CHAPTER V

The Mourning

That night, Xanxus came to Squalo's bed again.

'I am not some pathetic replacement when your wife-to-be says "no",' snapped Squalo as he pushed Xanxus' chin away from his neck. 'I bet you were planning to bed Princess Callipylia when you presented her that necklace.'

'That was a betrothal gift. No more. No less. Her consent matters not to me,' asseverated Xanxus, 'I want you.'

'I trust you not, man of foreign blood—you and the cozenage of your tongue!'

Xanxus eyed Squalo intently, and Squalo had his sword ready, lest the prince might begin to assault him. Nonetheless, he merely emitted one word: 'Scum.'

Squalo shivered. It was the same old 'scum.' The only difference lay in two things: the accent—now compact with pure aristocratic orotundity—and the tone—too soft for Xanxus' usual standard, so soft that the son of Polymedes could almost detect affection within it.

'Why did you hide your true accent?'

The moment the question leapt from his mouth, Eretrian general regretted his query; out of inveterate propensity, the older man would give him an irksome reply like, 'I do as I please.' Fortunately, he was wrong.

Xanxus did answer him, 'During one's travel, it would take less hassle to be treated as a commoner than a royalty.'

Squalo knew well what his adversary meant. When King Imbrasus travelled with his convoy, the folks abandoned their labours to make way for them. Children were about to jeer at the royalty's attire which were nothing like theirs, but were quickly hushed by their parents in fear of angering the king. One or two encounters like that might give one a sense of pride, but spending the entire day, or longer, in such manner was a torture.

In the case of Princess Callianassa, King Imbrasus' third daughter, the vendors tried to sell her their goods at higher price, had it not been for one of her attendants had been experienced with such treatment. Squalo, who had escorted the princess at that time, had thought it foolish of the princess to go to the marketplace bedecked in such heavy jewelleries. But then again, she was still a child; perhaps, her handmaids were the ones to blame.

Even so, the silver head could not see why the Lydian needed to hide his royal accent in King Imbrasus' palace.

'I do not sing,' was the only answer the erastes gave when he tossed the question.

With that, Xanxus placed his hands on Squalo's hips, and this time the younger man did not push him away.

###

When the chariot of the tireless lordly sun-god Helios Hyperionides upsprung into high heaven, auriferous and radiant against the backdrop of the ruby-tinted dawning skies, a man around Squalo's age paid him a visit. The general recognised him as Macareus, son of Euryphemus. These father and son were his neighbours and his surrogate father's fellow fishermen. The general kept his greeting terse; he was moody thanks to Xanxus' excessive demand in bed and now that the pleasure was over, only pain lingered within his body.

His speaking adversary, however, paid no heed to this laconism, for he bore far graver news. 'My deepest condolences, deft-handed Squalo; Polymedes has headed to Acheron's sorrowful waves. My father and I found his lifeless form washed ashore nearly an hour ago, his fishing rod clenched firmly in his hand, with no boat sheltering his body. Probably, old age failed his strength whilst competing with some big fish he was catching and the fish pulled him into the sea.'

After that, the silver-haired son of Polymedes was nowhere to be found. He did entrust a large sum of gold to Macareus for his surrogate father's funeral rite, but couldn't bear to be there himself. Nobody saw him in the army either. No word. No letter. Simply … absent.

The next day was Xanxus' turn to go missing in exactly the same fashion. His followers searched for him high and low around the palatial precinct to no avail. On the other hand, one of the many caverns on the windy Eretrian rock-faced cliff was granted with two temporary residents.

Squalo's mournful ululation gave away his location and Xanxus found the general weeping on the mouth of the cave, facing the undulating waves of the sea. This was the very sea where the old man Polymedes had found baby Squalo, adrift inside a basket. This was the very sea where the old man Polymedes had taught his foster son to throw fish nets. This was the very sea where the old man Polymedes had called his child home when the latter played with his friends until late in the evening. The foamy surface of the sea right now differed nothing at all from that of the other years.

Dallied by the relentless Boreas, the silver locks of the youth flowed sideways from his mournful head. The general did not bother to hide his tears at the prince's presence, but did not hold back his yell either, 'Leave me alone!'

'I have come here for a nap but found Achilles instead,' replied the raven sardonically, abandoning his bucolic accent subterfuge, so that each word he articulated sounded majestic enough to be revered as the law itself.

Nevertheless, Squalo was in no mood to be impressed. Picking a nearby pebble, he threw it at Xanxus' face. 'What do you know about my father?! Is it too incomprehensible for a barbarian like you that a son grieves over such pious father's death?'

For one flicker of moment, Xanxus seemed to be about to deride him. Notwithstanding, he settled with, 'I know nothing about your father. But this much I know: I do as I please, Achaean scum!' Dodging the pebble, the prince knelt, grabbed the sulking man's long hair and planted a rough kiss on the latter's lips.

'Go away!' struggled the sitting man, pushing his capturer with all his might.

'You think you can make me go away?' mocked the stronger of them, clasping his arms around the younger man's back in a deadly grip.

Squalo still struggled, but Xanxus' powerful grasp gave him no room to succeed. Twelve whole minutes was all it took for Squalo's resistance to evolve from 'Let me go, dammit!' to 'I'm not in the mood for this!' and 'Curse you, arrghhh!'

When it came to this man, resistance was futile.

Only after Squalo showed no more sign of struggle did Xanxus release his captive. Detaching a pouch from his belt, he took out a loaf of bread, a generous slice of cheese and a large chuck of meat. 'Eat!'

Squalo only stared at him with furrowed eyebrows.

'How can I boast of defeating the strongest general of the Peloponnese when he is starving?!' He reasoned, impatience laced in his tone.

For one ephemeral moment, the silver-haired man nearly blurted, 'You've come all the way down here just to bring me food?' But then, he changed his mind. The immortal gods had deprived him of a father, but bestowed him with a new solace. Xanxus used his aristocratic accent to him, and possibly to his followers too, but certainly not to other Eretrians; it made Squalo think—or dare to hope—that Xanxus might regard him within the close range of his personal friends.

Silently, Squalo took the food from Xanxus' hands and began to masticate.

Even Achilles needs Patroclus. At this notion, Squalo remembered his sore rear. But this man is no Patroclus.

However, even after the General of Eretria had had his fill of food and drink, the Prince of Sardis did not bring up the subject of rematch. Instead, he ordained, 'Tell me about your father.'

'Why do you want to know? He is gone. I have no need of your pity. Look, if you want a rematch, do it quickly and then begone!' bickered the son of Polymedes.

The son of Xanthias darted toward him, pushing him onto the karst wall of the cave.

'If the old saying "Like father like son" is true, then your father must have been downright annoying, weak, arrogant, loud-mouthed man…'

Squalo held his fist high, ready to strike, but his movements came to a halt as soon as he heard Xanxus' next words, '… whose loyalty knew no bounds.'

This alluring stranger was infuriatingly right, and there was nothing Squalo's racing heart could do against it.

'H-he was not my real father … but he treated me like a son, and I know he was kinder to me better than most fathers were to their sons. He had neither wife nor slave, so he did all the housework in addition to raise me alone.'

On and on Squalo's story went. He did not know on what account he trusted this stranger to hear the tale of his personal life. All he knew was that when he avowed, 'So I tried my hardest to keep my father proud by joining the army and conquer all Hellas,' Xanxus was eyeing him with a great interest, and a slight tinge of blush painted his cheeks because of that.

'A-at any rate,' Squalo tore himself from Xanxus' eyes, 'I was not cut out to be a fisherman…' Squalo's sentence drifted midway as Xanxus now relinquished his seat and approached him. Squalo was standing near the cave wall, and Xanxus stretched his arms to entrap him between them.

His heart racing, the Eretrian general tried his best not to gulp. There were no thousands of armed enemies, advancing threateningly with shields and spears in their hands, rousing clouds of dust in the battlefield. No, there was only one man before him, and unarmed at that! And yet, the presence of this one man stirred the fear, anticipation and allurement of a thousand hoplites within Squalo just because their faces were inches away from each other.

To no avail had the silver-haired son of Polymedes reminded himself, repeatedly, that he ought to mourn for his father, but all his desire of resistance evaporated into thin particles of ether as soon as his eyes were fixed on the deep pool of mystery and enthrallment that was Xanxus' countenance.

Nevertheless, the older man did not kiss him. Instead, he went down on his knees. Then, without removing Squalo's karbatinos shoe, he hoisted the general's leg and brushed his mouth along the skin of the younger man's shin, knee and thigh—none too softly, yet none too roughly.

Squalo tried to retreat, but one step behind him was the cave wall. His back was flat against the rocky wall now and there was no room to arch despite Xanxus' relentless onslaughts. The prince slipped his head underneath the general's short exomis tunic without yanking it out of the way, licking, sucking, nibbling the aroused flesh. Soon the notion that the prince of Sardis was tending his manhood became too overwhelming: his own flesh betrayed him.

'This isn't like you,' Squalo hissed through clenched jaw, trying his best not to let his midsection spurt his essence. Not yet. Not just yet.

'You think you know all of me after just one night's experience?' mocked the erastes.

Damn! Must you ask such a question right after your tongue teased my fraenulum?

The trembling breathing of the eromenos' plane of abdomen stimulated a smug grin on the raven-haired man's face.

'You bastard!' The leather-shod younger man groaned; his back arched as he did so.

The older one paused. For one frightening moment, Squalo was worried lest Xanxus would stop approaching him forever, but instead, he remarked, 'Heh, you're damn right at that! No matter how many women my father had, none of them could bear him a child, except for my mother. Later, he discovered that I was no son of his, but he covered it up, not wanting the whole nation to consider him a laughing stock who was unable to procreate. Thus, he raised my mother's status from a mere concubine to a queen, and then secretly gave ordained the royal apothecary to envenom her. He was in bed with other women during her funeral rite.' That became Xanxus' last sentence. His mouth was soon too busy to converse, back to its original mission of seduction.

