The pegasi still circled overhead like restless ghosts when Medea slipped away from the archery field. Pulling her hood lower against the midday glare, she glided through camp with the silent precision of a knife beneath silk—undetectable unless you knew exactly where to look.

  Creek patrol hadn't been on her assigned schedule. Then again, neither was obedience.

  Zephyros Creek meandered along the camp's boundary, a serpentine ribbon of clear water concealing jagged stones beneath its deceptive surface. The creek gurgled beside her, water catching sunlight in crystalline facets. The warm breeze carried the scent of pine needles, adolescent sweat, and the faint metallic tang of weapons practice. It also delivered something else—voices.

  The water sang its ancient melody through the undergrowth as it curved beneath a cluster of moss-draped cypress trees. As she stepped into the treeline, Medea’s tail flicked behind her in idle motion. Her ears twitched, catching both the babbling current and human conversation downstream.

  Crouching behind a ridge of gnarled roots, she observed her prey.

  Two demigods lounged by a bend in the creek, fishing lines dangling listlessly in the current. The first—a broad-shouldered figure with cropped hair and battle scars—sat with the aggressive stillness of someone accustomed to solving problems through force. Beside her, a young man in a grease-stained t-shirt tapped his foot against the creek stones. His goggles rested atop messy curls while his fingers tinkered with some mechanical contraption, fishing rod all but forgotten.

  Boredom radiated from them both.

  Medea had glimpsed them around camp before—minor characters in this elaborate charade of heroic training. Until now, she hadn't deemed them worthy of learning their names.

  "Fish won't bite today." The mechanic adjusted his tool belt with one hand while half-heartedly repositioning his rod with the other. "Too much camp noise. Probably scared them off."

  The warrior woman sighed, leaning back on her elbows. "Fish are cowards. Same as most things. If I could stab 'em, we'd have dinner by now."

  "You could use a trident." Sunlight glinted off the small gear in his hand as he twisted it.

  "Not my style. Too dignified." A knife gleamed at her belt as she shifted position.

  Medea materialized at the edge of the clearing.

  Not with stealth. Not with fanfare. Simply—present.

  Both heads snapped toward her. The warrior's hand drifted to her dagger while the mechanic's eyes narrowed behind his goggles, calculations almost visible behind them.

  Silence hung between them as Medea assessed each one, cataloging strengths and weaknesses the way a collector might appraise potential acquisitions. Brute force and crafty innovation—hammer and sparkplug.

  "You hunt with spears and still call it sport?" she said at last, nodding toward their fishing rods. "Why bother with those if you'd rather impale your dinner?"

  The mechanic's voice rasped, deeper than his frame suggested. "Camp's got a no-hunting policy." His fingers stilled on his contraption. "Not that you seem particularly concerned with rules."

  Teeth flashed white as Medea’s smile unfurled. "Rules exist for those who lack the vision to craft their own."

  "You lost?" The warrior chuckled without standing, feigning relaxation while her muscles coiled beneath scarred skin. "Orientation's that way."

  "I don't get lost." Medea stepped closer, gravel crunching beneath deliberate footfalls as pine shadows dappled her form. "I am a finder of things—or, more poetically, a wanderer who happens upon wretched souls."

  The warrior rose slowly. Her shoulders rolled back—a movement practiced countless times before hurling opponents through walls. Her gaze held no fear, only assessment.

  "New girl," she stated.

  "Oldblood," Medea corrected, the word carrying heavy weight. "I’ve been in this game ever since the day I learned to crawl. While you were a babe swaddled in your mother’s arms, I was fighting for the right to draw breath."

  Recognition sparked in the mechanic's eyes as he finally abandoned his project. "You're the one from the arena. With the sword. The freezing thing."

  "Medea." She offered her name like a weapon, watching for impact.

  Their bodies tensed, though neither flinched. The air between them charged with something beyond ordinary caution.

  "We've heard about you," the warrior said, fishing rod forgotten on the stones beside her.

  Medea crouched by the creek's edge, dipping clawed fingers into the current. Water swirled around her hand, cold and pristine. "I'm sure the campfires buzz with tales." She glanced upstream where the creek disappeared into denser forest. "Do either of you actually expect to catch anything worthwhile here?"

  "I caught a catfish last week." The mechanic's tone carried defensive pride.

  "And what heroic saga did you weave from that conquest?" Looking over her shoulder, Medea’s eyes caught the sunlight with an unnatural gleam. "Did it speak in riddles and demand tribute before surrendering to your hook?"

