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Chapter Text

Chrysafénios knew she should be sobbing. She knew that she should be wailing in the tones used by bereaved women across all of Greece. But she had been crying for six days now, ever since her older brother, Katápsychros, had come to her with a hangdog look and the news of her beloved husband’s death, and she had run out of tears to cry.

Her husband, Dineuō, had been a part of her brother’s mercenary corps, and, from what Katápsychros had told her, he had been shot down in their most recent battle by an arrow from an archer too cowardly to even show his face on the battlefield. And, as if that hadn’t been bad enough, the enemy had had the nerve to steal his armor and take his body. Without a proper burial, her husband’s spirit would be left to wander the shores of the River Styx, and Chrysafénios couldn’t bear the thought of her beloved trapped alone and despondent in the land of the Dread Queen and Receiver of Many Guests, wondering why his friends and loved ones had abandoned him in death. It was a disgrace, and if only she had been a man, like her brother, she would have charged into the city that had dared to commit such a shameful crime and killed everyone who was responsible for the outrage. 

But she wasn’t a man, as her lazy, cruel father, her lecherous, brutal first husband, and even her well-meaning but overprotective brother never tired of reminding her. She was a woman, and, as a woman, she wasn’t supposed to take revenge on her own behalf—which left her with nothing to do but mourn the death of the man who had loved her more deeply than she had ever thought a man could love a woman. 

The most Chrysafénios had ever hoped for from a husband was a man who didn’t beat her or flaunt his mistresses too boldly, but Dineuō had been much more than that. He had been infatuated with her, and had treated her like royalty—hanging off her every word, showering her with presents, addressing her with the utmost respect, and talking to her about everything from his amazing inventions to his political opinions. He treated her more like an equal than any man she had ever met, and even her brother, who had been staunchly against their marriage at first, and had only relented after a considerable amount of pleading on Chrysafénios’ part, had eventually admitted that Dineuō was a model of kindness and loyalty towards her. 

And now Dineuō was gone, and, at age twenty-four, she was a widow twice over, which meant that she was back on the marriage market. While Katápsychros wouldn’t force her to marry a man she hated in the way her father had, she knew that he would insist that she marry someone within a year or two. Katápsychros was terrified of dying and leaving her without anyone to support or protect her—it was what had ultimately convinced him to let her marry Dineuō—and, aside from those nobler motivations, a woman with her golden curls and ice-blue eyes would fetch a high bride price. Her first husband had paid her father ten times the price that an impoverished bride would normally fetch, and Dineuō had given her brother a few pounds of gold and a very nice spear in exchange for her hand in marriage. While he was very kind to her, her brother was not at all the sort of man to ignore the potential goldmine he had sitting on his hands. He would find her another husband if she didn’t—and Chrysafénios knew that no man would ever come close to matching Dineuō. 

In anger and frustration, Chrysafénios grabbed a pithos jar and hurled it at the wall, where it shattered into dozens of shards. If only she were a man—then she could do something with her rage besides uselessly break pottery and fume over her misfortune. 

But she wasn’t a man, and no amount of wishing would make her one. Sighing wearily, she gathered up the pottery shards in her himation and took them outside to her rubbish bin, where she deposited them—only for a fresh wave of grief to wash over her. Her husband was dead and gone, and for all she knew, the men who had killed him had dumped his body into the trash as easily as she had thrown out pieces of broken pottery! 

At the thought of her husband’s body being treated in such a way, Chrysafénios’ rage boiled over. If she had her will, the homes of the men who had dishonored her husband would run red with blood—but how to enforce her will? Her brother was two steps away from cowardice at the best of times, and he had already judged that the opposing army was too large and too well-armed for an attempt to avenge Dineuō and retrieve his corpse to be practical. He claimed that this was a simple matter of tactics, and that any attempt would simply risk the deaths of more of his crew.

Katápsychros was so careful and so cautious and so stupidly pragmatic that he would rather face dishonor than even try to avenge her husband’s death—and no amount of crying or screaming on her part had been able to convince him otherwise. What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to get her revenge if he wouldn’t take it for her? Chrysafénios was no stranger to defying convention if she had to—if she hadn’t been, she never would have worked up the nerve to run away from her first husband after he had falsely accused her of adultery and nearly beaten her to death—but she didn’t even know how to use a sword! How could she hope to kill the armed men who had killed her husband? 

As Chrysafénios paced around her garden in agitation, she suddenly looked up and was somewhat startled to see that an enormous black vulture had perched itself in a nearby tree. It was large enough that she thought that she certainly ought to have noticed it as it flew in and landed, but after six days of grief and useless rage, perhaps it wasn’t that surprising that her senses had dulled enough that she had been oblivious to its arrival. 

Somewhat morbidly, Chrysafénios wondered if this hideous bird had come back from eating her husband’s body. Her brother had told her that he had seen vultures eating the bodies of unfortunate soldiers before, and the thought of her husband meeting such a fate made her feel ill. Her rage flared again at this reminder of Dineuō’s fate, and she took off her sandal and threw it in the vulture’s general direction, hoping that it would drive the creature off. No such luck. In fact, if she hadn’t known better, she would have said that the vulture was amused. 

Annoyed, Chrysafénios retrieved her sandal and retreated back inside the house, where she spent the rest of the evening in a state of agitation before falling into a very uneasy sleep. Her dreams were haunted by her husband’s corpse, whole flocks of vultures, and rivers of blood. When she awoke, she went outside to go check on her flock of goats—and was surprised to find that the vulture was still sitting in the same tree where she had left it the evening before. 

“Why are you still here? There’s no food for you, and I assure you that I have no plans of conveniently dropping dead so that you can eat me,” she said. With that, she went to her goat pen, milked her goats, and walked back towards her house. The vulture was still in the tree, staring at her as though pondering what she tasted like. Chrysafénios glared at the bird and stormed inside her house. She slammed the milk bowl on the table, causing some of the liquid to slosh over the side, grabbed the bow and arrow Dineuō had used to hunt before he had died, and went back into her yard, hoping that she would be able to get rid of the vulture that had apparently decided to make the yard its new home. As stupid as it was to have a feud with a bird, her rage was choking her, and maybe killing the vulture would make her feel better. She would pretend it was her husband’s killer, and that she was finally getting her revenge.

“All right, vulture. Either you leave, or I’ll shoot you and have vulture stew,” she said.  She notched one of her arrows, awkwardly drew back the string, and pointed the bow at the bird, hoping that the vulture wouldn’t be able to tell that she had never used a bow in her life. The vulture didn’t move, and Chrysafénios released the arrow—which completely missed the bird. Chrysafénios debated firing another arrow, but decided that she had humiliated herself enough for one morning. Instead, she retrieved the arrow (which had landed in her neighbor’s garden, thereby necessitating an awkward conversation with said neighbor) and retreated back into her house, where she spent the rest of the day weaving and trying to come up with a speech that would convince her brother to do his duty and avenge her husband. 

Her sleep that night was haunted by another flock of vultures, and when she woke up the next morning and made her way outside, she wasn’t even surprised to see that the vulture was still sitting in the tree. By this point, Chrysafénios was pretty sure that this vulture was a sign of bad luck, or death, or something—and since she had had more than enough of both bad luck and death lately, that made it all the more important for her to somehow convince it to go away. 

Maybe if she fed it, it would leave and take the bad luck with it. It had to be worth a shot.

With this in mind, Chrysafénios made her way to the goat pen, grabbed a knife, and deftly cut the throat of one of her largest goats. The loss would definitely set her back financially, but it would be worth it if she escaped whatever curse had sent the vulture to her door. 

Feeling slightly crazy, Chrysafénios took the goat’s body and dumped the bloody carcass in front of the tree where the vulture was sitting. 

“You haven’t eaten anything in almost two days, so you must be hungry. Here. Enjoy,” she said. The vulture promptly flew down from the tree and started to devour the goat. With alarming speed, the goat was reduced to nothing but skin and bones, and a feeling of dread started to form in Chrysafénios’ gut. No normal animal could eat that fast. 

If she hadn’t been so full of grief and rage, and so dead to all of her other emotions, Chrysafénios probably would have started to run, but as it was, she just stood there, glaring at the creature that she was now pretty sure was some sort of horrible monster. If it was going to kill her, couldn’t it have waited until after her husband’s killers had been made to suffer? 

Instead of eating her, the creature vanished in a swirl of black feathers, and an enormous soldier appeared in its place, heavily armored and wielding the biggest spear Chrysafénios had ever seen. His helmet was adorned with what looked like the horns of a boar, and his eyes—his eyes were as red as blood. 

Chrysafénios immediately fell to her knees. If she was going to die, so be it. With her husband dead, and no way to avenge him, she had nothing left to live for—but she didn’t want Katápsychros to be punished because she had disrespected a god. 

“Lord Ares, destroyer of men, reeking blood, stormer of ramparts—if you’re here to kill me, to cut me down as the men of Calliarus did to my husband, I will neither fight nor flee. My husband is dead, and I can’t avenge him. So go ahead, my lord—slake your endless thirst for blood,” she said. 

The god of war threw back his head and laughed. It was a disturbing sound, almost more bestial than human, and it sent a shiver down Chrysafénios’ spine. She didn’t know what Lord Ares found so humorous, but she was pretty sure she didn’t want to find out. 

“Spirited, even in the face of death. I like that!”  Chrysafénios looked up in confusion. The last time someone had been about to kill her, they hadn’t complimented her first.

“My…my lord?” 

“Most armed soldiers aren’t half so brave in front of me—and you’re just a tiny little thing! Yeah, you’re gonna do nicely.” By this point, Chrysafénios was thoroughly confused. What, exactly, was she going to “do nicely” for? Being a sacrifice to the war god’s wrath?

“Aren’t you going to kill me, my lord?” Lord Ares barked out another disturbing laugh. 

“Kill you? If I was going to kill you, you would’ve been dead the second you threw your sandal at me,” he said. 

“Well, if you aren’t going to kill me, Lord Ares, then why….”  Chrysafénios’ question trailed off as it suddenly occurred to her that the gods were well-known for taking mortal women as lovers when it suited them. 

“My lord, I beg of you! I am still in mourning for my husband, and I know that your mother, noble, white-armed Hera, would be most displeased if I were to dishonor my marriage by taking a lover before my husband has even been buried!” 

“I didn’t come here looking for a lover, pipsqueak. I came here looking for a champion; a mortal who could spill blood and win battles in my name—and by my father’s throne, I think I’ve found one!” Chrysafénios looked around, but didn’t see anyone other than herself. 

“Who do you mean, my lord?” 

“You.” Chrysafénios stared at the war god in shock. Why would the Destroyer of Men want someone like her to be his champion?

“Lord Ares—I don’t even know how to fight!” The war god snorted, and Chrysafénios couldn't help but think that he sounded remarkably like a boar. 

“You think I can't train you?" 

"Of...of course you could, Lord Ares, but---" 

"Look, pipsqueak, I feed off of rage and hatred--and I smelled your fury from ten miles off! With that sort of anger, and the fearlessness you showed just now, you’ll be deadly with the proper training. Even if you are a lot smaller than I expected.”

“I’m flattered that you think so much of me—but Lord Ares, I’m a woman! My brother wouldn’t even teach me to fight in self-defense!” The war god leaned forwards.

“You heard of the Amazons, pipsqueak?” 

