Page 10 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER NINE
Medusa loathed festering towns like this one. The stench of piss and fermented fruit clung to the air. She winced at the unknown filth clinging to her sandals, knowing it would never fully come off. But most of all, she despised the shadows and the monsters lurking within them, brawling, pissing, and claiming whatever they desired.
Drunk men had always terrified her. That’s why she had rarely left the temple after sunset, declining invitations to revel with other priestesses despite her love for the sweeping rhythms and the intoxicatingly sweet melodies of the lyre. She’d feign illness or volunteer for kitchen duty, humming to herself as she spun through the empty kitchen while scrubbing pots and pans.
But that was before. Before she learned that the most dangerous creatures that weren’t drunk men. Running or fighting was useless once this type of monster set its sights on you. There was no escaping their powerful grip. No mortal stood a chance.
It was also before Medusa had become a monster herself. Now, she was the one lurking in the shadows. She had heard the villagers’ stories about the woman who had offended the gods, her heart turned to stone, her teeth dripping venom, her nails sharp as daggers. Even her once-luscious hair was now a weapon, a nest of serpents feasting on the flesh of mortals to spite the gods. Medusa revelled in the gruesome details of those stories. They were right about her, for the most part. The only detail the villagers omitted was the reason why the gods had turned her into this wretched creature.
As the sun began to set, colouring the Aegean Sea in a vibrant red, Medusa made her way toward the bustling fishing village. She had been stranded on the beach a few days prior after the current had carried her ashore on a piece of driftwood. It had been an agonising few hours on the open water. Usually, Medusa would have never ventured so far away from shore, but she had lost control of the merchant ship after slaughtering its crew, and it had collided with the treacherous rocks that lurked beneath the surface of the Lesbos Strait. Having finally reached land, she was determined to stay on solid ground for a while. She had found refuge in a hidden cave deep within the surrounding forest and had chosen this unfortunate town as her hunting grounds.
Medusa donned a filthy cloak, pulling the hood over her emerald hair, and used a tree branch as a makeshift walking stick. She smeared dirt on her cheeks and feigned a limp as she approached the village. It was a simple disguise, yet no one spared the old hag a second glance as she stumbled through the narrow streets. Those who did quickly averted their gazes once she began begging for money. Unimpeded, Medusa took up her position in the back alley of the busiest tavern. There, she settled down and patiently waited for her prey.
In her past life as a mortal priestess, Medusa was often scolded by the head priestess for her impatience. It was a well-known fact in the temple that the food would be slightly undercooked when Medusa was on kitchen duty.
Now, however, she quietly observed the patrons entering the tavern. She did not twitch a single muscle — not while the first brute got kicked to the curb for starting a brawl or when some men pissed against the tavern’s back wall. They were not her quarry, and she would wait all night to sink her claws into the throat of her chosen victim. Her sharp nails clicked against the stone pebbles in anticipation.
…
The barmaid slipped out the side door, a bucket in hand. She was a delicate thing, her long braid a tangle of knots. Exhaustion etched lines into her hollowed cheeks and darkened the skin beneath her eyes. With a sigh, she dropped the bucket into the well and pumped the handle.
Bent over the well, she didn't hear the side door crash open. Three men stumbled out, their laughter sour with the stench of cheap wine. Medusa wrinkled her nose. The man in the middle, his beard wild and eyebrows bushy, let out a low whistle as he spotted the barmaid and elbowed his companions.
The tall one on his left grinned. “There you are. We’ve missed your pretty face inside, puppet!”
The barmaid whirled and nearly emptied the contents of her bucket as she slammed into the chest of one the third man. He chuckled and wrapped his arm around her waist, “Careful now. We would not want you to get wet – yet .”
The others laughed as they circled the girl.
Medusa sat up on her haunches, inhaling deeply to contain her anger.She could not let the serpents break free just yet.
The bushy-browed man stepped closer to the barmaid, lowering his voice, “Forgive my friend here for his lewdness. He merely meant to say that this tavern is nothing without your lovely presence.”
The girl’s eyes darted between the man who held her and the door as if counting how many steps she would need to escape. Medusa knew she would never make it.
With a nervous laugh, the barmaid said, “I apologise. I should probably hurry inside then to ensure our customers stay entertained.”
She attempted a step toward the tavern door, but the first man blocked her path while the tall one snaked an arm around her. He squeezed her backside, and she squealed.
The man with the beard lifted her chin. “Now, why would you do that? After all, we are outside now and having so much fun, aren’t we boys?”
They grunted their agreement.
“Please, I don’t want any trouble … just let me go back inside.”