  The warrior crossed her muscled arms over her chest. "You always talk like you swallowed a poetry book, or just when someone's not buying your act?"

  Medea's grin sharpened. "Most people can't afford what I truly offer."

  Their stony silence impressed her, earning a flicker of genuine respect behind her calculated facade.

  "I observed you both training," she admitted while inspecting water droplets on her claws. "You—" she nodded toward the warrior, "—swing your blade like someone who's broken ribs and savored the sound." Her gaze shifted to the mechanic. "And you carry too many tools for someone without plans to rebuild what shouldn't be broken."

  The mechanic's brow furrowed. "That supposed to be a compliment?"

  "No," She said flatly. "It's an observation."

  A cloud drifted across the sun, casting sudden shadow over their gathering. The breeze shifted, carrying a chill that hadn't been present moments before. In the distance, a pegasus shrieked—still airborne, still refusing to land while she walked below.

  "I encountered something," Medea said quietly, speaking more to the flowing water than to them. "In the woods. Powerful. Ancient. Reeking of molten greed and centuries of hoarding."

  Both demigods went perfectly still, argument forgotten.

  "What kind of 'something'?" The warrior's hand now rested openly on her dagger hilt.

  "Scaled. Seven feet tall. Eyes like stolen gold coins catching firelight." Medea looked up, intensity burning in her gaze. "It informed me it wasn't alone."

  "Monster breach?" The mechanic's expression darkened as worry flashed across his features.

  "'Breach' implies something actually attempted to stop it. It moved through your precious camp wards as though they were morning mist. Whoever manages security here requires significant upgrades."

  The mechanic's hand moved toward a small radio clipped to his belt.

  Medea rose to her full height in one fluid motion.

  "I wouldn't do that," she warned. "Not yet."

  His hand froze mid-reach.

  "I'm hunting it," she added, her eyes sparkling like cut gems beneath her hood. "And I don't share my prey."

  The warrior met her stare, jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. "If you're lying—"

  "I don't lie," Medea interrupted harshly. "I simply promise that truth wounds far more deeply than falsehood ever could."

  Silence stretched between them like a bowstring pulled taut.

  Then she turned away, following the creek upstream. Her tail flicked behind her with the steady rhythm of a fuse burning toward inevitability.

  "Follow if you dare," she called without looking back, voice carrying over the water's melody. "I would rather claim a brief life filled with glory than endure an endless one shrouded in meaningless obscurity."

  The warrior and mechanic exchanged glances—a silent conversation between old comrades. The warrior's expression hardened first, her scarred knuckles whitening around her dagger hilt.

  "You think we're stupid enough to follow some random cat-girl into the woods after a 'scaled something' without backup?" She snorted, but her eyes never left Medea's retreating form.

  Medea paused mid-stride, her tail going rigid. She turned slowly, sunlight catching the fuchsia of her eyes through shadow-dappled trees.

  "Cat-girl?" Her voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "I am Medea Ulthar, the daughter of Aphrodite and the Nemean Lion, little soldier." She flexed her clawed fingers, light glinting off their deadly points. "These aren't accessories."

  The mechanic cleared his throat. "You said seven feet tall, gold eyes? That doesn't match any standard classification in the—"

  "Your taxonomies bore me," Medea cut him off. "This creature reeks of greed and molten earth. It moves like avarice given form."

  Her hand dropped to Nidhoggr's hilt, fingers caressing the ancient metal almost lovingly. The sword seemed to shiver at her touch, the runes along its length pulsing with subtle light.

  "Tell your camp directors if you must," she said with a dismissive flick of her ear. "By the time they organize a proper response, I'll have already claimed its head."

  The mechanic stood, brushing creek pebbles from his pants. "You know what? I'm Jake. This is Clarisse. If you're gonna get us killed, you could at least know our names first."

  Clarisse shot him a sharp look but didn't contradict him.

  Medea's expression shifted—surprise briefly cracking her mask of contempt before settling into something closer to approval.

  "Very well, Jake and Clarisse." Her smile revealed teeth just a touch too sharp. "The creature spoke of a hoard. Dragons always do. Imagine what treasures a beast that old might have gathered."

  Jake's eyes lit with interest. Clarisse still glowered, but her stance had shifted from defensive to ready.

  "Ten minutes," Clarisse decided. "We follow for ten minutes. First sign of bullshit, we're out."

