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Story Preview - The Fire Goddess
🕑 Added 2023-10-13 04:00:02 +0000 UTC
This Story will be available until 10/27/23 and will then move to Amazon.
The Fire Goddess (5,708 words)
Synopsis:
For ages, the city of Nithos has enjoyed peace and prosperity. But when the volcano on the neighboring island of Idus threatens to erupt, the locals have no idea what’s behind it . . .
A fire goddess enters their city, burns a few buildings, then offers a warning and request: Send her a virgin or she’ll level the whole town.
Now, Dimos, a young, inexperienced blacksmith has been sent to appease the goddess. But will she be satisfied?
Contains: (fifty foot tall giantess, not so nice, not so happy ending).
Greece, 22 B.C.E.
The city of Nithos had maintained peace for the last six centuries. They’d fought off warlords and bandits with ease, for nothing could penetrate their towering, stone walls. That was, until the fire goddess came.
On the third morning after the lunar eclipse, the ground began to rumble. Every eye in the city turned to the hazy island in the distance—Idus, the forbidden lands. They could easily see the volcano at its center, and the old abandoned fortress at its base. No one knew who lived there, no one knew who built it. Travel to Idus was discouraged, especially on a day like today when the apex sputtered smoke. If the volcano erupted, it would bury Nithos under six feet of ash.
No one saw the fire goddess enter the ocean, but they saw the steam rising from it, and soon saw the bubbling, frothy water. It trailed all the way from Idus to the beach just in front of Nithos’s walls.
When she rose out of the water, hissing and smoking, every eye in the city turned to her. Somewhere far off, bells chimed, unlike anything the younger city folk had ever heard. It was the bells of war, and they’d not been rung in a century.
Bubbling magma rose from the water. Once it was a few feet above the surface, those gathered on the wall could see it was arranged in the shape of hair—and it moved like hair, too. This was but only the first in a long series of supernatural features of the fire goddess.
Her eyes were a brilliant orange. When her entire head was above the water, the local men were struck by her beauty, for surely Athena wasn’t nearly as alluring. Her skin was shot through with orange-red veins that pulsed with her heart—if she had one, of course.
As she stepped upon the beach, the rest of Nithos could see her beauty. She was completely naked, her long lava-hair hung past her shoulders. She was completely naked, large breasts on full display. She had a slightly muscle form, as each time she moved, her arms and legs rippled. The fire goddess must have been fifty feet tall.
She appraised the city with narrow eyes, calculating each person, each building, each grain of sand. They could tell she was intelligent, and that’s she’d come to the city with intention.
But mortal men were rash and quick to action.
They launched a volley of arrows, spears, and funny enough, flaming pitch. Most of it bounced harmlessly off her body. A tiny grin surfaced on her face.
The fire goddess approached, the ground trembling over her massive weight. She lifted one leg over their ‘impenetrable’ walls, and just like that she was inside the city—the same city that repelled everyone who ever tried to enter it.
The attacks didn’t slow when she reached their side of the wall. More catapults, more arrows, more spears. She brought a hand up to her hair and lifted it, as if she were going to tie it in a braid, but she only flicked off some of the lava. It flew away and struck a crop of houses, igniting them at once. Two people ran out into the streets, fully engulfed. They fell over and died, just as she stepped past them.
The fire goddess walked down the wide, cobblestone street, her feet sinking into the stones and crumbling them, but also leaving behind little tendrils of flame. She destroyed whatever she touched.
And she touched plenty . . .
Her skin was so hot it caught cypress trees on fire. She stepped on the colonnade leading up to the temple of Athena. Statues rocked on their pedestals, then fell over and broke apart. She purposefully obliterated a bathhouse, an open market, and a temple to Poseidon with just a couple of steps. Men were training for the games in the castle courtyard but her lumbering steps put an end to it. Those watching didn’t know if it was better to be crushed beneath her sandaled feet or burnt by her fiery skin.
She came upon the castle at the heart of the city, the highest floor level with her face. A few of the mounted catapults flung pitch at her but she didn’t register any pain, nor irritation.
Then, in a voice that sounded sweet, a voice that spoke the common tongue, she said, “I wish to speak with the ruler of this city. Do not make me wait. That would be . . . unwise.”
The men inside the keep wasted no time in presenting their leader—or at least the next best thing. A regal looking man, grizzled with well-earned scars and battle-dented armor, stepped onto the balcony next to the giantess’s face.
