Westside Titanomachy

When I quit my gig as a fortune teller to become Oracle, I should've known there'd be strings attached. Olympic-sized strings.

After Apollo freed the Titans from Tartarus, we waited for his next move.

And waited.

And waited.

The days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months turned into years.

However, we didn’t sit around twiddling our thumbs. We trained. The Supernatural Council of the Americas met. We coordinated with ISEA to prepare without alarming the mundanes. Bringing mundane attention, therefore, belief and the power that yields to Apollo was the last thing we wanted to do.

Finally, the Moirai, aka the Fates, summoned me and showed me the possible future if I didn’t act before Apollo did. I’m going to be honest. It didn’t look good for anyone except him. I had to challenge him.

After much deliberation, I came up with a plan. It was simple, really.

Olympians loved games.

The ultimate competition, set up in the former prison known simply as the Vault. There’s no way to cheat. The place was sentient.

The prize was so sweet that no one can resist it, not even Apollo.

The prize?

Dominion over Earth.

© 2024 Witch Works Publishing (Hljóðbók): 9781961715127

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Hljóðbók: 11 juli 2024