  Medea was already moving upstream, her footfalls unnaturally silent against the forest floor.

  "Don't slow me down," she called back, voice fading into the thickening woods. "And don't expect me to save you if you prove unworthy of survival."

  Deep in her mind, Nidhoggr's voice rumbled with approval. These may prove adequate witnesses to your glory, little lioness.

  Medea's lips quirked upward. Perhaps this hunt would finally cure her boredom.

  The forest thickened as they pushed inland, sunlight fracturing through the canopy in dappled patterns. Medea moved with liquid confidence, reading the woodland like an open book—pausing to examine bent stems, touching tree bark where something large had brushed past, nostrils flaring at scents the others couldn't detect.

  "You track like you were born to it," Jake muttered, struggling to keep pace while his tool belt jingled with each step.

  "I was," Medea replied simply, crouching to examine scorched earth where pine needles had fused into black glass. She touched the surface, then brought her fingertips to her tongue. "Recent. Hours, not days."

  Clarisse maintained a professional distance, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. "Something this size should be leaving obvious tracks. Why aren't we seeing footprints?"

  Medea's ear twitched in annoyance. "Because it flew, obviously." She gestured upward where broken branches created a tunnel through the canopy. "It walks when it wishes to, flies when it pleases, and tunnels when either becomes inconvenient."

  A low vibration thrummed through the ground beneath their feet. Subtle at first, then unmistakable. Nidhoggr pulsed against Medea's hip in silent warning.

  "Down," she hissed, dropping into a crouch.

  Jake hesitated a fraction too long before Clarisse yanked him flat against the forest floor. Twenty yards ahead, the earth bulged upward, soil and rocks sliding away as something massive pushed from below.

  "Holy shit," Jake whispered.

  Medea's eyes narrowed, pupils contracting to slits. "Finally something interesting." Her claws extended fully, excitement pulsing through her veins. Turning to her companions, she flashed an excited smile. "Still glad you came?"

  Clarisse had already drawn her blade, a celestial bronze sword that seemed inadequately small for what was emerging. "Define 'glad.'"

  The forest floor heaved upward like a burial mound coming alive. Pebbles and dirt cascaded down the rising form as tree roots snapped with sharp cracks. The mound grew until it stood nearly fifteen feet high, then stopped.

  Silence.

  Then a fissure split the earth-covered mass, and molten gold seeped from within, running in rivulets down the sides. The air distorted with heat.

  Medea's nostrils flared at the metallic tang. Nidhoggr hummed against her hip, a low vibration only she could feel.

  "You're about to get your money's worth," she whispered, eyes never leaving the emerging form. Her stance shifted subtly—weight on the balls of her feet, body coiled like a spring.

  The earth-mound shuddered, then collapsed as something massive broke free. A scaled arm the size of a fence post punched through, followed by a reptilian shoulder. Gold coins and jewels spilled from the opening, glittering in the dappled sunlight.

  "Fafnir," Medea breathed, the name tasting like smoke on her tongue.

  Jake scrambled backward, fumbling with something in his tool belt. "That's not in any of the bestiaries," he hissed.

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  "Because he's not a monster," Medea replied, eyes bright with excitement. "He's a title-holder. A cardinal sin incarnate."

  "You lost me there," Clarisse replied.

  But Medea didn’t answer—because the enemy had arrived.

  The creature had fully emerged now—seven feet tall, its scales shimmered between molten-gold and blood-red with every movement. A draconic face framed by ridged horns turned slowly, eyes of burning yellow sweeping the forest with ancient intelligence.

  Clarisse had positioned herself behind a large oak, sword ready. "What's the play here?" she called to Medea.

  Medea's laugh was soft and dangerous. "The play? We're not putting on a theater production." Her claws extended fully, gleaming in the forest light. "We're hunting. Or rather—I am."

  Fafnir's nostrils flared, serpentine head turning toward them. "I smell you cat-thing," he called, voice rumbling like an avalanche of coins. "Come out, little princess. Add yourself to my collection."

  "Collection?" Jake mouthed silently from his position.

  Medea's eyes narrowed. "He takes princesses. Thinks they make nice decorations."

  Before either demigod could respond, Medea stepped forward into the clearing, hood pulled back to reveal her pink hair and cat ears. She moved with deliberate confidence, tail swishing behind her.

  "Looking for something pretty, worm?" she called, hand resting casually on Nidhoggr's hilt. "I'm afraid I'm not for collecting."