“I…I think my brother told me about them once, my lord, although he was skeptical that a society of warrior women really existed.” 

“Oh, they exist all right—and they’re some of the most brutal warriors anyone’s ever seen. It really makes a father proud,” the war god said fondly. 

“Then…you don’t have an issue training a woman to fight, my lord?” Chrysafénios asked.

“I’ll train anyone who’ll kill for me,” the war god replied. Chrysafénios actually smiled. Maybe she was losing her mind, but the idea of having someone who could help her get her revenge on her husband’s killers was intoxicating. 

“Then I’ll fight for you, Lord Ares—and, if you don’t have another war in mind, I’ll fight the army who killed my husband first,” she said. Ares extended a hand to her, and she took it. He pulled her to her feet and looked her up and down. 

“You really are a tiny little thing. That’ll make you fast, and hard to hit, but if you’re gonna be fighting soldiers and monsters for me, you’re gonna need something to make up for the fact that you won’t be able to hit that hard.” With that, he materialized a pair of sandals out of thin air. Each sandal had a pair of black, feathered wings attached to them. 

“These’ll let you fly. As small and fast as you are, you’ll be able to move like the wind once you get the hang of them. Hephaestus made a lot of these for my Amazons a century or two ago, so I usually have a few spares lying around.” Chrysafénios grinned. Epíklopos, one of her brother’s men, had received a similar pair of flying sandals from his father, Hermes, and she had always thought they would be fun to use. And now she had a pair of her own! 

“Thank you, my–” Chrysafénios began. Before she could finish, the war god also materialized a pair of swords, which were both small but seemed incredibly sharp. 

“And these are the Endynamotiká. They increase your striking power tenfold. You land a hit with these, and it’ll be the equal to a blow from the strongest soldier,” he said as he handed them to her. 

“Thank you, Lord Ares. You’re very generous.” With gifts like this, it would be easy for her to avenge Dineuō’s death!

“I wouldn’t be generous if you didn’t have potential to be one of the deadliest warriors of your generation. It’s been awhile since I’ve found a mortal with your kind of rage, and centuries since I’ve met one as fearless. When I’m through with you, you’ll be a legend as my champion—and I’ll finally be able to show my know-it-all sister what a soldier really is! Your name’ll be famous throughout all of Greece! Everybody’ll know the name of…uh…” 

There was an awkward pause. 

“What’s your name, pipsqueak?” 

“Chrysafénios, my lord.” 

“Chrysafénios, the champion of Ares! That’s got a good ring to it.” 

“It does, my lord. But before you start training me to fight, there is probably one more thing you should know.”

“What’s that, pipsqueak?” 

“My brother, Katápsychros, is a champion of your sister, grey-eyed Athena. I doubt either one of them will be pleased if you take me on as your champion.” Ares' red eyes glowed and started to flicker almost like a flame, and he clapped his hands in apparent glee. 

“You’re the sister of one of Athena’s precious strategists? That makes you even better! She’ll hate the fact that I took a champion from one of “her” families—and if I can help you become more famous than your brother, that’ll really tick her off! She’ll never live down having one of her soldiers outshone by a little bit of a thing like you! I’ll show her to be so high-and-mighty!” the war god crowed. Chrysafénios smiled. 

“As long as I don’t have to kill him, my lord, I’d be more than willing to show up my big brother. He’s treated me like a child for my whole life, and I’d love to be able to show him what I can really do!” And after leaving Dineuō’s death unavenged out of cold calculation or cowardice or both, Katápsychros deserved some humiliation. 

“You ready to start making a name for us?” 

“More than ready, Lord Ares. I can’t wait to avenge Dineuō’s death.” 

“Glad to hear it, pipsqueak—but don’t expect me to go easy on you while I’m putting you through your paces. You might be small, but you’re gonna need to be tough if you’re gonna be representing me.” He smiled, revealing some unnervingly sharp canines, and Chrysafénios briefly found herself wondering if perhaps she might be getting in a bit over her head. But then she remembered Dineuō, and she steeled her resolve. To avenge her beloved husband, she would endure anything. 

“Don’t worry, Lord Ares. After what my life has thrown at me, I’m as hard as stone.”

Chapter Text

WHAM! 

As she hit the ground, Chrysafénios wheezed, trying desperately to regain the breath that had been knocked out of her when Ares had slammed the flat of his sword into her stomach. If she was going to keep fighting, she needed to be able to breathe. 

“Not fast enough, pipsqueak. If this was a real fight, you’d be dead,” Ares said as he held the point of his sword to her neck. As if to emphasize his point, blood dripped from the stylized boar’s horns on his helmet and landed on Chrysafénios’ face. A crazed smile spread across the war god’s face, and he pressed the blade of the sword into her neck.

What was going on? Had the Destroyer of Men become lost in his own battle frenzy? 

 Chrysafénios knew that Ares’ bloodlust should have terrified her, but instead, it ignited her rage. She was not going to die. Not here. Not now. Not with Dineuō’s shade still unavenged. 

In a desperation born of anger or madness or both, she used her right arm to slam one of her new swords into Ares’ blade with all the strength she had left—and, much to her surprise, the blade actually shattered. The war god’s manic smile widened, and he let out a cackle that sent a shiver down Chrysafénios’ spine. 

“If I had an army with your rage, it’d be unbeatable! Greece would be bathed in the blood!” he exclaimed. He extended his hand to Chrysafénios, who took it with slight nervousness. She still didn’t know what had caused Ares to lose control, or if it might happen again. 

“Lord Ares, may I ask you something?” she asked as he roughly pulled her to her feet. 

“Shoot, pipsqueak.” 

“If I hadn’t been able to shatter your blade, my lord, would you have killed me?” Ares smirked at her. 

“No. But I wanted you to think I was gonna. You’ve been holding back; thinking too much. I needed to get you to a place where you’d stop thinking and just react. And it worked like a charm. That’s the first successful hit you’ve landed.” That sounded like exactly the opposite of the advice she’d heard Katápsychros giving his men about going into battle. He always emphasized the importance of using your head and staying focused. 

“My brother says that giving in to your emotions is a weakness on the battlefield.” Ares snorted. 

“Your brother speaks Athena’s words—and they’re both dead wrong. Bein’ cool-headed and collected is fine if you stay safely behind the battle lines and make plans in the tent, but when someone’s swinging a sword at your head, the only things that keep you alive are instincts and emotions—fear and rage and love. That’s what matters in real war, not pretty words or fancy ideas.” The word “love” felt like a spear piercing Chrysafénios’ heart. Her poor Dineuō….

“Then I’ll be a more ferocious warrior than my brother ever was—because he’s never loved like me.” 

“I like you more all the time,” Ares said as he sheathed his sword. 

“You flatter me, Lord Ares,” Chrysafénios replied. She was about to sheathe her own swords when the war god materialized his spear out of thin air and pointed it at her. 

“But that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of training early, pipsqueak. We’ve still got a long way to go before you’ll be ready to fight without embarrassing me.”

Two hours later, Chrysafénios was thoroughly exhausted, very sore, and bleeding from a split lip. Her hair was incredibly dishevelled and sticking to her forehead from the sweat, and she was pretty sure she had at least one broken rib. What was more, Ares was giving no sign that their training session was coming to an end any time soon. 

Chrysafénios was exhilarated. If this was what it was like to be able to fight for herself and her loved ones, she never wanted to stop. 

“ Dineuō, my love, I’ll be avenging you very soon.” 

***************************************************************************

After four days of pretty much nonstop training, Chrysafénios finally managed to successfully disarm Ares, and when she saw his sword clattering to the ground, she let out a whoop of excitement. 

“I did it! I finally did it!” she exclaimed. 

Then Ares punched her in the gut. 

“Never celebrate before your opponent is dead, pipsqueak.” As he moved to punch her a second time, Chrysafénios was suddenly back in her childhood, at the mercy of a father who never needed a reason to beat her. 

Before Chrysafénios could even think that she could fight back now, she was moving forward, slicing her sword downwards towards her opponent’s arm. They dodged out of the way in time to avoid getting the arm chopped off, but her sword still grazed their forearm and drew blood. 

But the blood wasn’t red. It was golden.

“GAH!” And the pained cry her opponent gave was loud enough to knock Chrysafénios to the ground.

She had forgotten that she wasn’t fighting her father—and in the process, she had actually injured a god. Well, there went her shot at getting revenge for Dineuō….

“Forgive me, my lord! I…I didn’t mean…” she cried in a panic. 

“What are you apologizing for? That was the best you’ve ever done!” 

“But you’re—”

“Injured? You’re the first mortal in a couple centuries to actually wound me—but given that I gave you the ability to fly and swords that increase your strength tenfold, then told you to swing those swords at me for days on end, I’m not going to kill you over it,” Ares replied as he walked over to his sword and picked it up. 

Chrysafénios wanted to ask him if he was up to continuing the day’s training session now that he had been wounded, but decided against it. It didn’t seem likely that the god of war would take kindly to the implication that he wouldn’t be able to fight through an injury. 

“In that case, I’m glad I’m improving, my lord,” she said as she got back to her feet. 

“It’s like I told you, pipsqueak. The more you act on instinct, the better you fight.” And she never acted more on instinct than when she was thinking about her father. Who knew that her horrible memories of him would actually be useful for something? 

“Chrysafénios!” At the sound of the voice, Chrysafénios nearly dropped her swords in shock. 

“You didn’t mention anything about having visitors today,” Ares commented. He sounded more than a little annoyed by the interruption. 

“I didn’t plan to have any,” Chrysafénios replied, feeling equally annoyed. Why had her brother decided to pick now of all days to send someone to check on her? 

“Chrysafénios, where are you?” the voice asked. 

“Lord Ares, you’re going to need to hide yourself. That voice belongs to Antanáklasi, one of my brother’s men! If he finds you here with me, he’ll tell my brother, my brother will tell grey-eyed Athena, and you’ll lose your champion.” 

“Or we could kill him,” Ares replied. His eyes flickered like fire, the boar horns on his helmet started to drip blood, and a smile spread across his face. Chrysafénios shuddered. 

“Lord Ares, he is one of my brother’s men. As annoying as they are, I wouldn’t want any of them to die—and while I don’t expect you to share my sentimentality, if Antanáklasi doesn’t report back to my brother, Katápsychros will come here himself—and with grey-eyed Athena guiding him, he’ll be sure to realize that you’ve taken me on as your champion.” Ares growled and let out a particularly foul curse before grabbing her swords, transforming himself into his vulture form and perching himself on her shoulder. 

Two seconds later, Antanáklasi rounded the corner of her house and walked over to her.  

“Enjoying the sunshine, my dear lady?” he asked, with a dramatic bow. He was about to kiss her hand when he suddenly stopped, apparently registering her injuries, her dishevelled hair, her stained and torn clothing, and the massive vulture for the first time. 

“My dear, are you….are you aware that there’s a huge vulture perched on your shoulder?” It suddenly occurred to Chrysafénios that there was no particularly good reason for Ares to have perched himself on her shoulder. Why hadn’t he perched himself in the nearby tree instead? That would have been a lot easier to explain. 

“I am. He showed up on my property about a week after my husband died, and seems to have gotten rather attached to me.” Antanáklasi shrugged. 

“I would have chosen a dog myself, but I suppose I’ve seen stranger pets,” he said. He pulled out a mirror and briefly examined his reflection in it before continuing. 

