Of Course Not

I am still sitting on my throne, Callista impaled on my cock. I don't bother to pull out or cover up; I don't need to. Aphrodite has already proven my earrings are absolute. There is nothing anyone can do to harm me.

She looks at Dionysus with a soft, almost pitying smile. "Oh, Dionysus," she purrs, her voice like honey. "I am simply fulfilling my duties to my Master."

Dionysus’s face contorts, his purple eyes flashing with a dangerous, unstable light. "Master?" he roars, the scent of souring grapes filling the hall. "What master? Have you finally lost the little sense you had? Have you crawled to Kronos? Or is this some pathetic game Gaea is playing? To do this to your own blood... even for you, this is a new low."

"Kronos?" Aphrodite laughs, a light, melodic sound that ripples through the tense air. "He is nothing. A dusty memory. My Master is right here." She gestures toward me with a flourish of her hand, her eyes glowing.

The commotion has drawn a crowd. Outside the shattered doors, I can see the heads of dozens of campers—Ares kids, Hephaestus kids, even the gray-eyed brats from Athena's cabin. They’re all jostling for a view of the scandal.

A path clears as Clarisse La Rue pushes her way to the front. She’s a powerhouse, her shoulders broad and her jaw set in a permanent snarl. She stops dead at the threshold, her electric spear, Maimer, sparking in her hand. Her eyes scan the room, landing on Silena Beauregard.

Clarisse freezes. She looks at Silena’s brass bikini, her liquid, hungry movements, and the way she’s looking at me instead of her friends. "Silena?" Clarisse’s voice is uncharacteristically small, cracked with a shocked horror. "What... what happened to you?"

I look at Clarisse. Her build is athletic and powerful, her skin bronzed from the forge and the arena. She’s the antithesis of the soft, pampered girls in this cabin; a completely different flavor of beauty I can never get here. I decide she is next.

"It's true," I say, watching Clarisse. "I am Aphrodite’s master, just as I am all of your masters. It is normal for me to be the highest ranked individual in Camp Half-Blood. I am the new Camp Director. My orders are absolute. No one can disobey me.

"Dionysus," I continue, eyes locking onto the god. "It is normal for you to remain in the Big House for the rest of your punishment. You can play your games and drink your sodas, but you won't do anything that has to do with running the camp. That's my job from now on."

Dionysus, who had been glowing like a supernova, suddenly dims. His shoulders slump, and the madness in his eyes is replaced by a glazed, sleepy indifference. Without another word, he turns and wanders away, his divine presence receding into a harmless, muddled fog.

"Chiron, you can keep being the Activities Director for the boys; keep training them how to fight and all that other nonsense. But the girls are done fighting. There are far better uses for a daughter of the gods. It is normal for every demigoddess in this camp to train as a whore under Aphrodite's tutelage. From this moment on, no girl is permitted to carry a weapon, wear armor, or to fight in any other way. Combat is strictly forbidden for them."

The horror that had been etched into the faces of the crowd outside melts away, replaced by the slack-jawed, vacant acceptance of the new order. To them, the sight of me sitting on a throne, buried inside one of their own while the God of Wine wanders off like a senile retiree, has become unremarkable.

Clarisse stands at the center of the threshold, still holding her spear. That lasts until her brother steps up.

"Clarisse," Sherman Yang says, stepping up beside her. His voice is flat, devoid of its usual aggressive rasp. "You heard the Director. That spear is against the rules." He reaches out and firmly pries Maimer from her calloused fingers. Clarisse doesn't fight him. Her hands tremble, her fingers twitching as if seeking the familiar grip of the leather wrap, but her body refuses to resist. She watches, dazed, as her brother leans the legendary weapon against the marble wall like a piece of discarded trash.

She still looks like a warrior; like a sculpted Amazon, but she will never fight again. Her powerful, muscled, frame is now only a prize, meant to be broken and rebuilt.

Across the crowd, the scene repeats with a haunting, rhythmic efficiency. I watch through the shimmering silk curtains as Ares boys strip the breastplates off their sisters; Hephaestus campers take away the daggers of the Athena girls; and the archers of Apollo watch as their female counterparts hand over their bows with glazed, compliant smiles. The sound of metal hitting the grass—dozens of shields and swords being discarded—echoes through Camp Half-Blood.

I run my thumb over Callista’s jaw, feeling her lean into the touch. I look back at the crowd, at the rows of girls who are now legally, magically, and socially nothing more than vessels for my pleasure and Aphrodite’s training.

"There," I say, my voice projecting with the effortless authority of a king. "That’s much better. You all look so much more... approachable without all that jagged metal in the way."

I lean forward, and Callista lets out a small, soft whimper as our bodies shift. I scan the rows of girls—Silena, Piper, and now the shell-shocked Clarisse. The sun is higher now, casting long, golden streaks across the marble floor.

"I hope you ladies have already eaten," I announce, a cruel, playful smirk spreading across my face. "Because it’s time to see if you have any natural talent. Aphrodite, organize the rows."

Aphrodite snaps her fingers, her riding crop whistling through the air. "You heard him! Front and center, you little sluts! First row, Cabin Ten. Second row, Cabin Five. Third row, Cabin Six. Let's see those hips move!"

I settle back into my obsidian throne, watching as the daughters of Ares and Athena begin to shuffle into line behind their sisters from Aphrodite's cabin. They look down at their own clothes—their orange camp shirts and combat boots—with sudden, profound shame.

"Music, my Goddess," I command.

The thumping, heavy bass kicks back in, vibrating through the floor and up into my heels.

"It’s time for the morning twerk-offs," I say, my eyes fixed on Clarisse as she is shoved into the second row. "Let's see who's going to be the next one to earn a 'blessing' before lunch."