  Fafnir's reptilian face contorted into what might have been a smile. "You don't look happy to see me."

  "Strength attracts challenge. I see challenge."

  "Good, I was hoping you would say that. Yes, you'll do nicely. My master appreciates exotic treasures."

  Medea's expression darkened at the mention of a master. "How disappointing. I was hoping for a true dragon, not someone's pet lizard."

  The dragon-man roared, the sound shaking leaves from branches. "INSOLENCE!"

  The ground beneath Medea liquefied instantly to molten gold. She leapt upward with inhuman speed as Fafnir's angry roars boomed through the forest.

  "Jake! Clarisse!" Medea shouted, landing on a tree branch. "Flank him—but stay back from the gold!"

  What do you think, old friend? she thought to Nidhoggr as she drew the ancient blade.

  He is unworthy of my edge, the sword's voice rumbled in her mind. Test him first.

  Medea grinned, her eyes gleaming with the promise of violence. "Finally," she whispered. "Someone who might actually make me try."

  Molten gold bubbled where Medea had stood moments before. She perched on the thick branch, tail swishing for balance as her eyes narrowed in calculation. The smell of burning vegetation and heated metal filled the clearing, ash particles dancing in sunbeams between the trees.

  Fafnir's reptilian gaze tracked her movement, his scaled body shifting with predatory grace despite its bulk. "A nimble kitten," he mocked, voice resonating like coins tumbling in a vault. "But even kittens tire eventually."

  With a casual flick of his clawed hand, a portion of the forest floor ripped upward. Rocks, soil and tree roots twisted into a humanoid shape—a crude earth elemental that immediately lunged toward Clarisse's position.

  "I can hear your friends breathing," Fafnir called out. "Shall I crush them first, or will you entertain me properly?"

  Medea's lips curled into a predatory smile. This was what she had been craving—a fight with actual stakes. Boredom had been killing her more effectively than any opponent could.

  "You talk too much for a reptile," she called, then launched herself from the branch.

  She twisted mid-air, claws extended as she raked across Fafnir's shoulder scales. The impact sent shockwaves up her arm—like dragging her nails across steel. Her claws left only shallow scratches on his armored hide. Then her hand met Fafnir’s chest. The air itself howled.

  The earth shuddered and split, hurling trees skyward as if a giant had sundered the land for ten paces. The golem and her allies were swept away, carried helplessly on the scouring wave of destruction.

  Interesting, she thought, landing in a crouch ten feet away. Tougher than he looks.

  Dust rolled in choking waves as boulders tumbled past, crashing through the underbrush. She shielded her eyes with one arm, scanning for movement through the haze.

  Fafnir seemed unimpressed by her attack. "Is that the best the wielder of the world-eater can offer?" His massive tail whipped around, faster than something that size should move.

  Medea rolled beneath it, feeling the air displacement ruffle her hair. The tail smashed into a boulder, splintering it like matchwood. The sonic boom that followed echoed through the now flattened clearing.

  "I'm just warming up," she replied, pulling Nidhoggr from its sheath.

  The ancient sword hummed in her grip, its runes pulsing with eagerness. His scales are strong, Nidhoggr's voice rumbled in her mind. But I have devoured stronger.

  Fafnir's yellow eyes fixed on the weapon, his expression shifting from arrogance to something approaching caution. "You finally drew it… Nidhoggr."

  "Correct," Medea confirmed, circling to keep distance between them. "Want to see what it does to dragon scales?"

  A sudden rumble beneath her feet was her only warning. She leapt sideways as a pillar of molten gold erupted where she'd stood. The heat seared the air, singeing the edges of her hoodie.

  "You rely too much on that sword," Fafnir taunted. "A true warrior needs no tools."

  Behind them, Clarisse was handling the earth elemental with surprising competence, her celestial bronze sword cleaving through its rocky torso. Jake had pulled some contraption from his belt that sparked with electricity. They appeared to have weathered the earlier devastation without trouble.

  Another earth elemental rose behind Fafnir, this one twice the size of the first. It lumbered toward Jake, who was backing away while fumbling with his contraption.

  Medea made a split-second calculation. "Jake—catch!" she called, tossing a small object toward the mechanic.

  Jake caught it reflexively—a claw she'd shed during her last transformation. His eyes widened in understanding.

