The grand hall of the Guild echoed with the clatter of goblets and the low hum of divine chatter, the air thick with anticipation and thinly veiled schadenfreude. Apollo slammed his fist on the ornate marble table, the sound cracking through the room like thunder. His golden eyes blazed with irritation as he glared at the empty seat across from him.
"What is Hestia doing?!" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "Is she truly so cowardly she'd skip five consecutive meetings? Or does she think her absence will spare her familia's humiliation?"
Miach, seated nearby, clenched his jaw but kept his tone measured. "She's ill. Your children chased her through the streets for days. Even gods can fall to exhaustion."
Takemikazuchi leaned forward, his arms crossed and his voice a low growl. "Or perhaps she's recovering from the trauma of watching her home burn. But you wouldn't understand that, would you, Apollo?"
Loki, lounging across the room with her legs propped on a nearby chair, barked a laugh. "Oh, come off it! The shrimp's probably hiding in a ditch somewhere, praying we forget this whole farce!" Her words ignited a ripple of laughter among the gods, their amusement sharp and merciless.
Freya, seated at the edge of the crowd, merely smiled. Her silver eyes glinted with predatory interest as she traced a finger along the rim of her wineglass. "Or perhaps she's plotting something… delicious."
Apollo's lip curled. "Enough. If she's not here by dawn, I'll declare her forfeit. The Guild will—"
The heavy oak doors burst open with a resonant boom, silencing the room. All eyes turned to Hestia, standing at the top of the staircase. Her petite frame was draped in a simple white chiton, her hair disheveled and dark circles bruising her eyes. Yet her gaze burned with defiance.
"Kept you waiting, huh?" she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
The hall fell silent as she descended the stairs, her footsteps echoing like drumbeats. Apollo's smirk widened, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. Hestia took her seat across from him, her posture rigid, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table.
"If we win," Apollo began, leaning forward with a serpent's grace, "I take Bell Cranel… and parade Leo's head through Orario on a pike. I want that clear."
Hestia didn't flinch. "And if we win?"
Apollo chuckled, a sound like broken glass. "Name your price. My familia's wealth, my divine relics—anything. Isn't that right, Recorder?" A scribe beside him nodded frantically, his quill scratching parchment.
Loki leaned forward, her grin manic. "So, how's this little game gonna work? Don't bore us, shrimp!"
Hestia met her gaze. "Two representatives each. My familia versus yours."
"Pathetic!" Apollo scoffed. "You've only two members because you're too lazy to recruit. Let fate decide the game type—fairly." He gestured to Hermes, who stepped forward clutching a wooden box of proposals, his usual charm replaced by nervous sweat.
"This… uh, seems important," Hermes stammered, setting the box between them. "Sure you want me to draw?"
"Do it," Hestia and Apollo said in unison.
Hermes plunged his hand into the box, stirring the slips with theatrical flair before plucking one. The room held its breath as he unfolded it. His face paled.
"It's… a siege."
"WHAT?!" Hestia slammed her fists on the table, her voice cracking. "A siege? With two people?!"
Apollo threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming and cruel. "Perfect! You'll attack, of course. Crushing your pitiful familia will be a delight."
Miach buried his face in his hands. "Of all the cursed luck…"
Takemikazuchi grimaced. "Hestia… even I couldn't defend a castle with two."
Hermes raised a trembling hand. "Maybe… a helper? To balance the scales?"
"NO!" Apollo roared, slamming his fist again. "This is a familia war! Unless you'd like to compensate me for the brats she slaughtered?"
Hestia shot to her feet, her chair clattering to the floor. "Compensate? You burned our home! You hunted us! You—"
"Enough." Freya's voice sliced through the chaos, honeyed and lethal. All eyes turned to her as she rose, her gown shimmering like moonlight. "Apollo… your fear is adorable. Do you truly need every advantage to beat a fledgling familia?"
The room erupted. Gods pounded tables, shouting: "Helpers! HELPERS!"
Apollo's composure shattered. "FINE! One helper—from outside Orario! Happy?!"
The crowd fell silent, stunned by his pettiness. Hestia sank back into her seat, her mind racing. Outside Orario? Who…?
Freya's smile deepened, her gaze locking with Hestia's. "What a generous compromise."
As the gods dispersed, murmuring of Apollo's insecurity, Hestia stared at her hands. The odds were impossible. But Leo's roar echoed in her mind—We'll fight. Together. She stood, her resolve hardening.
I'll find a way. For them.
The streets of Orario, which once felt alive with opportunity, now felt like they were closing in.
Leo walked beside Bell and Lili, hands in his pockets, his shoulders squared as his sharp eyes scanned the road ahead. Every few steps, he caught the glances—some amused, some pitying, others downright hostile.
The aftermath of Apollo's banquet had spread like wildfire. Whispers followed them wherever they went, and it wasn't long before those whispers turned into outright disdain.
"They should just give up now."
"Apollo's gonna crush them. Poor bastards don't stand a chance."
"A war game? With just those three? That Familia is doomed."
The words dripped with condescension, their voices too loud to be simple passing thoughts but never direct enough to warrant a response.
Bell kept his head down, gripping the straps of his gear tightly. Lili scowled, ears twitching in irritation, but she held her tongue.
Leo, however, wasn't the type to let things slide. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching at his sides. He could feel the anger simmering in his chest, a dull throb that pulsed alongside the Nemean Lion's presence inside him.
Then, as if the tension wasn't thick enough, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Oi, Rookie, Guardian!"
Leo's body stiffened before he even turned around.
A small group of adventurers leaned against a shop's outer wall, their weapons strapped lazily to their backs, their armor pristine—not from care, but from lack of battle. They weren't warriors. They were vultures.
The leader, a tall, lean man with slicked-back brown hair and a smug smirk, took a lazy step forward. His Familia crest—a golden sunburst of Apollo—gleamed against his chest plate.
"You two should save us all the trouble and surrender now," he continued, his voice carrying easily over the hushed crowd. "Or is that little firecracker of a goddess making you play hero?"
Bell stiffened beside Leo, his face a mixture of anger and uncertainty.
Leo exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders before turning fully toward the man. He met his gaze, his own expression unreadable.
The Apollo adventurer grinned, mistaking the silence for hesitation.
"Look, no hard feelings, yeah? It's just the way things go. You got unlucky. But hey, if you hand over your little brother, I'll put in a good word for you. Maybe Apollo will just cripple you instead of killing you outright."
The rest of the man's group chuckled.
Lili looked murderous. Bell's grip on his dagger tightened.
But Leo?
Leo smiled.
It was slow, almost lazy, but it lacked any warmth.
"Oh yeah?" he mused, tilting his head slightly. "You'll put in a good word for me?"
The man's smirk faltered for half a second.
Leo took a step forward. The air around him shifted. It was subtle at first, but those closest to him felt it—the temperature seemed to drop, the street sounds dulled, and suddenly, it was as if all the space in the world had collapsed to just this interaction.
Leo's presence expanded.
The Nemean Lion stirred inside him, letting its instincts seep through. Leo didn't need to fight—he didn't even need to raise his voice. He simply let his intent wrap around the Apollo adventurer like a vice.
The man inhaled sharply, his body tensing on instinct.
"You must be new," Leo said, voice low, smooth. "You don't know who I am, do you?"
The man's mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"Because if you did," Leo continued, stepping closer, "you'd know that the last Apollo idiot who threatened my family left with his throat barely attached."
The Apollo adventurer took a step back. His companions stopped laughing.
"Tch." Leo clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he finally turned away. "Be smart. Keep walking."
The Apollo group hesitated for only a moment before they did exactly that, disappearing into the streets without another word.
Lili exhaled a breath she'd been holding.
Bell, however, was staring at Leo, his face unreadable.
"...Leo," Bell said softly.
Leo glanced at him, seeing the way his brother's fists were clenched at his sides.
"I know," Leo murmured before Bell could even say it. "I let it get to me."
The Nemean Lion rumbled in the back of his mind.
For once, it wasn't from rage.
It was warning him.
The rooftop of their temporary shelter was cold, the stone beneath Leo's palms rough and unwelcoming. It wasn't home.
But then again, they didn't have a home anymore, did they?
Leo exhaled, his breath misting in the night air as he stared out over Orario. Somewhere beyond these buildings, beyond these twinkling lights and moonlit streets, Apollo was laughing—probably drinking himself stupid, reveling in his own victory before the War Game even began.