Too immersed in the ocean of bliss, Squalo did not ask Xanxus to carry on the discourse. They could talk some other time; right now, he needed that tongue for another function. He could not see Xanxus' face because of his tunic. Yet, he made no attempt to remove the garment. It was better this way: at the very least, Xanxus would not see his embarrassingly sultry expression. But, as though he had been able to read the eromenos' mind, the raven's head abruptly emerged from between those thighs. Rising to his feet, Xanxus claimed Squalo's lips with no further ado.

They did not know how long the fierce kiss, or kisses, lasted. While their tongues were too engaged in wrestling, their hands were busy stripping each other of clothing articles.

When both were naked, save for their shoes, Squalo placed one leg around Xanxus' waist, wrapping it in tacit demand of what had become his prerogative as of late. The warlike prince fain obliged, making his entrance with a powerful thrust.

No words were exchanged between the two conjoined bodies. Motions became their way of communication, trading breath for breath and sweat for sweat. Whether one of them was standing, sitting or reclining, the other would be sure to pursue.

Squalo strove to hold, to grab, to touch any part of praecipe, but it was no use; the pit of love was not only deep, but also engulfed his soul with its mysterious power.

The incandescent cloak of the rich-tressed Selene spread against the lofty heaven, and in her soft caresses of luminescence, Squalo could see how a part of Xanxus came in and out of him in rhythmic motion, how the older man took him incessantly from behind, how the royal blood lifted him whole by both limbs and impaled his body with eager flesh. Loud-resounding moans echoed through the cave walls all night long, no less conspicuous than the voices of a raging tempest. Sleep, along with his soporific mist, was unwelcomed here.

Only after noon of spring's glow descended around them did Xanxus let go of his embrace around Squalo, crotch coated in white, with one last deep red teeth-shaped imprint near his collarbone.

They were walking to the mouth of the cave when Xanxus' followers—all four of them—rushed in. Unprecedented by any courteous talk, Belphegor warned them, 'The old coot announced our arrest with a charge of his youngest daughter's assassination.'

'WHAT?! You mean Princess Callipolyxo is dead?' Squalo questioned him in disbelief, shaking the youth by the shoulders.

'How…' Squalo became silent; now was not the time to contemplate. He took a deep breath, turned to Xanxus and said, 'You have to flee as soon as possible. I'll try to reason with the king not to capture you or at least buy you some time to escape.'

Instead, the son of Xanthias held him by the waist. 'Come with me.'

Xanxus' gaze was so intense that a lump formed in Squalo's throat. The silver-haired man had to clench his jaw first before shaking his head. 'I…' he compelled his limbs to make the first step, '… have my own dream to follow. Farewell, son of Xanthias.'

###

Outside the cave, the deep blue of the near cloudless afternoon sky met the deeper colour of the sea in a sharp dividing horizon line, making the sea look as dead and quiet as a mirror. When wind forsook the sea like this, Xanxus would not be able to sail swiftly. Squalo hastened his steps, intending to delay King Imbrasus from pursuing Xanxus at all cost.

When the son of Polymedes reached the high walls of the palace, the royal quarter was filled with turmoil. The ladies-in-waiting were running haphazardly, carrying freshly-picked flowers, fluffy rabbits, flowing dresses and several other objects which were usually pleasing to the queen's eyes. The guards, on the other hand, were rushing, trying to find Xanxus and his companions.

'What happened?' the general asked one of the sentries.

'Terrible news, son of Polymedes of the mighty arms. While trying to rouse her mistress from bed this morning, Princess Callipolyxo's nanny found the little girl's lifeless body instead. She was strangled to death with a necklace and the investigators declared that the assassination took place just before midnight. Now Queen Laonome will not come out of her bedchamber, and I can even hear her tormented wails from here. King Imbrasus has decreed the arrest of Prince Xanxus.'

'What makes him think that Xanxus is the murderer?'

'Sir, on Princess Callipolyxo's throat was a necklace with a beetle pendant, and according to the maidservants who went to the woods the day before yesterday, such necklace was supposed to be a gift from the barbarian to Princess Callithoe.'

Squalo hastened towards the throne room with the intention of telling the king that Xanxus was innocent. Behind him, a throng of guards brought Xanxus' four followers in restraints.

How come they are here? wondered Squalo.

As always, Squalo's actions were faster than his words. Before he had the time to think of what was wise, his sword had slashed the shackles apart. 'Go! Tell Xanxus to run away!'

As the four foreigners fled, Squalo stayed behind to prevent the palatial guards from pursuing the escapees. The guards were thrown into confusion; after all, Squalo had been, a good commander to them.

On the other hand, Aristomedon, Squalo's second-in-command, shouted, 'TREACHERY! ARREST HIM!'

The guards hesitated. None of them made a real move until the king himself came out of the throne room and demanded the truth. 'Is it true that my general has committed treason?'

Nobody dared to answer, so the middle-aged man had to rely on his own eyes. When the bitter truth sank in, he groaned, 'Squalo, what have you done?'

Aristomedon made a hand signal and the guards mobilised to fetter Squalo at last. He offered no resistance as they carried him to the dungeon.

###

Now in the dungeon, Squalo crestfallenly stared at his severed arm again. King Imbrasus' offer re-echoed inside his head, but must he ascend to Eretrian throne by-and-by with one arm only?

CHAPTER VI

The War on the Plain

For several hours, the queen of Eretria had been weeping over the loss of her youngest daughter, tearing her hair and beating her breasts in continuous wails. On account of her, there was no slumber for any occupant of the palace. So woeful was the sight that the gold-throned king started to doubt that his wife's sanity would last; in her dishevelled state, she was hardly indistinguishable from one of the Ciconian women when they were dissevering Orpheus. All the ladies-in-waiting endeavoured to comfort their mistress in turn, but the disconsolate royal lady found no solace in the counsel of words, for no stone of earth could outweigh the dismay in her heart.

Having wailed to her heart's content, Queen Laonome, daughter of big-hearted Laopylus, sought out justice. At the first ray of dawn, trailing peplos made its way down to the depth of the palatial dungeon.

The honourable wife of Imbrasus cast manner aside and scampered before the prisoner. Voice hoarse from copious ululation, the golden-girdled queen of the land entreated, 'Son of benevolent Polymedes, will you not kill the vile murderer of a helpless maiden and appease a mother's aching heart? My darling daughter would have completed her eighth spring, if she had not lived a mere eight days too few.'

'My lady queen, Thanatos reft fair Callipolyxo from you as a child of eight years old, and whoever his agent was, I assure you, it was not Prince Xanxus.' Squalo quickly added, 'And not the prince's followers either, for they only harkened to Xanxus' voice, doing none of anyone else's bidding.'

'How can you trust those barbarians so?' The white-armed queen's eyes were overflowing with tears which glistened very much like the spangled tiara that bedighted her royal head and fell on the floor near the general's feet.

The son of Polymedes turned his gaze away.

'At least, do not close your heart to what the mother of your future wife has to say. Wives are not men's whole life, but they make men's lives whole,' again the queen implored him.

That again? Even the queen urges me to wed Princess Callipylia?

'Milady,' Squalo's lips trembled as he spoke, 'I deem Prince Xanxus innocent because he was not inside the palace precinct when the assassination took place or even several hours before that.'

The queen stared at the prisoner, her eyes tacitly demanding how he knew about this.

'He was with me all those times,' averred Squalo, preparing himself for the consequences.

What he had feared came true: with one last aghast look, the queen scampered outside, both hands clasping her mouth.

###

The prisoner woke up from his second sleep when a hydria of cold water, as foetid as the palace sewage dump, hit his face in a violent splash. Before him stood King Imbrasus himself, face crimson with fury.

Standing next to the king was a guard who carried the now empty hydria. The guard was five years below Squalo's age. He had just joined the ranks of guards a fortnight before, induced by admiration for Squalo's bravery in defeating a boar barehanded. For the nonce, the shame of duty enforced him to avert his guilty face from his hero.

Since the barred window above him admitted plenty of sunlight, the silver-haired son of Polymedes guessed this must be approaching midday.

'Leave us!' the king ordered the guard.

The young soldier retreated with a bow. As soon as the door swung close, the grizzled man roared, 'You—the general of my entire army—became that bastard's whore?! You have disgraced my kingdom!'

Squalo did not answer. It was not that he had not thought about this, it was just that … the temptation had been too strong.

'I was prepared to give up one daughter—my flesh and blood—but I will not hear the leader of my army stick up his arse and beg to be penetrated by some barbarian!'

If only they had been under different condition, Squalo would have been stunned by the king's use of vulgar words. Notwithstanding, being as they were now, the silver head asked, 'Should you not value a daughter more than just a political tool?'

'HOW DARE YOU CRITICISE ME!'

But immediately after this enraged outburst, the king massaged the bridge of his nose and uttered in a restrained apoplexy, 'How much did he pay your bodily service?'

Blazing with incredulity, Squalo's eyes met his employer's in a long stare. Even though the king insinuated him a whore, surely he did not mean that kind of whore?

'You are still green. You haven't realised how grave it is to have the weight of the entire kingdom rest upon your very shoulders and you've just put that kingdom into shame.'

Disappointment coated the king's voice, but another disappointment also seized Squalo's heart: the lord he truly respected, the ruler of people who long had held his sway, did regard that his body was for sale and his pride was tradable with gold.

He could not care less what words fell from the king's lips for the next minutes. The words just flowed around, and possibly through, his ears, but never reached his brain. He did not listen to any outer voice until his employer went out from the torture chamber, slamming the door for his lack of attention.

He heard a female voice just outside, pleading, 'Our daughter deserves a better man—someone who cares about her. Your general's heart is as unsteady as a piece of driftwood in the sea.'