“How are you, my lady? You look a bit…out of sorts,” he asked. He ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair, then glanced back at his reflection. 

“Why shouldn’t I be out of sorts? My husband is dead!” Chrysafénios exclaimed. Antanáklasi winced. 

“Touché, my dear. Touché. But you are physically unharmed?” 

“I am. How is my brother?” she asked. 

“Since your husband died, Katápsychros has been nearly as gloomy and grim as the Receiver of Many Guests—but he’s in good health, and is crafty as ever. Grey-eyed Athena loves him well, and not without cause. He’s already managed to find a dozen wealthy suitors for you, the clever rogue,” Antanáklasi replied. Chrysafénios groaned. 

“ Already ? I thought he would at least wait until Dineuō was buried!” she exclaimed. Antanáklasi shook his head. 

“So did I—but he’s gotten himself so worked up about your future that he’s not thinking clearly. You have my sincere apologies, my dear.” Antanáklasi patted her hand sympathetically, then glanced at his reflection again. 

As much as Chrysafénios hated the news that she had just received, she had to admit that, of her brother’s men, Antanáklasi was one of the better choices to hear it from—because at least she didn’t have to worry that he might want to try to marry her himself. In spite of the fact that he was handsome and charismatic, and could have had his pick of lovers, Antanáklasi cared only about aesthetic beauty. He had no interest in any sort of romance—unless, of course, you counted his ongoing love affair with his reflection. 

“Tell Katápsychros that I’m…I’m going to need a little more time. Dineuō was very dear to me, and I want to finish mourning him before I marry another man. I’m just not ready to be affectionate towards another man yet,” she said after a few seconds of silence. In all honesty, she didn’t think she would ever be ready to show affection to a man who didn’t treat her in the way Dineuō had—and what other man was there who would treat her as his equal? 

“You don’t want to remarry at all, do you?” Antanáklasi asked. 

“No. No man would ever be as good as Dineuō.” Antanáklasi gave her a rakish grin.  

“Maybe your new friend here could help drive the suitors off. He’s ugly enough,” he suggested. He reached out to pat the vulture on the head. Ares evidently objected to this, as he snapped at Antanáklasi’s hand, and only Antanáklasi’s reflexes kept him from being bitten. 

“I don’t think your pet likes me very much.” 

“Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t like most people,” Chrysafénios replied. It certainly seemed to be true. Over the last few days, Ares, in his vulture form, had systematically driven away all of the nosy neighbors who had come to visit her, through a mixture of snapping at them, dive-bombing their heads, and, in one particularly memorable case, vomiting all over their fancy new chiton. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“He projectile vomited all over the expensive chiton of the last woman who came to visit me.” The vulture puffed out his chest, and Antanáklasi laughed. 

“He seems rather proud of himself,” he said jocularly. Chrysafénios smiled. 

“Believe me. He is.” Antanáklasi smiled, glanced down at his reflection, fixed his hair, and then looked up again, with a more somber expression on his face. 

“On a more serious note, there is another potential solution. I could, um, sort of pretend to marry you,” Antanáklasi said. 

“What do you mean, pretend to marry me?” Chrysafénios asked. 

“Well, legally we would be married, but I wouldn’t expect anything of you. That way, your brother gets his money and stops freaking out about your safety, and you don’t have to worry about being married off to someone who’ll expect you to have kids or be romantic with him. You’d be able to mourn Dineuō for as long as you’d like, and then you could move on and do whatever you like. And, since you’re Katápsychros’ sister, being married to you would give me more influence with the Kabaloi, so it’s not like I wouldn’t get anything out of it,” Antanáklasi replied. 

It actually wasn’t a terrible plan. If she had to get married to someone, Antanáklasi was basically perfect. He wouldn’t replace Dineuō and wouldn’t expect to. But if she got married to him, she probably wouldn’t be able to avenge Dineuō’s death or be Ares’ champion—and there was no way she was going to give either of those things up. 

“I don’t know. My brother didn’t want me to marry Dineuō because he was part of the Kabaloi. I’m not sure he’d want you to marry me either.” 

“He probably wouldn’t—but if you convinced him that you wanted to marry me, he’d give in eventually. As terrible as he is at showing it, he does want you to be happy,” Antanáklasi replied. He glanced at his reflection and adjusted his hair again. And her father had accused women of being shallow and vain. Clearly, he had never met Antanáklasi. 

Before Chrysafénios could come up with a response, a snow-white dove suddenly appeared and started flying towards Antanáklasi. Just as it was about to perch on his left shoulder, it seemed to notice the vulture that was Ares, and it suddenly veered off course and started flying in his direction, much faster than any dove seemed like it should be able to go. Just as the smaller bird was about to collide with the vulture, there was an explosion of feathers, and suddenly a stunningly radiant woman was pinning Ares’ human form to the wall of Chrysafénios’ house. 

“What are you doing in this mortal girl’s house, Ares?” Ares, who seemed oblivious to the new arrival’s hostility, grinned broadly. 

“She’s my new favorite mortal, Aphrodite! Her name is Chrysafénios, and she’s really tiny. And violent. Very violent,” he exclaimed. 

Chrysafénios’s stomach twisted violently. Aphrodite was a very powerful goddess. She was Antanáklasi’s patron and enabled him to work his illusory magic—and worse, she was also known to be Ares’ lover. If she decided Chrysafénios was a rival—well, Chrysafénios didn’t even want to think about what she might do. 

“And you never mentioned her until now? Why might that be, lover?” 

“Because I haven’t seen you since I met her.” Chrysafénios groaned. She was going to die—and Ares was digging her grave with explanations that could be very easily interpreted to mean that they were having a love affair. 

“Don’t you have enough mortal children?”

“What?” 

“Let’s see how beautiful you find her when I turn her into a maggot!” Chrysafénios fell to her knees in a panic. Now that she had a chance at avenging Dineuō, she had something to lose.  

“Lady Aphrodite, please. I am not having an affair with Lord Ares. My beloved husband, Dineuō, was killed not three weeks ago, and I am still in mourning for his death. He loved me more than I ever thought anyone could love me—for which I am very grateful to you—and I want nothing more than to avenge his death. Lord Ares is interested in me only because my rage, stoked by that very loss, makes me a promising champion for him, and I am interested in him only insofar as he has shown me favor and promised me a chance at vengeance,” she said. 

“Is that true, Ares? She’s not your lover?” 

“No. She’s my warrior. She’s promised that she’ll kill for me, and make my name known throughout the world—and with the rage she has, she’ll do it! There’s going to be so much violence—and Athena will finally have to acknowledge that I can make a champion as good as any of hers!” Ares said excitedly. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” Aphrodite demanded. 

“I thought I did.” For as good as he was in combat, it was becoming increasingly clear to Chrysafénios that Ares was definitely not a god of cleverly navigating complex social situations. 

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re confused, pookie poo,” Aphrodite cooed. 

“So you’re not going to turn my warrior into a maggot? ‘Cause she can’t kill people if she’s a maggot,” Ares asked. 

“Of course not. I don’t want to make my pookie poo sad,” Aphrodite replied. Chrysafénios glanced over to Antanáklasi, who looked about as confused as she felt. “Pookie poo” did not seem like the sort of nickname that was especially suitable for anyone whose other names included “Destroyer of Men” and “Stormer of Ramparts”. 

“Good. Because I want to see someone so tiny fight people for me.” 

“And for her dead husband, right?” Aphrodite asked.

“Yeah. For him too. Which is great. Revenge-fuelled battles are much bloodier than regular ones.”

“Aww, that’s so romantic! How can I help?” Aphrodite squealed. Then she seemed to notice Antanáklasi and beamed. 

“I almost forgot! I came here to give advice to my favorite mortal!” She darted over to Antanáklasi, who knelt respectfully. 

“Lady Aphrodite, I’m honored by your presence, as always. What would you have me do?” 

“Well, first of all, you need to drop this plan to marry my pookie poo’s warrior. If you’re going to get married, it’s going to be with someone you’re crazy about. I hate loveless marriages.” Antanáklasi shot Chrysafénios an apologetic look. 

“As you wish, Lady Aphrodite. But that does put me in a bit of an awkward spot. You see, Chrysafénios’ brother, Katápsychros, wants her to get married so that she’ll have someone to protect her if he’s killed in battle, and he expects me to deliver her to him so that she can choose a new husband. She can hardly avenge her dead husband if she’s married to someone who won’t let her go into the field,” Antanáklasi replied. 

“And she has to fight, Aphrodite! She has to! She’s so angry and vicious, and she’s getting so good at it!” Ares added. For a terrifying warrior god, he sounded uncannily like a child begging for a treat.

Aphrodite smiled. As beautiful as she was, and even though she totally lacked Ares’ unsettlingly sharp canines, her smile was far more frightening than the war gods’ wild grins. 

“Leave it to me, pookie poo,” she said. 

“I take it you have an idea, Lady Aphrodite?” Antanáklasi asked. 

“I do. Tell me, Antanáklasi, is your commander like you? Does he value aesthetic beauty alone? Would he praise me, as you do, for my balanced features and the hue of my hair? Or is he like most men? Does he worship me, not as Aphrodite Urania, but as Aphrodite Pandemos?” Antanáklasi grinned. 

“Katápsychros has a weakness for women, my lady. If you provide the passion, I’ll provide the illusion for him to chase,” Antanáklasi said.  

“Then you follow my meaning. Good. This will be so much fun!” Aphrodite squealed. 

“I live to please, my lady—and besides, Katápsychros has become a bit too demanding for his own good lately. He and I founded the Kabaloi together, and I’d like to remind him of that,” Antanáklasi said smoothly. 

“There. Now you’ll have all the time you need to finish training your warrior. Does that make you happy, pookie poo?” 

“ Very .” 

Chrysafénios, for her part, threw her arms around Antanáklasi’s neck. 

“Thank you, Antanáklasi! Thank you so much! I…I’ve felt so empty since Dineuō died, and I…I need this. I need to get revenge—and I need to get his body.” 

“No problem, my dear.” 

“Just…don’t break Katápsychros’s heart too badly, okay?” 

“Hey, he’s my pal too. I’m not going to torture him—just remind him that he’s not grey-eyed Athena. He can be outsmarted, and that’s why he needs the rest of us.” 

Chrysafénios smiled. 

“You’re right. He does need the rest of us—which is why it’s a good thing that I’m learning how to protect him. I may want revenge for Dineuō’s death, but also want to make sure that none of the rest of you die on my watch. I’ve had enough grief for a lifetime.”

Chapter Text

When Ares had told Chrysafénios that he would be bringing some “extra sparring partners”, she had assumed that he meant Thracian soldiers, or maybe Amazons. 

She had not been expecting a pair of fifteen-year-old boys. 

As she stared at the twins, and wondering if this was some sort of bizarre joke, she suddenly felt a powerful sense of dread, and images of her father and abusive first husband flashed into her mind. 

But she refused to be helpless before such memories. In a fury, she slammed one of her swords into a nearby tree, and it shattered. 

This accomplished, she turned back to the twins— and Ares, who was smiling almost fondly. 

“See? See? I told you! I told you she was perfect! No fear—not even of you! And look at how much destruction she causes!”

“Her brother–” one of the twins said. 

“Contains fear,” the other continued. 

“She turns it into rage.” This, they said as one. 

“Excuse me, Lord Ares, but–who are these two?” she asked. And why was not being afraid of them such an accomplishment?