“I am General Theseus and I will speak with you on behalf of the emperor, who is away in Athens on an urgent matter.”
“Not more urgent than my desires, but very well,” she said. “You see my home, correct?” And as if she didn’t think they understood, she pointed back to the isle of Idus. “There.”
“Yes,” said Theseus.
“I desire a sacrifice. Bring me a virgin, male, of at least eighteen years of age.”
“Why should we do this?” Theseus said. The city held its collective breath, for none of them knew why he’d challenge the goddess in such a way.
She crept closer, the heat rolling off her enough to make him blink faster. But her sweet smile never left.
She said, “If you don’t, I will destroy this entire city with fire and brimstone.” She looked back to the line from the wall to where she stood, a line of fire, of death. “This is but a taste. There’ll be nothing left in the annals about Nithos.”
“We . . . may have trouble finding a proper man. Eighteen years, you say? That’s marrying age. Most eighteen-year-olds have sired at least one child.”
“Then you’d better start looking,” she said, turning around and revealing her backside—it was as smooth as the front, save for the crisscrossing veins of orange-red. “You have until sunset tomorrow evening. Do not disappoint me.”
“Wait!” said Theseus. When the goddess turned around, she cocked an eyebrow and stared at him. “What’s your name?”
“I am Hestia. Learn it well. You may be seeing me again very soon.”
And then, she stepped over the wall and disappeared back into the water.
***
Dimos’s ears were ringing when he finally wrestled his way out of the burlap sack. His eyes burned against the morning light but he’d grown use to the smell of the embers. The goddess had left Nithos burning and as he stared off to the east, he could still see the black smoke belching into the air. Drifting away in the water, the boat that had just deposited him on Idus’s doorstep.
Dimos wasn’t well loved. He wasn’t even well liked. Last night, after the fire goddess’s demand, Dimos’s own father offered him up for sacrifice. In the words of his father, “You killed your mother by coming into this world, and you’ve not earned your keep ever since.”
It was true, Dimos was the worst blacksmith for a hundred miles. He just didn’t have the necessary skill to forge. His swords were weak-tempered, his helmets warped. His father grew tired of having to pay for his mistakes. It would seem the blacksmith found a way out—a way that would rid him of a problem and save Nithos at the same time.
Still, he forged one blade that held up to his father’s standards, and unbeknownst to the townsfolk who threw him in the sack, he’d managed to hide it under his tabard.
“Come back!” he screamed to the fleeing boat. They couldn’t hear him, nor would they care if they could. Dimos thought about swimming but knew right away his body would tire long before reaching the beach. And one look at the snapping water told him it wouldn’t matter even if he was in top physical form. The barracudas that prowled these waters would make short work of him. So, he turned and faced the path leading up to the mountain and the giant keep above.
It smelled of brimstone. There were no plants here, no vegetation whatsoever. But he didn’t think the fire goddess needed food to stay alive. This barren wasteland provided all she needed—except for the young virgin, he thought with a tinge of embarrassment.
The ground rumbled as soon as he reached the top of the hill. From here, he couldn’t see Nithos through the thick, skeletal trees that ringed the courtyard of her castle. In front of him, a long expanse of ebony rock. A massive doorway marked the end but it only stayed dark for a moment—her red-limned body filled it. He could see the fires dancing in her eyes, the lava twisting and turning across her shoulders. She was wearing a white toga with filigree designs along the clasp. When she moved, lava dripped from her skin. She was a curvy lady, with a thick, bulbous behind.
She took a few lumbering steps forward, her giant feet hammering the ground. This entire place must have been constructed by her—or with her in mind. It didn’t warp to her weight or burn to her heat.
“So you’re the one they sent to appease me, eh?” she said, voice booming. She stood just in front of him, the heat rolling off her giant toes. He wondered how cobblers could make sandals so thick, yet so durable that the giantess didn’t melt them. Dimos had the feeling she was restricting her heat for the sake of a conversation. Her unbridled power would’ve probably melted him by now.
“Y-yes,” he managed. He couldn’t meet her gaze—it was both off-putting and dizzying at such a height.
She reached down, her hair turning from bright orange to a deep, dark red. The ethereal glow of her skin dimmed until she looked more like a shadow-person than a fiery goddess. When she grabbed him in a warm hand, he realized she was indeed truncating her power as to not burn him alive.
