Four

The Chef Tries to Add Me to the Menu

The Labyrinth was like nowhere I'd ever seen. The walls seemed to change around every turn, bouncing from polished marble to crumbling brick to stainless steel like it was nothing. One corridor's floor was covered in grass, the next made of solid cement. The only thing that stayed the same was how dark it was, the only light coming from the soft glow of my sword.

There was no telling how long I walked. Long enough to feel how late it was, at least. Night was my only chance to sneak out, but it also meant no sleep for me. Without the adrenaline pumping in my system I had no doubt my eyelids would've already been drooping.

Finally, after what felt like my thousandth turn, I saw a light ahead of me. It was only a faint glow but compared to everything else before it, it might as well have been a spotlight. As I approached, I noticed that it was flickering slightly like a campfire.

I stepped through a gap just under twice my height and found myself in a strange, square room.

Sure enough, the light was coming from fire, two torches on each of the stone walls. On the opposite side from me was a plastic picnic table sitting in front of a massive, closed door.

To my right was a faded old couch, the fluffy kind you'd see in an old lady's house. Except this one looked dirty, like it hadn't been cleaned – or moved – in a very long time. A homemade cardboard sign rested above it, red ink spelling out "waiting area" in letters that looked like a preschooler had written them.

"A customer!" A booming voice called out, making me flinch away and raise my sword defensively.

The biggest guy I'd ever seen stepped in through the far door. He was as tall as an NBA player with the physique of a lineman. He wore a ratty white chef's outfit that was bulging at the seams, especially the arms where his massive biceps threatened to break free. A wicked scar ran along his left cheek and a tuft of black hair poked out from under a tall white hat. On the front of his equally worn apron were the words "everybody kiss the cook" right next to a nametag labeling him as Steve.

"Don't be like that. Go on, take a seat."

Steve treated me to a smile, gesturing to the couch. It would've been a lot more reassuring if it didn't show off teeth sharpened to points. Seeing I wasn't moving, he sighed.

"If you'd prefer to remain standing you may, but the wait is quite long. I wouldn't recommend it."

I raised my sword slightly higher. "The wait for what?"

"Food, of course." He gave me a strange look. "Why else would you have come to Steve's Delicious and Tasty Restaurant. Ah- that's trademarked, by the way."

He smiled apologetically, as if I would've wanted to use the terrible name myself.

"What are you?" I found myself asking. His size and face screamed dangerous, but I couldn't see anything outright inhuman. The closest thing was his smell, a stench that was wafting off of him and across the room. It reminded me of roadkill.

"Me?" He said, starting to tap his foot impatiently. "I'm a chef. Now, did you call ahead, or will you be ordering here?"

"Call ahead? What?"

He pulled out a spiral-bound notebook with a heavy sigh. "Ordering here it is, then. A shame- that'll make the wait even longer. Flesh Tearer!"

At first I thought it was a threat, but he didn't so much as look toward me. Instead, the door he'd entered from swung open again.

"Yes Boss?"

Another giant man stepped through, this one somehow a head taller than the first. He had long blonde hair and eyes that didn't look all there. Instead of a chef's outfit he wore a torn suit, large gashes showing off almost yellow skin

"Get this upstanding customer a lunch menu," Steve said.

"Right away boss," Flesh Tearer answered, before stopping and scratching his head. "But…don't we only have one menu?"

Steve's head snapped up. "We've been over this, dolt. Saying lunch menu sounds more professional. It leaves a good impression. So when I tell you to get the lunch menu, you get the damned menu!"

"Oh. Why didn't you say so boss?"

It happened in a flash. One second Flesh Tearer was standing there, dopey face and all, the next he was on the floor clutching his cheek. Steve's hand was still extended, a thick metal club clutched in it. I hadn't even seen him draw the weapon…or where he'd been keeping it.

"Question me again and I'll send you back to Tartarus myself, employee shortage or no."

For a second Flesh Tearer's face split into a snarl, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a defeated look. Steve nodded in satisfaction.

"That's the spirit. Don't forget- I beat you once and I can do it again, anytime I want. Now get me the gods damned menu."

Flesh Tearer slunk out of the room like a wounded animal and Steve looked back at me, schooling his features into a smile once more.

"So sorry you had to see that. I try to keep conflict in-house, but there's only so much you can do when dealing with incompetents."

"You're a monster," I said. There was no way a human could've moved like that. Or even lifted his thick weapon, for that matter.

"I know I can be a harsh boss, but I don't think I'm that bad," Steve laughed. Behind him, Flesh Tearer reentered the room with a paper in his hands.

"You smell funny," he said, tossing me the menu and walking away. I caught it in my free hand and, with one quick look to make sure Steve wasn't about to charge me, glanced at it.

Strangely enough, my dyslexia didn't act up at all. There were only three things on it: ribs, thighs, and limbs.

When I looked up again Steve was tapping his foot impatiently, arms crossed. I realized I was testing his patience. Unless I wanted to try my luck against that club, ordering was in my best interest.