Leo could still hear the crackle of fire from earlier that morning, still feel the searing heat licking at his back as he shoved Bell and Hestia out of the way of that damn explosion. He could still smell the burning wood, the rubble, the ash that used to be their home.
Bell stepped onto the rooftop behind him, his footsteps hesitant, quiet—like he didn't want to disturb whatever was weighing Leo down. But Leo already knew.
Bell was drowning in it too.
His brother sat beside him, pulling his knees to his chest, red eyes staring blankly at the skyline. They didn't speak at first. They didn't need to.
The silence between them was heavy.
It wasn't the silence of two brothers enjoying the night breeze.
It was the silence of two boys who had just lost everything.
Bell was the first to break it.
"...If we lose," he whispered, his voice barely carrying over the wind, "they're going to kill you."
Leo closed his eyes.
He knew.
Of course, he knew.
It had been playing on repeat in his mind all day, that sick, twisted grin Apollo wore when he announced his terms.
"If I win, I'm taking Bell Cranel… and as for his twin? I want his execution displayed in the center of Orario for all to see."
Leo had felt his stomach drop, felt the Nemean Lion's rage twist in his chest, heard Hestia gasp in horror beside him—but none of it mattered. Not to Apollo. Not to the people who laughed, who whispered, who didn't care that someone's life was being gambled like a mere pawn in a god's twisted game.
And the worst part?
If they lost—if he lost—Bell would be forced to watch it happen.
Leo let out a slow breath through his nose, keeping his voice steady. "We won't lose, Bell."
"But what if we do?"
Bell's voice cracked on the last word.
Leo turned, his chest tightening at the sight of his twin—his strong, stubborn, brave little brother—looking at him like a scared kid again.
Like the same kid who used to wake up from nightmares and sneak into his bed when they were little.
Like the same kid who always trailed after him, never wanting to be left behind.
Like the same kid who had always looked up to him.
And now?
Now Bell had to think about what it would be like to see Leo die in front of him.
Leo swallowed the lump in his throat and reached out, pulling Bell into a tight, firm embrace.
Bell's fingers curled into his shirt immediately, gripping too hard like he was afraid Leo would disappear if he let go.
"Listen to me," Leo murmured, his voice quieter now. "I don't plan on dying. I don't care if Apollo has an army. I don't care what tricks they pull. I don't care if I have to tear through every single one of them with my bare hands—I'm going to be standing at your side when this is over. We're both walking away from this."
Bell's breathing was uneven, shaky, but he nodded against Leo's shoulder.
Leo exhaled, forcing himself to sound lighter. "Besides, I can't let you have all the fun. You get the girl, you get the titles, and you get to win the War Game? I need something, too."
Bell let out a watery chuckle, weak but real. "You're an idiot."
Leo grinned. "You're damn right I am."
They sat there for a long while, the city of Orario stretching out before them.
Bell didn't let go.
Leo didn't make him.
Because no matter what happened, no matter how stacked the odds were against them—
Leo refused to let this be the last time his brother ever got to hold onto him.
Cassandra barely had time to draw in a breath before she was drowning in it again.
The dream—the vision—whatever this was had wrapped around her like an iron chain, dragging her down into its suffocating depths.
Darkness surrounded her, but not the comforting kind that came with sleep. It was the abyss of the Dungeon's depths, the kind of black that swallowed the light whole. The kind that suffocated hope.
She stood frozen, heart hammering in her chest as the heavy sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space. Something massive lurked in the shadows ahead, its towering form inhuman, its skeletal frame hunched with unnatural grace.
A tail—a long, serpentine, barbed thing—dragged behind it, scraping against the stone with a sound that made her teeth ache.
Then she saw him.
Leo Cranel.
He stood in front of it, his body battered, his breath ragged, his white hair matted with blood—his own and someone else's.
But he wasn't running.
No, he was protecting something—someone.
Her eyes followed his stance, and there—Bell Cranel lay on the ground, unconscious, helpless.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
"Move, Leo! Move, move, move—!"
The monster lunged.
A blur of movement—Leo pushed Bell out of the way—
Then agony.
Cassandra watched in horror as the monster's clawed appendage raked through the air and severed Leo's arm at the shoulder.
Blood sprayed, a grotesque arc against the cavern walls. Leo didn't even scream. His body staggered, his breath hitching as he stared down at the limb that was no longer attached to him.
Then, in a blink, the tail came next.
Cassandra barely registered the motion before the tail whipped through the air, striking Leo across the neck with a sickening CRACK.
The sound of bone snapping rang through the silence.
Leo's body folded like a ragdoll, sent flying across the dungeon floor before crashing into the jagged rock with a sickening thud.
And then—he didn't move.
Cassandra's scream tore through her throat.
She gasped awake, her body lurching upright in her cot, drenched in cold sweat. Her fingers clawed at her sheets as she struggled to breathe, the echoes of the cracking sound still ringing in her ears.
She didn't hesitate.
She ran—barefoot, half-dazed, heart hammering—through the halls of the Apollo Familia manor, ignoring the strange looks from other members as she bolted toward Daphne's room.
Her hands slammed against the door, frantic.
"Daphne!" she gasped, voice still trembling from the aftershocks of the nightmare.
The door opened with a groggy, deeply unamused Daphne staring at her.
"Cassandra, for the last time, it's the middle of the godsdamned night—"
"He's going to die, Daphne!" Cassandra's voice cracked. Her hands shook as she gripped Daphne's shoulders. "Leo Cranel! In the dungeon! I keep seeing it—every time I sleep—I see it happen! His arm—his neck—he's going to die!"
Daphne exhaled sharply through her nose, running a tired hand down her face.
"Cassandra..."
"You have to believe me!" Cassandra's eyes were wild, desperate. "We have to stop it! We have to do something before—before—"
Daphne placed her hands firmly on Cassandra's arms, voice stern but gentle.
"You're exhausted," she said. "You've been training all day, and now you're waking yourself up with another nightmare. You're working yourself up again."
Cassandra shook her head violently. "It's not just a dream!"
Daphne sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Cassandra—"
"Why won't you listen to me?"
Daphne didn't answer.
And that silence killed Cassandra more than anything else.
She felt her throat tighten, her chest constrict as despair wrapped itself around her heart.
Because she already knew.
No one ever believed her.
And Leo Cranel was going to die.
Hyakinthos sat in his chambers, his fingers idly tracing the rim of a goblet filled with deep, ruby-red wine.
A smile curled on his lips as he inspected the small vial between his fingers—a liquid so clear, so unassuming, it could easily be mistaken for water.
But Hyakinthos knew better.
A few drops of this poison wouldn't kill instantly.
No, that would be too easy.
It would weaken. It would linger. It would eat away at the body gradually, sapping strength, making movements sluggish, dulling reaction time.
And for a brute like Leo Cranel—one who relied on sheer endurance and power?
It would be his downfall.
He turned to the cloaked figure standing in the shadows of his room. "Is it done?"
The shadowy figure nodded once.
"The wine will be delivered to the Hostess of Fertility as per your instructions. He will drink it tonight."
Hyakinthos smirked, reclining back against his chair.
"Perfect."
The warmth of the Hostess of Fertility was a welcomed comfort after days of grueling training. The scent of roasted meat, freshly baked bread, and sweet ale filled the air, mixing with the sounds of laughter, clinking tankards, and the occasional bellow from Mamma Mia herself.
Leo exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he stepped inside.
"Well, well," Mia's gravelly voice rang out, her sharp eyes locking onto him from behind the bar. "Look who finally decided to stop killing himself with training."
Leo chuckled, making his way toward a stool. "Figured I should eat something before I pass out in the middle of a fight."
Before he could sit, Syr appeared at his side, her usual playful smile in place.
"Bell's not with you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Leo barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "No, but I should've figured you'd ask about him first."
Syr giggled, unabashed. "Of course! But since he's not here, I suppose you'll have to do."
Leo smirked, taking his seat. "I'll try to be entertaining."
As he settled, Ryuu emerged from the back, carrying a tray of drinks, her usual calm, composed expression in place. But the moment her sharp blue eyes landed on Leo, something flickered in her gaze—a mix of quiet concern and curiosity.
"You've been training hard," she observed, setting down a mug of ale for a passing customer.
Leo exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, maybe too hard."
A pause.
Then, as if on impulse, Ryuu spoke.
"I could train you."