Ares grinned. 

“Pipsqueak, meet my sons, Phobos and Deimos. Phobos, Deimos, this is my champion Chrysafénios. She's tiny. And violent. Very violent.”

Chrysafénios almost dropped her swords. 

The twins were Fear and Terror incarnate? 

“Why don't they affect me?” she asked. 

Ares laughed. 

“Oh, they do. But you're used to them. Like your brother was.”

The twins looked at Ares in disbelief. 

“Your champion—-”

“Is the sister—”

“Of the man who made you ransom your own war chariot?”

“Yeah! Isn't it great? He made me swear on the Styx I wouldn't hurt her, but he didn't say anything about not training her. And it's going to make your Aunt Athena so mad!” 

“So you—”

“Picked her–”

“Deliberately?”

Ares shook his head. 

“No. I just smelled her wrath from miles off. I had no idea who she was when I found her. Just a lucky coincidence.”

The twins exchanged another glance. 

“Fair warning, mortal.”

“Our father never lets go of his champions.”

“Because he has no other friends.”

“He will—”

“Never admit it–”

“But you are now his comfort object.”

“I'm what now?”

“You are—”

“War's version—”

“Of a ragdoll. He holds on to you to make himself feel better.”

Both twins sighed. 

“We should have known—”

“That he would find another champion.”

“His nightmares have been delicious lately.”

“But they stopped—”

“When he found you.”

Chrysafénios stared at them both. 

“War has nightmares?" she asked. 

“I told you two not to tell my champions about that!” Ares exclaimed. The whole garden shook and seemed to be bathed in the blood of the slain, but since Phobos and Deimos did not react, neither did Chrysafénios.

“She would–"

"Find out—"

"Eventually, father. They always do."

Then the twins turned back to her. Images of her husband and father whirled through her mind, and when they cleared, Phobos was clutching his bleeding arm. Ichor spilled everywhere, but he seemed mostly unconcerned. 

"Ha! Perfect! You're the best, Pipsqueak!" Ares exclaimed. 

"Aren't you worried about your son?" Chrysafénios asked. 

"He's had worse. Deimos cut his leg off once in training. We don't injure like mortals do. As long as we have ambrosia, it all heals."

"As for—"

"Your question—"

"War does have nightmares. Our father—"

"Is the horrors of war. That includes the nightmares of soldiers."

"And in his sleep, he receives them all."

"It is delicious."

Chrysafénios had nightmares of her husband and father. The idea of having nightmares of everyone's abusive husbands and fathers was terrible beyond words.

She had never thought she might feel pity for any god, let alone Ares, but she did. 

"And I make that stop?"

"Yes. So do—"

"His lovers. And his mortal children."

"It is why he has so many." 

"They drain the nightmares." 

Ares scowled.

"This will make training my pipsqueak a lot harder, boys. Because now she knows I can't kill her. And that I can't let her die."

Chrysafénios stared at him in bewilderment.

"What? Why?"

Ares shook his head.

"Because you're mine. And I am War. Once I attach myself—you aren't an enemy, or a sacrifice to my war. You are my ally. My warrior. My family. Soldiers fight most viciously to protect their families. And I embody that too."  

Chrysafénios looked at her patron, and realized that she was now, in effect, the owner of the cosmos' most horrifying pet dog.  

"If you are in danger—"

"Real danger—"

"Call and he will come. Always."

"Will you two stop telling her all of my secrets?" 

"Your champions—"

"Have an extraordinarily high mortality rate."

"Why not try to keep this one alive?" 

Ares looked baffled by the concept, but nodded.

"Okay. In that case, Pipsqueak—yeah. You call, I come, and I kill. Anyone who hurts you. Anyone who makes you upset. Anyone. You are mine. I protect my family. I protect mine. Because you don't hate me." 

The twins exchanged a smirk.

"Father will also–"

"Provide you with whatever you like–"

"If you can frame it in his terms."

"The Amazons—"

"Have more weapons—"

"Than they know what to do with."

"Short of his war chariot—"

"If you ask him for something—"

"You will get it."

Ares nodded a bit too eagerly. 

"The better armed you are, the more we kill. And the better protected you are. You need to live. I need to show my know-it-all sister I can keep one alive. You are not afraid of my sons. Or of me. You like me. So you are mine.  I protect what is mine.  I fight with you. I fight for you. My soldier. My friend. My family. I will kill anyone who hurts you. I have to. Because it is what I am for. You do not hate me. So I will destroy everyone who would hurt you, and give you everything you need to destroy them, too. You call. I come. I kill. That is what War is. Men will kill and die in battle without a thought to protect family. I cannot die. But I can kill. And I do—for you. For my family."

Then he smiled. 

"So let's get back to training you, Pipsqueak. I don't want anyone in my family embarrassing themselves in my fields."

He nodded to Phobos and Deimos.

"Show Pipsqueak what you can do."

The twins obeyed, and drew their swords. 

Their eyes morphed into flames. 

Chrysafénios was deluged in fear. She saw her father, and her first husband, and the corpse of Dineuō, eaten by the birds. 

And she snarled. She had not been cowed since she was a child. 

She refused to be cowed now. 

Beyond that, she did not think. She only acted. 

And when she had spent her wrath, Phobos was bleeding from more than his arm, and Deimos had had his sword knocked from his hands and was on the ground with her blade to his throat. 

"Make me fear—and I make you bleed," she said. 

Deimos hissed in frustration. 

"We yield."

Ares beamed, and the boar's horns on his helmet dripped with blood. 

"Terrific!"

He paused for a moment. 

"Now do it again!"

The twins looked less than impressed by this order. 

"Father, do we—"

"Have to?"

"She has already bested us. What more is there for her to prove?"

"Aww, stop whining, boys! This is good for you, too. You need to remember what it feels like to bleed once in a while."

"You are—-"

"So unfair."

It was remarkable how much they sounded like sulky youths. 

"Pipsqueak's whole life was unfair. And she isn't whining. She turns it into fury."

He smiled. 

"And for trying to get out of training, you two are gonna work for Pipsqueak till I say otherwise. She beat you. So you're hers."

In a flash, the twins' fine armor vanished and was replaced with the sort of ragged clothes one would expect to see on a prisoner of war, or a slave.

"Father, she is–"

"A mortal!"

"And you two are bound to her service until I say so. Pipsqueak defeated you in open combat. No tricks or sneakery like her brother. Just raw force. To the victor go the spoils."

Blood encircled the wrists of Fear and Terror, and then morphed into shackles that gleamed like polished bronze. 

And a small necklace appeared around Chrysafénios's neck. 

"You obey her as you would me. You come when she calls. You do what she tells you–and you fight on her command."

The shackles dripped with blood, and disappeared, but the necklace remained.

"As long as you wear that necklace, Pipsqueak, you control the power my boys wield. You decide who they terrify, and when. And you are immune to their powers."

Phobos and Deimos looked absolutely furious. 

"Father! We are—"

"Your sons. Gods!"

"And you would have us serve some mortal widow, as if we were slaves?"

Ares nodded. 

"In my domain, the strong rule the weak, even if the weak are my sons. She defeated you. Pretty handily, at that. So she is your mistress, now."

He paused. 

"And you two are immortal. You will outlive her eventually, and the contract ends when she dies. So stop whining."

"Father, please!" 

"I've spoiled you. Let you ride on your powers for too long. And you two have started to act like princes instead of warriors. I may be your father, and I will kill for you, just as I would for her—but I will not let you escape the consequences of weakness. You serve my champion. In any way she asks. No matter how embarrassing you think it is. Even if she asks you to take up her distaff. Are we clear?"

Phobos looked like he wanted to sink into the dirt. 

Deimos looked like he was about to kill everyone in the vicinity.

But both nodded. 

"Yes, father. We understand." 

Chrysafénios frowned. Would Fear and Terror really obey a mortal widow? A woman? 

Time to find out. 

She straightened her posture.

"Hand over your swords for now. When we spar, I will return them, but from what I understand, captives do not wield arms in the home of their captor."

Phobos hissed in fury, but forced a bow and handed over his sword. 

"Yes, mistress," he spat. 

Deimos scowled. 

"You think to treat Terror himself like a prisoner of war? Father may have bound me to you, but I do not fear you."

The shackles on his wrists suddenly reappeared, and morphed into barbed wire. Ichor seeped from the wounds. 

Deimos screeched in pain, as though this was much worse than the injury she had inflicted on him with her swords. And perhaps it was.

"I obey! I obey! Please—-mistress!" 

Deimos practically thrust his sword into her hands. 

The shackles flared once, and vanished. 

Chrysafénios frowned. She did not like the idea of wielding power in this way. 

It was too much like her father and husband. 

She looked at Ares. 

"My lord, I would not be my father. And you say you protect your own. Why would you torture your own sons?" 

Ares frowned. 

"It is my way, Pipsqueak. They once tormented you. Now that you own them, it is your turn to wield the pain. I cannot alter that—much. But they are my sons. So I will remove the pain, and leave only the compulsion to obey." 

Phobos looked at her in shock. 

"You spare us? Why? We never spare our enemies."

"Because you are not my enemies. You are my weapons, now, to avenge Dineuō, and apparently my family. I will not hurt my family, mortal or otherwise, and I will not shatter my own blades. You are sharp enough without pain."

Phobos actually went to his knees, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

"Thank you. Thank you—mistress." The title slipped out unbidden, likely forced by the compulsion to obey, but the thanks had been sincere. 

Deimos lashed out at his father in fury. 

"You cannot do this to us, father! We are your sons! We are immortal! You cannot make us into captives! What will it do to your reputation, if the mortals learn that your sons are slaves to a mortal widow?"

Ares laughed. 

"My reputation will be just fine. Look at the necklace–its pendant is my vulture. She is my champion, and it marks her as such. They will know that you serve her because I allow it. And you will serve her. She has conquered you, and you will learn what it means to be defeated."

Chrysafénios took a deep breath and fixed Deimos with a stare that made it clear she would not be pushed around. 

"I said I would not harm you, and I meant it. But if you are to help me avenge my husband, and to serve your father, I must know I can rely on you. Both of you. Respect me, and I will respect you. Disdain me or my birth, and I will show you what it is like to be poor, to have no choice but to serve," she said. 

"Brother, listen to—to our mistress. We are Fear. We are Terror. They do not respect rank. She is fearless, no matter who she may be. To serve her is better than to serve a cowardly king, or a god who will not fight. She stands when others collapse before us. She was not cruel, when others use fear as an excuse for cruelty. That is remarkable. And since it cannot be helped, I will respect her as I would our sisters, mortal and immortal," Phobos said. 

Deimos hissed. 

"I would rather be forced to kneel than do it of my own will, brother. I trample armies. I am not the pet of a mortal widow who was born to the dirt!"

Chrysafénios frowned. 

"Have it your way, Deimos. It seems like a waste to set terror to the distaff, but someone will need to keep the house in cloth." 

"What?" Deimos shrieked. 

"I lived at the loom, out of fear of you. And since I cannot trust you in the field, now you will live there in my stead."

Ares cackled. 

"Pipsqueak, you're the greatest!"

And then Ares was gone, and Chrysafénios was left with Fear and Terror, whom he had bound to her service. 

"Phobos, my husband's death and disgrace have been left unavenged too long. Tonight, you and I will set the matter to rights. We will retrieve his body. And we will kill the men who dishonored him."

