Xanthias and the Empusa

...

I grab a nearby candelabra and spring towards Elektra. Brandishing it like a sword, I hit her on the head with a loud THWACK! The candelabra bends in a weird angle.

Elektra looks up, trembling with rage. Her eyes are gleaming red like with a thin slit of black pupil.

Great. Now I have a broken candelabra and a really pissed off empusa.

I scurry out of the way just in time when she pounces, smashing the wooden table where our drinks was served by a smoking hot woman fifteen millennia ago. The set of pottery tumbles on the floor with a massive crashing sound, splashing ale and ambrosia everywhere.

“How dare you... You little filthy human!” she thrusts out her fire hand and a ball of fire appears out of nowhere, hovering above her palm.

Wha— 

I duck in horror as she hurls the fireball towards me. By three seconds, she has another fireball ready. Shit shit shit shit shit. Daughter of Hecate, goddess of magic. Of course.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Dionysus’s spiky club has rolled from under his back. It looks pretty shabby, but it’s better than a broken candelabra.

When Elektra hurls her second fireball, I swivel and dash towards the club.

Got it!

I turn around to face Elektra, my club ready. She stares at me, and I could swear the air between us turns electric.

With a lift of a talon, she sends a freaking shelf flying towards me. An ultra thick leatherbound book—Homecooking á la Athena—slams me on my face, throwing me off balance. I come up dazed, a tangy taste of blood in my mouth. As my vision clears, I see Elektra leaping towards me, talons thrusted.

I deflect her blow with my club. I just manage to keep my heart from being skewered into satay, but the empusa is strong and quick. As I reel backwards, she strikes again and again. Each time, I’m able to parry, but I can tell I am outmatched. I’m a slave, not a soldier.

Come on, I grit my teeth, hoping that my mere thought will disrupt Dionysus’s nap-fest. Wake up!!!

With an enormous effort, I swing my club at Elektra’s head—a good solid strike that should give her a nice facial reshaping. Unfortunately, I slip on something wet. My swing goes wide, hitting the empusa’s shoulder, leaving a nasty dent as if she’s made of wax. Immediately, the dent moves back into its initial shape.

This is useless! I curse in frustration. I cannot even wound her! If anything, I just make her even angrier. She growls and strikes back. This time, I’m not quick enough to parry in time. Her talons cut into my wrist.

 

Cornelia Petrabella

A 21-year-old English Literature student with a widespread range of unique hobbies such as sleeping passionately and pushing people off the bed (with love). She started writing when she was 11, mainly because back then everyone had a blog. She reads a lot to distract herself from eating too much. She dislikes noisy children, deadlines, and cocroaches. In that order.