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The spear was heavy in Clarisse’s right hand. It was a gracious gift from her father, but when her nerves rose, it would add onto its weight. The weapon was a symbol of his expectations, of what he expected from her.
A cold breeze sent a shiver through her spine as she scanned the opponents around her. Six guys in their mid-thirties instead of teenagers like her. Were they estranged demigods or monsters disguised as humans?
The roof top was about five thousand square feet, so she had enough room to dodge and run. The problem that was plaguing her the most was their weapons.
They didn’t have spears or swords, no bow and arrow was in sight either. They had these handguns. Silver and black sleek handguns tucked into their waistbands like badges of honor. They all had a matching tattoo on their neck of a snake wrapping around it. Some lettering was on it, but she could barely make it out this late in the night.
Horns blared on the ground beneath them, cars rolled down the streets, and time dragged on. Time was something Clarisse had been lacking recently. For the past two weeks, she had been searching for any hints, any signs that could translate the Oracle’s prophecy.
“Is that an artifact of some sort?” A brunette with a heavy European accent asked her. He almost sounded Russia. “History project?”
“You all need to stand down.” She raised her spear, hardening any fear in her voice into sharpness instead.
A blonde one on his left pulled his gun out from his belt. “You crossed into our territory. I bet you’re the child of Maverick.”
“I am the daughter of Ares!”
“He has a nickname now, did he tell you to say that?”
The thoughts in her mind slowed for a moment. They must have been playing dumb. It was a good trick, but she wasn’t falling for it.
“Very funny.” Her tone was flat. “Tell me, are you sons of Hermes? He travels a lot. It would probably explain the accents.”
“We are the sons of Kalganov of Moscow. The Iron Belt. Who is this Herpes you speak of?” The brunette replied, as if he were charting out any additional enemies.
“Hermes.” She corrected him before realizing they were not demigods or monsters. They were mortals. Monsters were sometimes too afraid to mock the gods. "You guys have no idea of who I'm talking about."
The blond raised his gun. "No, but we have a good idea of who your father is. We were in need of sending a message, but his rebellious teenage daughter will do."
Before he could pull the trigger, Clarisse sent her spear flying at him. It pierced his left shoulder and sent him tumbling back to the ground. A loud growl of pain ripped from his throat. It made her cringe because these were clueless mortals.
"I am not to interfere with whatever you guys have going on!" She said, holding her hands up as four of them surrounded her. Each of them had a gun raised. "I don't want to fight."
Her father had told her to never back down from a fight, but this was unfair. They were humans, and she was a half-blood. She couldn't kill them; it was inhumane in every sense of the word.
"Your mother's softness still lingers within you like a disease." Ares had told her that when she was ten years old and hesitant to shoot a deer with a crossbow.
"You interfered the moment Maverick sent the Black Smith after us!" One with raven hair yelled at her. "You should have known where the territories are now."
Who was the Black Smith?
"Kill her!" The blonde grunted while pulling the spear out of his shoulder. Blood gushed out of the wound like a waterfall. He tossed it aside. It scraped the concrete with a bitter sound. "Let them know who the Iron Belt is!"
She sprinted straight toward the spear as a bullet grazed her shoulder. An unfamiliar pain seared through her left arm. It fell limp, and she couldn't feel her hand.
Ignoring it, she hoisted the spear up with her right hand and scanned her five opponents. They all had loaded handguns, and it wasn't like she could make herself a difficult target on an open roof.
'Fatal failure is imminent during this trial in exchange for peace only so mild.' She recalled the last of the Oracle's words. This would be the fatal trial, and maybe it was fate's way of promising her Elysium.
The blonde ordered them all around Russian as he clutched his shoulder and stood. The brunette obliged and tossed his gun aside before charging at her.
She raised her spear as much as she possibly could, but the raven-haired one came around and gripped her shoulders from behind. She screamed as the brunette rushed toward her head on.
Using both her feet, she managed to jump off the ground and kick off the brunette's chest. The force was enough to send all three of them falling back in different directions, but she dropped her spear again.
Her left hand pulsed, but she could feel it again. She could also feel the warm blood coming out of her graze wound.
Another man with brown hair picked up the spear and threw it over the edge of the roof. An angry screamed ripped from her throat when she watched it happen.
She was on her feet in an instant, sprinting toward him, then punching him in the sternum. The air was knocked out of him.
A brief moment passed where she was satisfied with her vengeful actions, but it quickly faded when he started coughing up blood. He wheezed, then fell to the ground dead with his eyes wide open.
She hit him too hard.
Guilt crashed over her, and bile rose in her throat. She took a few steps back and turned around.
Four more opponents left. A brunette, a raven-haired one, one with a man bun, and one with a buzz cut. They were all armed, and blonde was pissed off without a doubt.
"You will pay your-" His words were cut off when something ripped through his neck. His body hit the ground with a soft thud.
Clarisse looked at where it came from, the south entrance of the roof, and she could make out a bright white spray-painted skull on some sort of vest.