Phobos smiled. Like his father, he had the canines of a predator—but a smaller, sleeker, smarter creature, who knew how to weaponize weakness, rather than use force alone. 

"Excellent. For their violation of the dead, they will choke on their fear—and then on their blood."

Deimos scowled. 

"You would so quickly make yourself her follower, brother? You submit to this humiliation?"

"You would not? Our father has chosen her, though she does not share his blood. That is rare—and she is extraordinary."

Deimos spat. 

"She is a widow! A mortal! And born to the dust! We are gods!"

Chrysafénios smiled sweetly. 

"And now you will learn what it is to be a widow born to the dust. Your brother and I have a battle to prepare for. Since you scorn it, I order you: tend the hearth and home. When I come back, I expect food on the table, the house to be clean, and at least some progress made on my loom."

Deimos looked like he wanted to resist, but the shackles flashed around his wrists, and he bowed.

"Yes, mistress."

Chrysafénios could not help but feel some satisfaction when she led Terror himself to her quarters and put the distaff in his hands. 

"Welcome to my world, Deimos." 

Chapter Text

Chrysafénios laced up her winged sandals, armed herself with her twin blades, the Endynamotiká, and turned to Phobos with a nervous smile. 

She was a woman. Women were not supposed to take up arms against men. 

But for her beloved husband, she would do it, and proudly. 

"I am ready. Can you transport us to Calliarus, where the men live who killed my husband and desecrated his body?" she asked. 

"Of course. I can appear wherever fear resides—and it can be found everywhere," Phobos replied as he picked up his own sword. 

In a flash, she found herself in the middle of the town where her husband had died—and nearly shrieked in horror. 

The body of her beloved husband had been strung up on a pole, and the carrion birds had torn into it. 

Worse, the sign posed underneath his body said it was his due as a blasphemer. 

Dineuō had been a philosopher of natural science, and had sacrificed only to Hephaestus, his personal patron. For that, he had often been spit at as impious—for men were jealous that they had not been favored as he had been. 

"Blasphemer, indeed! Fine words from those who would scorn the gods by desecrating the dead! My husband—alas, my poor husband!" 

She cut his body down from the pole, and cradled it like she had when he was alive. 

"They will suffer a thousandfold for this crime. I swear, my love."

She slammed her sword onto the dirt, and the ground cracked open. She tenderly laid his body to rest, and slowly but steadily piled the dirt atop him. 

She was in the middle of making her sacrifice to the dread king and queen of the dead when a soldier approached her and Phobos. 

"Witch! For your insolence in burying an enemy of the polis, you will die!" he exclaimed. 

Chrysafénios nodded to Phobos, whose eyes became fire. 

The soldier screamed and collapsed to his knees. 

"No—no—please—no!"

Phobos stepped forward. 

"I am Phobos. We are in your city on the orders of my father. Now tell me—who is it that ordered this desecration? Who was it that was so bold as to dishonor the Dread Queen Persephone, and the Receiver of Many Guests?" he asked. 

The man immediately blurted out the name, and the address as well. 

"And where is the man whose arrow laid my husband low?" Chrysafénios demanded. 

The man provided her with that name and address, too. 

"You would have killed me, for my loyalty to my husband. I will spare you—so that you may live with the disgrace of having been defeated by a woman," she said. She took his sword and handed it to Phobos, who sheathed it with a nod. 

With that, she and Phobos made their way to the house of the officer who had ordered that her husband be left to the birds. 

Her swords shattered the door. Phobos' presence cleared out his guards and servants. His wife fled with their children. 

And Chrysafénios looked at the officer—and felt only wrath. 

But she would face him as a warrior, not cut him down on his knees. 

"You dishonored my husband. Now stand up and fight me." Phobos nodded, and the raw terror disappeared from the face of the officer. 

Then he laughed. 

"As you wish, Amazon. I will show you that a man will always defeat a woman in combat," he sneered. 

Chrysafénios shrieked with fury and struck. The man blocked her first strike, but it shattered his sword. Then she ripped the second blade through his chest, and he fell, dead. 

"You are luckier than my husband. I will not leave you for the carrion birds," she said. To demonstrate her point, she sprinkled some dust atop his body, and then left with Phobos. 

As they left, they were cornered by an armed guard. 

"Amazonian trull!"

"Witch!" 

"You would dare bring the bloodshed of your father to a peaceful polis?"

A man drew his sword, and she struck him down on instinct. Then Phobos' eyes flared with fire, and the rest of the men dropped their weapons and scattered. 

After that, they made their way to the home of the man who had killed her husband with his arrows. 

He was asleep, but the fear of Phobos soon woke him and his wife. 

The woman screamed and pleaded for mercy. 

The man reached for his sword, and with a nod from Chrysafénios, the fire left Phobos' eyes. 

For an archer, he was better with a sword than his officer had been. It took her several tries to disarm him. 

"You killed my husband with your arrows. You did not protest when they desecrated his body. Now I will set the matter to rights."

"Amazon, I swear to it that I was innocent in that affair. I am not a man of wealth. I only do what I must to live. I cannot tell an officer not to desecrate an enemy. But you serve Ares, and he shows no mercy. So kill me if you must. But do not wrong me by labeling me a blasphemer."

Chrysafénios softened—and extended her hand. 

"Were we at war, I would kill you for my patron. But there is no war.  I will not murder a man for the death of an enemy, for that is no shame to the gods. You did not hate my husband, and you say you were not responsible for the crime against his body. You fight well, archer, and have carried yourself well in the field of my patron." 

She handed him the sword she had taken from the officer after she had killed him. 

"This will pay for your house—and, I hope, the fear." 

She turned to Phobos. 

"Let us retrieve the body of my husband. My vengeance is complete."

Phobos nodded. 

"As you say, mistress."

The man stared in shock. 

"Mistress?" he echoed. 

"Yes. War has bound Deimos and me to his champion for as long as she lives. Her name is Chrysafénios, and she controls Fear itself."

Chapter Text

When Phobos and Chrysafénios returned home after properly burying her husband, they were met by dinner and a decidedly unimpressed-looking Deimos. 

It was simple soldiers' fare, like what her brother cooked when left to his own devices, but it was actually more than she had expected from Deimos.

"How do you like the distaff and the hearth, brother?" Phobos asked. 

"I will kill you."

"You sound like our father, brother. You cannot kill me. I am immortal."

"I will make you wish I could kill you."

"Neither of you will kill the other, or try to. I need your brother to be able to fight—and you will probably have enough trouble washing the blood out of these clothes uninjured," Chrysafénios said. 

The shackles on the wrists of the twins flickered for a moment.

"Understood, mistress," Phobos said. 

"You…want me…to wash clothes?"

"You will not follow my orders willingly. So yes."

Phobos snickered. 

Deimos scowled, but dipped his head reluctantly when his shackles flickered. 

"As you order, mistress," he said. 

"Thank you for dinner, by the way. You did better than I expected," she said. 

Deimos spoke against his will. 

"Thank you, mistress."

Then he scowled. 

It was clear he was seething.

"Let's eat," Chrysafénios said as she sat down. Phobos and Deimos exchanged a glance, and then sat down as well. 

Suddenly, Ares appeared in the room. His smile was broad, revealing his sharp canines, and he looked like a small child who had just been given a treat.  

"Pipsqueak! Just heard the news! You were terrific! Not quite as bloody as I wanted—but hey, it's your first time in the field."

He casually grabbed an entire fistful of fruit and shoved it into his mouth as he kept talking. 

"I wish I had a hundred of you!"

Then he glanced at his sons with a smile. 

"How about you, you little terrors?" he asked. 

"The mortals do not know what to make of her, father. They believe she is one of your Amazons. And she uses fear well. I did not think I would like working with her. But she is a soldier in the field," Phobos said. 

Ares ruffled his hair almost fondly. 

"You and my Pipsqueak will set all of Achaea on its ear when I'm done with you!"

Then he turned to Deimos. 

"And you?"

Deimos scowled.

"You dressed me in rags as a captive. You bound me to a mortal widow, and bade me call her mistress, as if she were not a mortal. And she mocks me, father! She put her distaff in my hands, and ordered Terror to keep hearth and home like a woman. Would you have your sons humiliated in this way?" he demanded. 

Ares laughed. 

"She defeated you straight, and you, who cannot die, whined about it while she did not. You have become spoiled. You think that because you are my sons, you can lose without consequences. But that is not the case. She proved herself the conqueror, and until she dies, you are what she makes of you. If she wishes to make you clean her house and spin for her, then you do it. She has lived an entire life of it, and never whined. That you cannot endure it for a day proves my point. You have been spoiled. This will remind you what War is," Ares said. 

"But father–"

Ares lifted up his son's hand, which was covered in ichor. 

"And you have battle scars already!"

"Battle scars, indeed. Why does thread cut as much as a sword?" Deimos muttered. 

Before the conversation could continue, an owl flew through an open window, and suddenly a woman stood before them, tall and beautiful, but armored like a soldier. 

Although Chrysafénios had never seen her personally before, she knew that this must be her brother's patron, Pallas Athena. ‘

And a few seconds later, her brother himself walked through the door—and stared at her in a mixture of shock and horror. 

"Sister—what have you done? What have you done?"

"I did what you would not do, brother. I avenged my husband. I made Calliarus pay for its outrages against both mortal and divine."

"And you sold your soul to slaughter itself! Fear and Terror ruled our home, and you would ally with them? Ares destroys all in his path, and you would call yourself his servant?"

"Ares does not tie me to my loom and say I am too weak to fight, as if I have not been in battle since I was a child. His sons do not patronize me—but treat me as any other soldier. Can you say as much, brother? You love me, I know, but you treat me like a child, and do not listen when I speak. You would have me wed, even now, because you believe I cannot protect myself. But my husband knew better. And so too does my patron." 

 "Sister, sister, I am the man of our house, not you. I defend its honor. For you to do it—-it is unnatural, sister. Men will say that I did not respect you enough to protect you." 

"Then why did you not avenge my husband? I asked you to, and you refused!" 

"Sister, please. This will ruin you. The champions of Ares always die—and men despise Amazons."

"Men called me a witch and an Amazon for having a will of my own before I did anything to validate the charges. If they call me unnatural, then I will earn it!"

"Sister—sister. Please. You have set a city-state into fury. You will have more enemies than even I can protect you from."

Phobos smiled. 

"Fear does not break you, man of ice. But it breaks armies. And your sister is now our mistress."

"My sister is—what?"

Ares smiled broadly. 

"My little terrors are spoiled. Your sister beat them head-on—not with tricks like you did, but with wrath and fire like I've never seen. And by the laws of conquest that let you force me to ransom my own chariot, they are now bound to her. She is the victor, and they are her spoils. My Pipsqueak wields Fear and Terror themselves. And if all else fails—she is mine, man of ice. Mine, mine, mine. I will kill to keep her mine. Anyone who threatens her will raise their hand to me."  

"Brother, you shame yourself. You would enslave your sons to a mortal widow? You would raise a woman—not one of your Amazonian brood, but a woman of Achaea—to the status of a soldier? In your endless pursuit of slaughter, you have disrupted all bonds. You have already set a polis to chaos, and for no end but vengeance. I will not stand for this violation of my domain."

Ares laughed. 