'Silence, woman! What do you know about the prosperity of this kingdom?! Will the love for Callipylia alone conquer other nations, feed hungry stomachs and build temples for the gods?'

The last thing Squalo heard was the Queen of Eretria resigning to made obeisance to her lord husband, 'Howsoever a royal blood does sacrifice, the ancient custom is best.'

Then everything fell silent.

At first, Squalo assumed he could not hear the king and queen's discourse because their feet had carried them farther than his ear allowed him to hear, but then he realised there were no sound of footsteps either. There was no jingling sound of the metal keys made by the patrolling guard, not even the growl of Sklerophagus.

There were occasions when Time seemingly flew, but for the nonce he dragged his feet instead.

At last, at long last, the pitter-patter sound of footsteps in the corridor came back. No, not quite. Rather than the usual, leisurely gait of a patrolling guard on duty, this sounded closer to the hasty treads of a thief. And when the door of the torture chamber re-opened, no Eretrian stood behind it, but a Lydian did.

Their eyes met, and Squalo found the answer he had been seeking for embodied within one man: Xanxus was his myth and reality, his light and darkness, his joy and grief, his treasure and plague, his aspiration and disaster, his hope and despair, his truth and lie, his feast and starvation, his ataraxia and phobia, his friend and foe…

His everything.

And he did not know how to preclude the turbulence inside his stomach from dancing.

The Eretrian general's mouth moved to form 'Why did you come back?' but no word came out. His whole body became convulsed with bliss—so immense that it overwhelmed his power of speech. He just stared as the Lydian prince unshackled him from the wall and would have continued staring had Fran not arrived on the scene.

'I can only hold them for three more minutes,' the little boy hastened Xanxus.

Squalo did not understand what the frog-attired boy meant until he dashed outside at Xanxus' heel.

Hypnos visited every Eretrian within sight—royalties and sentries alike—accompanied by a soft and purple mist like vaporous amethyst. Dismissing his curiosity of why he wasn't affected by the mist, Squalo cast one last glance at the king's sleeping body as he passed through the corridor. If, by some contrivance of the Fates, they ever met again, they would have to cross their swords against each other.

Everywhere Xanxus, Squalo and Fran stepped, the grand palace had become a container of scattered bodies. Floral bathwater for the princesses spilled out from the loutrophoroi as the maids who carried these pitchers were overcome with sleep. A long sweep of vibrant paint dabbed the west wall of the entryway at the wrong spot since sleep fell upon the artisan's eyes before he finished painting meander motif.

Outside, Levi, Belphegor and Lussuria had readied horses for the six of them. Together, they galloped apace to the horizon.

Before long, they reached the valley overlooking a meadow. The views from here were ever-changing throughout the seasons: rejuvenating colours of spring on the glens; long summer's evenings with glowing sunsets to the west; autumnal morning mists shrouding a nearby lake; and the hilltops dusted with snow. Yet now the dancing blades of grass told him it was time to bid farewell. Once the king learnt about his prisoner's escape, the file of soldiers would pour themselves out, onto the lush pasture that used to be his childhood playground, in their pursuit.

They journeyed further north. The afternoon sun was glowing in the sky and the treed beauty of the land was bathed in golden rays when they arrived at after passing a narrow ravine and a glen. Before them now stretched a deep-eddying river and it took much persuasion to get their horses cross the water. His fellow Eretrians immersed in the tide of the rain-swollen river while attempting the same method—that would be their greatest fear and his greatest hope—so that he would not have to bathe his sword in their blood. However, personal experience taught him that Eretrian coursers possessed no such weak nature. It was not long before what Squalo had been anxious for came to life.

Back in the palace, the war trumpet had resounded. The king had his fastest chariot readied and hoarded his battalion of army. Then the leader of people uttered forth, 'Let them know that those who have put disgrace upon Eretria shall not go unpunished!'

Aristomedon shouted, 'For beloved Eretria's sake, I shall fear neither the sombreness in the hall of Dis nor the triple sharp jaws of the Tartarean hound. To the fore!'

Led by their lord-of-war's pseudo-intrepidity, the soldiers raised a battle cry; little did they know that the man who claimed this had been entreating to be spared from the boiling water. On the army advanced with Aristomedon as their commander.

How onerous could it be: defeating six men with the entire phalanx? The newly appointed general of Eretrian army cheered in heart at this very notion. Imbrasus had offered this vaunt son of Neocles a royal pardon and the hand of Princess Callipylia should he prevail in obliterating Xanxus and his followers—by 'followers', the king meant Squalo as well.

Predicting that the fugitives would eventually have to travel by sea, the pursuers took a shorter route through the city, in which the civilians who glimpsed the rapid procession of the billowing chlamys cloaks and the glinting bronze kataphraktes suit of armour shut their doors tight.

When the royal army of one hundred and fifty hippeis cavalrymen, followed by four hundred of the hoplites infantrymen, reached a plain that separated two rivers, they confronted their targets. Six men stood firm on the other side of the plain. No craftsmanship of metal clad their bodies; valour served as their only armour.

The Eretrian archers proceeded to the front of the battle-line. Shower of arrows they shot; none of which touched Xanxus' armourless band, for the arrows were enflamed and wilted each time the Lydian prince's stare lay upon them.

'Fie! Those despicable barbarians employ sorcery!' exclaimed Imbrasus.

Having disburdened the horses from the weight of their bodies, Xanxus bade Lussuria and Fran to tie the horses onto the trees in the far background, outside the range of arrows, while Belphegor initiated the counterattack with his acute knives.

The youth was faster by far than was ever seen by the sons of Achaeans. Despite the vast range of the no-man's land—the space separating two opposing sides—all ten knives flew in a rapid course and embedded their blades of iron into the soldiers' necks. All except one. The royal charioteer was the first to fall; a new hole made its appearance on his xystis accompanied by splotches of blood. So quick did death slip away from him that he had no need to clutch his left breast in pain, through which Belphegor's knife pierced his heart.

This left the king with a trouble with taking the rein while he ought to fend for his aged self. And yet, King Imbrasus would not yield. He harnessed his horses and at the grizzled man's chiding, the imperial coursers quickly whirled the swift gold-gilded chariot along, narrowing the gap between both oppositions.

Above them, a hawk flew across the sky from right to left. Not long after, they spotted two eagles in the sky, also soaring leftwards. Even the wind howled obstreperously, as though it was trying to dissuade them from taking further action. More than half the soldiers were stricken with terror.

'Nonsense!' affirmed the king when one of the hippeis warned him that, by Fates' ordinance, these portentous signs presaged defeat. 'Themis' Scale of Justice favours the righteous and we are on the right side; go forth to victory, men!'

'But sire, what if…' the cavalryman gulped, '… what if we are not the right side?'

Imbrasus' eyes narrowed dangerously. 'That Lydian bastard killed my daughter and my own general has chosen to side with him, yet you do not think we have every right to vindicate justice?'

'No Lydian killed Princes Callipolyxo, my lord.' The soldier's face blanched. 'It is I who did so.'

'What are you saying, Tharybis?' The king did not want to believe his ears.

'I … I … my utmost apologies…' Tharybis' hand gripped his steed's rein very tightly, yet even such tight grip did not free his hand from the trembling state it was in. Even tears welled up from his green eyes. 'I was in love with your fourth daughter. Of course, the twelve-year-old Princess Calliphronime knew nothing about this; I was planning to wait for another two years. But then I saw Prince Xanxus' gift thrown away by Princess Callithoe on the ground, and so I took it. I tried to sneak to Princess Calliphronime's bedchamber that night, to give the necklace to her and confess my undying love. Believe me, my lord, I intended to convey my feelings through words only.

But Princess Callipolyxo came out of her sister's door the moment I almost entered it. I panicked at once and in attempt to keep her from telling anyone of my presence, I used the necklace at hand to choke her. I dragged her lifeless form to her own bed afterwards. I have been afraid to admit the grave sin I committed, but I do not want the Eretrian army to suffer defeat because they defy the gods' behest.' He swallowed hard; the ominous flight of the birds still fresh in his memory.

King Imbrasus' countenance was now discoloured with lividity. Nonetheless, his voice was far quieter than Tharybis had thought it would be. 'How many people know about this?'

'Not a single soul, my lord.' The young man answered truthfully, voice encumbered with remorse. There was no time for his mind to calculate that there should be calm before a storm. Nor did he see a bronze spear coming before it pieced through his neck and his blood bathed the arm of its wielder.

'M-my lord … why…?'

Life seeping out from Tharybis' veins, his voice became so small the cavalryman barely recognised himself. This wasn't like him. Not like him at all.

His lord answered him in disgust, 'Why? You dare ask why after all you've done?! You think I will give my daughter to a mere lieutenant?'

When soul no longer resided within the young man's body, and the body fell from the steed it had been mounting, the king spoke again, 'Besides, with your existence after that foolish confession, what reason can I extradite for the execution of those barbarians?'

Gone had the pretence to weave an alliance between Eretria and Lydia; the king had hired an assassin to kill the wretched Princess Callipylia after she arrived at Sardis and hence justified his reason to attack Lydia. He would not let himself the opportunity slip by through the loss of a different daughter. Imbrasus cast his glance to his other soldiers and with furiousness blazing in his eyes and colouring his voice, announced, 'Prevent me from punishing those filthy barbarians again, and you'll all suffer the same fate as Tharybis'. NOW ATTACK!'

At the king's words, the six opponents they had to face seemed like mere children to the Eretrian soldiers eyes. Hundreds of feet and hooves went on stampede, abusing the face of Earth and the grass that inhabited it. Hundreds of swords and spears were brandished, their metal blade glinting menacingly. Hundreds of battle cries and neighs reverberated in a single field, replacing serenity with cacophony;Cydoemus had breathed his evil counsel and the Androktasiai would soon be delighted to reap the souls of the fallen.