He hoped it remained this way.
***
Hestia had been around for countless generations. She had forgotten more things than she remembered. Cut from a portion of Zeus’s power, she called the island of Idus home. Some of the demigods of old had helped her construct it. She’d created it to be her paradise, but in truth, it was her prison. Although Hestia would never speak of it to a mortal, she was incredibly lonely.
The sacrifice would not only be enjoyable, but also necessary. If she wanted to keep her power, she needed to put the occasional mortal to death. But the loneliness was far-reaching. It wasn’t that she longed for companionship—she was also, what the mortals called, inflamed. She needed sexual fun, but it would be difficult.
But fun, nonetheless.
***
He knew he should’ve been more scared but somehow, she put him at peace. Her fortress was massive, even to her, but comfortable. She had lots of furs strewn about, from beasts that either didn’t exist anymore or came from lands far away. A fire burned in her hearth—big enough to level an entire town. He caught a quick glance of something on the skillet sitting next to the fireplace.
It was a metal bull.
Before he could consider this, she took him to her bedroom. The bed looked carved from a giant piece of marble, but this wasn’t her destination. He could feel the heat of the room, could smell the pungent brimstone. A haze of steam lingered on everything.
She held her hand out so he could rotate on her palm. Through giant, ornate windows he saw his island of Nithos far away. But just in front of the window was a gap in the wall where a stream of lava rolled. It cut right through the room, entering at the ceiling, flowing across the floor, and exiting at the far corner. Half her bedroom was located insidethe volcano.
Hestia placed him on the edge of the lava flow, the heat nearly burning his scalp. As he tried to move away, she put a strong hand across his body. Her nails were black, crisscrossed with little orange lines. Every inch of this giant woman was mesmerizing and as her hands worked, he forgot all about the pain in his scalp.
She hooked a finger into his pants and pulled them down. For a moment, he fought against her, fearful she’d find the sword he’d hidden in his tabard. Right now, it was tucked beneath his left arm.
But she wasn’t interested in fully undressing him, just enough so that she could see his cock. He had no experiences in what he should be doing or what he should be feeling. Could a man of his size actually perform for such a large goddess?
She rubbed it until it got hard, then backed away, as if this were merely a test. When the two of them locked eyes, she came back in close, the heat rolling off her face enough to make him sweat. He felt a pain beneath his arm and realized it was the sword heating up.
Hestia said, “You and I will have lots of fun. But do not anger me, and do not ever try to escape.” It was then that he realized she’d placed him close to the lava flow to show him what would happen if she disapproved. Was she not going to outright kill him?
After the floor, she moved him to the bed. Although it was carved of marble, it was still soft to the touch, containing what he assumed was magic. As soon as she lifted him, the sword slipped out of his tabard.
He watched it fall, then sink into the floor just in front of the bed. Peering up at the giantess, he was relieved to see that she’d not noticed.
On the bed, she raised her arms in the air and lifted the toga off her body. She was an exquisite specimen of a woman, although she wasn’t one at all. Her hand cupped his body, then lifted him to her womanhood.
Her heat and scent became his entire world, at least until the friction began. Hestia rubbed him against her over and over, dragging his little body as if he were nothing more than a toy. He wanted to scream out but couldn’t make a sound.
His little cock rubbed on each pass but he didn’t think she could feel it. Either way, her moans, the way her body tensed—he could tell she was enjoying herself.
Finally, he could sense her orgasm coming—although he had no experience other than what fellow schoolmates had told him. But at the last moment, she flicked him—now soaking wet—to the pillows at the head of the bed. In the next moment, he understood why.
A flow of lava represented her orgasm. As she screamed out, a spray of red-hot fire shot from her womanhood. It cascaded over the bed, smoking and steaming. It burned Dimos’s eyes but he couldn’t look away.
When she was finished, she waved her hand and the bubbling lava was gone. Still, her body was quivering and the fire had returned to her eyes.
“Very good,” she told him. “You’ll do just fine.”
***
That night, she fed him well. He wasn’t sure where she found such a feast, so he assumed it was merely her goddess magic. She produced pork, beef, chicken, and an assortment of fruits. To polish off the meal, she gave him the richest wine he’d ever tasted. If this was a sacrifice, he was willing to accept it.
They didn’t speak much after that. She lay on the bed and turned to her side with Dimos just in front of her breast. He didn’t know what she wanted or expected, so he approached her and put his hand to her warm flesh. Then, he started to play with her nipple.
