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The night air hung heavy with torch smoke and drunken laughter. Monger's estate loomed below them, a squat palace of stone and wood ringed by walls, its courtyard crawling with guards.
Atlas crouched low on the roof's ridge, eyes narrowed. He could hear the clink of armor, the stomps of boots, and the rough bellow of a mercenary drilling men at the gate. He reached inward, activating his Eagle Vision, and golden silhouettes flared before him — archers pacing the walls, mercenaries sprawled by the gate, more waiting within. Dozens of them.
He released a breath. "There's no way to slip past them. Monger's house is locked tight."
Alexios leaned forward, spear balanced across his knees, grin flashing in the moonlight. "So what you're saying is… we smash our way through?"
Atlas gave him a flat look.
"Come on," Alexios pressed, excitement bubbling in his voice. "It's cleaner that way. Besides, Lukas agrees, don't you?"
The big man rolled his shoulders, double axe gleaming. "I was getting bored." He grinned, wolfish. "Time to break something."
Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose. "And when Monger flees out the back while you're showing off?"
Alexios froze, grin faltering. "…Then we chase him faster?"
Lukas barked a laugh, smacking Alexios's back so hard he stumbled forward. "He's got a point."
"Listen," Atlas said sharply, cutting through their banter. "We hit fast. We cut down everything in our way. But remember this—" His gaze pinned Alexios especially. "Dorian and Anthousa want him alive. The people need to see what he is before he dies."
Alexios groaned loudly. "Alive, alive, alive. Always rules with you." Then he smirked. "Fine. But I get to drag him by the hair."
"Try not to trip while doing it," Atlas muttered.
The three leapt from the roof. Lukas landed first, axe cleaving through the front gate in a single thunderous strike. Wood exploded into shards.
"To arms!" a guard shouted, scrambling for his sword.
Alexios was already among them, spear thrusting through the man's chest before the words finished leaving his lips. He ripped it free, booting the corpse aside, laughing like a maniac. "Next!"
Atlas's bow thrummed — one shot through the throat, another through an eye, each body falling before it hit the dirt. He moved like water, covering Alexios's reckless advance, striking any enemy that dared circle his brother's blind side.
Lukas waded into the fray like Ares himself. His axe cut men in half, splintered shields, tore through spear lines. His booming laugh rattled the courtyard. "Move faster, you cowards!"
More rushed them — mercenaries, thugs, killers-for-coin — but the three pressed forward like a tide of steel. Alexios was a storm, wild and relentless. Lukas was a hammer, each strike an earthquake. Atlas was the calm center, efficient and merciless, his blade flashing only to kill.
By the time the last mercenary screamed his last, the courtyard ran slick with blood. Silence fell, broken only by the ragged breathing of the three young warriors.
A shadow loomed at the far end. Monger emerged, massive as a bull, gold rings flashing, a club as thick as a tree trunk resting on his shoulder. His greasy skin glistened, his voice booming across the courtyard.
"You dare storm my house? You gutter rats think you can kill me? I own this city!"
Alexios stepped forward, spear raised, grinning like a wolf.
"Not anymore, pig."
Monger roared and charged, the ground trembling. His club smashed into marble with a crack like thunder, stone shards flying. Alexios ducked, thrusting upward, but Monger batted the spear aside with brute strength, nearly tearing it from his hands.
Lukas roared back and met him head-on, axe against club, the impact echoing through the estate. Monger shoved him away with raw force, sending him sliding across the blood-slick ground.
Atlas darted behind, blade slicing for Monger's hamstring — but the brute kicked out, boot slamming into his chest, knocking him back. Atlas hit the dirt hard, teeth gritted. "Stronger than he looks…"
The fight was savage. Monger fought like a cornered beast, his swings devastating, each one able to crush bone. But the three circled him, trading blows, wearing him down.
Finally, Lukas grappled him from behind, arms locked around his chest. Monger thrashed, bellowing rage. Atlas darted in, slashing his wrist — the club clattered to the ground. Alexios slammed the butt of his spear into Monger's jaw with a crack, sending teeth flying.
The brute dropped to his knees, blood and spit pouring from his mouth. Still he raged. "You think this changes anything? The Cult owns Korinth! Kill me and ten more will rise!"
Atlas bound him in thick ropes, tightening until the giant wheezed. "Then we'll cut them down. One by one."
Dawn. The great theater of Korinth overflowed with people — merchants, hetaerae, farmers, beggars, all pressed shoulder to shoulder. Word had spread like wildfire: the tyrant Monger was captured.
On the stage, Anthousa stood tall, her voice clear as a temple bell.
"People of Korinth! For too long, you have bent to this tyrant. Monger bled you of coin, stripped you of dignity, silenced your voices. He served not Korinth, not the gods, but the shadows of the Cult of Kosmos!"
The crowd roared, voices shaking the air. Jeers, curses, stones thrown. Monger was dragged forward, bound in chains, face bloodied.
"You fools!" he bellowed, spittle flying. "Without me you'll crawl back to dirt! The Cult will burn this city to the ground!"
"ENOUGH!" Alexios's voice boomed as he shoved the brute to his knees. His spear gleamed in the morning light, its point pressing against Monger's throat. "Any last words, pig?"
Monger spat blood at his feet, eyes blazing. "The gods will curse you all—"
Atlas's voice cut across the theater, cold and sharp as steel.
"God or no god, your time is done."
Alexios drove the spear clean through Monger's throat. Blood sprayed across the stage as the brute crumpled.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then the theater erupted in cheers, sobs, relief. The city of Korinth was free.
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