Yet, all came into a halt at the strike of lightning.

The Eretrians looked above in wonder and fear. No longer was the sky as warm and sunny as when they had arrived. Dark clouds became its hood whereas winds became its veil. A storm loomed over them. Did they truly anger the gods?

Beads of cold sweat glistened on Imbrasus' temple. His coursers neighed violently, though fine horses they had always been. His soldiers crouched and cowered in reverence and fear.

One sweeping glance from Xanxus and the horses performed a perfect piaffe.

While many eyes stared in awe, no fewer were drenched with fear, and King Imbrasus' were among these that even his voice was coloured with disquiet. 'Xanthias the subduer will not be enthusiastic to hear his only son waging another war. Submit yourself now, and then no harm shall we, honourable Achaeans, bring upon your country!'

'You Achaeans consider there are only two kinds of people: Achaeans, and everyone else who wish they had been Achaeans.' No more country bumpkin accent came out of the regal prince's mouth. Instead, each syllable emanated an air that admitted of no gainsay that the Eretrians began to doubt lest their own ears might have deceived them.

'You think your people are superior in noble deeds to the rest of the world and yet your so-called heroes themselves did perform the most ignoble deeds. Recall the hubris of Bellerophon, reaching for Olympus uninvited? Or how Jason resorted to tricks and oath-breaking to achieve his goals? Or how Oedipus ended his father's life on foray and then begot four children from his own mother? Or how Agamemnon decided to sacrifice his own daughter in order to wage a decade-long war to retrieve his wanton sister-in-law?'

'Let that be the end of your speech, o foreign prince of a land beyond the sea!' lividly King Imbrasus made his reply. Next, he signalled his soldiers to charge again.

But Leviathan stood firm with eyes flashing as though with flame and he towered above the rest in height. What mortal foemen underneath heaven's vast canopy would have dared to meet him face to face? For great was his strength and unconquerable were his arms. Eight rods he hurled onto the field and from the eight erect metals came forth thunder, sending all the eighty-seven men who stood within their electrical perimeter straight down to Hades.

The king himself hunted his ex-general in person. Both arms heft with palms facing the sullen sky, he invoked divine assistance, forging a promise to assuage the king of the gods. 'O Father of gods and men who held the Aegis, surely you see how my people suffer from your golden throne in heaven most high. If you still have any pity left to a man who piously burnt offerings for you in the past and will continue to do so in the future, stir in me unwearying strength so that I shall be able to vanquish those who have dishonoured Eretria!'

After imploring this prayer, Imbrasus threw his javelin at Squalo, unknowing that Zeus shook his head in refusal. As a result for ignoring the god's earlier warning—the single strike of lightning from the sky—the king's weapon fell harmlessly not to close from where the fisherman's foster son was standing.

As some of the surviving portions of the army made an attempt to flee, King Imbrasus declared, 'We are not defying the will of some divine gods; the storm with its thunder and lightning is a mere work of those barbarians' sorcery. Run today and your families will see your corpses hung on trees tomorrow!'

The escapees checked their steps. Hesitant looks occupied the foot soldiers' faces as they were trying to decide which of the two options would deliver their death more painlessly. In the end, most of them stayed, praying in their hearts that the monstrous enemy could only do the trick once.

But Fran and Lussuria had returned from getting the horses out of harm's way. The child blew, and from his mouth came forth purple mist. Flinging his arm, Belphegor delivered the mist onto the Eretrians by means of the wind. Squalo wouldn't have believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes: every Eretrian soldier who inhaled the vaporous mist took up arms and charged at his own comrade. At least two hundred of them stabbed one another in frenzy, as though they were slaughtering enemies instead. Some corpses were so severely stomped that they became barely recognisable; others, looked like blood-bathed scarecrows on the field of death with spear poles poking from their flesh. No longer were the grasses green, but tainted with crimson.

The mist whisperer, however, did not have the luxury to watch the fruit of his art. He could have impaired more number of Eretrians had he not been that exhausted—having used his mist thrice in a day and in a large quantity at that. Nonetheless, as he was now, he swooned. The golden-haired wind blower caught the young boy's body before it fell and slung it over his shoulder, carrying it to where their horses were.

Lussuria, on the other hand, chose to dance. First, he tied up his full-length chiton out of the way. Then, daintily, no less graceful than the choicest of the royal dancers, he twirled and gyrated, moving from one Eretrian soldier to another. And with every step he took, he also touched those Eretrians. His fingers did not linger long on their skin, no longer than eye could blink, yet that ephemeral moment was enough to transmit a significant amount of searing heat. Even though Lussuria only touched one point on each body, the soldiers felt their whole bodies come into contact with raging fire and their armour played no role in protecting them at all. No skin was free from scorch by the time Lussuria finished dancing—not even the king who sat upon his high chariot.

Many a cumbrous shield lay abandoned as their owners rushed onto the nearer of the two streams that bordered the plain in hope to soothe their inflammation. Xanxus let them be, only to set the river ablaze. The stream belched with steams and burnt alive all who plunged themselves into it, first by boiling, then by roasting, for the bubbling water was soon replaced by smoky flames. King Imbrasus and some thirty other men made it out alive although their limbs could hardly support them to walk, their skin festering with purulence.

'Sire, would it not be wiser to retreat? More than half of us have fallen even before we reach this river and now, not much unlike the meat prepared for a feast, another hundred are burnt in this Pyriphlegethon-like river. No longer in the prime of your manhood as you are, it is plain to see we are outmatched,' asseverated one of the surviving soldiers, lying low amidst the shrubs in hope to escape from the enemy's searching gaze.

Before Imbrasus delivered his answer, the Prince of Lydia approached the injured ruler of the Eretrian. In fear and agony, the king cried out, 'Aristomedon, protect me!'

But the newly appointed general only had the courage of a mouse to match his bull-like frame. Thanking his luck for being one of the few who had not come down the river and hence unscathed, the son of Neocles ran to save his own skin.

Xanxus changed his course at once into pursuing Aristomedon, who was screaming, 'No! Please spare me. It was not I who brought forth the idea of pursuing you.'

As his words fell to merciless ears, and his pursuer's heart did not waver, the prey cast his spear. His aim was never poor in this sport, for he started his career as a peltastes—a shield-bearing javelineer—and his attack would have connected even now, had the Lydian not caught that spear bare-handed.

In desperate measure, the new general threw his huge round shield at Xanxus next. Notwithstanding, his adversary caught and hurled it back to him, aiming at the calves. If a normal rigorous athlete had thrown such shield, it would have knocked down the target with a thud at best. But with Xanxus' hands, the shield flew far enough to land more than a plethron ahead of Aristomedon, slicing through the loathsome man's legs along with their proknemes greaves of bronze in its rapid course.

Down, fell the cowardly son of Neocles. The blood from his severed tibial arteries besprinkled the grass below, but the blood of one more man counted very little since too much blood had been spilled that day. If the pain had not been enough to bring the lord-of-war to tears, the sight of his clean cut shin bone was. Now possessing no feet to support it, his body collapsed and the prince's figure towered him.

The purest hatred abided in Xanxus' gleam, and in a low, menacing voice, deeper than the deepest shade of shadow that loomed underneath his feet, the Prince of Sardis growled, 'You're the one who cut off Squalo's arm.'

Face pale with more fright which sank into the depth of his bones, Aristomedon drew his dagger—the only weapon he had left in possession—and tried in vain to stab Xanxus with it. The Lydian caught his wrist and twisted his arm until he emitted a hapless yelp.

Aristomedon's best friend, Melanthenes, who was among the few survivors, came to his succour by casting a battle axe towards Xanxus.

When the Lydian prince let go of the son of Neocles' wrist in order to dodge the axe, the Eretrian shuffled himself along with his two hands. He needed to get as far as possible from danger, away from this monstrous beast.

But his enemy approached with effortless strides.

Making a sickening attempt to display a pitiful expression, the coward pleaded, 'Forgive me please, mighty prince of Lydia. I am the only son in the family. My old father had high hopes on me. My mother wouldn't be able to live without me. My sisters still need me…'

A cold stare from dispassionate eyes met the timorous man's plea, and before he knew it, a hand had emerged from his stomach with a liver nestling amongst the Lydian's blood-stained fingers.

'I am not going to let you die so quickly, scum,' affirmed the Prince of Sardis as he crushed the liver into lumps of broken entrails, 'Suffer!'

With that, the son of Xanthias incinerated those lumps. A grin graced his scarred face as he watched Aristomedon gape in horror at the hole in his stomach and at his own liver being reduced to ash.

The other surviving Eretrians scampered in terror, but their exit was sealed. Xanxus summoned a gargantuan white lion with tiger stripes, which obstructed the way on the other end. The horses neighed and galloped in horror, snorting with mad fear. The soldiers who had not neglected their weapons brandished their swords and hurled their spears; those who were weaponless picked the nearest stones. None of these scratched the liger's skin. Instead, it opened its mouth and spouted fire—the fire which consumed all, save for its master: a lone man walked through the flames among the sound of screams and the acrid odour of burning flesh and bones and sight of the bodies that turned into corpses. Everywhere was fire, blood and shrieks of terror.

'The gods grant that you may enjoy being slave to the Achaeans!' cursed the King of Eretria as he threw his good ashen spear at Xanxus before he closed his eyes forever, drowned in flames.

Xanxus made no effort to evade as he relinquished the fiery river and its bank to walk back onto the bloodstained field. The king's spear tore no more than a small portion of his robe.

The remaining cavalrymen on the field spurred their steeds to carry them in flight. The steeds did succeed, but their masters did not. Belphegor's knives found their way into the uncovered flesh on the narrow gaps between joints of the soldiers' armour. Life ebbed away from the horsemen and their souls Pluton welcomed with open arms in his enormous hall of drowsy shades.

