just a few hits, and yet his body had begun to fail him. Why? Why had he not honed himself during all those years of running? He remembered being desperate, on his one-dimensional quest to rescue his sister from enslavement in the Capital. His conclusions had only ended up being stupid. Even if he ended up breaching the Capital, he'd die before he could see his sister.
"This is taking too long!" a voice from the crowd yelled. "I paid to see some action, not drama!"
The crowd supported his stance, and they also began to protest. Soon enough, murmurings and aggressive noises replaced the air. It was only a few more delays before this whole place turned into a chaotic setting.
Lebion smiled. "Well, it looks like the audience doesn't fancy slow and painful deaths." His arms reached to pull out his swords. "Let's finish this and move on, shall we?"
When he lunged, the air seemed to part ways for him, sweeping dust off the ground. He was fast. Agile. And the ethereal glow in his eyes told of his unnatural strength. He grinned as his swords reached for Christopher, inching closer and closer until...
Time stopped.
"No, no, this is all wrong... You only have one chance at death, and you're gonna squander it this way?" a voice spoke, rattling fear through the demigod. He turned around but saw no one behind him.
"Over here." The voice spoke again, hoarse. Instinctively, he swung, fear entrapping him whole. "Careful with that now, would you?"
The voice followed a man who appeared before him. He was tall, almost gigantic. Christopher had to look all the way up in order to grasp hold of his shaggy gray hair and shaven beard. Dressed in a simple gown and a pair of brown sandals, the man seemed more of a shepherd than a gladiator.
"Who are you?" Christopher summoned the courage to ask, although the evidence was clearly stated before him. A tall—if not gigantic—man who could stop time. "Are you a god?"
The man chuckled, an immediate indication that he was wrong. "What makes you think a god would come down here to specially pay you a visit?" His smile faded. "Don't make me laugh."
"Who then are you?!"
"Good question. Who am I?" The man had a finger on his chin. "Hmm, let's just say I'm the dude who chose you as my direct descendant."
Christopher looked as baffled as the man's last statement could get him, but he didn't ask anymore for his identity. All he wanted to know was why he had suddenly appeared, pausing his momentum like it was some kind of video game.
"Oh, that?" The man smirked. "I simply stopped your time. It's a kind of trick where you're dead, but you actually aren't. This only gets more confusing the more I explain to you—"
"A death trance?"
"Yes, exactly!"
Christopher was quite familiar with that term. Death trances were a profound skill that made the user dead—or at least pretend to be dead—for a period of time. But what he didn't know was how it could be used with the stoppage of a person's time.
He stared at the minotaur, who still grinned midair, his blade gleaming golden in his eyes. Then he turned to the man again.
"What do you want?"
The man smiled, rather warmly. "I'm here to give you options. My initial plan was to wait until you're thirty years of age, but since you're already in so much mess at this young age, I have no choice but to interfere now."
"What the hell are you talking about?!"
"Option 1: You can choose to die, right here, right now. The implication is that your father would recognize you and refuse your entry into the Underworld. Your soul would then wander in the middle of nowhere until it finds me and begs for help, which I would grant for an added condition..."
"I don't understand—"
"Option 2: You acknowledge me right now as your only means of salvation, pledge your undying loyalty to me, and I would give you a power so great that it would prepare you for your future—all for a fixed condition, of course."
"Look, I'm not in the mood for your games—" Christopher was starting to say when the man interrupted.
"We're running out of time, son of Hades."
Christopher met the unexpressive stare in his face. He didn't speak.
"We're running out of time, son of Hades."
He gulped. "Why did you say Hades would reject me from entering the Underworld if I die?"
"Because you're the forbidden child of prophecy, a threat in both the mortal and immortal plane. Hades wouldn't let you stay in Tartarus—where I've been banished—not to speak of the Underworld."
Was it that serious? The last time he read his fortune—no, his misery—he'd been informed that he was the one the prophecy of the Fates spoke about, the one who would destroy the world and make the gods vanish. Although he had never seen this prophecy, he realized that it was the reason why demigods had been constantly hunted by humans.
Which meant the prophecy had existed from the beginning of time, awaiting his birth. It all seemed normal now that even Hades, his father, would reject his entry to the Underworld.
And if he'd believe this man, that meant his death here wasn't going to be the end of it. Somehow, the prophecy would find a way to keep him alive until he fulfilled his duty.
"But why me?" Christopher asked with a hint of bitterness. It wasn't enough that he had to be born as a demigod, but fate had gone around to make him a one-man army against the gods.
Why?
"We're running out of time, son of Hades."