Leo blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Ryuu crossed her arms. "I was once Level 4. If you truly want to prepare for the War Game, sparring with me will test your limits."
Leo felt something excited spark in his chest, his grin widening.
"...How could I say no to that?"
Syr leaned in with a teasing smirk. "Oh my, Leo. Are you going to have private lessons with Ryuu~?"
Leo rolled his eyes. "Oh shut up, Syr."
Mamma Mia grunted, setting a steaming plate of seared steak and seasoned vegetables in front of Leo. "If you're gonna fight, at least eat first. You look like you're one bad hit away from toppling over."
Leo grinned, nodding in thanks before digging in.
But as he reached for the goblet of deep red wine beside his plate, Ryuu's gaze flickered to it, her expression shifting ever so slightly.
Leo barely had time to lift it to his lips when—
SNAP!
Mamma Mia's large, calloused hand yanked the goblet from his grip so fast that the wine sloshed over the rim. Her expression darkened as she sniffed the drink, her features twisting into a deep scowl.
"...Bastards." She muttered, voice low and dangerous.
Leo furrowed his brows. "Mia?"
Mia turned to him, her usual boisterous nature gone, replaced by something cold and serious. "Someone just tried to poison you."
The air shifted immediately.
Syr's eyes widened, Ryuu's jaw clenched, and the tavern, though still loud, felt suffocatingly small in that moment.
Leo's fingers curled into fists as he stared at the goblet, his blood boiling. "Apollo's little lapdogs."
Mamma Mia growled, setting the goblet aside. "They're playing dirty, tryin' to take you out before the War Game even starts. They must think you're the real threat."
Leo's lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes were burning with fury.
"Good."
The back alley behind the Hostess of Fertility was a wide, open space, more like a hidden square within the city than an actual alleyway. It was perfect for sparring, with just enough room for movement and a few trees scattered around.
Ryuu stood across from Leo, holding a sturdy tree branch, her stance relaxed, yet poised. Leo rolled his shoulders, taking his usual stance—fists raised, feet firmly planted.
"You need to be aware of multiple threats at once," Ryuu explained, shifting her weight effortlessly. "In the Dungeon, in the War Game—there will always be more than one opponent."
Leo nodded, his expression serious. "Alright. What's the plan?"
"Simple," Ryuu said, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
A rustling behind him made Leo's stomach drop.
"Survive."
Anya's cheerful voice rang out, "Surprise, Leo!"
Leo barely had time to react before a plum hurtled toward his face.
He ducked, narrowly dodging the fruit, but—
WHACK!
Ryuu's branch smacked against his ribs and Leo stumbled back, cursing.
Anya laughed from the sidelines, holding a basket full of fruits and vegetables.
"This is ridiculous!" Leo grumbled, dodging another flying tomato.
Ryuu darted forward, her speed unfairly fast, and swept his legs. Leo barely twisted midair to land on his hands, flipping back to his feet.
"Better," Ryuu acknowledged, but then she vanished—and in the blink of an eye—
WHACK!
Leo hit the dirt hard, groaning.
"Not good enough," she said simply.
Anya grinned. "Maybe we should upgrade to eggs?"
"Don't. You. Dare." Leo growled, rolling to his feet.
Ryuu tilted her head, her gaze calm yet calculating. "Again."
Leo grinned despite the bruises already forming.
"Gladly."
The grand chamber of Apollo's estate was bathed in the soft glow of golden candlelight, the walls lined with exquisite silk tapestries and imported furniture from lands far beyond Orario. The air was heavy with the scent of exotic perfumes and spilled wine.
Apollo lounged lazily on a velvet chaise, his amber eyes half-lidded, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingers. A soft smirk curled his lips as he gazed at his guests—his chosen "favorites" for the evening, beautiful men and women draped around him like ornaments.
But his attention shifted when Hyakinthos entered the room, his boots clicking against the polished marble floor.
Apollo tilted his head, his smirk widening.
"Hyakinthos, my dear," Apollo cooed, twirling the goblet in his hand. "You return to me so soon. Does this mean our little gift for Leo Cranel was well received?"
Hyakinthos hesitated, his jaw tightening. "…The attempt failed, my Lord."
Apollo's smirk disappeared instantly.
The room fell silent.
The air grew thick with tension.
Apollo slowly sat up, placing his goblet on the armrest. His eyes bored into Hyakinthos, the once-playful light in them now replaced by icy malice.
"Failed?" Apollo repeated, his voice sickeningly sweet. "Failed, you say?"
Hyakinthos bowed his head, a thin layer of sweat forming on his brow. "Yes, my Lord. Mamma Mia noticed something was off before he could drink the poison."
A slow exhale left Apollo's lips.
Then—
CRASH!
In a sudden burst of rage, Apollo grabbed the goblet and hurled it across the room, the wine staining the white marble like blood.
The gathered attendants flinched, a few scrambling away.
Hyakinthos clenched his fists but did not flinch, knowing better than to show weakness in front of his god.
Apollo ran a hand through his golden locks, inhaling deeply, his expression slipping back into something calm, but far more dangerous.
"No matter," Apollo purred, standing from his chaise, his robes flowing elegantly around him. He sauntered closer, cupping Hyakinthos's chin with delicate fingers.
Hyakinthos fought the urge to shiver.
"I know you despise failure as much as I do, don't you, my dearest Hyakinthos?" Apollo whispered, his breath hot against his ear.
"Yes… my Lord," Hyakinthos replied stiffly.
Apollo smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"No more childish attempts," Apollo declared, stepping away. "No more poison. No more pathetic, underhanded tricks. The boy is more resilient than you thought."
Hyakinthos gritted his teeth but remained silent.
Apollo turned, his golden eyes gleaming.
"I want him broken," Apollo purred. "In front of everyone. I want Orario to watch as I take everything from him."
Hyakinthos bowed. "Yes, my Lord."
Apollo waved him off, his playful smirk returning. "Now go. Prepare for the War Game. And Hyakinthos?"
Hyakinthos paused, looking over his shoulder.
"If you fail me again…" Apollo's voice dropped into something chillingly soft, his smile widening, eyes narrowing. "I will be… displeased."
Hyakinthos nodded once, swallowing hard.
Then he left.
And behind him, Apollo laughed softly, raising a fresh goblet of wine to his lips, basking in the thought of what was to come.
The days passed in a relentless cycle of training, eating, and exhaustion.
Leo pushed himself harder than ever, rising with the first light of dawn to train alongside Bell, Ais, and Tiona, their brutal sparring sessions leaving his body sore and covered in bruises. He fought faster, stronger opponents, learning to read attacks before they came, to react on instinct alone. Ryuu's training only sharpened him further, refining his footwork, his counters, his awareness of the battlefield.
Each evening, drenched in sweat and aching to his core, he found temporary solace at the Hostess of Fertility. The lively atmosphere, the teasing banter from Anya, Chloe, and Lunoire, and the warm meals from Mama Mia became the only thing keeping him from collapsing. Syr always asked about Bell, and though Leo found it amusing, a part of him envied the way his brother had captured her attention.
Ryuu remained his constant anchor. She never humored his complaints, never let him relax into complacency. When he made mistakes, she pointed them out with calm precision, and when he succeeded, her quiet nod was more rewarding than any praise.
And at night, when exhaustion weighed him down, he slept beneath the open sky, the makeshift camp that Bell, Hestia, Lili, and Welf had made their new home since Apollo reduced their church to rubble. It wasn't much, just a few bedrolls and a fire for warmth, but it was enough.
But as the days passed, a sense of unease settled deep in his gut.
The Apollo Familia was watching.
He caught them lurking in alleyways, standing at street corners, lingering just long enough for him to notice before vanishing into the crowd. The tension in the air grew thicker, suffocating, an invisible noose tightening around his throat.
And still, he trained.
He refused to stop—not when the War Game loomed just over the horizon, not when Bell needed him to be strong, and certainly not when Apollo was planning something.
Then, the day came when the noose finally tightened.
The streets of Orario were eerily quiet, the last streaks of sunlight fading beyond the rooftops. Leo exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders as he walked. His muscles ached, his knuckles were raw, but the thought of a hot meal at the Hostess of Fertility made it all worth it.
Then, his instincts screamed.
He slowed his steps, his eyes narrowing. Something wasn't right. The air felt heavy, thick with an unseen threat. His ears picked up the faintest sound of movement—shuffling boots, deliberate and measured. Too many.