This left Squalo to deal with the rest of the soldiers who were still standing on the plain. Picking an abandoned sword from the ground, the ex-Eretrian general ran it through the nearest aichmophoros spear-bearer standing until the man rose no more.

It hurt.

He saw not which face was concealed underneath that helmet, but whichever it was, it belonged to one of the men who used to share the dining hall and practised on the same lawn as he instead of some unknown man from a different tribe whom he first saw that day. The next thrust was going to hurt more, but it was either that or give up his life in the next opponent's hand.

Wherever Squalo stepped, splatters of crimson painted his skin afterwards. The men, who used to serve under him and were familiar with his warlike spirit, knew that this was the end for them; from their terror-stricken bodies, streamed blood and sweat. This was no battle, but a sheer slaughter. When the son of Polymedes swung his sword, his adversaries went down like wheat to the reaper's sickle. For years, the ex-general had been eminent among all others in terms of speed and power. The fact that he had only one arm now, and carried no shield because of that, only allowed him to move faster. More and more Eretrian blood Squalo drew, even though his heart was immersed with anguish each time he did so. Yet none of this anguish tormented him as much as when he had to stab the wielder of a certain arm protector.

The cheir was dented with a large diagonal cut—Squalo recognised it so well, for he was fighting by its owner's side against the Lacedaemonians the previous winter when an enemy warrior slashed Leipylus' arm protector as a parting gift. Leipylus was not a gifted soldier, but he always strove harder than the others to make up what he lacked, and this was exactly why the son of Polymedes became fonder of the younger man more than of any other Eretrian soldiers. He treated him like a little brother he'd never had and the diligent boy would return the general's kindness with devotion—Squalo had always been an aspiration to Leipylus.

Even now, Leipylus' loyalty to his general had not crumbled. While Squalo's other fellow Eretrians resisted him, Leipylus just stood there as the deft-handed son of Polymedes delivered his first and final thrust.

Gripping the sword in his hand tight, the long-haired man tried not to think of what sort of expression valorous Leipylus had made underneath his heavy helmet. Squalo's blade of bronze became heavier now that his dearest comrade's blood flowed on it.

In trust and brotherhood it helps to say whom it is one dies for. Farewell, brother.

The anguish stung so fervidly Squalo wished the sky would pour the rain down to chill his agony. And it did.

Every single cell of his blood flared up. He became one with nature. A heavenly scent arose, so that all the soldiers were seized with wonder when they sensed it. Then Squalo could feel how downpour tumbled as he willed it.

Within minutes, the ground was engulfed in water and when this became ankle-height, Leviathan knelt and placed his palms on the mud. Thunders gushed from the tips of his fingers, streaming through the water and electrocuting to the remaining forty Eretrian soldiers who were still standing.

Rain still pounded the hard ground, yet the sky was fringed with crimson.

CHAPTER VII

The Demi-Gods Assembled

The colour of the sky deepened, signifying the transition of Hemera's lustrous reign to Nyx' shadowy one. The scent of blood had invited the vultures, who were now flying in circles in the sky, to many scattered corpses on the battlefield. Of the hundreds who were involved in the war, only six survived.

The only Eretrian standing, Squalo son of Polymedes, walked amidst the dead bodies unto the Prince of Sardis, grabbed him by the tunic, and addressed him thus, 'You could control horses and even a liger, and yet you made no effort to get our horses to cross the river in a speedier course. In fact, you even tarried after crossing that river. You let this war break out, no, you made sure it happened! Did it entertain you so much to have me drenched in my fellow countrymen's blood?!'

Leviathan shifted, ready to defend his master from the formerly Eretrian general, but Lussuria held him tenderly by the wrist, his head shaking in a silent gesture so as not to interfere Xanxus and Squalo's discourse, no matter how violent it could grow.

The son of Polymedes did not repress his tone. The distance between their faces was so close that the stench of their opponents' blood which formed streaks and splatters across their faces and bodies saluted each other's nostrils. Yet Xanxus did not even blink at the sight of the dire fury in Squalo's eyes.

Perhaps it was the waves of exhaustion that washed over him after using such enormous power or perhaps it was something else beyond the son of Polymedes' comprehension, but the Prince of Lydia did not bicker back in his answer. 'Imbrasus would attack Sardis if I did not battle him here. This is my battle; I am not going to involve Luddu.'

'Then why bother to lure the entire battalion here? You could have challenged him at the palace!'

'And massacred the women, children, elderly, slaves and everyone else in the process if the king resisted?'

The silver head did not answer. When Achaeans went on a raid, the civilians and their properties would become spoils of war. That someone as savage as Xanxus actually cared about the civilians' safety seemed as a remote possibility to Squalo's eyes.

'We did not even need to go to the palace had you not fallen for my illusion. We were not really captured, you know. What you saw back then was my mist. Yet, you told those false figures to run away with Xanxus and let yourself be captured,' explained Fran, who had just returned with their horses.

Squalo turned. His emotion nearly got the better of him and his mouth was itching to spout, 'You could achieve such a feat?' Yet, his reasoning knew better than to doubt the demonstrations of the child's aptitude thus far.

Letting go of his grip from Xanxus' garment with a huff, the son of Polyedes then walked away, secluding himself from the rest into a different direction.

'Come with me!' The scarred man called for him.

To which the long haired man mocked, 'What need have you for a one-armed man? If you just need to share body heat, you might as well invite a real whore elsewhither!'

The Lydian did not answer immediately, and the Eretrian swerved back to leave. Just after one step, he felt a weight clinging on his shoulder: Xanxus' fingers were clawing him.

'What?!' Squalo shouted indignantly.

It was discernible that Xanxus was clenching his jaw, but since the son of Xanthias would not speak his mind still, the younger of them made a sardonic remark, 'Am I more to you than all the wealth of sun-girt Sardis?'

The prince snarled, but his voice was ferinely unwavering. 'What if I say you are?'

Many men wove false words to please the ear of the listeners, but Xanxus was not one of them. Thus, upon hearing this, the Lydian prince's four followers gawked.

Squalo's eyes widened in disbelief. With all his might, he masked the joviality that secretly soared within him with pretentious rebukes, 'You are mad. How…' But the rest of his words were swallowed by the sea of absolute sooty blackness that was Xanxus' eyes—the very eyes which beheld him as though gold had no esteem to compare with his silver hair.

The son of Polymedes looked away. His one-armed self felt unworthy to be cherished by a man destined to rule the world, or at least the one he deemed to be so. He drew his sword and set its blade against the strands of his silver hair.

As the first lock of Squalo's hair fell on the ground, Xanxus enquired in a demanding tone, 'What are you doing?'

'I made an oath once, that I would not cut this hair until I become the strongest swordsman in the world. Now I only have one arm intact; so long for such a far-fetched dream. I will just have to live a quiet life as meagre fisherman.'

'Lussuria,' called Xanxus.

The prince's follower stepped forth, carefully lifting the edge of his himation to ensure it would not touch the muddy ground. 'Yes, my lord.'

'Give this man an artificial arm and heal his wounds.'

Obeying his lord's adjuration, the man removed the blindfold from his face. His eyelids were shut at first, but when he opened them, they shone so fulgently that Squalo had to turn his gaze away. Even so, he was sure that the blazing eyes stared at him intensely, as he sensed warmth on every place he had been injured, but most of all, on his amputated arm.

'You can … your eyes…' In his amazement, the son of Polymedes was close to stuttering. But he asked no more, for his healer was murmuring some incantation unfamiliar to his ears.

Little by little, Squalo felt flesh forming in the place which used to be his right arm. It looked exactly the same as his arm before it had been cut off; there was no sign of artificiality at all. He moved his fingers and grasped a bit of earth around his feet. It felt so real. Not only that, the mark of the hot iron on his stomach, the battle cuts and scars, all vanished without a trace. His skin was no less smoother than a new-born babe.

The silver-haired man burst into laughter—the first time he had laughed in days. He had assumed that all his aspirations would dissolve like smoke in the wind the moment he had lost his arm, but now those dreams were restored to him.

The healer wrapped his eyes with the thin blindfold again and Squalo had the feeling that rather than for the sake of fashion as he had claimed, Lussuria might actually do this to restrain his healing power, so that his eyes would not heal every single object within sight.

Belphegor rose to speak, 'I shall hunt for our dinner.' Therewith, he disappeared into the empty spaces of the night.

While the golden-haired youth was gone, Lussuria began, 'The immortals granted the power to strike down thunderbolts to the son of Zeus, the miracle of healing to the son of Apollo, and the authority to gather storm to the son of Boreas, and the glory of heaven to the son of Uranus.'

'You mean Leviathan is Zeus' offspring? And you, Apollo's? And Bel, Boreas'? Putting those aside, Uranus was castrated aeons ago; he couldn't have fathered Xanxus! And whose son is Fran?' Squalo's raised brow voiced his incredulity conspicuously enough.

Then, patiently, the blindfolded man explained, 'Since you are inclined to ask the story of our origins, and rekindle our memories in respect of them, I shall convey it you to the fullest of my memory could offer. Fran's parentage is as mysterious as the mist he himself manipulated. He could be the progeny of a dryad, or perhaps he was born out of an unmarried mortal woman who abandoned him in the woods out of shame. At any rate, he raised himself in the wilderness in Chios, suckling on a doe as baby. He lived with deer until wolves tore down the herd when he was barely six years old. It was then he learnt that animated creatures were the sources of meat. He learnt how to hunt, and in a year, he devoured the wolves that devoured the deer herd by whom he was raised.

On his eighth summer, he found a cave that emitted strange mist. In it, he met a trident-wielding heterochromatic man who identified himself as "Necros." This Necros was the one who taught Fran how to conjure mist to create illusions and to close the eyelids of mankind with sleep.'