  Fafnir used her distraction to attack, gold-scaled fist swinging toward her face with crushing force. Medea ducked under it, driving Nidhoggr upward toward the dragon's exposed armpit—one of the few places where scales might be thinner.

  The blade bit deep, drawing a roar of pain from Fafnir. Black ichor spattered the forest floor, hissing where it touched leaves.

  "First blood," Medea grinned, dodging backward as Fafnir's claws raked the air where her face had been. The thrill of combat sang through her veins, this challenge finally worthy of her attention.

  "You'll pay for that," Fafnir snarled, his human shape rippling as if struggling to contain something larger beneath. "No one has drawn my blood in centuries."

  "Then you've been fighting weaklings," Medea replied, moving in a tight circle to flank him. Her combat-trained eyes noted every detail—the slight favoring of his left side, the ripple of scales when he prepared to strike.

  Behind Fafnir, Jake had attached her shed claw to his electrical device and was approaching the earth elemental with newfound confidence. Clarisse had dispatched her opponent and was moving to support Jake, her blade gleaming with dust from pulverized stone.

  "Your friends show promise," Fafnir praised, following her gaze. "Perhaps I'll keep them as well. A princess, a warrior, and a craftsman—all worthy additions."

  Medea gave him a pitying look.

  "You can try—but they don't belong to you. And neither will I."

  A rumble built in Fafnir's chest before escaping as a guttural snarl. "Prepare yourself, wielder of the world-eater. This is where your journey ends."

  The ruined forest fell silent as Medea dropped into a predatory crouch. Nidhoggr vibrated in her grip, its ancient runes igniting with pale blue light that cast eerie shadows across her face. Every muscle in her body tensed like a coiled spring.

  "Funny," she purred, her pupils contracting to vertical slits that reflected the sword's glow. "I was about to tell you the same thing."

  The dragon-man exploded forward, moving with impossible speed for something of his size. His massive arm whistled through the air in a killing arc. Molten gold scattered in his wake as Medea rolled beneath the strike. The displaced air tousled her hair while she pivoted upward, Nidhoggr singing as it sliced across Fafnir's abdomen. Metal met scale with the sound of a diamond cutting glass.

  A shallow furrow appeared across the dragon's belly. Black ichor bubbled from the wound, dripping to the forest floor where it sizzled against fallen leaves. Wherever the dark fluid touched, vegetation blackened and crumbled to ash.

  "Look at that! Even dragons leak!" Clarisse shouted from twenty feet away. Sweat streaked down her face as she hacked at the remaining earth elemental, her blade sending chips of stone flying. "Let's spill the rest of it!"

  The clearing trembled as Fafnir's laughter reverberated against the trees.

  "All creatures bleed, child." His golden eyes flashed with cruel amusement. "The mistake is thinking that makes us equal."

  He flicked his taloned fingers. The earth beneath Medea's feet transformed instantly—dirt and stone liquefying into a pool of molten gold. Heat erupted against her boots as she catapulted herself skyward, claws digging into the bark of a half-toppled pine. Hanging there, exposed against the canopy, she recognized her error too late.

  Fafnir's chest expanded. The air around his jaws shimmered and distorted before he exhaled a blast of superheated wind that howled toward her perch.

  She kicked away from the tree, twisting her body in mid-flight, but couldn't fully escape. The thermal wave caught her left shoulder, blackening her hoodie in an instant. The scent of scorched fabric filled her lungs as the skin beneath began to tingle.

  He's faster than he looks, Nidhoggr's voice resonated within her mind, cold and cautious. Do not underestimate greed incarnate.

  Landing in a three-point stance, Medea touched her damaged shoulder. The fabric crumbled between her fingers, revealing unharmed skin beneath. Her eyes narrowed as she calculated her next move.

  "Wasn't planning to," she whispered, rising slowly to her feet as Fafnir stalked toward her through the smoldering clearing.

  "First fight in centuries that might actually satisfy." Fafnir's voice dripped with anticipation, scales gleaming as he flexed his enormous claws. "I look forward to adding you to my collection."

  Behind a moss-covered boulder, Jake crouched, fingers trembling as he prepared his weapon. "Hold still, and I'll help you with that!" He hurled a small bronze sphere toward the dragon-man. The device burst mid-air with a metallic crack, releasing a cloud of glittering golden dust that adhered to Fafnir's scales like magnetic filings to iron.