A trap.
A low growl rumbled in the depths of his mind. The Lion was stirring.
"Steady, cub… they come for you."
Leo's jaw tightened, his hands curling into tight fists.
Then—they moved.
A shadow lunged from the alleyway, dagger aimed for his ribs.
Leo twisted, sidestepping just in time. His fist lashed out, catching the attacker clean across the jaw. CRACK. The man's head snapped back as his body crumpled to the ground.
Another came from the side—Leo ducked low, planting his foot before driving his elbow into the man's gut. A sharp oof escaped the grunt's lips before Leo grabbed his wrist, twisted, and snapped it in one brutal motion. The dagger clattered onto the stone, and Leo grabbed it mid-fall.
"Too many," the Lion murmured. "They are wolves, and wolves hunt in packs."
Leo exhaled sharply. He knew.
The next one came with a club, swinging hard. Leo barely dodged, the weapon grazing his side before he retaliated—his knee shot up into the man's stomach before he drove him face-first into the stone wall.
More of them emerged, at least a dozen figures now blocking his path.
Leo took a deep breath, planting his feet like an immovable force. His crimson eyes burned as he stared them down.
"This all you got?"
The Apollo grunts hesitated for half a second, unnerved by how calm he was.
"They fear the lion's teeth," the voice rumbled in his head. "Make them know your claws."
A war cry erupted from one of them.
Then they all charged.
Leo met them head-on.
A sword came for his chest—he sidestepped, grabbed the wrist, and twisted, forcing the blade to the ground before his knee slammed into the man's ribs.
Another swung an axe—Leo pivoted, letting the blade graze past his arm before he smashed his elbow into the attacker's face, sending him sprawling.
A spear jabbed at him—he caught it mid-thrust, wrenched it from the attacker's grip, and flipped it around—driving the blunt end into their gut.
Blood sprayed onto the cobblestone. Bodies dropped.
But they kept coming.
"Your heart burns with fury, but your body tires," the Lion warned. "You must know when to retreat, cub."
Leo gritted his teeth, his breath ragged.
His movements slowed, his body screaming from exhaustion after days of training.
A whip lashed out, coiling around his leg—
Leo cursed as he was yanked off his feet. He hit the ground hard, a sharp pain exploding through his ribs.
Move. Move, dammit—
He tried to rise, but a boot slammed onto his chest, pinning him down. Hands grabbed his arms, forcing them behind his back, twisting until his shoulders burned.
Even still, Leo thrashed.
The Lion roared inside him, furious and caged.
"Do not go quietly!"
A sharp voice cut through the chaos.
"What a pain in the ass you are."
Leo snapped his head up, his bloodied glare locking onto the familiar figure standing over him.
Hyakinthos.
The Apollo Captain smirked down at him, smug and self-assured. Leo could still feel the bruises on Bell's body from their last meeting, and now he was the one pinned to the ground.
Leo let out a harsh, breathless chuckle, lips curling despite the pain.
"Took a whole pack of you to bring me down, huh?" His voice was hoarse, but dripping with defiance.
Hyakinthos' smirk twitched, his pride bruised by the truth of it.
He crouched, grabbing Leo by the chin, forcing him to look up at him.
"You should've known your place," Hyakinthos murmured.
Leo didn't hesitate—he spat blood into his face.
The Apollo captain's eye twitched in fury.
WHAM.
A fist slammed into Leo's jaw, snapping his head to the side.
But Leo only grinned, teeth stained red.
"That all you got?"
The lion deep inside growled in anger at the situation Leo was in, but he was proud to see his defience.
Hyakinthos clenched his fists, his calm mask cracking. He motioned with a nod, and one of his men drove a fist into Leo's skull.
The world faded to black.
A sharp, biting pain lanced through Leo's ribs.
His eyes snapped open.
A second later, another brutal impact crashed against his side, the force of it sending his body jerking in place. A strangled gasp escaped his throat, raw and ragged.
Pain. Deep, searing, and relentless.
His senses swam, vision blurred, and the world around him was nothing but a haze of dark stone, torchlight flickering against damp walls, and the unmistakable, suffocating scent of blood and filth.
Something cold and heavy weighed on his wrists.
Leo's breathing was shallow as he forced his head to lift, his body screaming in protest. The rattling of chains met his ears as he tugged instinctively, only to feel the unyielding pull of iron—his arms were stretched out wide, shackled to opposite walls in a position meant to restrain and humiliate.
His wrists burned, skin rubbed raw from the cold steel cutting into him.
It was only then that he felt the wetness on his skin—not sweat.
Blood.
His own.
CRACK.
A sudden, savage punch to his stomach sent air exploding from his lungs, his body convulsing violently against his restraints.
Leo coughed, spitting blood onto the dirt floor beneath him. His head hung forward, his breath coming in harsh, shallow gasps.
A voice filled with cruel amusement cut through the fog of pain.
"Well, look who's finally awake."
Leo's teeth clenched, his jaw aching from the impact of previous blows. Slowly, he forced his head up, blinking blood out of his eyes as his vision sharpened.
Hyakinthos stood before him, a smug smile twisting his face, his golden hair catching the flickering torchlight.
The captain of Apollo's Familia was dressed in his pristine uniform, looking every bit the aristocrat—a sharp contrast to Leo, who was bloodied, bruised, and chained like a dog.
Leo hated him on sight.
"Still conscious?" Hyakinthos mused, his tone mockingly impressed. "I thought you'd be out longer. I suppose you are a little tougher than your brother after all."
Leo's lips curled into a slow, defiant grin, despite the pain wracking his body. His voice, though hoarse, was laced with venom.
"Then maybe hit harder next time… you hit like a priest."
The smug amusement vanished from Hyakinthos's face.
Without hesitation, he drove his boot into Leo's ribs, sending a fresh wave of agony crashing through his body.
CRACK.
Leo's vision flashed white as his back arched involuntarily against the chains. His lungs screamed for air, his stomach churning violently from the force of the blow.
But he didn't cry out.
A low, guttural growl rumbled in the depths of his mind.
"Cub."
The voice was deep, ancient—a thunderous rumble that resonated in his very soul.
The Nemean Lion stirred.
"Your body will break before your spirit does. Endure, but do not fall to anger."
Leo's breath hitched, his teeth grinding together as he fought through the agony. He could almost see the great beast, standing beside him even in the darkness—its golden mane shimmering, its crimson eyes burning with fury.
Hyakinthos knelt down, grabbing Leo's bloodied jaw in an iron grip, forcing their gazes to meet.
"You're a stubborn one," he sneered. "A fool, too."
Leo spat in his face.
A moment of tense silence stretched between them.
Hyakinthos's expression darkened.
Then—
A fist slammed into Leo's face.
Then another.
And another.
The beating was relentless.
Each brutal strike sent fresh shockwaves of agony rippling through his body, rattling his skull, ribs, and gut. His head snapped back with every impact, blood splattering onto the cold stone floor beneath him.
But still—he did not scream.
He would not give them the satisfaction.
"Your fangs are sharp, but they must be used wisely."
The Nemean Lion's voice rumbled again, but this time, there was a deeper rage beneath it—one that Leo could feel mirroring his own.
"I see your pain, my cub. And I would tear them apart with my own claws if I could."
Leo exhaled shakily, a low, strained chuckle bubbling from his throat despite the blood dripping from his lips.
Hyakinthos pulled back, breathing hard, his fists coated in red. He wiped his face where Leo had spat earlier, his expression dark with fury.
"Still smiling?" he hissed. "How about now?"
Before Leo could brace himself, Hyakinthos drew a dagger from his belt and slammed it into his shoulder.
Leo's muscles seized, his breath hitching sharply as white-hot pain exploded through his nerves.
The dungeon walls blurred, his body screaming in protest, but still, he didn't break.
Hyakinthos leaned in close, his breath warm against Leo's ear.
"You won't be so cocky when you're begging for death," he whispered.
Leo, despite everything—despite the agony burning through his body—grinned through bloodstained teeth.
"Then I guess we'll be here a while."
The strike came before he even saw it.
A final, bone-rattling punch to his already bruised ribs sent Leo's body jerking violently against the chains. His head lolled forward, his breath ragged and uneven, but his smirk remained.
Hyakinthos scowled.
"Leave him," he spat, wiping his hands off with a handkerchief. "No food. No water. Let's see how long that spirit of yours lasts."
