Blood sprayed in a bright arc across the table, cups toppling, wine mixing with red as the suitor clutched at the shaft, eyes wide with sudden, terrible understanding.
The hall froze for one heartbeat, then erupted into chaos as the suitors surged to their feet, weapons drawn, voices rising in a roar of rage and disbelief.
Jax stood tall in the center of the courtyard, no longer the beggar, no longer Nobody, Odysseus returned, bow still raised, the string humming faintly in his grip.
He looked at Penelope, veil fallen, eyes wide with tears and recognition, then at Telemachus, the boy’s face alight with something between joy and terror.
“Father?” Telemachus whispered again, voice breaking.
Jax nodded once, voice steady despite the storm inside him.
“I’m home.”
The crew burst through the side doors, Eur shield-first, Thea and Phil with bows already drawn, Ment swinging his cooking pot like a mace, Pol and Kid with spears low and ready.
They had waited in the hidden passage, listening, watching, and now they moved as one.
Eur roared, voice echoing off marble.
“Stand with your king!”
The suitors hesitated, blades half-raised, the sight of armed men and a living legend shattering their arrogance in an instant.
A blue box flashed, urgent and crimson-edged.
Jax lowered the bow, drew his dagger, and spoke one word.
“Yield.”
Antinous gurgled, still alive, blood bubbling from his throat as he slid to the floor.
No one yielded.
The suitors charged.
Eur met the first rush, shield slamming into a man’s chest with a crack of ribs, driving him back into his companions.
Thea and Phil loosed from the flanks, arrows finding throats and eyes with surgical precision, bodies dropping before they could close the distance.
Ment swung his pot in a wide arc, crushing a skull with a wet thud that echoed off the walls.
Pol and Kid moved as a pair, spears thrusting in unison, keeping the lesser suitors at bay.
Jax darted through the chaos, dagger flashing, every strike precise, hamstring, throat, heart.
He moved like a shadow among the living, using tables for cover, pillars for ambush, the palace itself becoming his weapon.
Antinous’s second-in-command, a tall man named Ctesippus, roared and charged Jax with a spear.
Jax sidestepped, used the man’s momentum to redirect the thrust into a pillar, then drove his dagger upward under the ribs.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Ctesippus gasped, fell.
The hall became a slaughterhouse.
Blood slicked the marble.
Screams mixed with the clang of bronze.
The suitors fought with desperation now, cornered animals, but they were outnumbered in skill, in rage, in purpose.
Jax shouted over the din.
“Eur, hold the center! Thea, Phil, high ground! Ment, Pol, Kid, flank the doors! No one escapes!”
The crew obeyed.
Eur planted himself like a wall, shield taking blow after blow, his sword reaping when openings appeared.
Thea climbed a balcony, arrows raining down.
Phil followed, covering her ascent.
Ment roared, pot swinging, crushing arms and skulls.
Pol and Kid guarded the exits, spears keeping fleeing suitors pinned.
Jax moved through the center, a whirlwind of death, every strike fueled by years of absence, every kill a payment for the years stolen from his family.
A suitor lunged from behind.
Jax spun, dagger catching the man’s wrist, twisting, breaking bone, then finishing with a thrust to the heart.
The body fell.
The hall grew quieter, fewer voices, more bodies.
The remaining suitors backed toward the throne room doors, faces pale, weapons shaking.
They were down to a dozen, desperate, cornered, but still dangerous.
Eurymachus stepped forward, sword raised, voice cracking.
“You think you can slaughter us all? The people will rise! Ithaca will burn!”
Jax met his gaze, voice cold.
“Ithaca has burned enough under your rule.”
He loosed another arrow.
It took Eurymachus in the chest.
The man fell, gasping.
The others broke.
Some ran for the doors.
Pol and Kid cut them down.
Some fought.
Ment and Eur finished them.
One last suitor, young, terrified, dropped his sword, hands raised.
“Please. Mercy.”
Jax looked at him.
Then at Penelope.
She stood on the dais, veil gone, eyes hard but wet.
Jax spoke, voice carrying.
“Mercy is for those who deserve it. You had years to leave. You chose to stay.”
The young suitor screamed as Phil’s arrow found his heart.
The hall fell silent.
Only the drip of blood and the crackle of the fire remained.
A blue box appeared.
Jax lowered the bow.
He looked at Penelope.
She stepped down from the dais, veil gone, tears streaming.
She walked toward him.
The crew lowered weapons.
The hall held its breath.
Penelope stopped before him, eyes searching his face.
She reached out, fingers trembling, touching the scar on his cheek, the one from the boar hunt, the one only she would know.
“Odysseus?” she whispered.
Jax nodded, voice breaking for the first time.
“I’m home.”
She collapsed into his arms.
Telemachus joined them, embracing both.
The crew watched, silent, tears in their eyes.
Eur lowered his shield.
“We did it.”
Thea sheathed her blade.
“We’re home.”
Phil slung his bow.
“Finally.”
Ment knelt by the golden calf.
“Thank the gods.”
Pol and Kid grinned through tears.
A final blue box appeared, soft, golden-edged.
Jax held Penelope and Telemachus, the palace silent around them.
But outside, the sky darkened.
Thunder rumbled.
Not laughter.
A promise.
The final storm was coming.
- Mercy or Vengeance? Would YOU have loosed the arrow like Jax? ????
- Favorite moment: Antinous’s throat shot, Penelope’s tearful “Odysseus?”, or the crew bursting in? ??
- Poseidon’s wrath next, what’s your call for the final storm? ???