Chapter 12: Rise of Medusa

As I open the door to Poseidon’s loft, my heart starts racing. He hasn’t changed a bit. The same old long brown curly hair, falling carelessly across the pillow. He is sleeping. Strange. He looks as if he could never hurt a single soul. But we both know that isn’t true. I let my snakes brush against his face—the face I once adored, the face I once wanted to marry. He stirs, then wakes up, his eyes blinking in confusion.

“Medusa? What are you doing here? How did you get in? Where are my guards?” A god needing guards—pathetic. I see the panic in his eyes, and it pleases me. Good.

“Oh honey, you have no idea what’s coming for you,” I say, my voice dripping with the venom of years of suppressed rage. With a single thought, I unleash the full force of my curse. The god of the sea, my rapist, Poseidon—whatever other names he has—begins to turn to stone. His expression freezes in terror, his final moments a grim testament to his arrogance.

Great. Another one down. Ten more gods to go. All of them will be my trophies. I will avenge Perseus.

I stand over Poseidon’s petrified form, feeling the weight of my revenge settle over me. It’s not enough—this is only the beginning. The halls of Olympus, once so grand and untouchable, will soon crumble under the wrath of the monster they created. I move through the corridors with purpose, my eyes set on the next target.

“They called me a monster,” I think, a dark smile curving my lips, “and now they will see just how monstrous I can be.”

The other gods must have sensed what happened. I can feel the tension in the air, the way the very walls seem to hum with fear. They know I’m here. They know I’m coming for them. But instead of running, they’ll do what they always do—underestimate me. That will be their undoing.

As I move through the palace, I imagine the fear creeping into their hearts. The invincible gods, quaking at the thought of a woman scorned, a creature they banished to live in misery. They thought they could forget about me, that I would fade into legend, nothing more than a cautionary tale. But I am far from forgotten, and the story of Medusa is not yet over.

I pass statues of other gods, immortalized in marble, each one a reminder of their supposed glory. Soon, they will join Poseidon in my collection. I will make sure of it.

Ahead of me looms the chamber of Zeus. My snakes hiss in anticipation. The king of the gods, the ruler of Olympus—he is next. I think of Perseus, of how he believed in me when no one else did. This is for him. For the man I loved and lost, because of their lies and cruelty.

Olympus will burn. Its gods will fall. And from the ashes, Medusa will rise, more powerful and more feared than any god who ever dared to cross her.