(i saw this prompt on pinterest and i was like, “yo, i gotta do that!”)
You sighed. “You again?”
The man in front of you copied your sigh. “You again?” he said, mocking your tone.
You murmured a spell, making your eyes glow purple as you levitated into the air. “Let’s just get this over with.”
You can’t see his face under his war helmet, but you can feel him smirk. He clapped slowly when you landed softly on your feet. “Not bad, cloak girl.”
You scowled, which you didn’t know if he could see under the sheer fabric covering the lower half of your face. “‘Cloak girl’?”
He stepped closer, one foot in front of the other slowly again and again until he’s atleast a meter away from you. “If only you could tell me a name.”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. Maybe when you’re locked up in Tartarus the other gods will tell you my name.” You grinned, which he can’t see because half your face is covered.
He clicked his tongue. “Not if I defeat you. I’ll know your name at your funeral party.”
You willed the air around you to lift you off the rooftop. But before you could cast a spell, the man shot an arrow to your chest, making you crash to the cement floor on your back.
You groaned, pulling the arrow from your chest by the shaft. Poisoned, shit!
You heard the man’s footsteps nearing to your direction. He stood at your feet, looking down at you. “Don’t you ever get tired of this?”
“No! Never!” you yelled, trying to hide your pain on your voice.
“Just surrender,” he said. “I promise, if you surrender, the other gods wouldn’t touch you. I swear it on the River Styx.”
You scoffed. “Then what will you do? Exile me on an island just like what you did to every sorceress? Your sense of justice is rotten!”
“So you tortured innocents so you could get better judgement? Is that your way to get justice?”
“I never tortured innocents!” you cried. “It was a front. I manipulated mortals to show torment to get the gods’ attention. But the gods doesn’t care about mortal so I ‘tortured’ your priests and oracles so you’ll feel threatened,” you confessed.
It’s hard to judge what he thinks. You can’t see his face; but he stiffened. “Are you telling the truth?”
“I am a sorceress. I know better than to lie!”
The man crouched down. “If you’re telling the truth then I can help you get the justice you want. Just—”
His fingers crept to the thin piece of fabric hiding your identity. Before he could pull, your hand grabbed his wrist, melting his skin like acid.
“Ah!” he fell to his butt and hugged his smoking wrist on his chest.
He realized what was happening and lunged at you, but you disappeared and reappeared on the railing behind him.
“We had been asking for justice for millennia. And you’re gonna give that to me just because I confessed my trickery? I don’t believe it.”
With his godly powers, he rained arrows at your direction. You held out your palm in front of you and the arrows suspended mid-air. You closed your hand and made a fist. With that, the arrows clattered uselessly on the ground.
“I think you’re underestimating my powers, my lord,” you sneered.
He shook his head. “You’re a hopeless case,” he said.