Without opening her eyes, she grinned. He felt her heat rise, but just a little. Her nipple began to elongate and he stopped so he could watch it—he’d never seen such a thing. Once it was firm and hard as the sword down on the floor, he returned. His little hands squeezed it, sending orangish-red goosebumps along her skin. For a moment, she lost herself and her hair took on its brilliant blaze. He stepped away from the heat, a reminder of what happened when he played with fire . . .
***
She would sacrifice him eventually, but she would play with his body until it gave out. Or, like all the rest, he attempted to escape.
So far, he was enjoying himself—that fine line between pleasure and pain. She took his body nearly to the breaking point, placing all her weight against him while they were on the bed. She allowed him to reach orgasm, but only after she found her own. It was a gamble whenever she climaxed, as she would likely one day burn him alive.
The days were filled with conversation and dining and the nights were filled with lovemaking. She even gave him a plot of land toward the rear of the castle where he could grow a garden. It was silly and the loam in the dirt would keep anything from growing adequately, but it did keep his mind busy. That made his body all the more delicious when the sun went down.
The people of Nithos were afraid of her—she could feel that when she gave her display of power. But as the sun began to rise on the fifth morning of Dimos living with her, she saw square sails on the horizon.
On her beach, just next to a rowboat, stood two soldiers and General Theseus. They’d brought with them a marble table, now laden with exotic fruits and wine. What did they intend to do? Did they not trust that she would keep peace? Did they think they could woo her with mortal delicacies? She laughed at the attempt.
Both soldiers reached for their swords when she exited her castle and walked down the hill. But Theseus didn’t seem to react at all. In fact, he had a somber look on his face.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“The young man,” said Theseus. “Is he still alive?”
“He is,” she said.
The men looked to one another, then Theseus said, “We’ve come to take him home. I’ve lived a good life and I want no ill from the gods. I cannot allow myself to be part of this sacrifice.”
“I see,” she said, then waved her hand at the table of food. “What’s all this?”
He gave her a wide smile, showing lots of teeth. For someone so decorated in battle, he certainly had nice ones. She could tell at once he fancied himself a lady’s man, that he probably had any maiden he wanted. She would play his game. But this was not going to go the way he wanted.
“I thought would could have dinner and discuss his release.”
She shrank her body until she was no more than twelve feet tall. It felt awful—like distilled weakness. But she was still in control, and the men knew they couldn’t best a twelve-foot goddess no more than they could best a fifty foot one. She dropped to her knees at one side of the table and ate with Theseus.
And she wondered just how long it would be before she killed all three of these men and burnt their idling ship in the water beyond.
She also knew that Dimos watched the whole thing unfold from one of the highest turrets in the castle. Although he couldn’t hear the exchange, he could read the body language. He was no doubt wondering about her intentions—why she shrunk herself, why she squatted on the sand and accepted wine from General Theseus.
Dimos stayed at his perch well into the evening and she knew it was just a matter of time before he tried to escape.
“You are as beautiful as you are deadly,” said Theseus, clashing his glass against the bottle she gripped in her oversized hand. She drank most of it but the rest was trapped inside the glass because she’d melted it into a ball. The soldiers shuffled in their armor, but Theseus, if he was fearful, hid it well.
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re reallyhere?” said Hestia. “I know it’s not about Dimos.”
He put up his hands as if he’d been caught. She forgot all about how little wine it took for mortals to reveal their true intentions. “I confess. I do want him returned but I was struck by your beauty. I wanted to learn more about you.”
“Is that so?” she said. “Well here I am. Learn all you want.” She pushed back from the table and sat on her bottom. Still, it put her at eye level with the general. He blanched, for he had no idea she would be so agreeable.
He took another swig of wine, then walked around the table and stood in front of her. His hand went to his trousers and massaged his cock—accidental or on purpose? She found men so amusing.
“Are you just going to rub it or are you going to use it?”
He grinned and turned to his soldiers. “Leave. Go back to the boat. I’ll return shortly.”
They did as they asked, although Hestia could tell they wanted to watch. It wasn’t going to be the show they thought it would be.
As soon as Theseus slid his pathetic cock out of his smallclothes, Hestia pounced, shoving him down and rubbing her giant pussy along his body. He cried out in pain, although he tried to stifle it. A twelve-foot woman was quite heavy, and she was slowly allowing her body heat to rise . . .