"You raised a man of the dust and allowed him to force me to ransom my own chariot. I raised a widow woman and allowed her to honor our uncle and his dread queen. To the victor, the spoils—and my champion is the victor. And she likes me! Sister, she likes me!" 

"If so, she is a fool. You are death and destruction, sound and fury—and no more. You destroy all that you touch." 

"Not mine, sister. Not mine. I protect what is mine. She is my soldier. My ally. My family. I am the chaos and passion of War, and soldiers will kill for what they love. But you do not understand that. For you, bonds mean nothing. Only reason. Only your logic. I will kill for her. Will you kill for your man, sister?"

"I would not expect her to. I watch like the owl. I wait like the snake. And I strike like both. If I needed her to kill for me, it would be because I failed to think as I ought. I do not reward stupidity. And I would not expect her to, either."

Athena nodded. 

"You speak well, Katápsychros." 

"You speak like a man of ice, brother! You say you love me, but you left my husband to be eaten by carrion birds! You protect my body, and stifle my will! You believe I am still the child you left behind, when you went to the fields of my patron. But I am not. I am a woman, now. My husband treated me as an equal. But you do not. Because you see me only as an idea, not as a person. I know you want to protect me. I know you want to keep me safe. But I cannot live as you do, brother. I cannot accept order when order would see me abandon those I love." 

"That's my warrior! She'll take on any foe—and no sneaking around, either!" Ares exclaimed. 

"Brother, your champion is yet subject to Katápsychros. She cannot serve you without his permission."

Ares snarled. 

"You may have the favor of our father, Pallas Athena. But I still control my own domain. She has proven herself in my fields. And so I can claim her as my own, whether her brother wills it or no."

Athena frowned.

"You would dishonor my champion, brother?"

"You let your champion dishonor me! Now I return the favor." 

Chrysafénios faced the patroness of her brother.

"Lady Athena, whose authority is higher? That of gods, or of men?"

"The gods. You would defend your chaos as obedience to my uncle and his dread queen. I say that you honored only your own wrath, and destabilized my domain."

A flame burst into the room, and the most hideous man Chrysafénios had seen suddenly appeared in the room. But she knew from the look in his eyes, and the power that radiated from him, that he was the patron of her husband, Dineuō. 

"Hephaestus. What has summoned you here?" Athena asked. 

Hephaestus frowned. 

"My apprentice, my champion, was called a blasphemer because he was devoted to me. He was left to the carrion birds, in the defiance of the will of our father, the god king. And you would scold the woman for risking her life to bury the dead?"

"She fights for Ares, her own vengeance, and bloodshed, not for you."

"But she served me better than your champion. He left my blacksmith to rot, dishonored in death."

Athena frowned. 

"My champion serves two future monarchs. Calliarus was too well-armed to be taken by a direct assault from his cohort, and only a fool sacrifices all of his men for a corpse."

Hephaestus snorted. 

"And yet a widow woman buried him with only herself, two swords, and one retainer. Your champion has a man who controls storms, and he could not do what one woman could?"

"No one was on guard for a woman and a boy. They caught the city unawares. Everyone would have been on guard for my champion and his men. The two situations are not comparable."

"The mirror magician and the son of  Hermes would have been able to slip into the city just as well as a widow woman. They can deceive nearly any mortal, and have."

"To what end? To destabilize a polis for the sake of blood? The punishment of the guilty is for the courts, not private avengers."

"The court of the city who ordered the desecration of my champion? Do you really think they would punish their own, Athena?"

"She does not fight for you, or for your honor. She fights only for vengeance and to spill blood. She is our brother's mistress—and those who serve him care nothing for piety. Only destruction."

"I am not his mistress. I am loyal to Dineuō, and I will never take another man. I am no more Ares' lover than my brother is yours, Lady Athena." 

"My brother is not known for his celibacy, widow woman. Sooner or later, he will desire you, and his desire consumes all in its path."

"Pipsqueak is my daughter, sister, not my lover. Sure, she is as fair as the dawn—but she's way too small. I prefer an Amazon, or a Spartan woman—someone with muscle on the bone."

Hephaestus snorted. Athena looked appalled. 

Chrysafénios was relieved. Ares as a patron was one thing, but, even aside from her devotion to Dineuō, she did not fancy the idea of courting a god who had the emotional maturity of a five-year-old and the social instincts of a hound. 

"I assure you, Lady Athena, that I would die before I would dishonor my dead husband. I have staked my reputation and my life to bury him and avenge his death. Would I then take your brother as a lover? Never."

Hephaestus shook his head. 

"I do not trust Ares. But I trust her. Anyone who would be called an Amazon and a witch to bury her husband, and risk death in an enemy city for his sake, is more faithful than any of our brothers—or our father, for that matter."

"My sister, Lady Athena, will not become a lover of Ares. I do not approve of her actions. I fear that she has bound herself to one who will destroy her. But I also know that she would never betray her husband. She loved him ferociously," Katápsychros said. 

"See, sister? Even your man of ice says that my Pipsqueak is loyal to her own!" Ares exclaimed. 

Chrysafénios bowed slightly to Athena. 

"I do not aim to burn the world, but to protect my family—mortal and divine. But I will not allow the laws of men to prevent me from fighting for them." 

Hephaestus smiled grimly. 

"Fidelity is rare, sister. I would advise you not to punish it. I make your armor, and you would have left my champion to the carrion birds. If you follow that up by pouring your wrath out on her, I will not forge for you or your champions. I will not let disrespect for my chosen workers go unaddressed."

Athena shook her head. 

"Very well, brother. Because of your skill, and in respect to your champion, I will allow this insult to pass. But be warned: if my brother ever weaponizes you against my domain, and you cannot prove your piety, I will see to it that you are removed from the board. Ares destroys enough without the help of men."

With that, she transformed into an owl, flew out the window, and vanished into the distance. 

Katápsychros frowned. 

"Sister, please. You have taken your vengeance. Lay down your arms, and make no more enemies. I would not see you come to harm," he said. 

"I cannot promise that, brother. I will not consent to accept cruelty to those I love, when I could take up arms against it. I am a soldier, now, like you. And I will live as one." 

"Best leave her to it, man. Her reputation has already barred her from the normal life of women. Now she is a legend, and will live the life of one, whether you want her to or not," Hephaestus said. Then he vanished into his flame.  

Katápsychros sighed. 

"If you change your mind about this insanity, sister, tell me. I will always protect you."

"And I will protect you, brother. If you are ever in trouble, I will fight on your behalf, just as you would fight on mine."

Katápsychros looked at Ares. 

"I warn you, Lord Ares. You swore to me on the Styx that you would not harm her. So you had best hope that she does not die in your service."

With that, Katápsychros spun on his heel and left her home. 

Ares laughed. 

"Well, that was fun! I beat my know-it-all sister, you can still kill for me, and you don't have to worry about a second husband! Let's eat!"

Chrysafénios shook her head. She had assumed that having the war god as her patron would be terrifying. It was, but it was also rather like having an overgrown toddler and pet wolf combined into one. 

He had no concern for social niceties or proprietary. He cared only about protecting his pack, and feeding his appetites. And now she was part of his pack. 

It was simultaneously comforting and deeply unnerving.

Chapter Text

Phobos adjusted alarmingly well to his new position in Chrysafénios' house. While she was sure he would still have much preferred not to be bound to her, he, like his father, had adopted her as a member of the pack. 

Phobos was a sleeker, cleverer predator than Ares, but he recognized her fearlessness as an asset to their hunts, and respected her as a fellow warrior. 

He was also very useful in deterring her nosy and now highly judgmental Athenian neighbors. 

Deimos was another story. While his twin accepted his new role, Deimos fumed. He hated being bound to a mortal. He hated the humiliation of being, in effect, a prisoner of war.

And he hated the fact that Chrysafénios expected him to wield a distaff rather than a sword, and ordered him to tend the hearth, wash the clothes, and cook. 

He obeyed, because he had to obey, but he refused to respect her as a warrior. Until he did, she would keep him bound to the loom.

Which was why he was currently washing dishes, rather than sharpening his sword.

"Excellent work, brother. Soon, you will be as skilled a maidservant as any in Athens," Phobos said. 

Deimos hissed at him in fury.

"Why does this amuse you, brother? Do you know what will be said about us? Even after she dies, the poets will still tell about the woman who domesticated Fear itself, and forced a distaff into the hands of Terror. We will never recover from the shame!"

"Father is constantly humiliated. He is always defeated by Athena when they clash. He has been injured by mortals. During his affair with mother, he was trapped in a net by Hephaestus and could do nothing to escape it. He was locked in a jar for over a year and had to be rescued by Hermes. And yet mortals still fear him," Phobos said. 

Deimos scowled. 

"They fear his weapons and his strength, not him. When he is gone, they call him a brainless brute!"

Ares, Chrysafenios thought, was not exactly brainless. He could be cunning on occasion. But emotionally, he was basically a toddler, and he had the pack instincts of a wolf. 

"Pipsqueak! Boys! I got a mission for you!" 

He also had no indoor voice.

"What is it, Lord Ares?" Chrysafenios asked.

Ares grinned wildly. 

"My Amazons are fending off an attack. You lot are going to meet them--and help them out, if you need to."

Before Chrysafenios could ask any of the questions that were now whirling through her brain, there was a shower of blood, and suddenly she, Phobos, and Ares were standing in the middle of a city that was totally unlike any Greek one in its architecture and design. 

"Welcome to Themyscria, Pipsqueak!" Ares boomed.

As Chrysafenios looked around, she saw women everywhere.   

There was a disciplined formation of soldiers marching through the streets, with each woman armed and armored like Athena herself, even if the armor was foreign.   

But that wasn't all. There were women carrying the tools of physicians and the scrolls of  lawyers.

There was a woman orator speaking about something in a language Chrysafenios didn't understand.  

 Girls ran through the streets, playing with wooden swords and discus as if they were boys.

And, most remarkably, there was a woman pedagogue teaching a whole crowd of little girls.   

Such things were unthinkable in Athens. 

When the phalanx of soldiers noticed Ares and Phobos, they knelt, and the commanding officer said something in what Chrysafenios could only assume was the Amazonian language.

Ares laughed his terrifying laugh, baring his sharp canines, and spoke back in the same language.

"What is your father saying?" Chrysafenios whispered. 

"Oh, that's right. You do not know languages as we do. Father is introducing you to the phalanx," Phobos replied. 

This was not entirely comforting. 

"How is he introducing me?" she asked. 

"The same way that he introduced you to me, Mistress. 'This is Chrysafenios. She's my new champion. She's tiny. And violent. Very violent.'" 

Chrysafenios sighed. Ares was terrible at introductions.

Ares said something else, then waved his hand, and the phalanx stood back up. 

Then one of the women walked forward towards Chrysafenios. 

"You are the champion Lord Ares sent to us? A tiny Athenian widow? What can you do that our armies cannot?" she asked in heavily accented Greek. 

Chrysafenios swallowed hard, then pushed her fear down. 

She had survived her husband and her father. She had defeated Fear and Terror themselves with her fury. And she had avenged the death of her beloved Dineuo. 

She would not cower, even to an Amazon. 

"I survived my father, who beat me and sold me to a man who saw me as a trinket. I escaped my first husband, who would have had me killed for adultery of which I was innocent. I avenged the death of my second husband, my beloved Dineuo. And I defeated Fear and Terror themselves. I may not be a trained soldier, but I can fight. And I do."

