Marem And Achilles Story Novels & Stories

I didn’t hold a grudge for that. I wanted to punish Zephyrus for snatching away everything I held dear. Since birth, I had always been a feral wolf, a disgrace to my family. Thirty years ago, my father, Alpha Achilles, ruled the Vrontou Howlers Pack in the village of Vrontou, nestled in the foothills of Mount Olympus, Greece. However, Zephyrus’ father, Demetrios of the kingdom of Aromania, attacked our village, and he had to flee. My father and my uncle Atticus fled our homeland, following the enemy, Demetrios, all the way to Lucania! Alpha Demetrios married the daughter of the Alpha of the Luceres Pack and settled down there.

“Well, the Menian and Semian armies needed a strong animal to help carry heavy loads as well as men across great distances. The roads were built to keep carts from sinking into the mud during the winter. As my father told me, toward the end of the wars, Raka was trying to divide the Menian kingdom into two parts so as to defeat our ancestors. The horses proved too quick for Raka’s armies on foot in the North and West. The Menian horse troops were heading south to the ancient lake port of Ès when they encountered a vast army of Ipsians near here. No one is quite sure where the battle was, but the Menians were defeated by great treachery, and the horses were killed. Even today there are storie

He is too impatient a man, too intoxicated with power, too conceited. He does not seek a higher purpose than taking over the whole world, he does not give his life greater meaning than writing his name amongst the heroes of yesteryear. He compares himself to Achilles and it is ironic. The mythical demigod fell because of a weak heel, the Macedonian warrior will fall because of his own mortality.

And flicking over the page confirms it. I've got it. Juliana's weakness. Her Achilles heel... ... ... Now how to use that? How to turn knowledge into leverage? ... One chance only... She'll not fall for it twice... In the original story, Achilles gained his vulnerable heel by, as a baby, being dipped in the River Styx by his mother. But so as not to lose her baby, she held him by his heel and the water couldn't cover him. I glance at the feculent liquid sucking at the concrete sides of the channel. The last thing I want is to be dipped in there. For all that my body and clothes suck and stink, there are still worse options. That water is one of them.

“And he’s dead.” His expression doesn’t change, but I see the flicker of something in his gaze. He’s trying to find a way to argue, trying to find a way to make me see his side. “There’s Mara,” he says after a pause. I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Mara is an old woman.” “So was Achilles.” His lips quirk slightly. I narrow my eyes at him. “Achilles was different.” “Was he?” “Yes.” "Is this because he didn't age a day?"

Fortunately, the angle and force of the blow push me against the thick blood, sliding me away from him like a watermelon seed. As I pass under his left side, I reach out and kick my heel into his knee. I use my other leg to trip Ares up and slash at his heels with my sword, severing his Achilles’ tendon. He falls hard, hitting the side of his face on the marble floor. I hop up and prepare another charge, but pause when I sense a change in the air.

“First, the Oreiades are preparing a path using water from the River Lethe—the same one Achilleus was dipped into. Makes you temporarily invulnerable. It’ll last forever on the demi-gods in your group. For the rest, it’s temporary—but long enough.” “That’s awesome! We’re going to be like Achilleus!” Rowen whispers to Jared and Summer—loud enough that I still hear it. Summer shushes him, but yeah. It is awesome. “And second,” Hermes adds, “this.” Out of thin air, he pulls a sword. And turns to me. His eyes lock onto mine. That blue is unreal—like staring into a frozen storm. His expression flickers between intensity and... something else. Lust? Hate? Curiosity? Whatever it is, it twists in my

Deus was very wary of Ares and could hardly mutter a word in the God of War’s presence, whiles Darius was a man of a few words and could hardly be bothered to speak more than it was required of him. “What do you have for me then? Is Heracles dead?” Ares asked. Yet his voice was dull and uninteresting. It seemed that he already knew the answer to this question. “No, he is not,” Perseus smiled faintly as he replied. What a joke. Heracles was so strong that even Zeus had to be wary of him. In fact, although none of them liked to admit it, their brother was much stronger than them. Yes, people often said that Perseus and Ares were as strong as Heracles. But as people who had faced their brother

Varek struck in return, the force sending Marek skidding across the dirt. “Alpha of Ashwood,” Varek mocked, his voice twisting unnaturally. “Do you think your strength matters here?” Marek spat blood, forcing himself up. “I don’t care what you are. You won’t touch my people.” They clashed again. Marek fought with fury, every strike carrying the weight of his oath to protect Ashwood. He drove his claws into Varek’s side, tearing flesh, but no blood flowed—only smoke. Varek’s grin widened. He slammed Marek down, claws at his throat. “You bleed. I do not.”

And for a man like Hypatos, a man who had lost everything he had ever loved, that had been the most dangerous thing of all. More soldiers filtered through the tavern, their armor still bearing the fine dust of the north, their voices a low, tired hum of shared experience. The chimera campaign had concluded, but its stories had just begun to unfold in the smoky corners of The Pegasus. I moved through them, a silent, unseen collector of tales, my ears attuned to the overlapping details that emerged from their drunken gossip. I had heard Androkles’s official report, a concise, clinical account of his movements: a brief delay due to hazardous terrain, a cloak lost in the rubble, a timely arrival