She wouldn’t allow the man to reach orgasm—that was reserved for her sacrifice. So, whenever his grunts signaled that he was close, she slowed her rocking. Finally, she grew tired of the tiny man and that’s when she decided to seal his fate with a kiss. She brought her temperature to its maximum . . .
As she batted his tongue aside and made sure his mouth was wide open, she called upon her essence. Scalding lava left from her lips and poured down his throat. Theseus’s eyes went wide as Hestia stood and watched.
He managed to get to his feet and sputter a few words of disdain before his throat turned black, then spewed with lava. She could see more black flesh forming at his stomach as the lava burned through everything it touched. Theseus reached for her with shaky fingers but by then he was already dead and he collapsed, face-first onto the sand.
She threw her head back and laughed as arrows flew from the ship and landed next to her. As she willed her body to grow back to fifty feet tall, the ship dropped its sails and turned back toward Nithos.
Hestia bounded into the water. The men aboard the ship tried to fire upon her—one even launched a harpoon from a scorpion but it bounced harmlessly off her glistening, glowing skin.
She brought her fist down hard upon the center of the boat, snapping it in half. The ends tilted straight up and all the men aboard started to fall into the water. The red churning meant the barracudas had found them, and Hestia was back on shore before the ship even went down.
***
Hestia wasn’t the same after that. She had an appetite for destruction that was apparent even to Dimos. Each night he thought it would be his last, for she grew more aggressive each time she used him as her plaything. She denied any request he had, only feeding him and giving him ample time to work in his garden. At night, he bathed with her in the hot springs deep inside the castle.
He could tell she was holding back. Once, he watched as she left the bed and went down to the courtyard and screamed. While sounding like a banshee, the fire became so intense that he could feel the heat from high above. She didn’t look like a goddess in this moment—she looked like the sun personified. Her entire body was encased in a glow, her eyes shone a brilliant white. When it was over, the ground remained warped where she’d been standing.
It was a game for her to put pressure on his body. She grabbed him while he slept and placed her hot thumb right against his chest and pushed. He could feel the heat rolling off the tip and decided that was the night he would make his escape. At the rate of her rising aggression, Hestia would kill him in no time. He would rather die on his own terms with the barracudas than wait for death.
Although he didn’t think she needed sleep, she still did it to stave off the boredom of goddesshood. This usually happened in the bed but he’d been given his own place to sleep across the room, atop a vanity where she gazed at her reflection. Since she let her heat run unbridled during rest, it wasn’t safe for him to sleep with her.
It took twenty minutes to get down from the vanity, mostly because he was carrying his sword. He’d retrieved it on the first night and hidden it beneath the bed. A few days later, he carried it up to the vanity. Sometimes she would gaze at him—or her reflection—and he thought about stabbing her in the eye. He never got the nerve. He was a coward, just like his father said after marking him for death and throwing him in a boat.
On the floor, he broke into a sprint across the room, then squeezed through the crack at the bottom of the door. He made it as far as the hallway beyond before he felt something burning his ankle. He flipped over to see her there, an angry scowl on her face. Eyes burned a fierce white-hot. Somehow, she’d snuck up behind him.
“You dare run away? After all I’ve done for you!”
If he planned to speak, it was lost when she carried him back into the bedroom upside down. He was next to her thigh and could tell that she was no longer dimming her heat—each time he touched her veiny flesh, it singed his skin.
She dropped him on the floor, next to the lava flow. He could feel the heat at his scalp and remembered her words a week ago when she told him what would happen if he ever tried to escape.
“Stop, please!” he screamed. The heat was burning his hair—he could feel the fire lapping at each follicle, trailing toward his head.
Through the thick layer of steam, he watched as she undressed, taking off her toga and her sandals. Then, she moved up his body until her thighs were flanking him with her womanhood hanging in the air above him. By the closeness of the lava, he knew her hands and knees had to be in it, although fire hardly hurt a fire goddess.
She tried to crush him—or was it lovemaking? Over and over she grinded against him and he felt her wetness seeping out. It was burning his skin but he couldn’t do anything about it. She was insatiable. Each time they connected, his tongue and eyes bulged from his head.
A hand rescued him from the lava but took him to a new hell—the burning folds between her legs. She rubbed him back and forth and he didn’t know if the new burning was from friction or her pure, unbridled fury.