Medusa recognised the desperation in her voice instantly. She sounded small and powerless.
“Come on, puppet. Don’t be scared. We’re not here to hurt you. We want to cheer you up a little … after … well … your recent loss.”
The first one — clearly the leader — grabbed and pulled her against him, forcing his lips on hers. With surprising speed, the woman sunk her knee into his groin. It was a futile attempt. The other two pinned her against the wall, her head cracking against the stone.
Medusa emerged from the shadow, back hunched, cane in hand.“I believe the girl asked you to let her go.”
The man with the beard paid Medusa no heed as he approached the barmaid and grabbed her by the throat.
He spat in her face, “I will make you regret that, you little bitch. Now, I won’t be as gentle.”
Medusa whacked him with her cane. “That is no way to talk to a lady. Let the girl go and get out of here!”
Medusa did not flinch as the bearded man smacked her with the back of his hand.“Crawl back to the hole where you came from and mind your own business, old hag!”
A wicked smile curved Medusa’s lips as she took another step. She had decided to kill the three men the moment they stepped out of the tavern, but now – now, she was going to take her time. Instead of turning them into stone, she would rip them into ribbons with her bare hands.
“Close your eyes and keep them shut no matter what,” she ordered the barmaid with an icy voice.
The barmaid stared at her in bewilderment.
“Now! ”
The girl obeyed.
Medusa lunged for the first man. Before he could draw his weapon, she had his manhood in her hands, her sharp nails digging into his flesh and ripping his favourite body part off. She made sure not to look him in the eyes.
The man toppled over with a scream. Medusa flung the ripped organ and turned to others.
The men had drawn their weapons and stared at her with horror. The barmaid trembled between them, but she obeyed Medusa’s command and kept her eyes shut.
Medusa flashed her canines at the men as she assessed them, warm blood dripping from her fingers. The giant pointed his sword toward her, but the other merely had a rusty dagger. Not much of a match for her.
“So, boys, which one of you wants to die first?” Medusa crooned as she slowly took off her hood.The serpents writhed atop her head, baring their venomous fangs.
The shorter man stumbled a step back, the blade trembling in his filthy hand, while the giant merely gaped at her, eyes wide in terror and skin suddenly pallid. Medusa chuckled. Cowards .
“Really? Are you only brave enough to lay your filthy hands on women when you are three against one?”
The man on the floor whimpered. Her snakes hissed, hungry for the taste of blood.
“Alright, you first, then.”
She lunged for the man with the dagger. He tried to stab her, but she grabbed his wrist and smashed it into the brick wall behind him. The dagger clattered to the floor.
“Pathetic.”
Swiftly, Medusa sliced his carotid artery and released him. He fell to his knees, gurgling blood and clutching his throat.
Finally, the tall one awoke from his shock. He roared and swung his sword for Medusa’s head. She ducked, and it got stuck in the brick wall behind her instead. As he desperately tried to pull it out, Medusa ripped out his heart and threw it in the same puddle as the first perpetrator’s cock.
The man with the beard was still groaning on the floor. Medusa smiled and licked her fingers — savouring the metallic taste of fresh blood. She had known that emasculating him would not kill the bastard immediately. She nudged him over with her feet so he lay on his back.
The man spat at her feet, so she kicked him again.
“One day, you will pay for your sins, you monster,” he groaned, tears glinting in his eyes.
“Maybe one day. But you will pay for yours now,” Medusa responded and slit his throat.
When his chest stopped heaving, Medusa turned to the girl. She was still cowering on the floor, her eyes closed. She took a steadying breath, attempting to clear her vision from the blood haze. Yet, her serpent refused to retreat, lapping greedily at the splatters of blood on her face.
Carefully, she approached the whimpering figure, the acidic scent of vomit filling her nose. She must have spilt the contents of her guts out of terror. Medusa kneeled next to the barmaid, lifting her hand to touch her shoulder in comfort, but the woman recoiled from her.
“It is over now,” Medusa murmured with a raspy voice. “You can open your eyes again.” She moved to help the girl to her feet as blinding pain shot through her abdomen.
“This is for my brother, you bitch!”
A warm wetness spread across Medusa’s rough-spun dress. She looked down, stunned,as the barmaid pulled free the rusty dagger dropped by one of her attackers. Blood dripped onto the floor as Medusa stumbled, grabbing the wall for support.Confused, she looked at the barmaid, hatred burning in her eyes. Hatred, wrath, and grief — but not fear. Then, her expression froze, her emotions forever etched into her gaunt face as the dagger clattered to the ground. The fire in her eyes died, replaced by the cold gleam of marble.