  The dragon-man paused, talons scraping at the substance with growing irritation. "What childish trick is—"

  His words dissolved into a guttural howl as electricity arced between the particles. Blue-white currents danced across his armored form, illuminating the clearing with staccato flashes. Smoke curled from between his scales, carrying the acrid scent of burning metal.

  "Dust laced with conductive filings!" Jake's voice carried over the dragon's roars, his eyes meeting Medea's across the battlefield. "But it won't hold him long!"

  Medea seized the moment. She launched forward, ancient Nidhoggr extended before her like the figurehead of a war vessel. The sword sang a low, hungry note as she drove it toward the minute gaps between Fafnir's scales, hunting for vulnerability with the precision of a surgeon seeking disease.

  The dragon recovered with unnatural speed. His massive hand shot out, clamping around Medea's throat before she could withdraw. Talons dimpled her skin as his grip constricted with crushing force. Her feet left the ground, dangling in the empty air.

  "I tire of your persistence." Sulfurous breath washed over her face as he pulled her closer to his reptilian snout. Heat radiated from his jaws in pulsing waves, the metallic tang of his breath invading her lungs. "Give in. Crawl, and I might keep you alive as a curiosity."

  From the periphery, Clarisse barreled forward. A battle cry tore from her throat as she charged Fafnir from behind—no hesitation, no fear.

  Her celestial bronze sword arced toward the back of his knee—only to rebound with a hollow clang, the impact jarring up her arms. Her weapon had struck his scales with all the effectiveness of wood against tempered steel.

  The dragon-man's lips curled back, revealing teeth like polished daggers. His grip on Medea's throat tightened, cutting off precious air. Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision.

  "You'll scream beautifully," he hissed. With deliberate slowness, he dragged his claws down her face, the pressure building to what should have been tearing flesh.

  Yet no blood came forth. His talons left only faint white lines that vanished almost instantly.

  The flesh of the Nemean Lion was her inheritance—skin untouchable as ancient myth, impervious as memory, sacred as the river-bound curse of the Styx itself.

  But breath... breath remained a tether she could never sever. Her lungs burned, desperate for air.

  Fafnir's golden eyes widened in sudden realization. His grip slackened for just a heartbeat.

  That was all she needed. Twisting like a serpent, Medea drove her claws deep into his wrist. Black ichor welled around her fingertips as she pried his fingers open one by one. She dropped to earth with feline precision, throat throbbing, lungs heaving to reclaim stolen breath.

  A wild, breathless laugh escaped her lips. Euphoria coursed through her body, setting every nerve alight with delicious fire. This—this exquisite dance with death—was what she had hunted for so long.

  More. She craved more.

  Her gaze locked onto Fafnir just as the dragon-man pivoted toward her allies. With a contemptuous backhand, he struck Clarisse, the impact cracking like a thunderbolt in the forest stillness. The warrior's body hurtled through tangled underbrush, leaving a trail of broken foliage before slamming against a network of exposed roots. She lay motionless for a moment, then stirred, blinking away confusion.

  "Your friends slow my work." Golden eyes contracted to slits as Fafnir surveyed the battlefield with contempt. His scales shimmered with the sun’s fury, painting the battlefield in molten gold. "Let's remove them from the equation."

  He spread his arms wide, fingers splayed like the branches of a winter tree. The earth responded to his silent command, rippling outward in concentric circles as though the forest floor had become liquid. Beneath Jake's feet, the ground split with a sickening crack. He leaped sideways, tool belt jangling, narrowly avoiding the fissure that yawned where he'd stood heartbeats before. Similar fractures raced toward Clarisse, who rolled frantically aside as the earth threatened to swallow her whole.

  "It's me you want!" Medea planted her feet, tail lashing behind her in agitation as she projected her voice across the clearing. "Or are you afraid to face me without distractions?"

  Fafnir's laughter echoed against distant hills, deep and resonant as a temple bell.

  "You misunderstand, princess." His talons traced idle patterns in the air, each gesture sending fresh tremors through the forest floor. "I don't fear you—I'm simply making room for what comes next."

  The world dimmed as his power expanded, eclipsing the light like a living force pressing down on the horizon. Molten gold and fire swirled around him in a miniature cyclone.

  "Feel the power of the shifting earth!" His hands came together and the sky cracked open with the sound—loud enough to split the world. The ground beneath them groaned like a living thing. "I'll bury you fools alive!"

