“For what it’s worth, classmates seem more interested in partying and hooking up than actually finding the stone. If you need an intern or apprentice, let me know. Working closely with you and the other Immortals would be a great honor.”
“You’re interested in being a lead player in the apocalypse?” I ask, trying to figure this girl out.
She shrugs as though I didn’t just conjure up the end of the world. “When all hell breaks loose I want to be on the winning team.” Her lips curve in a small smile. “And I think you’re going to be leading it.”
“Exactly why do you think that?”
She takes a step in my direction. “I may be small, Armin, and I don’t have the curse of a god flowing through my veins, but I do my homework. My mother taught me before I arrived that it’s important to always be on the winning side of history, to find the strongest players as my allies. Despite the delusions my fellow classmates have about their shot at the stone, you and the other Immortals are the strongest competitors by far. You’d only be outmatched by one other group of men, and they didn’t show up this year.”
I tilt my head. “Who would that be?”
“I think you know, and I think you owe them a favor.” She’s only an inch away and I bend to hear her low voice. “The question is…what side of history do you plan to fall on?”
She knows. This little girl knows that we’re a wild card—created to be evil, released to redeem ourselves, and she’s just waiting to see where we land.
19
Hildi
As I wander the hallways, I listen out for any talk about the stones, but there’s nothing but the silly chatter my classmates. The lack of focus leads my mind to wander. What would Andi think about this? If she were still alive, would I have volunteered? I feel the familiar wave of guilt, amplified by my recent activities with Marshal. A glance toward a reflective glass makes me realize I hardly recognize myself. And it’s not just the uniform.
“Hildi, you have to meet my friends.” She gestures to two girls. They have smooth, creamy brown skin and hair that hangs down to their waists in tiny braids. Their fingers are wrapped in silver that spreads up their hands like a spider’s web. Piercings dot their nose and a hoop hangs from each of their lips. “Cora and Claudia.”
I try to find something identifiable, but they’re twins through and through.
“Hi,” they both say in matching voices.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Marielle says you’re from Odin’s realm. Tell us, have you met Thor? Is he as handsome—”
“And strong—”
“As the legends say?”
“Um,” I start, wondering if they realize I am not a goddess and certainly not in Thor’s social circle. I’m not even in his harem of women. I give a pouting smile. “I haven’t had the pleasure. Maybe if I find the stone, Odin will reward me.”
The girls laugh, eyes twinkling at the thought. A group of students pass by, Luke in the center. He winks and gives me a lopsided grin. The other boys with him check me out. I’m used to being ogled by men on Earth. Odin and Freya blessed me, not only with strength, but beauty.
“Until then, there’s always other playthings,” one of the twins says. She licks her teeth and her sister murmurs in agreement.
“Luke is a pain in the ass, but gods, he’s fucking delectable.”
“Like the new Strategy teacher,” Marielle says, her voice almost a purr. “I don’t know what we did to deserve all these handsome new instructors, but I promise to keep doing it.”
The Immortals are handsome, devastatingly so, but what these little girls don’t realize is that they’re men. Dirty, dangerous, and destructive. They’re also half feral and I don’t care what kind of supernatural ability they have, I doubt any of the girls standing near me is ready for them.
I follow them into the classroom and realize quickly that it’s less of an academic area and more of an arena. It’s familiar—a platform in the center surrounded by rope, stadium seating up to the ceiling. It reminds me of the fighting pits, and I can’t imagine why Agis would agree to such a setting. Students file into the seats and I see him standing in the middle of the platform, waiting for everyone to still. One glance with this harsh, handsome face into the stands and the room falls quiet.
“My people were trained for battle since childhood. At age seven, we joined the Agoge. Each day filled with drills, strategy sessions, and combat. This is your Agoge. You’re here to fight a war to end all wars. You’re here to tip the scales of the future, twisting the realms into something fierce and unforgettable.” He smirks. “I know you think you’re wise. That you’re strong. That the powers bestowed on you by the gods will get you through the end-of-times, but only fools think they’re ready for the end.”
Agis holds up his hand and a tall weapon appears, shimmering out of thin air. It’s dark, the top blade arched and sharp. It’s the reaper’s scythe. I look back at his face, but it’s now cloaked, shrouded in black.
“Do you really think you’re ready to step onto the battlefield and face me? They call me the God of Death for a reason.”
The room is silent—no one dares speak. Agis is powerful, his frame massive—his voice calm.
“Stand if you’re willing to lose your life today and join me for a lesson in dying.”