'How Fran longed to see Necros again!' Lussuria continued with a heavy sigh, 'Alas, we know nothing of his whereabouts.'

'What happened to him?'

'One day, a stranger with hair as white as snow and a unique purple birthmark on his left cheek came by, saying, "I have been searching for you" to Necros and they both disappeared without a trace afterwards.'

'That is peculiar.'

'Strange as it sounds, it is true, Squalo dear.' Lussuria dabbed Squalo lightly on the nose. 'Our Fran is not a liar.'

'Hey, do not make a habit out of touching me!' reprimanded the long haired man.

The epicene giggled before moving on to the next story. 'Belphegor of Icaria was raised as a prince—not the crown prince, but still. His mother was a naiad whose voice was as melodious as a flowing river. Boreas was captivated with her beauty even though she had been married to a human king. But the god of the west wind would not yield his pursuit without sharing the bed with the naiad of his dream at least once. Thence, when King Euphorbus was out hunting, Boreas assumed his form and lay with fair Eteoclea. Alas, in the same morning, before handsome Euphorbus left for the hunt, his body had joined with his wife in fiery passion.

In the ninth month, Eilythia gave her blessing to twin baby boys from Eteoclea's womb. One was Rasiel, sired by Euphorbus; the other was Belphegor, by Boreas. At first, their mother could not distinguish this, but at the age of three, Belphegor started to show the symptoms that he could manipulate wind. At the age of five, when Rasiel broke Belphegor's favourite toy, a storm loomed over Icaria for three days and three nights.

Thenceforward, the queen began to treat her sons differently; she cherished Rasiel like a mother should, but pretended that Belphegor never existed. Nobody seemed to mind, given that Rasiel, the older twin, was the crown prince by default. The Belphegor you see here, Squalo, was raised without love. Euphorbus only made sure Belphegor were given food and clothing and all other mundane necessities out of fear of angering Boreas.

During our visit in Icaria, Xanxus, Leviathan and I slew a water serpent, more known as "hydrus" amongst mankind, which had constantly devoured some local farmers' cattle. That's how Belphegor came to admire us, especially Xanxus. The royal family did not prevent Belphegor from joining us; in fact, it might be their greatest support for him.'

Squalo cast one look of pity at the young prince. Compared to someone who was showered with gold but thirsty for love, he was more fortunate by far. His surrogate father was a meagre fisherman who took him regardless of his unknown origin and raised him lovingly.

'And what of your tale?' Squalo asked Lussuria.

'Oho,' the laikaleos man of the effeminate nature smiled so brightly Squalo could almost see the twinkle in Lussuria's eyes behind the blindfold. 'You r-e-a-l-l-y want to know?'

The son of Polymedes never had the patience to be teased. 'Forget it!'

Squalo almost rose to his feet, but Lussuria held him by both shoulders, pushing him back to sitting again. The silver-haired man could only marvel at the hidden strength that lay within the effeminate man's arms. 'Oh Squalo, you are absolutely adorable in your chagrin. As a gift, I shall tell you my story.'

Lussuria cleared his throat. 'It all began with one summer night when the far-shooting Clarian Apollo met the nymph of his fate at sandy Lesbos—'

'Apollo must have many fates then,' snorted the ex-Eretrian general.

'Squalo, you bad boy, how dare you bully my dad!' pouted Lussuria with a light smack on the son of Polymedes' shoulder.

'By the bye,' continued the epicene, 'A stag raced with the arrow of the god, darting so swiftly it almost collided into Iphixaura of the lovely scent—the nymph who would then become my mother. Apollo of the golden smile ceased his hunt a once, and accosted the nymph. The result, well, as you can see, here I am.'

Squalo rolled his eyes. But they caught glimpse of Belphegor's arrival as he did so. A deer was on the youth's shoulder, four knives embedded on its carcass.

That was really quick. Squalo wondered how Belphegor managed to catch a deer in such short period, but then again, his speed had been preternatural to begin with, perhaps his speed could even rival Artemis of the silver quiver.

'Just press on to the part where you encounter Xanxus,' Squalo told Lussuria as Belphegor started skinning the deer.

'Ah, 'twas a deep starry night when the gentle Notus blew his moist wind…' Lussuria answered dreamily, '… and I was at sea. I decided to leave my homeland to explore the world, you see. Then agitation stirred the ship I was in. One passenger, who was an old astronomer, noticed, based on the position of the constellations, that the ship's course was different from the one supposedly taken for our destination, Sicyon. He notified the captain first, but the burly man laughed him off. He did not give up and woke everyone on board, but they took this as a senile man's blabber and went back to sleep. Even I myself did the same—I'm ashamed to admit.' Lussuria's shoulders drooped down as he heaved a sigh.

'Everyone makes mistakes; why let such triviality weigh your mind?'

The effeminate man rose from his seat and made an attempt to kiss his listener's cheek. 'Aw Squalo, you're such a sweet—'

But the impatient man pushed him by the chin. 'ON WITH THE STORY!'

Lussuria settled with blowing his kiss into the air at Squalo's direction first before going back to his tale. 'The next morning, the ship landed on Paphos and we began to regret why we had not taken the astronomer's warning into consideration. But that was not all. The ship's crew had arranged a deal with the local slave trader to make commodity out of us.'

'Let me guess,' interrupted Squalo, 'Xanxus and Leviathan just happened to pass by and rescued you?'

'No, they were among the passengers, but yes, they defeated all of those slave trader's minions and the ship's crew. They were seriously injured, though, and I healed them as a gratitude for saving my exquisite skin from the weapons of those brutes.'

At that moment, a fly flew near Xanxus' ear and Leviathan leapt to crush it between his palms. The fly escaped in the nick of time and Xanxus glared furiously because of the noise Leviathan had just made.

'And what of Levi's tale?'

'At first, Leviathan was raised as one of the sons of an illustrious philosopher in Astypalaea, whence he originated. It troubled his mortal father that he inherited none of his father's wisdom, but Thelxiopus had other sons to follow his steps. Levi's mother, Amphidoce was the far descendant of the giant Porphyrion and through this blood he acquired superior height to most other men. Of all Amphidoce's other children, none bore this feature, for it was Leviathan alone who was sired by a deity.

Leviathan used to be made fun by everyone around him because of his abnormal height; only birds and small animals were comfortable with his gentle heart. He had not realised his power until he was fifteen years of age, when the bully became too harsh and took the lives of Levi's precious pets. At the sight of the carcasses, Leviathan summoned lightning out of grief and blasted the seven boys who killed his dear pets. The boys' parents tried to stone him to death in retribution for their deceased sons, but once again, the terrified Leviathan subconsciously summoned lightning to blast his assaulters.

The Astypalaeans, including Levi's family, secluded him ever since. He lived alone in the mountains and was saved by Xanxus when he was almost killed by a triple-headed giant who was the grandson of Geryon. Apparently, that was the first time he was treated like a normal human being. Needless to say, he swore his allegiance to our lord ever since.'

'And just like Leviathan, Squalo, you are the son of Aegis-bearing Zeus, the bringer of rain.'

It was not Lussuria, but another man who stated this. His radiance outshone the scintillating stars in the firmament above them. His curly hair was partly covered by the large brimmed petasos hat slung hanging down his back. His faithful caduceus of a staff with entwined serpents hung neatly from the girdle of his chitoniskos. So light were his steps, and only later it came to the men's realisation that the stranger wore talaria winged sandals.

They had not realised him coming, and now, in spite of his amiable smile, something about his presence roused a feeling of inferiority within any mortal being that breathed and moved: it was as though they had been soiled and dirty and unworthy to meet this entity.

'Hail Lord Hermes.' All who were present acknowledged the stranger, all except one.

Squalo knew he should do likewise, but the tiding the god bore was far too overwhelming for him. A weak murmur escaped from his lips, 'Son of Zeus … what do you mean by that?'

'Exactly as it is,' corroborated the god merrily, 'You are my half-brother.'

'I? The son of a god?' Squalo's voice trembled with incredulity.

'Yes, dimwit. Your half divinity has always been the general solution. How could you summon rain otherwise? And why else weren't you affected by Leviathan's lightning and Fran's mist?'

Now the silver-haired man understood why rain seemed to follow him anytime he was upset. Swallowing hard, he enquired further, 'Then who is my mother?'

'An oceanid known as Nausithoe by name. She passed away while delivering your birth, and, like all other oceanides, she turned into sea foams. However, even in the form of foams, her soul still protected you; it was she who moved the waves to bring you to near Polymedes' boat, knowing his kindly nature.'

Squalo felt his knees giving away, so he tottered to the side and slumped into pensive thinking.

Hermes, on the other hand, addressed the rest of the men, 'I do not come here today to speak of your parentage. Nay, I am here to give you choices as are willed by your parents, the gods.'

This caught Fran's attention more than the rest. 'No exception?'

'No.' Hermes smiled and patted the boy on the head. 'Your parents are immortals too, o son of Mist and Nyx.' Then the god chuckled, 'Yes, that's right: Xanxus and Belphegor are your cousins; Leviathan and Squalo, your nephews; and Lussuria, your grand-nephew.'

That makes me Xanxus' nephew too, since Zeus is Uranus' grandson. Squalo closed his eyes with both hands covering his head, imagining how awkward it would be for him to address Xanxus, Belphegor and Fran as 'uncles' and to be called 'uncle' himself by Lussuria.

The lord of mischief spoke again, 'Now, the immortals want to ensure that their descendants get the choices all demi-gods deserve. On the one hand, mortals are allotted one fate—there are very few exceptions for those who were given the chance to choose between two or more paths of life; on the other, demi-gods are nearly always required to choose between two. The most famous example of which is that of Achilles, who chose a short but glorious life over a long but ordinary life.'