"Father gave her sandals that allow her to fly, and swords that increase her strength tenfold. And he gave her mastery over my brother and me. This Athenian widow commands fear himself--and you know how quickly I can clear a battlefield," Phobos added. 

The Amazon actually looked impressed at that. 

"Then welcome to Themyscria, sister."

Ares said something to the commander, who saluted and replied in the Amazonian tongue. 

"What are they saying?" Chrysafenios asked. 

"We are escorting you to our Queen," the Amazon who could speak Greek replied. 

"Hippolyta---the second of that name," Phobos explained. 

Five minutes later, Chrysafenios, Ares, Phobos, and the Amazonian phalanx were standing in the great hall of a palace that was as magnificent as Chrysafenios could imagine a Grecian king's might be, but completely unlike any building she had seen in Decelea, Athens, or Calliarus. 

It was less geometric and orderly, and more organic. Most of the structures were made of finely carved wood rather than marble, and there were plants everywhere. 

The hall was also littered with swords and spears, some of which were mounted on the walls, and some of which were sitting ready for use. 

Chrysafenios could now see why Ares liked the Amazons so much. 

The queen herself was sitting on a throne of finely carved cypress wood, with gold accents. She wore a crown of gold and a girdle of bronze, but was otherwise unadorned with jewelry. She also held a spear in the way that Grecian kings held staffs--both as a threat and as a sign of authority. 

Sitting at her right was a beautiful girl, probably about 12 or 13, who was dressed in a simple tunic and reading a long scroll.

When she saw Ares and Phobos, Hippolyta knelt respectfully and spoke in the Amazonian language. 

Ares smirked proudly and responded in the same language, then pointed at Chrysafenios. 

"He's introducing you," Phobos said. 

"Is he saying I'm tiny and violent?" she asked.  

"Yes." 

"Tiny and very violent" was not how she would have chosen to be introduced to royalty, but there was probably no hope of getting Ares to improve his introductory skills.

Hippolya nodded, rose to her feet, and walked over to Chrysafenios. 

"Welcome to Themyscira, Chrysafenios. I am Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, and daughter of Ares," she said. 

"Lord Ares is...your father?" Chrysafenios asked. Ares had claimed her as a daughter, but there was no biological connection. 

This woman, however, seemed like she could easily be a demigod. 

"Yes. Once every few generations, he stops by and fathers one of our queens," Hippolyta replied. 

"My father usually sends us Thracian warriors, or occasionally Spartans, when he wishes to provide us with reinforcements. For him to send an Athenian widow is unheard of--so you must be a warrior of much power," Hippolyta said. 

"Surviving brutality made me so, Queen Hippolyta. I was beaten by my father, then by my first husband, and escaped them both. I avenged the death of my beloved second husband, Dineuo. And I defeated Fear and Terror themselves," Chrysafenios replied. 

"She did. And for her victory, father has bound us to her as long as she lives. My brother is still sulking, which is why he is not here with us," Phobos added. 

"And a soldier who controls fear himself will be devastating in the fields of my father. Yes, I now understand why he sent you to fight with us," Hippolyta said. 

"She's the greatest, daughter! You and her and my Amazons together--you'll be unstoppable!" Ares exclaimed.

"And while you fight with us, widow of Athens, we will teach you. Can you read?" Hippolyta asked. 

"No. I was born the daughter of a man of the dust. No one in my family can read---and even had we been wealthy, women are rarely taught," Chrysafenios replied. 

"Then we must rectify that. For a woman to be ignorant is as shameful as her to be a coward."

"I don't see what the big deal is. I never learned to read, and I kill better than anyone!" Ares said. 

"Yes, father, but you are a god. You are unmatched in power, and you cannot die. You do not need words to memorialize your achievements or pass down knowledge. But mortals do."

Ares laughed, and the room seemed to be bathed in blood. 

"And Athena says all my children are stupid! You're the best, honey!"

"Chrysafenios, this is my daughter and heir, Diana of Themyscria. She is thirteen now, and has yet to meet a woman of Greece. This will be good practice for her use of the tongue," Hippolyta said. 

The maiden set aside her scroll and stood up with a smile. 

"Greetings, Chrysafenios, champion of Ares. I am honored to meet you," she said. Her Greek was perfect.

"I am Chrysafenios. Your Greek is very good." 

Diana smiled. 

"Thank you. I have been studying the tongue since I was six," she replied. 

"Diana, this is your uncle, Phobos, and your grandfather, Lord Ares, the god of War," Hippolyta said. 

Diana bowed to them both. 

"Grandfather, I will make you proud in your fields," she said. 

Ares beamed. 

"I like you already!"

"So wise so young, they say, rarely live long," Phobos murmured. 

"Aww, don't talk like that! She's my granddaughter! Nothing short of a drakon could take her down!" Ares boomed.

"Where is my brother Deimos? I have never seen Phobos without him," Hippolyta asked. 

Phobos smirked. 

"Our brother refuses to follow my Mistress as a soldier, so she has bound him to work her hearth and home until he learns to respect her," he explained. 

Ares laughed again, and for a second the room was filled with the screams of the slain. 

"He hates it! But it's what he gets. He got soft. Got too reliant on his powers. So my champion beat him---and to the victor go the spoils!"

Chapter Text

Deimos was furious. He was Terror incarnate. With his brother, he routed armies and broke nations. He could set a crowd to riot with his presence. 

The thread snapped, and he swore. 

And now he was enslaved to a mortal widow—by the decree of his own father! 

His father had taken his armor and left him with the rags of a captive. The widow had taken his sword, and ordered him to tend her loom and hearth—and his brother had snickered as if he were not equally enslaved to the woman. 

And for rolling over and baring his throat, his brother had gotten his sword back. Phobos, who willingly called a mortal widow "mistress", was allowed to fight, while Deimos was treated like a maidservant.

For nearly two months now, he had been forbidden to do anything worthy of a warrior. Instead he--Terror itself---had spent every single day cooking meals, washing plates, doing laundry, scrubbing the floors, and spinning thread.

And as if being humiliated in the widow's house wasn't enough, he also had to fetch water from the well, and listen to the stares and whispers of the mortals of Athens.  

Even his speech was no longer his own. The magic his father had used to bind him to the widow forced him to call her mistress and to thank her when she praised him.

And all he could do was seethe.

As he slammed the shuttle across the loom, more of the threads tangled and broke, and he snarled and snapped the distaff. 

For a moment, he smiled in satisfaction--but then the shackles on his wrists flickered, and he was forced to pick up a new distaff and continue weaving. 

Worse, he knew that when the widow returned, he would be forced to apologize for what he had done. 

Suddenly, a loud cackle shattered the quiet of the room. 

"So, the rumors were true. Terror himself, at the distaff. Never thought I'd see the day." The voice was harsh and rough. 

Deimos turned his head to see who had broken into the widow's house, and groaned when he saw a woman, over six feet tall, dressed in armor, with a sword at her hip and a spear in her hand. 

The last thing he needed was a visit from his father's mad sister Enyo. 

"Why are you here, aunt?" he asked. 

Enyo smirked and took a swig from the flask that she always carried with her. 

 "Am I to be shamed for showing concern for my dear nephew?" Enyo asked. 

Deimos scowled. His father's sister was Bloodshed and Carnage, and she never showed concern. She was not here for his sake. She was here to mock him. 

"Leave. You are not welcome here."

Enyo smirked. 

"Do I frighten you, maidservant?" she asked.

Deimos stood out of his seat, darted over to Enyo, and drew her sword from her sheath. 

"I fear no one!" he snarled. He struck at her, but she blocked his blow with the haft of her spear. 

"You shouldn't play with swords like that. You might get hurt," Enyo said. 

Deimos was about to make another strike when he heard a shrill, ear-piercing giggle. 

"Ooh, a fight! What fun! Can I play too?" The voice came from a scrawny woman with wild hair and robes that were a raggedy patchwork of clashing colors. 

Unlike his father's sister, she didn't look threatening, but she was. 

"Get lost, Eris. Nobody wants you around," Enyo spat.

Eris pouted. 

"Aww, you're going to hurt my feelings!" 

Deimos swung the sword, and Enyo blocked him.

He rarely bested his mad aunt in direct combat, but he needed to now, or she and Eris would both mock him forever. 

"So...why is the she-wolf fighting the wolf pup?" Eris asked. 

"Shut up, Eris!" Deimos and Enyo exclaimed in unison. 

Deimos took another swing at his mad aunt, and she blocked him again. 

Was she even taking this seriously? 

"Aren't you gonna answer my question?" Eris asked.

Deimos swung again, and was blocked again. 

"Isn't that your sword, Enyo? What happened to his sword?" Eris asked. 

"SHUT UP, ERIS!"

Deimos swung once more, and Enyo smirked and blocked him easily. 

He was better than this. He knew he was better than this. But he was out of practice. 

"And hey, where's the other wolf pup? I've never seen one of them on its own before," Eris asked.

Deimos was about to tell Eris to shut up again when Enyo slammed the haft of her spear into his stomach. 

The combination of the shock and pain caused him to drop her sword, but before he could react to that, she used her spear again to knock him off his feet. 

He landed hard on the floor, and she cackled.

"I told you not to play with my sword, maidservant," Enyo sneered.

Eris snickered. 

"Wow, that was pathetic, even for a wolf pup taking on a she-wolf grown. She didn't even defeat you with a spear---she used it as a staff!"

Enyo sheathed her sword, took a swig from her flask, and then glared at Eris. 

"Go--before I turn my spear on you," she said. 

Eris giggled. 

"Ooh! Do! Please do! No one's fought me in ages!"

Enyo did not actually turn her spear on Eris. Deimos had not expected her to.

As much as his mad aunt loved battle, even she was not mad enough to raise arms against Strife. Conflict and fury strengthened her; it was virtually impossible to beat her in a direct confrontation.

Instead, his father’s mad sister simply glared. 

"Go away, Eris. We need no mad freaks here," Enyo said. 

Then she smirked at Deimos. 

"Besides, you'll scare the maidservant."

Deimos scowled and pulled himself to his feet. 

"I am not a maidservant!" he snarled. 

In response, the shackles around his wrists flickered, as if to remind him---again--that he was bound to be whatever a mortal widow made of him. 

Eris stared at the shackles with gleeful fascination. 

"Aww, did somebody put the poor little wolf cub on a leash?" she sneered. 

Deimos scowled at her, but refused to respond. He would not tell Eris of his humiliation. 

Then the shackles around his wrists flickered more violently, and Deimos moved before he really knew why. 

When he found himself back at the loom, he realized it was because his mistress had ordered him to tend her hearth and loom, and sparring with his mad aunt did not fulfill that command.

Eris laughed so hard she collapsed to the floor. 

"Terror himself--at the loom like a mortal girl!"

Then she darted over to Enyo. 

"You gotta tell me, She-Wolf! Who holds the wolf pup's leash?" 

Enyo took a swig from her flask. 

"Shut up, Eris," she snapped. 

"I won't leave unless you tell me!" Eris sing-songed. 

Enyo barked a laugh. 

"You won't leave even if I do tell you. But since I don't want you to pester me about it for hours---my brother has bound his sons to some mortal widow."

Eris giggled and clapped her hands in glee. 

"Fear and Terror, taken as spoils by an Athenian widow? They'll never live down the shame!"

Eris pranced over to Deimos. 