The guards hesitated, exchanging glances, before giving curt nods.
Leo barely registered the sound of the heavy iron door creaking open.
Then—SLAM.
Darkness swallowed him whole
For a moment, the only sound in the chamber was his own breathing, labored and shallow.
Then—
"Cub."
The Nemean Lion's voice was softer this time, a low rumble of both pride and sorrow.
"You are wounded. But not beaten."
Leo let out a slow, shaking exhale, his lips curling upward.
His entire body ached, the dagger still lodged in his shoulder, but he wasn't broken.
Not yet.
Not ever.
Leo let his head rest against the cold stone, eyes half-lidded as exhaustion threatened to pull him under.
"Yeah…" he whispered, voice raw but firm.
"Bring it on."
The tent felt too small, too suffocating.
Bell sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. His breath came in shallow bursts, his jaw locked so tightly it felt like his teeth would crack. Across from him, Hestia sat at the worn wooden table, the soft glow of the lanterns casting long, uneasy shadows on her face.
Neither of them spoke.
Not at first.
There was too much silence, too much weight, pressing down on them.
Then—
"Where is he?"
Bell's voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it carried through the tent like the edge of a blade.
Hestia flinched.
She had never heard Bell like this before.
"Bell…" she started hesitantly.
"Where. Is. He?"
Hestia swallowed hard, her small hands curling into fists in her lap. "We don't know where they're keeping him yet… but we will find him, I swear it."
The words were meant to be reassuring.
They weren't.
Bell shot to his feet, the chair scraping violently against the wooden floor, sending a sharp noise cutting through the still air.
"We don't know?" His voice shook. "We don't know?! Leo is out there—somewhere—suffering, bleeding, maybe even dying—and we're just sitting here doing nothing!?"
Hestia's heart ached at the raw desperation in his voice.
"Bell—"
"Lili was taken too, wasn't she?"
Hestia sucked in a sharp breath. "Yes… by the Soma Familia."
The confirmation hit him like a gut punch.
His fingernails bit deeper into his palms, his body trembling with barely restrained fury.
Leo was gone.
Lili was gone.
And he hadn't been there to stop it.
His breath came ragged, his vision blurred at the edges as rage threatened to consume him whole. His mind screamed at him to run, to grab his dagger, to tear through the city until he found them.
But he couldn't.
Not yet.
His hands slammed against the table, the impact rattling the lantern and making Hestia flinch.
"This is my fault," he whispered. "If I had just been there—"
"No."
Hestia stood abruptly, eyes blazing. "Don't you dare put this on yourself, Bell!"
Bell looked away, his shoulders tense, his breath shaky.
Hestia reached out, hesitated, then placed a small hand over his fist.
"I know how much Leo means to you," she said softly. "And I know how much Lili means to you, too." Her grip tightened. "But running off without a plan will only get you captured as well. And then what?"
Bell didn't answer.
Because he knew.
If he got caught, there'd be no one left to fight for them.
Hestia's expression softened, her voice dropping to something almost pleading.
"Leo would never forgive himself if you did something reckless and got hurt. So please… just for now, trust me."
Bell squeezed his eyes shut, his breath still uneven, but his fists slowly unclenched.
"I can't just sit here," he murmured.
Hestia sighed. "I know. I wouldn't ask that of you."
Bell swallowed thickly, forcing himself to nod.
Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left the tent.
Hestia watched him go, biting her lip, hoping—praying—that he wouldn't do something he'd regret.
As the flap of the tent fluttered shut behind him, she let out a slow, trembling breath.
She had stopped him for now.
But she knew one thing for certain.
Bell would not sit still for long.
Hostess of Fertility
The lively hum of the Hostess of Fertility had dulled.
No cheerful chatter, no teasing laughter filling the air like usual. The place was full of customers, as always, but the mood among the staff was noticeably off.
A seat near the bar—Leo's usual seat—sat empty.
Mia Grand scrubbed the counter a little too hard, the wood creaking beneath the pressure of her thick fingers. Her usual gruff expression was twisted into one of silent fury.
"How the hell did this happen under my nose?" she muttered darkly.
She slammed the rag onto the counter, making Chloe and Anya flinch from where they were stacking plates.
"It happened a few damn alleyways from here! And I didn't hear a godsdamned thing?!"
A nearby table went silent.
No one dared speak.
Even Anya, usually quick with a joke, pursed her lips in a tight line.
"...So, uh, boss?" Chloe said after a long pause, tail flicking behind her. "What are we gonna do about it?"
Mia gritted her teeth, shoulders rising and falling with controlled breaths.
"Not a damn thing," she growled.
"Eh?" Anya blinked.
"Leo ain't one of my girls. As much as I like the brat, this ain't our fight," Mia said, but her hand was tightly clenched into a fist on the bar top.
Ryuu stood a little ways off, silent, still, unreadable.
But the air around her wasn't.
It was icy.
"That's a load of shit," Anya muttered, crossing her arms. "If we ain't gettin' involved, then why are you this pissed, Mama Mia?"
Mia said nothing.
Ryuu, however, moved.
She stepped forward, the wooden floor creaking beneath her heel.
"This is Apollo's doing," she said, voice measured but cold. "And we all know why he did it."
Syr, who had been quiet this entire time, sighed softly, twisting a cloth in her hands.
"Because Leo was getting stronger."
Ryuu's fingers twitched at her sides.
Because he was getting stronger.
Because he was getting close to something more.
Because Apollo couldn't stand that someone like him—a free spirit, a warrior not bound to power-hungry gods—was rising above his station.
"He will survive," Ryuu said finally.
She was sure of it.
He had to.
But that didn't stop the small voice in the back of her head whispering what if?
What if he didn't?
Her grip tightened into a fist.
What if she was too late?
Guild Headquarters
Eina Tulle had not slept in days.
Her desk was buried in reports, most of them useless.
Paper after paper, name after name, and none of them had Leo Cranel on them.
The guild had no leads.
No sightings.
Nothing.
It was as if he had vanished.
Her usually pristine hair was unkempt, sticking up in odd places from where she had ran her hands through it too many times.
Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, dark circles prominent beneath them.
A cup of long-cold coffee sat untouched at her desk.
"Eina."
She didn't respond.
A sigh.
Misha and Rose exchanged a look before Misha plopped down into the chair across from her.
"Sweetie, you look like hell," Misha said bluntly, propping her chin up on her hand.
"I'm fine," Eina muttered, flipping through another report.
Rose, arms crossed, frowned. "You're not fine. You're spiraling."
Eina ignored them.
"Still nothing?" Misha asked, softer this time.
Eina's grip tightened on the papers.
Misha sighed, picking up the cold coffee and making a face before taking a sip. "Eina, I know you care about Leo, but—"
"I can't just sit here and do nothing!"
The sharpness in her tone made Misha flinch.
The half-elf was on edge, teetering dangerously between exhaustion and frustration.
Rose watched her quietly, her usual hard gaze slightly softened.
"If you break yourself like this," Rose said, "you won't be able to help him when the time comes."
Eina's eyes burned, her fingers trembling.
"But what if he needs help now?" she whispered.
Neither of them had an answer for that.
Loki Familia Estate
Tiona's knuckles were white.
Her nails bit into her palms, so hard that if she had been a little less careful, she would've drawn blood.
She paced back and forth in the training yard, feet digging into the dirt, her body thrumming with pent-up rage.
"Those bastards," she muttered under her breath. "Those fucking cowards!"
Riveria, sitting on a nearby bench, merely watched her.
There was no visible anger in the High Elf's expression.
Only cold, calculating silence.
But Tiona knew better.
Riveria was seething.
She was just too good at hiding it.
"Can't we do anything?" Tiona asked suddenly, whipping around to face the elven mage. "Leo's a good guy! He didn't deserve this shit!"
Riveria sighed.
"I agree," she said simply.
Tiona blinked. "Then why—"
"We are not in a position to interfere."
Tiona stared, her heart hammering.
"That's bullshit," she snapped.
Riveria's emerald eyes locked onto hers.
"It is the reality," she corrected.
Tiona gritted her teeth.
"Leo is an outsider," Riveria continued, voice cool. "And the gods dictate these games. If we were to step in—"
"It wouldn't be a War Game anymore," Tiona muttered.
Riveria nodded once.
Tiona wanted to scream.
"So we just—what? Let him rot?"
Riveria's expression didn't change.