The Argeiphontes gently placed his hands on the little boy's shoulders. 'Tell me, enigmatic son of Mist, between following Xanxus and Necros, which one will you choose? For their paths are not destined to cross in this life; by following one, you cannot meet the other.'

The frog-hooded boy's gaze became downcast. On the ground, the ants were carrying the carcass of a grasshopper back into their hole.

'Master Necros was very kind to me…' the boy said in a whispery voice, and then turned his gaze onto Xanxus and his followers, '… but they have become my family. I shall stay with them.'

The god accosted Belphegor next. 'Prodigious son of Boreas, if you are to choose whether to remain in this band or be given someone who truly loves you until the day you die, what will your choice be?'

'I shall see to it that this "someone" loves me with my own hands, for it is preposterous to seek any divine assistance for that which one has the capacity to acquire by one's self.' The golden-haired youth answered with a confident smile, but the keen-sighted god of theft could not be fooled; Hermes knew well that Belphegor glimpsed uneasily at Fran from the corner of his eyes.

With a smirk still lingering on his countenance, the god of travel approached Lussuria next. 'Alterative son of Apollo, it is necessary for you to choose to exercise your healing power next to the Delphic oracle, who knew things past, present and to come, and therefore be renowned far and wide or to explore the world with your current comrades. Should you choose the first, your name will be remembered in many a heart, just like your predecessor, your half-brother, Trophonius, who built the temple in Delphi in honour of your father. Be that the second option gain your favour, you shall cross seven oceans and visit the places no other Danaans have reached before, but your glory will be silenced as Xanxus sees it fit.'

'Daddy has offered me such a generous treat…,' Lussuria placed both hands to cover his cheeks, which were dabbed with genuine blush, '…I am soooo grateful to him. Please tell him that I am happy with the company I'm keeping.'

When the god of trade turned to Levi, the tall man made a useless attempt to hide his head between his broad shoulders, as though he could have become smaller by doing such thing.

'I am not going to hurt you, gentle-hearted son of Zeus and my half-brother,' chuckled the Criophorus, 'Choose: will you gain respect and be treated as a human rather than a monster or will you be part of this little band here for the rest of your life?'

'Uh,' Leviathan stole a glance at Xanxus and the rest of his companions before beginning to voice his answer timidly, 'I will try my best to keep my friends from harm.'

'Proud son of Zeus and my other half-brother,' called the psychopomp of the spirits of the dead, 'Your choice will be between boundless illustriousness and continuous comfort. Should you choose the former option, the might of your sword will be known throughout the tribes of men far and near, but if you prefer the latter, Zeus himself will make sure that Tyche showered you with plenty of luck and wealth from the Horn of Amalthea.'

'That,' Squalo glimpsed contently at his new arm while he answered with a smirk—for one split second, he forgot to behave before a god, for this subject was his deepest desire which weighed more than life itself, 'should have been obvious. I choose the path of sword.' Only then, the mortal remembered his position and tried to amend his mistake. 'Lord Hermes,' he added with more reverence.

The god smiled with satisfaction. 'That leaves only you, son of Uranus. The choices that are about to be given to you have caused many disputes among the gods—after all, it is never a light matter to offer immortality with eternal youth…'

All eyes were riveted upon Hermes, all ears were eager to listen whether the divine messenger was going to declare his speech null and void. But he did not. And he did not need to. Xanxus declared a firm 'no.'

The curly haired god continued, 'Pity, some of the gods saw the potentials of Heracles and Theseus reside within you. You kept quiet about of your achievements that most mortals were unaware of them, but we, gods, know that you slew a basilisk at the age of five; a griffon at the age of seven; a chimera six months later; and lots more besides.'

Xanxus cast his glance away, but the other demi-gods were eyeing Hermes earnestly, marvelling at each word.

'Let me tell you a tale of old, of time passing, of what betided the race of titans and gods,' said the divine Olympian, 'As a result of the castration of Uranus, the Erinyes, several giants and dendroid divinities sprung from the blood that fell upon the earth. Xanxus, you were one of them; however, being born in such time of revolution, it was not uncommon for the giants to devour their own siblings. One of your sisters, the ash tree dryad Perictesylla, concealed you inside her trunk. This is the reason you remain invulnerable to any weapon made of ash.

Perictesylla would have kept you hidden longer, but back then, the earth suffered grave damage from the war between the gods and the giants. The forest was caught on fire and the safest way to keep you alive was by turning you into an ashen seed.

Centuries later, your mortal mother, Nyctimene, prayed so earnestly to Gaia to be blessed with a son. Thus, through a dream, bountiful Gaia admonished her to find the Perictesylla tree and to procure one particular seed with the colour of gold and to consume that seed. Nyctimene made sure she swallowed the seed in the same day as the King of Lydia shared her bed and she bore you nine months later. Yea, son of Uranus, you were twice born, but contrary to Zagreus, who was first born out of mortal Semele's lifeless womb and then reborn from Zeus' thigh as Dionysus, you were born by Gaia first, and then by a mortal mother.

Xanthias knew that he was sterile; whichever of his concubines was with child must mean that the child belonged to someone else. He pretended to be overjoyed to hear Nyctimene's pregnancy and raised her status from a mere concubine to a queen, but never touched her anymore in bed. In fact, he often abused her. One of his personal guards felt sympathetic towards Nyctimene and, as the years went by, the sympathy blossomed into love, and the love was reciprocal.

On your sixth autumn, Xanthias caught them in bed and secretly ordained their doom. Much though he suspected that you were his guard's son, he wouldn't lift a finger at you, since he needed a son as an heir to his throne.'

Xanxus spoke nothing. Nonetheless, it took no divine power to comprehend the 'I do not give a damn about that' in his gleam.

The wielder of caduceus smiled and Xanxus' followers were anxious to figure out whether the smile meant 'That's all right, I understand you are agitated about your parents' or 'You will learn that nobody who offends a god shall go with impunity!'

'Very well,' said the swift messenger of the god without losing the geniality in his tone, 'Since you'd rather not live as an immortal, what sort of life would you like to lead after rebirth? Do you fancy becoming a ruler of some country? Or do you prefer a quiet, religious life? Or perhaps you have a secret desire for scientific pursue?'

Xanxus' glance swept across the other demi-gods, and they all thought he was going to choose the first option, but the Prince of Lydia took his time to answer. 'The one that would allow me to live together with them again.'

'So be it,' affirmed Hermes of the spry feet.

Judging from the smirk that graced Lusuria's lips, he must have realised that Xanxus' eyes had lingered on the ex-General of Eretria a second longer than on the rest of them.

'Before I go, I shall relay a message from your mother's spirit. She said sorry for not telling you about her affair sooner. She and her paramour were planning to escape from the palace carrying you, but they had been caught before this plan could be executed.'

After the resourceful son of Maia had gone back to celestial Olympus, and the demi-gods had sat around a fire with the fragrant smoke of their roasted hunt curling up towards the field of stars above, Lussuria said quietly, 'Xanxus, is your heart steadfast enough for this? The tripod of Apollo never tells a lie.'

All the sissiness was gone from his voice. Squalo had never seen this man this serious before. But Xanxus answered him in a casual fashion, 'Since when do I care about prophecies?'

'Hey, what's this all about?' asked Squalo.

Ignoring this enquiry, Xanxus returned to his venison leg.

'Hey!' urged Squalo.

It was Leviathan who voiced the reply, 'Once, we slew some striges in Thermopylae and one of the prospective victims happened to be a child of Apollo. As a gratitude for saving his life, he told each of us a prophecy. The one for Xanxus says:

"From five different lands they shall gather,

United, they shall prove your most loyal companions,

Divided, they shall be your harbingers of death."

Of course, with only four of us, we need not worry that this prophecy shall come true, but if our number increases to five…' Leviathan did not continue his sentence; he would not even meet Squalo's eyes.

Turning his gaze to the dancing flame of fire, Squalo continued eating in silence. As soon as he finished dinner, he stood and remarked, 'This is where we part.'

None of them was not astonished by Squalo's statement, but even this was not as surprising as what Xanxus did next. One hand grabbing the silver-haired man's leg, the son of Uranus declared, 'Everyone will perish in the end; I do not give a damn how I'll die. I am the master of my own fate.'

Xanxus went back to his Meswak chewing stick as soon as he finished speaking, cleansing the remnants of meat from his mouth.

'I CARE!' snapped Squalo as he brushed Xanxus' grip off his leg with a hard kick. Again, he made an attempt to leave, but again, Xanxus hindered him.

'You think I'll cringe in fear just because five men follow me?'

At the prince's words, his four followers rose to their feet and began to walk away.

'See?!' rebuked Squalo, 'They care for your safety too. If I do not leave, they will.'

'No, dear, we are just going to arrange a ship and food supply for the six of us,' Lussuria reiterated in a rather cheeky tone, 'Just stay there; you need convincing in private.'

'Hey, what's that supposed to mean?!'

But Xanxus answered it for him through a rough kiss. He pulled his eromenos so hard that the younger man fell upon his chest with a thud, and then his other hand secured the small of Squalo's back. His tongue showed no mercy, and his embrace reflected exactly how covetous he was for this son of Zeus.

It did not take long for Xanxus' dextrous fingers to disentangle Squalo from the confinement of his exomis. When the erastes groped his bums, the silver head almost wished he'd gasp in surprise—it would have been less humiliating than the promiscuous moan currently verbalised by his ignominious throat. With one rapid move, the Lydian prince grasped his eromenos' wrists behind his back, while his mouth assaulted the younger man in a long succession of esurient kisses.

'Our bodies are still begrimed with blood and dirt from the battlefield,' Squalo reminded Xanxus as the latter's mouth descended to his neck albeit he could feel their manhood hardening in protrusion.

The prince ceased his movements to stare at the younger man. As always, Xanxus' gaze was so intense it made Squalo's whole body trembled with desire: for one moment he thought, wished, the erastes would violate him on the spot; after all, his years of serving in the military had taught him that sex always tasted better after battle.