This time, she began to slip him inside her. The screams and shouts of the goddess rattled the whole fortress. There may have been a storm outside but he wasn’t sure. There was certainly a storm in here.
“Stop, you’re burning me!” he screamed, but he was certain she couldn’t hear him over the cacophony of her own arousal. His legs pushed in and he disappeared, nearly up to the tabard. Over and over she rubbed, until her wetness became something else entirely. At the last moment, she pulled him out.
Dimos realized that up until now, Hestia had never truly orgasmed with him. She’d held back. Now, a torrent of lava shot from her, sizzling the ground between her legs. He kicked and flailed, missing some of it, but also feeling a gush hit the left side of his body.
He screamed out as her lava melted his arm away and left his leg a charred, black husk. Again, he screamed but it was weaker. He didn’t have the strength.
Hestia shoved him back in, his legs burning fiercely. When he was up to the waist, he remembered the sword tucked beneath his arm, so he grabbed it, pointed the tip upward, then stabbed her inner wall.
She screamed and fell back, either in pain or rage. Both would probably see him to a quick end, and for that he was thankful.
He stabbed her again and again until the blade snapped off and he was left staring at the hilt. No matter. He couldn’t possibly kill a goddess, and he couldn’t possibly escape with half his body charred.
“You’ll pay for that,” she said, standing and carrying him out of the bedroom. Dimos thought he’d alreadypaid for it, but apparently not.
She took him to the giant, crackling fireplace and held him in front of the brazen bull. Dimos stared at it, stricken with horror because he finally realized its purpose. They’d been used in Nithos when he was a boy, then the Greeks experienced a kind emperor and all of them were thrown into the ocean.
Hestia pulled away a metal panel, then gingerly dropped Dimos inside. The metal wasn’t hot—not yet. She’d kept the bull away from the biting flames but he figured that was about to change.
“You could’ve lived here forever,” she told him. “And now I’ll have to find someone new.”
He tried to speak, but the smoke became so thick that it burned his eyes, and when he looked back, she’d already replaced the panel.
It took only a few minutes for the heat to reach him. Without the use of one arm and one leg, it was difficult to dance around the confines of the bull. Wherever he touched, his skin burned. Finally, his palm and the back of his thigh could take no more and he lay on his back, wailing and screaming. When he tried to roll over, he found himself stuck to the hot surface.
And Dimos of Nithos was no more.
***
She stood there, listening to the bull roar—a silly feature of the device that funneled the sounds of the man screaming to the lips of the metal beast. The result was a caricature of a braying bull.
But she soon turned her attention back to the island of Nithos. She walked out of her fortress and into the pouring rain. Each time water hit her skin, it sizzled and smoked. Nithos would offer up another sacrifice, but first, a display of power.
Separating Idus from Nithos was the black, churning water and a fleet of Greek triremes coming toward her. So they were upset over the general, she thought. Tonight, they would never cross the fire goddess again.
She waded into the water and approached the spreadhead of the fleet, just as a volley of flaming pitch came her way. Did they never learn? She was borne of fire.
With big, powerful hands, she shoved the nearest boat over, the masts snapping, the sails fluttering away in the fierce wind. Men screamed as they went overboard.
The next boat she lifted right out of the water, then slammed it down on yet another. Both exploded in a frenzy of wood, metal, and canvas.
By the time she reached the next row of ships, they had started to turn, fighting against the wind and the fury of the storm. She was far quicker. From her fingers, she shot four jets of lava. It floated on the water and surrounded the nearest boat. Men screamed but they were trapped, unable to jump over the edge lest they be burned alive. It was satisfying to watch the ship go under and the men turn to black husks before sinking.
Another boat felt her heat as she rose the temperature of the water surrounding it. The waves began to smoke and bubble and before long, the ship was taking on water and sinking. When the men touched the ocean, they screamed like all the rest, then turned black and died.
By now, the ships were throwing all their flammables overboard. Casks of wine, barrels of oil. With just a flick of her finger, she ignited it all, causing a fiery explosion that took out the three remaining ships.
Within two minutes of entering the water, the ocean had grown calm. Every single ship had gone under, every single soul drowned or burned. She took a deep breath, tasting her own ruin. She wanted more.
Hestia turned her attention to the city of Nithos and smiled. It would be a long night, but she would come away with a brand-new sacrifice . . .