But her fingers tightened subtly on her staff.
"Leo is strong," she said. "And he is not alone."
Tiona exhaled sharply, trying to calm herself.
Her hands were still shaking.
"...If anything happens to him," she said, voice low, "I'm not gonna just sit here."
Riveria didn't respond.
She didn't need to.
Because they both knew—
Neither of them would.
Pain.
A familiar, unwelcome sensation that had rooted itself deep into Leo's body.
It was his first companion when he woke.
His head hung forward, damp locks of blood-matted hair falling into his face. His arms were stretched wide, shackled to the cold, unforgiving dungeon walls by thick iron chains. His wrists ached. The skin was raw, rubbed red from where he had struggled against his binds.
How long had it been?
Days? Weeks? Time blurred into a haze of torment and exhaustion.
His body throbbed with bruises. His ribs felt cracked. The dried blood on his face pulled at his skin as he breathed through shallow, labored gasps.
Then—
The door creaked open.
Boots echoed across the stone floor.
Leo didn't lift his head. He already knew who it was.
A familiar smug chuckle filled the air, thick with amusement.
"My, my… still alive?"
Hyakinthos.
Leo exhaled slowly, every breath a battle. His body screamed at him to stay still, to rest.
Instead, he lifted his head.
And smirked.
"Unfortunately for you," Leo rasped, voice hoarse from days of screaming and defying.
Hyakinthos clicked his tongue, taking slow, measured steps closer. His deep blue eyes held nothing but cold amusement as he crouched in front of Leo's kneeling form.
"Still so defiant," he mused. "I wonder… how much more will it take to break you?"
Leo didn't answer.
Hyakinthos's smirk widened.
"You must be wondering what's happening outside, aren't you?" He stood, his boots scraping against the dirt-covered floor. "How your brother is doing without you?"
Leo's breath hitched.
Hyakinthos caught it instantly.
And he pounced.
"Oh, didn't you hear?" His voice was mockingly sweet. "Apollo is rather… taken with your little brother."
Leo's fingers curled into tight fists.
"He's utterly captivated," Hyakinthos continued, pacing leisurely around him. "Smitten, really. I suppose I can't blame him. Bell has that soft, fragile charm about him, doesn't he?"
A pulse of fury surged through Leo's veins.
"He's already decided," Hyakinthos went on, his voice dripping with cruelty. "When we win the War Game, Bell will belong to Apollo. And you?"
Hyakinthos crouched again, leaning in so their faces were inches apart.
"You'll be executed. Publicly. Like a pig to the slaughter."
Leo's breathing deepened.
"Ah, but don't worry," Hyakinthos whispered. "Your brother will be well taken care of. Apollo has so many wonderful plans for him. Perhaps we should teach Bell some… obedience. Wouldn't want him to run away now, would we?"
Snap.
Something inside Leo fractured.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his throat.
Hyakinthos froze.
Leo's muscles coiled, his body tense with unfiltered rage.
And then—
The chains groaned.
A slow, ominous sound of metal bending.
Hyakinthos took a step back, his once-smug expression faltering.
Leo pulled.
The shackles dug into his wrists, but he didn't care. His entire body shook with fury. His breath came out ragged, uneven. His golden eyes burned.
Hyakinthos stared.
The dim torchlight flickered, casting shadows over Leo's face—
No.
Not just Leo's face.
A second shape loomed behind him, a spectral beast with gleaming fangs.
The Nemian Lion.
The spirit's presence surged through him, a roaring inferno of rage and primal defiance.
"You dare threaten my cub?" The Lion's voice growled into Leo's mind, deep and wrathful.
Hyakinthos stepped back.
Leo pulled harder.
Creeeak.
The chains strained under the pressure. The iron groaned.
His arms flexed, muscles trembling from exertion, but he didn't stop.
Hyakinthos's expression twisted.
"No," he hissed, stepping forward and slamming a boot into Leo's stomach.
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, his body jerking violently against the restraints. But Leo didn't cry out.
Didn't even flinch.
He only laughed.
Low and rough, a dark chuckle that made Hyakinthos scowl.
"You're scared," Leo rasped, his voice dripping with venom.
Hyakinthos's eye twitched.
CRACK.
A fist slammed into Leo's jaw. His head snapped to the side, blood spilling from his lips.
Still—
Leo grinned.
And pulled again.
Hyakinthos's patience snapped.
He struck again, and again, fist colliding with Leo's face, ribs, stomach. Every hit was fueled by fury, frustration.
But the chains never broke.
Leo's body slumped, his head falling forward, his breaths labored.
Hyakinthos stood over him, panting, seething.
"I'll… make you beg," he spat, gripping Leo's face roughly and forcing him to look up. "You think you're strong? You think you can resist?"
Blood dripped from Leo's mouth.
And he smirked.
"…I think you're a coward."
Hyakinthos's hand trembled.
Then he stood, brushing off his robes, and let out a slow exhale.
"No matter," he said smoothly, voice returning to mocking amusement. "It won't matter when your head is rolling on the executioner's block."
Leo's smirk never wavered.
"Try me, pretty boy."
Hyakinthos's eye twitched.
And then he turned, striding toward the door. He paused at the threshold, glancing over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Leo?" He tilted his head, smirking.
"Sweet dreams."
The door slammed shut.
Leo was left alone in the dark.
His body throbbed. His wrists ached. His breathing was uneven.
He let his head rest against the cold stone.
"Leo."
The Lion's voice rumbled in his mind, its presence steady, unyielding.
"I will not let them take you."
Leo closed his eyes.
"…I know."
Darkness swallowed him whole
Darkness.
It was all Lili had known since she had been dragged back into the hell she thought she had escaped.
Her arms ached from being shackled to a damp, mildew-covered wall. Cold metal bit into her wrists, and every time she moved, the cuffs chafed against her skin, raw and tender. She didn't know how long it had been. The days blurred into one another, leaving her with nothing but the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water from the cracked ceiling above her.
A single candle flickered in the corner of the cramped stone cell, casting jagged shadows along the walls. The air was thick with the scent of mold, damp earth, and stale blood.
She had screamed. At first. Fought. Kicked. Bit.
But they had beaten that fight out of her quickly.
Her left eye was swollen shut, her lower lip split open, dried blood crusting at the edges. Bruises decorated her small frame like warpaint, deep purples and sickly yellows blooming across her arms and ribs. The last time they had come in, they had laughed when she collapsed from exhaustion, jeering about how weak she had become.
Now, she just sat there, knees drawn to her chest, trying not to let the despair choke her.
The creak of rusted iron hinges sent a shiver down Lili's spine. Footsteps echoed down the hallway, slow and deliberate. She forced herself not to tremble, clenching her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.
And then he appeared.
Zanis Lustra.
The very sight of him made her stomach churn.
He entered the cell with a smug, self-satisfied smirk, hands clasped behind his back like he was an emperor surveying his domain. Two Soma Familia thugs stood at his sides, their expressions blank but their presence intimidating.
"Liliruca Arde," Zanis drawled, as if tasting her name like a fine wine. "You look… worse for wear."
Lili kept her mouth shut. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response.
Zanis sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "It's a shame, really. You had such potential. Running away, joining that pitiful excuse of a familia, scurrying after your little rabbit and his brutish brother." His lips curled. "Did you actually think you were free?"
Lili glared up at him through her good eye. "I was," she rasped, her voice hoarse from disuse.
Zanis chuckled darkly. "How delusional. But don't worry, Lili. We can fix that."
She braced herself.
The kick came swiftly—brutal and precise, slamming into her ribs with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs. She gasped, choking on nothing, vision swimming as pain lanced through her body.
"Did you really think you could betray the Soma Familia and get away with it?" Zanis continued, nudging her with the tip of his boot, as if she were some stray dog.
Lili coughed, her throat raw, but she refused to cry out.
"You should be grateful," he mused, crouching down so he was level with her. His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Lord Soma was ready to cast you aside. But I convinced him otherwise. I told him you could still be useful."
She wrenched her head away from his touch, disgust curling in her gut. "I'd rather die."
Zanis sighed theatrically. "So dramatic. But I'm offering you a second chance, Lili. A way to earn back your place."
Lili didn't want to hear it.
She didn't care what game he was playing—she wasn't falling for it.
But then, his voice lowered, turning almost gentle. Too gentle.
"Steal from Bell Cranel again."
Her blood ran cold.
