Vol. III Chapter IV: A Choice in the Dark

The prison cell lay in silence, broken only by the steady drip of water from a damp crack in the ceiling. 

Nazirul’s words still echoed in her mind long after he had left, circling endlessly in the darkness like a thought she couldn’t shake.

Melissa hadn’t slept. 

Her mind kept running in loops, trapped by what he had told her. 

If Lucius really comes… he’ll walk straight into a trap, and I can’t stop it. I can’t do anything.

She looked down at her hands. 

Where divine power had once coursed through her veins, there was only emptiness now; nothing of Dionysus’s gift remained, save the outward traces of what she had been.

The floor was cold beneath her, the air damp and stale, but it was the silence that wore her down most, until something changed.

A faint breeze slipped through the cracks in the cell door, and the dripping stopped. 

Then, without warning, a silvery glow began to fill the room.

Melissa lifted her gaze, and froze.

At the far end of the cell stood a figure, tall and still. 

No sound had marked his arrival, no footstep, no creak of the door. 

Yet he was there, as though he had always been. 

Silver-haired, soft-featured, dressed in flowing robes that hovered just above the dusty floor, he carried a braided staff twined with two serpents.

“You don’t look too thrilled to see me,” he said.

Melissa straightened, her voice barely a whisper. 

“Hermes…”

His gaze was gentle, almost sympathetic. 

“You still remember me. Good.”

“You saved us… back then,” she murmured.

He nodded. 

“I protected you from Dionysus because it was the right thing to do.” 

Then his expression darkened. 

“But this time… I’m not here entirely by choice.”

Melissa frowned. 

“What do you mean? Has Dionysus finally come to finish us?”

Hermes let out a quiet sigh. 

“Oh, he’d love to, believe me. But it seems someone else is already doing the work for him.”

He stepped closer, letting his eyes sweep over the walls, the cot, the bare stones of the cell, before meeting her gaze again.

“If you haven’t noticed, your bond to your old patron is gone. That’s why your powers have faded.”

“I know,” Melissa said sharply. 

“That was my choice.”

Hermes lowered himself onto the cot as if settling into an inn’s bench. 

“Perhaps. But… there might be a way out.”

From beneath his cloak, he produced a small jug. 

“This wine comes from the heart of your former realm. It carries divine essence, enough to restore your power. And more.”

A warm, intoxicating scent spread instantly through the cell. 

Melissa’s eyes lingered on the jug, the familiarity of it stirring something deep, but her brow tightened.

“I’m not going back to him. Never.”

“You don’t have to,” Hermes replied, calm as ever.

He opened his arms slightly, almost inviting. 

“It’s simple. You return to the service of the gods. Not Dionysus. But Zeus.”

“Zeus?” Melissa’s voice rose. 

“He’s here? In this world?”

Hermes nodded. 

“His interest was drawn here because of you, a fault I take responsibility for.”

Silence fell again, heavy with the wine’s scent. 

It was the smell of home, of power, of temptation.

But Melissa turned away. 

“I left that life behind. I won’t be part of your divine games.”

Hermes stood and set the jug on the ground with slow, deliberate care.

“I wanted you to have a quiet life with your human, truly. But Zeus has other plans. Standing against Dionysus is one thing; against Zeus… even I can’t help you.”

He stepped toward the door. 

“If you drink, I’ll take it as your consent. The rest is up to you.”

He glanced back with a faint smile. 

“Free will is important… but sometimes it needs a little push.”

Then, without flash or sound, he was gone.

Melissa stared at the jug. 

The wine caught the dim light like liquid amethyst, beautiful and dangerous.

Will you serve them again? 

The question pressed at her from somewhere deep inside.

She had broken free from the gods once. And now they wanted her to kneel again? To obey?

Her chest rose and fell with the weight of it. 

She bit her lip, tasted blood, felt the urge to act, anything to protect the ones she loved.

Minutes, maybe hours passed as she stood there, trapped in indecision, until the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Heavy boots on wet stone. 

Rough voices, laughter, low and cruel. 

Then a scream.

“Let me go! Keep your filthy hands off me!” 

Liviana’s voice.

Chains rattled while the soldiers’ laughter turned ugly and leering, among them, a voice Melissa knew far too well.

Saarkesh.

“We’ll just have a little fun, kitty…”

Melissa’s nails dug into the stone.

They dragged Liviana away.

A door banged open at the far end of the hall, her screams fading as it slammed shut. 

Silence returned.

Melissa’s gaze fell again to the jug, still waiting. 

The wine seemed to glimmer as if it had heard everything.

She took a deep breath, trembling.

In the cell at the end of the corridor, Liviana was thrown violently against the wall, her body weak, her spirit filled with fear and fury. 

“If you touch me, I swear by the ancestors... I’ll claw your eyes out!” 

One soldier held her arms, the other her legs while Saarkesh stood in front of her, preparing himself. 

“Don’t worry, kitty. Tonight, you get to meet every one of us. Ha ha ha!” 

Then, suddenly, a loud crash thundered through the halls, as if the ceiling had collapsed. 

The men turned, startled. 

“What in Narzhaleb’s name was that?” one of them shouted. 

A bone-shaking impact followed like a door had been ripped from its hinges. 

Footsteps echoed, not just walking, but charging, like a galloping beast, growing faster with each second. 

Saarkesh yanked up his trousers and drew his saber toward the cell door.

Tense silence followed.

Suddenly, the door blasted off its frame and hurtled toward the men, slamming into one of them and crushing him against the walls. 

As the dust cleared where the door had once stood, a figure emerged that made the soldiers’ blood run cold. 

A red glow flared in the darkness of the cell, eyes like burning coals, narrow and horizontal, caprine. 

A violet aura, laced with lightning, surrounded her body. 

Her hair whipped about as if in a storm, though no wind blew. 

It had grown longer, heavier, glowing red with power while her fur had darkened to a deep, pulsing shade of black. 

Her horns had curled backward in spirals, adorned with glowing markings of an ancient language and with a low, feral growl, she stepped through the threshold. 

She was no longer a satyr. 

No longer a maenad. 

She was a storm.

“Melissa…?” Liviana whispered.

Melissa’s gaze locked onto the soldier holding her, but before he could even react, both his arms fell to the floor. 

Her claws were long, thin like blades, and her attack had been too fast to follow. 

As the soldier stared in disbelief at his severed limbs, his head soon followed, hitting the floor with a dull thud. 

The last thing he saw was Melissa kicking his corpse aside and pulling Liviana upright. 

“Are you alright? Did they touch you?” 

Liviana shook her head, breathing heavily.

“What... what happened to you?” 

Melissa smiled, her sharp, predator teeth gleamed. 

“I made a decision. That’s all.” 

Liviana opened her mouth to respond, but her eyes suddenly widened. 

“Behind you!” Saarkesh slashed down at Melissa with his saber, full force. 

She caught the blade with her bare hand without flinching.

Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes cold as ice.

“You... monster...” he gasped. 

“The only monster here... is you.” 

She grabbed him, one-handed, lifting him like a child’s toy, her claws dug deep into his throat.

Then, in one motion, she tore his throat out and hurled him against the wall. 

Stone cracked, blood sprayed and his body crumpled like an empty sack, the horror still frozen in his eyes. 

A moment passed, then Melissa turned to Liviana. 

“Can you walk?” 

Liviana nodded and Melissa extended her hand. 

“Then let’s find the others. And get the hell out of here.” 

And this time, no one would stop them.