"Ribs," I said. "I'll get ribs."

"Ribs it is then!" He clapped and stepped out of the room.

I glanced down at the menu. Sure it was convenient, but my dyslexia should've been jumbling it into a chaotic mess right now. Why wasn't it…

Oh.

I'd read it so naturally I'd somehow missed it. The entire thing was written in Greek. Ancient Greek.

If I'd had any lingering doubts before, they were long gone now. Definitely monsters.

Question was, what was I going to do about it? My goal had been to get out and make a difference. Take down some actual monsters instead of a never-ending stream of practice dummies. But Steve was well over twice my size and Flesh Tearer was even bigger. I thought about the massive steel club I hadn't even seen move, and decided a tactical retreat was in order.

It wasn't running away. Not permanently, at least. I'd be back later when I had a few more tricks and a lot more experience under my belt.

I'd just begun scurrying for the door I'd come in from when I heard the sound of hinges squeaking from across the room.

"Could I interest you in a glass of- Where do you think you're going?!" Steve's voice shouted. "You haven't paid! Thief! Cheapskate!"

I sped up, breaking into a sprint as lumbering footsteps thudded like cannon shells behind me. Steve was fast, but he'd gotten there too late. Within seconds of his appearance I had slipped through the door back into the corridor, a gap too small for the chef's massive frame.

"Get back here!" he yelled, leaning down to keep his eyes on me while stretching out a meaty arm out, clawing at the air in a futile attempt to grab hold of me.

I took a deep breath where I stood, about twenty steps away from his clumsy swings, and rolled my eyes. "Sure, give me a sec and I'll be right over."

"You know," Steve said. "My idiotic employee did get something right. You do smell funny." The lone eye I could see on his turned head gleamed menacingly. "Like a tasty, little, demigod."

I watched him silently, wondering if I could get a quick stab in while he flailed around.

"I didn't notice it in the room, thought I was just smelling the stock," Steve carried on. "But it's more than that. You smell like…seafood."

It took me a moment to catch the first part, but when I did, I felt my blood boil. "You thought it was your stock? You cook people!"

He laughed an ugly, grating laugh. "Stupid little demigod. What else would we cook? You said it yourself." He smiled, showing off those wickedly pointed teeth. "I'm a monster."

My grip on my sword tightened and I took a deep breath, reigning in the urge to charge in and skewer him.

"We get them from all over, all different kinds," Steve continued. "The ones that think they can fight are fun, especially the look on their face when they realize it's over. Then there are the ones that beg and plead. Always a good laugh. But the best? The best are the ones people try to protect."

He giggled drunkenly, smile stretching unnaturally wide as he basked in memories. "Sometimes it's a friend, sometimes a lover. But most of the time it's a parent. Dumb little mortals that act so important, as if their dying first was ever going to save their child. Sometimes, I even leave them alive, just so they can watch their child die and know there was nothing they could do about it. Then, of course…" He clenched his fist tight. "It's their turn."

He was baiting me. I knew that. The problem was that I was past thinking. Before I could even process what I was doing I'd closed half the distance between us.

My senses sharpened, just as they always did when a fight started. I glanced at the distance and estimated the time until I would reach him. I watched his smirk grow and caught how he raised his left arm.

The second I stepped into his range Steve's massive fist slammed down like a piledriver, hitting the ground with enough force to crack it. But I was ready. I pushed myself into a forward roll, slipping between his meaty legs before springing up on the opposite side. I twisted around, aiming to stab his unprotected back and finish the fight in a single move.

It was only a sixth sense that saved me, a sudden feeling of danger that had me scrambling backwards before fully knowing why.

Crunch!

Steve's club filled the spot I'd just left, his arm barely straining under the weight of the heavy object.

"Missed," he growled. "Next one won't."

He pushed himself to his full seven-foot-something height, hefting his weapon as he went. I swallowed, then charged.

We fell into a pattern of sorts. I would dart in, trying to get close and score a hit. But like clockwork a heavy strike would interrupt me, sometimes from the club, sometimes the empty fist, and a few times even a lashing kick. Whatever the type, I knew I couldn't afford to take even one of those hits. After the tenth or so repetition, I took a few extra steps back to make some space. This was going nowhere.

His arms were longer than mine and so was his weapon. There was no way for me to get close enough to touch him.

"Tired already?" Steve mocked, making no move to follow. Despite his taunt his chest was moving faster than it had been at the start. "Ready to curl up and die yet? I hope not. It's less fun when they give up so early."

I wasn't about to do that, but I was running low on ideas. I just couldn't see any way to reach him with my sword. Unless I didn't use a sword…

It was a crazy idea. I barely knew how to hold a spear, let alone use one. But how hard could it be? Just reach in and stab.

I tapped my sword against the ground before clicking my thumb twice. The shaft of Anthea sprung into shape in my hands, and I tilted the tip towards Steve menacingly. He snorted.

"One toothpick for another. Is that supposed to scare me?"