Zanis's smile widened as he saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. "It's simple. Do what you've always done—be the little thief you were meant to be." He leaned in closer, his breath fanning against her ear. "If you don't, well…" He gestured lazily to the guards. "I'm sure we can find other uses for you."
Her stomach twisted.
She knew what that meant.
The Soma Familia wasn't kind to the weak. If she refused, she wouldn't just be a prisoner—she'd be sold.
Her fingers dug into the damp stone floor.
Bell's voice echoed in her mind, gentle yet determined.
"I trust you, Lili."
And Leo's, always there, always steady.
"You don't belong to them anymore. You're family now."
Her heart clenched.
They saved her.
They believed in her.
They gave her something she never had before—a reason to fight.
She took a shaky breath.
Zanis was still watching her, waiting for her to break.
Lili lifted her chin, her good eye burning with quiet defiance. "No."
Zanis's expression froze. For a moment, just a fleeting one, his mask of control slipped.
Then he sighed, shaking his head. "Pity."
The next blow came without warning.
Her head snapped to the side as his backhand struck her across the face, sending her collapsing onto the stone floor. The world spun violently, stars bursting behind her vision.
"Lock her away," Zanis ordered. "Let her think it over."
Rough hands grabbed her, dragging her across the cold floor, her body too weak to resist.
As the heavy cell door slammed shut behind her, Lili curled into herself, every breath sending fresh waves of pain through her ribs.
But even as the darkness threatened to swallow her whole, she held onto a single thought.
"No more."
The streets of Orario had never been louder.
A sea of adventurers, merchants, and civilians gathered in the main plaza, their voices blending into a chaotic roar of excitement and confusion. Brightly colored banners hung from the surrounding buildings, each embroidered with the golden sun emblem of the Apollo Familia. Golden confetti rained from the upper balconies, carried by the wind like drifting embers. The air was thick with the smell of cooked meat and fresh bread, merchants taking advantage of the crowd to peddle their goods.
But despite the festival-like atmosphere, there was unease.
Something wasn't right.
People whispered among themselves, eyes drawn to the raised marble stage at the heart of the plaza—an ornate structure with intricate carvings of winged suns and laurel wreaths. At the center stood Apollo, a radiant grin plastered on his face as he basked in the attention of his audience. His golden locks gleamed in the sunlight, and he wore an extravagant crimson-and-gold tunic that flowed like fire around him.
The god raised his arms, commanding silence.
"My beloved Orario!" Apollo's voice rang out, magically amplified so that all could hear. The crowd instinctively quieted, their focus drawn entirely to him. "It is with great joy that I stand before you today! Soon, my esteemed familia shall engage in a War Game against the lovely Lady Hestia's Familia!"
A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd.
Everyone knew about it already. The tension between the Hestia and Apollo Familia had been boiling for days, but why host such a grand spectacle now?
Apollo's smile widened, his sharp teeth gleaming. "And, in the spirit of fairness, I have decided to be generous. You see, we have taken… a special guest."
The chains rattled.
A collective gasp rippled through the plaza as a figure was dragged onto the stage, two Apollo Familia members flanking either side.
The Twin Guardian of Orario was unrecognizable.
Leo Cranel stumbled as they forced him to his knees, the chains on his wrists and ankles clanking loudly against the marble floor. He would have collapsed entirely had one of the guards not yanked him upright by his hair, forcing his head to tilt back for the whole city to see.
Silence.
It was as if all of Orario had been struck mute.
Leo's body was a tapestry of torment. Bruises, cuts, deep welts. His once-proud figure was reduced to a battered husk, his tan skin marred by blood and grime. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, his bottom lip busted open, dried blood smeared across his chin. His once-pristine shirt was torn to shreds, hanging off him in tattered rags, exposing deep gashes along his torso.
Even chained and beaten, he looked defiant.
He lifted his head, his good eye scanning the crowd. His friends were here. Somewhere among the hundreds of horrified faces—Bell, Hestia, Welf, Lili, Ryuu… he knew they were watching.
Leo breathed heavily, his ribs burning with every inhale. His whole body screamed in agony, yet he refused to show any weakness.
He smirked.
A small, bloody smirk.
His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.
The stench of iron filled the air.
Apollo sighed theatrically. "Such a shame." His voice was smooth, practiced—mocking. "To think Orario's so-called Twin Guardian would fall so… pitifully."
His voice echoed across the plaza. Hundreds watched. Some with horror, others with twisted fascination.
Then, the real show began.
A snap of Apollo's fingers, and Hyakinthos stepped forward.
Leo barely had time to react before a heavy boot slammed into his ribs.
A sickening crack echoed through the plaza.
A muffled grunt escaped Leo's lips, his body jerking from the impact, but he didn't scream.
He refused to scream.
Another kick—this time to his face. His head snapped to the side, blood splattering across the marble floor. The world spun violently around him, the edges of his vision swimming in red.
The crowd was silent.
Not a single soul spoke. Not even those who had come to cheer.
This wasn't a game anymore.
This was a warning.
A demonstration of what happened when someone defied a god.
Apollo crouched down, gripping Leo's bloodied chin between his fingers, forcing his head up.
"Oh dear," he mused, tilting his head. "Your eye's swelling quite badly… I do hope Bell won't find you too unsightly when he kneels before me."
Leo's vision blurred. His breath was ragged, each inhale sending fire through his ribs.
But then…
That name.
Bell.
His one good eye, dark red and filled with unwavering defiance, locked onto Apollo. His lips curled into a familiar, bloody grin.
And he spat.
A glob of red-stained saliva landed just inches from Apollo's boot.
The silence was deafening.
And then—
CRACK!
A brutal kick to the ribs sent Leo sprawling onto his side.
The crowd flinched.
A pained grunt escaped his lips, but still—no scream. No cries for mercy.
Hyakinthos stood over him, shaking out his foot in annoyance.
"You just don't learn, do you?" he sneered.
Leo coughed, spitting blood onto the pristine white marble.
"Go to hell," he rasped, his voice rough from days of screaming.
Hyakinthos's smug expression soured.
A savage backhand sent Leo's head snapping to the side.
Then a punch to the stomach.
Then another.
The chains rattled violently as Leo's body jerked from the repeated impacts. The pain was blinding, white-hot daggers sinking into his ribs, but he bit his lip until he tasted copper, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.
The moment Leo was dragged onto the stage, the world stopped for those who cared for him.
The cheers and jeers of the crowd were distant noise, drowned out by the sheer horror of what they were seeing.
And when Apollo's guards began the brutal display, their worlds shattered in different ways.
Bell's entire body locked up, his muscles coiling so tightly that his hands shook violently at his sides. His crimson eyes stared wide, locked on Leo's battered, bloodied form.
No.
No.
This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.
Yet the proof was right there.
His brother—his twin, his guardian, his family—was being brutalized before his eyes.
"LEO!"
His voice tore through the plaza, raw and desperate, but it did nothing. The moment he tried to surge forward, someone grabbed his wrist.
Hestia.
His goddess was holding onto him with all her strength, her small hands trembling as she forced him to stay back.
"Let me go," Bell hissed, his voice breaking as rage clouded his vision.
Hestia's blue eyes were wide, but not just with fear.
With guilt.
She should have stopped this. She should have done something.
This was her fault.
Tears built in the corners of her eyes as she shook her head furiously.
"Bell, please—don't! We can't do anything right now!" she pleaded, voice thick with anguish.
Bell's breath came in ragged bursts, his body practically vibrating with fury.
Leo was calling out for help, his body breaking under Apollo's sadistic game.
And he could do nothing.
His fingernails dug into his palms, drawing blood.
"I'll kill him," Bell whispered, his voice eerily quiet.
Hestia's heart stopped.
"I'll kill them all."
And for the first time, in all the years she had known him, Hestia saw something terrifying in Bell's crimson eyes.
A thirst for vengeance.
The Hostess of Fertility was quieter than it had ever been.
Inside, a group of women stood frozen, eyes locked onto the horrific scene unfolding before them through a small enchanted mirror placed on the bar counter.
Mia Grand's jaw clenched, her large hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that the wood splintered. Her knuckles had gone bone-white from the pressure.
The hardened dwarf had seen countless battles. She had witnessed the brutalities of war, the carnage of adventurers ripped apart by monsters.
But this—this was worse.
She had known Leo as a fighter. A boy with an unshakable fire in his heart, someone who could light up a room with nothing more than his grin and unrelenting spirit.
