"ID?" the largest priest I've ever laid eyes on, clad in the shade of Hades, says to me from his looming height.

"What is ID?" I blink. Surely, it is something important, for he refuses to allow me entry into this strange temple where they gather in mass, ritualistically dancing to some rhythm I am yet unfamiliar with. The music, if such monstrosity can be called music—is something I've come to love for precisely that reason, it's monstrous and misunderstood. At this very moment, it seeps out of the dark temple gates. I must get in. See if it holds her shrine. The rage in this music evokes her personality; quick to anger; equally quick to curse. Athena.

I glance at the symbol carved above the temple doors. Surely that's her shield, the one with my face on it.

"No ID, No entry." The priest folds his enormous arms the size of an anaconda across his chest.

"You let that man and woman in. Why not me?" I eye the door, tempted to simply demand he let me pass, or I could just—

"They have IDs." The large man glares at me with darkened brows and shakes his large, Olympian-sized fist at me. Do not tempt me, boy! Gods, men, and priests—ha! Still, brutes, be it a day or thousands of years since I last walked the Earth. "ID," he repeats.

I eye my wrist and then this dumb brute. Brawn is clearly mightier than his mind. "This is a wrist, child."

"Lady. You're wasting my time," he growls, showing me the path paved with a strange dark stone and stranger horseless chariots. "Either scan your ID or get the fuck out of my line."

Such language I've never heard before. What is fuck? Who is fuck? Perhaps, in these instances, I should consult the child. Let her handle these insignificant, petty moments. Or I could just—

"Yeah, get going!" Others behind me, impatient to visit their god, cry out.

"Here, allow me." A young man with a face handsome enough to make even Narcissus seethe with jealousy suddenly appears by my side. He makes a show of dancing his wrist over a black tablet mounted on a strange, ugly column made by skillless masons. "ID." He winks at me, reminding me of Hermes. "Your turn."

Ah. Perhaps ID is another name for the wrists these days. I do as he did. I move my left wrist over the strange, glowing tablet, which beeps, and an image of Keya shimmers on its surface for a moment. So lifelike, I feel she's staring back at me as if in a mirror.

Without another word, the priest moves out of my way, asking for ID from those behind me.

Narcissus's rival grins at me and opens the temple door. "I'm Blade."

"Blade is a strange name. You must be a warrior." I stare at his face, searching for scars that tell tales of the battles he has won. I'm often wary of soldiers. They often take what they think they deserve in war and peace.

"No. I mean, my name is Blade." He laughs, holding the door open for me. "And you are?"

Hmm. They have never asked me for my name before. This one is different, this scarless soldier. Let's see how different. "You may call me"—hmm, Medusa won't do. I may scare him before he reveals his true nature, as they all do. Eventually. "Meddy." It was a nickname bestowed upon me once. And I let him escort me in, aware that his hand hovers very close to the divets of my back.

I catch a glimpse of Keya on the shiny surfaces inside, stirring awake. Go to sleep, child. I'm here now. No one shall ever touch you without your permission again.

"You come here often?" Blade asks, screaming to be heard over this monstrous music that makes my skin slither tighter around me.

"No," I yell as we battle through the bodies to get to the altar full of strange elixirs, the gods no doubt love. I keenly observe him in the dark. I am the hunter and he is the prey—like I once was. Stella, the child's friend, has said on many occasions, that how someone treats others, especially slaves serving the elixir, tells you a lot about them. I think I agree.

It's time to see what kind of man this Blade is. Is he a monster or a hero? Is he Poseidon or Perseus? Is he the uncle or the nephew? But alas, I see them for what they are. Cowards.

"Can I buy you a drink, Meddy?" Blade inches close to my ear suddenly, sending a chill slithering down my spine.

"I don't know what I like yet. You choose." I smile at him. Choose, Blade. Are you a monster or a hero? For I, I'm here for justice and if I shan't have justice, I shall have revenge. I shall be as monstrous as I must—when the time comes.

"All right. I can dig that!" Blade flashes a smile, one far more beautiful than has the right to be. I see how easily he wields that weapon of his.

Let's see the real you, then. See how they made you.

WC: 6, 702

A/N: I was trying to write this part from another victim's POV, but she came out of nowhere! I don't know if this is as gripping and as creepy as the other snippets but hopefully is still enjoyable.

If she pops up again, should I let her come out and play or keep it to her victims?