I didn't answer, instead preparing to rush him. I would dodge his first attack and use the longer weapon to catch him in one go, before he could adjust. I could do it. I just had to be fast and not hesitate.

I took my first step, his arm tensed, and behind me a door slammed open.

"Ribs!" Flesh Tearer announced happily. In his hands was a covered tray, the kind you'd see in a fancy restaurant. "The ribs are here, customer!"

Me and Steve stared, and he finally seemed to notice the scene in front of him. "Were you two playing a game? No fair, Flesh Tearer likes games too." He dropped the platter and crossed his arms petulantly, like a toddler that hadn't gotten his way.

"A game?" said Steve. "He's a demigod, this is a fight."

Flesh Tearer sniffed and looked away. "That's my favorite kind of game."

"Who cares what it is, just get over here and help me take care of him!"

"So you don't invite me, then boss me around when I find out?" Flesh Tearer complained. "Well I won't do it. Not unless you ask nicely."

Steve let out a strangled noise from the back of his throat. "What do you mean you won't do it? I'm telling you-"

That was all the time I gave him. I wasn't too sure what was going on, but if both of them came at me I would have no chance- I had to finish it while it was still one on one.

I closed the distance in a few seconds. Even though I'd caught him somewhat off-guard, his club still whistled towards me the moment I got close. That was fine though. A quick few steps to the side took me out of danger, and I clumsily shoved Anthea forward.

Steve jerked backwards away from my spear's point, whipping his club after me as he went, forcing me to retreat.

A dripping sound caught my attention. Small red drops were falling from Anthea's tip to the floor below. I quickly looked back at Steve and, sure enough, found a thin cut on his chest. He had his free hand pressed against the wound, as if double checking that it was real. When he looked up there was a fire in his eyes.

"Playtimes over," Steve said, staring down not only me, but Flesh Tearer too. "You're dead. Both of you."

For the first time since the fight started, he was the one to come at me. His long legs were deceptively fast, and I had just enough time to hurl myself to the side before his club could smash me into Percy paste. I had no time to pat myself on the back though as Steve went in for a second try immediately, forcing me into a very clumsy roll.

I managed to scramble back to my feet, but I was hanging on by a thread at this point. My luck was going to run out soon. I needed a hit that would put him down for good. The club swung sideways toward me right at head height and I ducked underneath, before stepping in and stabbing with my spear, just like I'd done before.

It would've worked, but my aim was off at the crucial time, Anthea cutting a gash along Steve's shoulder instead of impaling his chest. Before I could process what had happened there was a flash of grey and my body flew.

I hit the wall with a thud and slid down to the floor. I'd somehow managed to keep my grip on Anthea, but there was nothing I could do with it; my head was spinning and I couldn't even think about moving.

Steve grunted as he strode over and knelt in front of me. "So you're still alive over here. Need to work on my backhand." He rolled his shoulder and stretched back a meaty fist. "Oh well, it won't matter for long."

I shut my eyes and waited for the impact. I wasn't scared, not really. Just frustrated. I couldn't even take down a single monster, and I'd been trying to be some sort of hero? I wasn't even close to good enough.

I wondered if I could find my mom, down in the Underworld. Was that even possible? It was my uncle's realm, maybe he'd put in a good word for me? Sure my other uncle had tried to kill me, and my dad refused to do a thing about it, but you never know. Maybe Hades was actually a big softie for family.

Bam!

My eyes shot open at the loud sound, just in time to watch Steve faceplant in front of me, club skidding uselessly across the floor. Behind him, hand curled into a fist, was Flesh Tearer.

"Ha ha," he laughed. "Always ordering me around. Always hitting me. Your turn now."

Steve groaned, somehow still conscious after the heavy hit. "Idiot. I was already planning to teach you a lesson, give you a reminder of why disobeying me is a bad idea. But you go and hit me with my back turned? Looks like we'll be seeing how long it'll take you to reform."

Flesh Tearer just leered at him. "Go get me the lunch menu."

And then they were moving, Steve shoving himself up while Flesh Tearer launched himself forward. It was like watching a fight between two gorillas on steroids, no blocking or strategy just pure strength and impact after impact, each one loud enough to send shivers down my spine.

They were so focused on each other that they'd completely lost track of me. My body still ached, but I was less out of it now. I could move again, enough to run away at least.

Except, there was currently a fight to the death between me and the door I'd come in from. I had not shot of getting to it without being seen and squashed.

Which left only one option: the other door. It led to whatever sort of kitchen Steve had been using, but there had to be something beyond it, too. They'd set up shop in the middle of the Labyrinth, which meant that if I could just get to the other side the passage should keep going, taking me far away from giant chefs and waiters.

I glanced at the fight one more time and watched Steve land a nasty left hook, before Flesh Tearer responded with a crunching uppercut of his own. This was the best chance I'd get.

Shakily, I made my way to my feet and rushed out of the room. Behind me, the battling giants never looked away from each other.

(-)

Fourth chapter is here, hope you enjoyed it. The fifth should be done (hopefully) before Thanksgiving, so not too long a gap between them.