Instead, the older man replied, 'Then we shall bathe together.'

The silver head doubted that their bath was going to include just bathing, but he followed his erastes, stepping in into the limpid river not too far from them. The two bodies dipped themselves into the water shimmering in the moonlight.

Yet, as the silent minutes passed by and the night wore on, even after they had cleansed themselves, Xanxus still had not touched him. Growing ever more impatient, Squalo decided to take the matter into his own hands. He waded across the water until he was one dichos away from the older man's back and started kissing the raven's scars.

When the Prince of Sardis turned, his obsidian orbs gazing intently at the kisser, Squalo had a strange urge to gulp. Never before had he realised that a certain amount moon beams and droplets of water could make one appear as handsome as an immortal god.

Your body...

Squalo reached out for the divine form before him, but Xanxus caught him by the forearm and brushed his lips along that wet skin all the way to the younger man's sculpted chest.

Your lust...

It felt odd—how the swirling river water came along as Xanxus' tumid manhood tore its way inside him. The water was cold, but his erastes' touches were searing enough to put his body on fire.

Your love...

There was a difference, Squalo surmised, between the kiss they experienced now and that which they shared during their duel in the palaestra. Back then, he could only sense hunger when Xanxus' tongue delved into his mouth. Now, however, the older man did not only demand, but also gave. The loss of his father helped him to recognise that this gift was 'caring'— genuine and unadulterated, as what was given by very few people who were not aiming for his wealth or fame.

I shall take them all.

Encircling Xanxus' back were Squalo's arms; on Squalo's crook of the neck was Xanxus' chin.

'Follow me,' panted the older man, as he slumped onto his prey, letting their breath and sweat intermingle, while the current of water passed through; this course of water was nothing to the course of satiety that threatened to deluge him.

With Xanxus' flesh planted so deeply within his body, and his own legs encasing his lover, would Squalo say no?

'Follow you I shall.' To the last drop of my blood. To the last draw of my breath.

A smile of triumph and joy graced the prince's countenance as he moved his lance inside his new subordinate again. Not failing to notice his silver-haired eromenos shutting his eyes and biting his lower lip, the raven head whispered, 'Proud son of Zeus, from this day on, I shall call you "Superbia".'

###

Two hours later, lurking in wait behind the thickness of the foliages, Xanxus' four followers watched the scene unfold.

'See, I told you the sound from the other day was from sex, not from a strangled chicken.' Lussuria sneered triumphantly at the rest of Xanxus' followers.

'Ushishishishi, I would not have believed it if my very own eyes have not witnessed it.'

This was supposed to be their meeting point, yet they dared not make an appearance. Fifty steps away from them, at the bank of the rich-eddying river, on the upper part of an old tree bark, a beetle perched on top of another. Nonetheless, these two beetles were not the only ones who were mating. Below, two men were engaging themselves in the same Aphrodite's sport.

Squalo was facing the tree, his silver hair glinting in the moonlit night. Xanxus was immediately behind him, facing the same direction. Skin on skin, each was feeding his hunger with the other's frictions. The fugitive's left hand was pressed flat against the tree bark, fingers intertwined with his new employer's. The conqueror's other hand was tilting the younger man's thigh, facilitating wider aperture for his penetration.

'Xanxus, damn you—ahhh!'

More moans left the eromenos' mouth as his erastes' teeth found their way onto his shoulder. The long-haired man was standing on his toes and his back couldn't be prevented from arching, but the Prince of Lydia tightened his clench on ex-Eretrian general's fingers without denigrating his anal invasion.

They had built fire and hung their drenched clothes on a tree branch above it to dry. But to Squalo, at times like this, the heat of the flame was insignificant to the solid heat that kept rushing in and out of his body.

'XANXUS!' As Squalo cried out the name, his essence sprayed the tree bark before him.

The erastes emitted none other than a grunt; a part of him was still slipping in and out of the younger man's aperture.

'I shall … ah … grow my hair again and … ah … this time … I shall let nobody … cut it … ah … for as long as … my loyalty for you … ahhh … does not waver.'

Again, the older man did not answer with words. His lips nipped the nape where Squlao's freshly cut hair exposed in a bite that could only be classified as 'too gentle' for his usual standard.

The son of Zeus closed his eyes, for he felt the sky floating below his feet. Whenever the son of Uranus did this sort of thing to him, a strange fever enshrouded his whole being, flummoxing him in a degree no other male or female partner could affect him. He clawed the tree bark in frustration, and his ravisher held him even tighter.

'Hey, do you not think our lord has such a beautiful arse?' Lussuria commented again as his eyes followed Xanxus' few last to and fro movements before he drained himself inside Squalo.

Leviathan nodded in agreement, Fran rolled his eyes and Belphegor replied, 'Has there ever been a day when you say a man doesn't have a beautiful arse?'

However, Lussuria opted to change the subject, 'Aw, look at them … Xanxus is sooooo madly in love.'

'How do you know he is in love?' Leviathan enquired curiously.

'Oh, come on,' answered Lussuria, 'See the way he looks at Squalo.'

The others observed but then raised their brow.

Without losing his patience, Lussuria explained, 'The usual Xanxus seems grimmer whenever Squalo is nearby because he has to deny himself the luxury of basking in Squalo's beauty. But now, with Squalo backing him, Xanxus doesn't hold back his affection. Don't you think those eyes adore the son of Zeus?'

None of them was convinced by Lussuria's annotation.

'Oh all right, here is a more solid proof: did Xanxus ask any of us to follow him?' was Lussuria's reply to their sceptical gaze.

The four of them looked at one another and knew that the laikaleos was right.

'We all begged to follow him,' confirmed Levi.

'I did not beg!' Belphegor and Fran replied immediately in unison.

'Ho? Yes it was your sympathy and brotherly instinct that made Xanxus allow us to recruit Fran, Bel, but are you sure you are not familiar with: "O hydrus-slayer, let me follow you for as long as I breathe"?' sneered the oldest of them.

'Belphegor did say those words?' the frog-hooded child asked in amazement.

The blond developed a sudden interest for the beehive looming from a tree branch on the other bank of the river.

'Another proof,' asserted Lussuria, 'Has Xanxus ever been willing to spend his time with the same sleeping mate twice? Many men and women begged to be readmitted to our prince's bed, none of those wishes was granted. But in this Eretrian's case, Xanxus—on his own accord—is the one who seeks for him.' Lussuria gasped, and then his index finger pointed at the couple, 'Behold, now Squalo's hand is snaking and grasping Xanxus' hair! If this were someone else, what do you think Prince Xanxus would say?'

'Get your dirty hand out of my head!' suggested Bel.

Grinning broadly, Lussuria claimed, 'My point exactly.'

'Do you reckon this was why he ordered us to save Squalo at any cost?' enquired the thunder-casting son of Zeus again.

The blindfolded son of Apollo made his reply, 'What else can be the reason? Our prince is a man of actions rather than a man of words; it was his way of expressing "I cannot live without you, Squalo".'

'I cannot understand our lord's way of thinking,' commented the youngest of them.

'Ushishishi … a dope like you, unlike a genius like me, will never understand such things.'

'Now, now, Bel, that's not a nice thing to say.' Then Lussuria turned to Fran, 'Do carry on, dear.'

The green-caped boy in all honesty addressed them thus: 'I mean, Squalo may be handsome to behold, but he's very loud and noisy ... so barbaric. I shan't even be surprised if fracases become our daily bread if he joins our band. Why would Xanxus choose someone like that?'

Shoulders raised into a shrug, the laikaleos enunciated, 'Love works in a most peculiar way.'

EPILOGUE

'Love works in a most peculiar way. Look at them—how adorable! They always fight against each other, but now that they think they'll die, they cuddle.'

It was the same voice—Lussuria's, but the language spoken was Modern Italian instead of Archaic Greek, and Squalo's eyes snapped open at its sound.

Cheeks growing red even though he consumed no alcohol within the last six hours, the Varia squad captain hastily made an attempt to get off from his employer. Nevertheless, he staggered; his wounds weakened him.

'No sweetie, you must lie down still, I am not done healing you both.' Luss pushed Squalo back onto Xanxus' chest. Even Lussuria's gentle force was strong enough, and in times like this Squalo remembered that behind those sunglasses and effeminate attitude, hid a muscular man built by rigorous trainings of Muay Thai.

'Why are you here? Why didn't this place explode?' asked Squalo. His vision was still blurry, but he could make out the peacock-shaped colourful creature next to Lussuria as well as the corridor of Varia headquarters.

'We finished the mission early.' The epicene turned sideways. 'But we sure are lucky to have an ex-KGB agent in our bomb disarming team, don't you agree, Levi?'

Squalo saw Levi nodding before he closed his eyes again. He was so tired. Dog tired, dammit! Blame the enemies' recurrent attack when youthful stamina was no longer in his possession … though perhaps this might not share the blame as much as babysitting a certain moody, alcoholic, overgrown brat.

As soon as he was done, Luss, along with his Peacock of Serenity, stormed off to heal the others—a bit too precipitantly, perhaps—leaving the corridor desolated once again, save for the Varia leader and his second-in-command.

Squalo was still wondering whether the vision about the life in Archaic Greece was a mere dream or a past reality when he caught the unmistakable peer of Xanxus' eyes, accompanied with a moody growl, 'Are you going to stare at me all day?'

Realising that this was no empty accusation, the Sword Emperor got up to leave without saying a word.

Nonetheless, the hungry beast caught his prey by the hair and yanked it hard enough to send the hair's owner toppling back to the scarlet carpeted floor.

'VOI, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!'

But the predator let out a feral sneer. 'Scum, are you so dumb that you can't finish a single kiss?'

And just like that, their lips crashed together once again.

FINE