  Medea's instincts flared with warning. In one fluid movement, she sprang toward her allies, scooping up Jake and Clarisse in her arms. Their combined weight meant nothing as she launched skyward. The air cracked and boomed in her wake as she broke the sound barrier, propelling them higher until Fafnir became a golden speck below and clouds brushed against their faces.

  Below them, the landscape transformed. The earth heaved and bulged as a mountain of gold thrust itself into existence where they had stood moments before. Soil and stone flowed like water, a tsunami of earth radiating outward from the newborn peak.

  Through the thin mountain air, Medea caught sight of Camp Half-Blood in the distance. A column of shimmering divine energy erupted from the Big House, expanding into a protective dome that encircled the camp just as the wave of destruction reached its borders.

  "HOLY SHIT!" Clarisse's voice cracked with terror as she clutched at Medea's arm, knuckles white against tanned skin. Wind whipped her hair into a frenzy as they hung suspended between earth and sky.

  "What am I supposed to do against that?" Jake cried, his voice cracking with panic against her ear.

  "Shut up!" Medea's eyes flashed with annoyance as she clutched them tighter. "Quit your mewling or I'll throw you down myself!"

  Her outburst silenced them both. Below, the earth transformed before her eyes—soil and rock liquefied, then solidified into deadly golden spears arranged in seven precise rows and twenty columns. Fafnir swept his scaled arm through the air, and the spears launched skyward like artillery, thousands per second, their tips glinting in the sunlight as they hurtled toward them.

  Medea assessed the attack with cold disdain. The spears posed no threat to her invulnerable skin—mere annoyances that would shatter upon impact. Her gaze shifted to the trembling demigods in her grasp, their mortal frames fragile and exposed. Jake's face had drained of color, while Clarisse's jaw clenched with the effort of not showing fear.

  A sigh escaped her lips. These allies complicated matters.

  The disappointment settled in her chest like a stone. She'd hungered for this battle, had planned to savor every moment of worthy combat. Now it needed to end.

  Medea loosened her iron grip on her power. The temperature plummeted around them as frost crystallized across her eyelashes. Ice materialized beneath her feet, spreading outward with supernatural speed, crackling and groaning as it expanded into a massive glacier. Between one heartbeat and the next, it swelled to over a hundred meters wide, a behemoth of ancient winter hanging suspended in the sky.

  Her foot connected with the ice formation, striking with force that ignited the surrounding air. Plasma bloomed around the impact point, electric blue and white-hot. The atmosphere itself tore open with a thunderous shriek as her makeshift meteor—ice wreathed in flame—plummeted toward the earth.

  "Are you crazy?!" Fafnir's scream echoed upward, his golden form now a tiny speck against the transformed landscape.

  Medea's lips curled into a savage smile, her pupils reflecting twin infernos of her creation. The glacier descended with apocalyptic momentum, time seeming to stretch as the impact approached. She burned the scene into memory—the perfect moment suspended between creation and annihilation.

  Her breath caught in her throat as the glacier struck. Light erupted from the impact zone, a newborn sun blossoming outward in expanding rings of devastation. The percussion wave rolled through the atmosphere, carrying the sound of worlds ending.

  The mountain of gold disappeared, swallowed by oblivion. Ancient trees vaporized. A wall of superheated air surged upward, threatening to incinerate her companions where they clung to her.

  Medea hissed through gritted teeth, summoning another surge of power. A dome of ice materialized around them, its surface immediately beading with condensation as it fought against the rising inferno. Jake and Clarisse buried their faces against her shoulders, their screams lost in the roar of destruction as the world convulsed beneath them.

  They descended through ash and smoke, landing at the edge of a vast crater. The depression stretched nearly a mile across, smooth-sided and dozens of meters deep. Steam rose from the glassy surface at its center, curling upward like ghostly fingers reaching for the sky. Not a trace of Fafnir remained.

  The demigods tumbled from her grasp, collapsing onto the scorched earth. Jake curled into a ball, his body wracked with tremors. Beside him, Clarisse stared unblinking at the devastation, her scarred hands digging into the blackened soil.

  Laughter bubbled up from Medea's chest—wild, primal, and utterly unrestrained. It echoed across the wasteland she'd created, a sound of pure exultation. She was the daughter of love incarnate, after all. And what was love but the most powerful force in existence? Her affection extended to everything—the boundless sky, the fathomless sea, the ancient land, and every creature that crawled upon it.

  She loved it all equally, completely, and perfectly.

  And her love was beautiful, magnificent destruction.