And now he was on his knees, bloodied and beaten, at the mercy of a sadistic god.
A deep, boiling fury built in her chest.
"I should have heard something," Mia muttered darkly. "He was taken right under my damn nose."
Ryuu stood beside her, silent, still—dangerous.
Her hands trembled.
Not from fear. From rage.
The air around her felt suffocating, charged with quiet fury.
"That bastard…" Chloe muttered, her usual playful tone nowhere to be found. "How could he do this to Leo?"
Anya, normally one for jokes, had nothing to say.
Syr sat at a nearby table, her fingers idly stirring her tea, watching intently.
She was the only one smiling.
The glass goblet in Welf's hand shattered.
Blood dripped down his fingers, but he didn't care.
Didn't even feel it.
His wide, horrified eyes were glued to the sudden display on the magic mirror, his breath catching in his throat.
Leo—his friend, the man who stood beside him in battle, was being torn apart in front of the entire city.
"Gods be damned…" he whispered, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing.
Across from him, Hephaestus herself was silent, her single red eye narrowed with unreadable emotion.
Her fingers were clenched together, her posture stiff, her aura cold.
"Hephaestus-sama," Welf muttered, his voice thick with fury.
The goddess didn't look at him.
"That boy is your brother-in-arms, isn't he?" she asked.
Welf's jaw tightened.
"Yeah," he said through clenched teeth.
Hephaestus exhaled softly, her gaze still locked onto the mirror.
"...I see."
Her voice was calm, too calm.
But there was an edge to it.
A fire.
A warning.
In the Loki Familia Estate
Tiona's entire body tensed, her fingers twitching as she stood rigid among the gathered members of the Loki Familia, who had also stopped everything to witness the horrific spectacle.
The Amazon's eyes burned with fury.
"This is…" Finn muttered, his expression unreadable, but his sharp blue eyes had narrowed.
Tione's teeth were grinding together, the veins in her arms bulging.
Bete, standing at the back with his arms crossed, let out an annoyed click of his tongue.
"That idiot got caught. Shoulda been stronger," he muttered.
Tiona snapped.
She spun on him so fast, her fist slammed into his jaw before anyone could react.
CRACK!
Bete stumbled back, stunned, clutching his bleeding lip.
"Shut the hell up," Tiona spat, her voice a dangerous snarl.
Ais, standing a little ways away, did not speak.
But her grip on Desperate was so tight that her knuckles had turned white.
Then, there was Riveria.
The High Elf was silent, stiff, her emerald eyes sharp with cold fury.
Magic hummed around her.
The other Loki Familia members—even Gareth—glanced at her warily.
The air had changed.
And for the first time in a long time, Riveria looked dangerous.
On stage, the brutality continued.
Blood. So much blood.
Each strike, each kick, each taunt chipped away at Leo's body—but not his will.
Apollo crouched beside him, his soft golden voice nothing but poison in Leo's ears.
"You should be honored, Leo," he said sweetly. "Not many get to entertain the masses like this."
Leo's good eye twitched.
Apollo's smirk widened.
"And just think—this is only a preview. When Bell loses the War Game, he'll be mine. And perhaps, just perhaps, I'll let you watch as I make him mine."
Something inside Leo snapped.
The chains cracked.
The marble beneath him shuddered.
A deep, guttural snarl built in his chest, his muscles coiling, his fury erupting into raw, unstoppable rage.
Kill. Him.
The Nemean Lion inside him roared, its spiritual presence burning like a golden flame in his mind.
YES. DESTROY HIM. KILL HIM BEFORE HE TOUCHES YOUR BROTHER!
"Restrain him!" Apollo's voice broke for the first time.
The guards swarmed.
A brutal strike to the back of the head.
Another.
A final kick to the ribs.
Leo crumpled, his blood staining the pristine white marble.
Apollo dusted off his sleeve, regaining his composure.
"And that," he said, turning back to the audience, "is the fate of those who defy a god."
Bell's vision blurred.
His body trembled.
"Bell," Hestia whispered, her voice desperate, "please, we can't—"
Too late.
Bell's hand tore free from her grip.
The world faded.
He was running.
Running to kill a god.
To kill Apollo.
To save Leo.
And no one—not even the gods themselves—was going to stop him.
Bell's feet barely touched the ground as he launched forward, the world nothing but a blur around him.
The roar of the crowd was deafening—but he didn't hear it.
The shocked cries of adventurers, the gasps of the gods, the shouts of his friends—none of it reached him.
All he could see was Apollo.
Standing above Leo, his smug, arrogant smirk still in place.
His foot pressed against Leo's battered back, pinning him to the cold, bloodstained marble.
Bell's vision turned red.
He didn't even realize he had drawn his dagger.
He was going to carve that smirk off Apollo's face.
Right as he was about to close the distance, a blur of red and white slammed into him from the side.
"NO!"
A pair of small arms wrapped around his waist, tackling him to the ground.
They hit the cobblestone hard, rolling several times before Bell landed on his back with a grunt.
He snarled, his body thrashing to break free.
"LET ME GO, HESTIA!" Bell roared, his voice raw with rage.
Hestia, her tiny frame pinning him down, clung to him with all her strength.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, her hands gripping his tunic in desperation.
"You can't!" she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Bell, if you attack him now—they'll kill you!"
Bell's teeth clenched so hard that his jaw ached.
His chest heaved, his hands trembled with rage, his crimson eyes wild with fury.
"They're already killing Leo!" Bell snapped, his breath ragged, his hands clawing at the ground.
Hestia winced at the sheer hatred in his voice.
But she didn't let go.
"You think I don't know that?!" she shouted. "You think I don't feel helpless?!"
Bell's breath hitched.
Hestia's tiny hands clenched tighter, her head bowed.
"You're all I have left, Bell," she whispered, her voice trembling. "If I lose you, too…"
Bell's body froze.
His hands, his breathing, his rage—it all stilled.
Hestia slowly lifted her head, her blue eyes shimmering with desperation and grief.
"I can't lose you," she choked out. "Please, Bell. Please."
The fight drained out of him.
He was still shaking, his muscles taut, but he didn't move.
Because if he did—Hestia would break.
And she was already breaking.
The silence between them stretched, heavy with grief and fury.
Then—
A cruel chuckle rang through the air.
"Oh my," Apollo mused, his mocking smile widening as he stepped closer to the scene. "What a touching display."
Bell gritted his teeth, his nails digging into the cobblestone beneath him.
Apollo glanced down at Leo, his golden eyes shining with amusement.
"And to think—all of this suffering is because of him."
Bell's gaze snapped back up, fury surging through his veins again.
"You know, Bell Cranel," Apollo continued, tapping a finger to his chin, "I can already see it now."
His smile widened, his voice dripping with sick delight.
"You, on your knees, at my feet. Begging. Just like him."
Bell jerked against Hestia's grip, his hands shaking with rage.
"And then…" Apollo crouched down, his fingers curling under Leo's chin, forcing his bloody face upward.
"Maybe I'll even let him watch while I make you mine."
The world exploded.
Bell's scream of rage nearly shattered his throat as his body surged forward again.
He didn't care if it cost him his life.
He didn't care if it meant war.
Apollo was dead.
Just as he was about to lunge again, a pair of hands grabbed his face and forced him to look away.
"Bell, look at me!"
Hestia's voice was sharp with desperation, with urgency.
And Bell saw something in her tear-filled gaze that made his blood run cold.
Fear.
Not for herself.
Not even for Leo.
For him.
She was terrified for him.
Slowly—agonizingly slowly—Bell's trembling fists unclenched.
His burning, hateful gaze flickered away from Apollo.
Away from the man who deserved to die.
And back to his goddess.
A broken breath shuddered past his lips.
"I hate him," Bell whispered.
Hestia's heart ached.
"I know," she whispered back, stroking his cheek softly.
A tear slipped down Bell's face.
"But if you do this," Hestia continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "Leo's sacrifice will mean nothing."
Bell's body shook violently.
And then—he crumbled.
Falling forward, his forehead pressing into Hestia's shoulder, his entire frame collapsing from exhaustion, rage, and grief.
Hestia held him.
The crowd still laughed, still cheered, still mocked.
Apollo still smirked.
Leo still bled.
But Bell didn't move.
Because if he did—he wouldn't stop.
And Hestia knew it.
So she just held onto him a little tighter.
For both their sakes.