A tall man with a nose that looked like it had been punched to many times emerged from the shadows. His features were sharp, and his eyes resembled the color of an oak tree. He had brown hair with a slight fade. The skull on his vest was either for show or a symbol from Kronos.
Buzz Cut looked at Man Bun with a slightly petrified look. "Oh, shit."
Skull Vest didn't speak as he grabbed Clarisse by her injured arm and tossed her down onto the ground behind him.
A mess of bullets and yelling ensued shortly after that. Clarisse didn't want to watch, in fact, she looked away. She covered her ears and closed her eyes like a coward until all that could be heard was silence.
She didn't want to face the massacre in front of her. Instead, she stood and slowly walked toward the exit of the roof where Skull Vest had came from.
"Stop." A low, grow-like voice tore through the silence.
Clarisse froze in her tracks. "Tell my father I am grateful his and your help, warrior. I'm sure Elysium will welcome you with open arms."
It was the only conclusion her mind came to; Ares saw his spear being discarded like trash, so to save his ego, he sent a past warrior or soldier to go and help her. Guns weren't really his style though.
"The hell are you talkin' about?" He questioned her instead with a slight crack in his voice. His New York accent was strong. "Who the hell is your father? What kind of code talk is Elysium?"
Clarisse felt her stomach dip. Her father hadn't sent her help.
She heard loud shuffling behind her, and it sounded like he was moving and dropping the bodies somewhere.
"Alright, new plan." His heavy footsteps echoed cross the roof. "Why were you on a rooftop with the Iron Belt?"
"A mistake." Clarisse brought herself to face him. It was the least she could do, but no bodies were in sight. Blood trails led to a ledge on the roof, and some brain matter was still splattered in different spots. "I need to leave."
"You stay."
Her feet felt cemented to the ground. Another moment of silence fell over them as he took off his vest and tossed it to the side. He crouched down and checked a pocket on it. A white box with a red cross was in his hand a few seconds later.
Clarisse had forgotten about the bleeding wound on her shoulder, but she held her chin up anyways.
"Here's what I think happened." He began while opening it. Some supplies fell out. "I think your father is probably a powerful crime lord. He probably told you stay away from this part of Hell's Kitchen, but you and your friends decided to go anyways. His enemies found you and tried to kill you to gain leverage on your father."
"It's a mistake." She repeated herself, and he shook his head.
"Right, and my name is Matt Murdock. For Christ's sake, kid."
"I need to go." Her words came out shaky this time, and it caught his attention.
"Is that right? You wanna leave with a bleeding shoulder." He stood and offered her some pills.
He stared at her expectantly until she took them from his hand. She swallowed them with abnormal speed.
"Here's my new theory." He continued while crouching back down where the first aid kit was. "Your father's a scary and angry old man, and I bet he has enemies. Maybe they chased you here for revenge on him. Maybe he didn't try hard enough to keep your full identity a secret. Maybe he needs an heir and not an heiress to his empire."
A large knot formed in her throat, but she squared her shoulders and stared him down. She needed to be brave for now.
"I'll tell you what I think." He looked directly into her eyes. "It's fucked up for a father to involve a little girl with whatever organized crime he has going on."
A small hint of anger burst through her brain, and she couldn't stop herself from blurting her next words out. "I'm not a little girl."
"You're how old? Thirteen?"
"Fourteen-"
"You're a little girl, then, trying to act strong. Something about how you're handling that graze wound tells me that you've been injured before."
"It doesn't matter." Clarisse snapped, and she took a step toward him. "My purpose is to complete my quest and bring glory to my father. I made one mistake!"
"Tell me, how many battles has your dad made you fight for him?" He stood and took a step toward her too. "How much brainwashing has he done on you to convince you that this was glory?"
"What?"
An incredulous laugh left him as he shook his head. "Your father isn't man enough to even fight his own battles."
"Shut up!" She screamed while shoving him. It made pain shoot through her left shoulder, and she hissed.
"What's your father's name?"
"Ares! The God of War won't tolerate-"
"Oh, bullshit."
"You know nothing about how any of this works." Clarisse shook her head, but his previous words lingered in her head.
"I know more than you, sweetheart, and any second now, that wound's getting infected." He said while gesturing to her shoulder. The shove hadn't even fazed him. "Sit down."
His tone was too authoritative, and too adult-like. She sat down with a glare on her face as he knelt down beside her.
She didn't react when he put alcohol on the wound, and she barely moved as he stitched her up. She only met his gaze with a glare that hid every unsure thought and feelings of guilt festering inside her.
"What's your name? Pandora?" He raised an eyebrow, and she looked away.
"Clarisse La Rue." Her voice was barely audible.
"Your lease is blue?"
"Clarisse La Rue!" She yelled, but he didn't react.
"Frank Castle." He-or Frank-introduced himself like a regular human would.
Once he finished, she immediately stood, but he gripped her forearm and yanked her down onto the concrete ground with him.
Seconds later, bullets began flying everywhere. The fight was only starting.