"So, where's your mistress, little maid?" she cooed. 

Deimos seethed and slammed the shuttle across the loom. The threads tangled and snapped, and Eris snickered. 

"Better be careful. Wouldn't want your mistress to scold you."

"More importantly, where's my brother?" Enyo asked. 

"Why do you want to know?" Deimos asked. 

"I have business to discuss with him," Enyo replied. 

"What sort of business?"

Enyo snorted. 

"Nothing you need to know about. You're a maidservant, not a warrior." 

Deimos snarled. 

Eris giggled. 

"In other words, don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Shut up, Eris," Enyo said. Then she turned to Deimos again. 

"Where's your father?" 

Deimos sighed. 

"In Themyscira, with my brother and my--my mistress," he said. 

"And they left you at home all alone? Poor little wolf pup," Eris sneered. 

She paused. 

"But it was probably for the best. You're too delicate for the battlefield, little maid."

"My brother is with the Amazons? Good. I love them. It's a nice change of pace to see mortal women with some backbone," Enyo said. She took a swig from her flask and vanished in a shower of blood. 

And Deimos was left alone with Eris and the loom.

"Oh, dear. Your thread's all tangled, little maid," Eris sneered. 

"Leave me alone!" Deimos hissed. 

"Or what? You'll weave me to death?"

Then she smiled. 

"But because I feel sorry for you...I'll throw you a bone. How would you like to leave the house, little maid?" 

The shackles on Deimos' wrists flickered. 

"Oh, I know it's scary. But I'll keep you safe," Eris sneered.

"I cannot. My...my mistress..." 

"Your mistress is a mortal widow. I am a goddess. My commands override hers," Eris said. 

She smiled. 

"So do you want a chance to escape your leash? Or would you rather spend the rest of eternity being mocked in song as a maidservant?" 

Deimos snarled. 

"I do not fear anyone, let alone a mortal widow. If you can help me slip my bonds, show me how," he said.

"Then let's go," Eris said. In a flash, they were suddenly on Themyscira---and Deimos' shackles didn't just flicker. 

They solidified and started to drip blood. 

And then Deimos was overwhelmed by terror, and could think of nothing but his own panic and the sound of his screams.

When Deimos could finally think again, he was on the floor, surrounded by his father, who was holding Eris like a particularly vicious cat, his brother, his mistress, his mad aunt, and half a dozen Amazons, including his mortal half-sister, Queen Hippolyta. 

And as if that wasn't bad enough, he was still shaking and weeping like a child from his own essence. 

He was supposed to be immune to both terror and fear. How had this happened?

His father turned to an Amazonian girl, maybe 12 or 13. 

"Granddaughter, meet your great-aunt Enyo--" 

"Hey, kid." 

"your uncle Deimos---usually he's more impressive than this, but right now he's being reminded of what my domain means---and your, um---" 

He looked at Eris in confusion. 

"How's she related to us, again?" 

"I don't think she is," Enyo replied. 

"She keeps hitching rides on my war chariot. She has to be related some---ow! Don't bite me!" 

Eris, who had just bitten his father, snickered. 

"Seriously, how do I introduce her?" 

Phobos shook his head. 

"As the irritant that attaches herself to us and refuses to leave?" 

"Yeah, that works. Diana, meet our pet irritation, Eris." 

"I bite," Eris said helpfully.

Ares turned to Deimos' mistress.

"Pipsqueak, you've already met Deimos, of course, but this is my twin, Enyo, the goddess of Bloodshed and Carnage, and my pet irritation, Eris. She's---" 

"Strife. You have Strife for a pet," the widow replied. 

"Well, until now I thought she was my cousin, or possibly my aunt, or maybe another half-sister, but apparently not," his father said.

"Enyo, Eris, this is Pipsqueak, my new champion. She's tiny. And violent. Very violent." 

Enyo took a swig from her flask and smirked. 

"So you're the mortal widow who forced my nephews to kneel. Not bad." 

Eris snickered. 

"I'm tiny and violent too. But I bite harder than you."

"Are you all right, uncle Deimos?" the Amazonian girl who was apparently Deimos' niece asked. 

He was still too overwhelmed by his own essence to reply, even in gesture.

“What happened to him?” his niece asked the gathered crowd. 

“He disobeyed Pipsqueak’s order to tend her hearth and home, and seriously, at that. He didn’t just refuse to do what she said–he tried to run away from her entirely. And as punishment for breaking the laws of conquest, his powers turned inward on himself,” his father said. 

Eris giggled. 

“So that’s what happens when you convince a captured god to disobey his mistress!” 

Everyone glared at her. 

“Wait. You talked Deimos into disobeying Pipsqueak?” his father asked. 

“Oopsie,” Eris replied. She didn’t sound even remotely apologetic. 

The widow frowned. 

“In that case, he has suffered more than enough,” she said. 

The shackles flickered once and disappeared, and Deimos could breathe normally again. 

Part of Deimos wanted to hate her. She had humiliated him, over and over and over again. 

But his mind was still half-crippled by terror, and so instead he darted over to her and knelt by her feet. 

“Thank you, mistress. Thank you.” The words were sincere. They had to be, because she was all that kept him from being consumed by his own essence. 

Enyo took a swig from her flask. 

“Him being weak was funny before. Now it’s just…pathetic.” 

Even his father looked slightly taken aback. 

“Looks like the shackles had more of a kick to them than Hephaestus told me. I wanted them punished, not broken,” he said awkwardly. 

Then he went over to Deimos. 

“You…you okay, little terror?” 

Deimos glanced up at his mistress. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Not if it meant drowning in his own terror again. 

“Mistress, what…what do I say?” 

His father frowned and dropped Eris to the floor. 

“I…I broke him. I didn’t mean to break him, Pipsqueak. He’s my son. What do I…what do I kill to fix this?”

The widow frowned. 

“I don’t think you can kill suffering, Lord Ares,” she said. 

“You better not! That’s one of my kids! Or maybe my siblings. I can never remember,” Eris interjected.

“Then what do I do?”

“What did you do when he was small and scared?”

“I killed whatever made him upset. That’s what I do. I cannot die for my family, so I kill for them.”

Eris snickered. 

"What's the matter, War? You going soft?" she asked.

"SHUT UP, ERIS!" Ares exclaimed. 

Eris frowned. 

"I was just trying to be helpful," she lied.

"Can someone take her outside or something?" Ares asked. 

"Not me. I don't want to be bitten. She probably has rabies," Enyo replied. 

"I don't have rabies!" 

Eris paused. 

"But I do have the plague. Is that better?" 

Deimos' mistress, and all the Amazons in the room, quickly backed away from Eris.

If she really did have the plague, it wouldn't do them much good, but he could understand why they did it. 

"If all my Amazons die of the plague because of you, I'm going to rip you limb from limb," Ares growled. 

"What kind of plague do you have, anyway?" Enyo asked. 

"Most of them. I also have cholera and fourteen types of fever," Eris replied. 

"Why?" 

Eris beamed. 

"I like collecting things. You never know when a little plague might come in handy!"

"And now you've brought contagion into my palace," Hippolyta said. 

Ares frowned. 

"I'll go find Apollo and make him cure it."

Eris snickered. 

"I'm not contagious, stupid," she replied. 

"You just said you had the plague!" 

"Yeah! I keep it in a jar at my house! I wanted to have rabies, but Echidna refused to gamble that," Eris said.

"Why were you gambling with Echidna?" Ares asked. 

"Because Typhon is still buried under Mount Etna. It's too bad, really. He was a much better dice player."

"And at what point during his world-ending rampage did you play dice with him?" Enyo asked.

"About fifteen minutes in. He wanted to eat me, so I said that he could if he beat me at dice. I won, but it was a close thing. And unlike the gods, he didn't cheat. Anyway, because a certain lightning-wielding killjoy buried him under a mountain, I have to gamble with Echidna instead. And that's how I got the plague. And a three-headed baby snake monster. Does anybody want one of those?" Eris asked.

Ares looked at Deimos with as much concern as he was capable of. 

"Hey, little terror. If I got you a three-headed snake, would that make you feel better?"

Phobos frowned. 

"Father, I do not think a three-headed snake monster will help Deimos. He has just been traumatized by his own essence." 

"Should I bring the fire-breathing horses, then? Or ask your great-uncle Hades if we can borrow Cerberus?"

"No! No monsters-please!" Deimos exclaimed. 

He did not sound like himself. He sounded like a frightened child. 

But he had just been drowned in every kind of monster and horror. He did not think he could bear to face any more.

"Then...do you want an axe? Or a sword? Or a spear?" 

"I...I want to be safe," Deimos said quietly. 

Ares grinned. 

"Then I'll get you a shield! Or a dozen! Anything for my son!"

"Aww, anyone can get a shield! You should get him one of Athena's law scrolls. That'll keep everyone away!" Eris exclaimed.

"Shut up, Eris!" Ares exclaimed. 

Then he turned back to Deimos. 

"What should I get you, little terror? What do you need?" 

Deimos started to respond, but then the terror kicked in. 

"I...I...mistress, what do I say?" he asked. 

"Whatever you need to, Deimos," his mistress said. 

"Pathetic," Enyo muttered.

"He takes after his father, then!" Eris chirped.

Enyo scowled. 

"Shut up, Eris!" 

"But it's true! What sort of war god lets his son act like a coward?"

"Deimos, I...I meant to make you stronger, not break you. How do I help you fight this? What needs to be destroyed?" his father asked.

Enyo sighed in exasperation. 

"If any of you tell anyone about this, I will chop you into bits," she snarled. 

Then she knelt next to Deimos and pulled him into an aggressive hug.

It was so forceful it felt more like a blow, but he leaned into the touch anyway. His mad aunt was actually trying to be gentle.

"You're a snot-nosed little brat, but you're still ours. We aren't gonna let this break you. We need you," Enyo said. 

Eris snickered. 

"What's the matter? Is the big, bad she-wolf worried about the scared little pup?" she asked. 

"SHUT UP, ERIS!"

Deimos' half-sister Hippolyta turned to her daughter with a shake of her head. 

"There are benefits to being descended from War, Diana, but I fear that pleasant family reunions are not always among them," she said wearily. 

Deimos' mistress shook her head. 

"And I thought my brother was emotionally constipated," she muttered.

Then Deimos' aunt did something he had never heard her do: she started to sing. 

It was an old Thracian war song, and it was mostly about slaughtering your enemies and the glory of conquest, but the rhythm of the music still helped him breathe more easily.

"You sound like a dying cat, she-wolf," Eris called out. 

She did. Centuries of shouting and drinking had completely ruined any voice his mad aunt might have had. 

But the rhythm stabilized Deimos anyway.

When his father picked up the chorus of the song, Diana put her hands over her ears, Hippolyta looked slightly pained, and even Deimos' mistress looked a little uncomfortable. 

His father was off-key and out of tune, and his voice clashed horribly with Enyo's. 

They sounded more like two wolves howling than anyone actually singing. 

But the rhythm remained.

When the song was over, Enyo got back to her feet and punched Deimos' father in the nose. 

"Ow! What was that for?" 

"For making me take care of your pup," Enyo replied.

Phobos sighed. 

"Brother, if you ever listen to Eris again, I will spear you." 

He paused. 

"But I am glad you are recovering now. I would be incomplete without you."

And for a moment, the dread was gone. And that was enough, for now.