I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

“What the hell just happened?!” Brad gasped, his voice filled with shock as he watched Aiden struggle on the ground, clutching the deep gash across his stomach. Though Aiden wouldn’t die from the wound—he was a Hero after all, and it would take much more to kill him—the sight of blood pooling around him was unnerving. Death had been a hair’s breadth away.

“I don’t know either, but that guy just got a hell of a lot stronger…” Jason muttered, his eyes locked onto Mynes, who now stood radiating power. His expression turned grim. “Be careful around him. This isn’t the same prince we were fighting before.”

They didn’t know what exactly had transpired, but one thing was clear: Mynes had become a far more dangerous foe. The pink aura surrounding him was evidence of something divine at play, an unmistakable sign that a god had blessed him, tipping the balance of power in the Trojans’ favor.

On the other side of the battlefield, Patroclus watched the events unfold with calculating eyes. Unlike the others, he wasn’t rattled by Mynes’ newfound strength. His gaze lingered on the pink glow surrounding the prince, and he couldn’t shake the thought of divine intervention. A god’s blessing. He had nearly forgotten that they, as Greek Heroes, weren’t the sole protagonists of this grand war.

The Greeks, too, had gods on their side, writing their own stories. And they weren’t just facing any mortals—they were going up against heroes backed by two of the most powerful goddesses: Hera and Athena.

Jason raised his sword, its edge gleaming with the power of his summoned light magic. He knew he couldn’t afford to hold back. Not now. If he did, the next swing from Mynes could be his last. He couldn’t allow that. “Alright,” he breathed, his voice steadying as the light around him intensified, filling the battlefield with a bright, searing glow.

“Seventh Rank Light Magic! Take that!” Jason roared, swinging his sword downward with all his strength, the blade blazing with radiant energy. The air crackled with power as he aimed to crush Mynes in a single strike.

But Mynes was faster. With an almost inhuman burst of speed, the prince leapt into the air, his sword pointed straight at Jason as he dived down like a thunderbolt.

Jason’s eyes widened in panic, the speed of the attack catching him off guard. But before Mynes could strike, a towering wall of water surged up between them. Siara’s magic. The barrier shimmered, absorbing the force of Mynes’ attack just long enough for Jason to sidestep out of harm’s way.

Mynes growled, his momentum barely slowed by the barrier. He shifted his focus, now darting toward Siara.

Siara’s breath caught as she saw him charging toward her, and her mind raced to form another defensive spell. But before she could act, a powerful gust of wind slammed into Mynes, throwing him back. He skidded to a stop, regaining his footing swiftly, his gaze snapping toward the source of the wind.

Hovering above the battlefield was a figure bathed in a soft golden light—Gwen, her blonde hair streaming behind her as she floated effortlessly, a small winged creature flitting beside her.

“Be careful he’s strong, Gwen. A Goddess had blessed him,” Iphlea whispered to Gwen.

“I know. “

°°°°°

Inside the castle of Lyrnessus, the atmosphere was tense, thick with dread as the sound of battle and screams echoed through the walls. The Greeks had breached the city, and chaos reigned outside. In the throne room, King Euenus sat slumped on his seat, a man defeated by the weight of inevitable loss. The Greeks had shown no mercy to the citizens, cutting down even the defenseless.

He had dismissed his guards and attendants, ordering them to flee for their lives, though many had refused, vowing to remain by his side. Despite his command, one person had stayed behind—Briseis.

Euenus looked at her, his sigh heavy with resignation. “What are you still doing here, Briseis? I told you to run.”

“Running away has never been an option for me.”

Euenus frowned, though he understood her spirit. “You should know better than anyone what the Greeks do to women they capture. They won’t just kill you. You know the fate that awaits you if they take you prisoner.”

Briseis didn’t flinch. She knew the grim reality awaiting captured women—defilement, humiliation, and worse. Yet she stood firm. “I am a proud Trojan. I will fight until the end.”

Euenus smiled sadly at her courage. “You accepted marriage to my son, Mynes, for the sake of the kingdom. It was a noble act. I am grateful, Briseis, for however brief it has been. I only wish I could have seen your marriage…” His voice trailed off, heavy with regret. There would be no wedding now.

No future. Only death awaited them.

He didn’t dare dream of rescue. Lyrnessus was doomed, and he knew it. If, by some miracle, he were spared, he would end his own life for failing his people.

Suddenly, the throne room doors swung open with a sharp CLACK!

The sound reverberated in the chamber, pulling Euenus from his thoughts. His heart raced as footsteps echoed lightly through the room. A figure appeared—a man, a striking one, with long red hair tied back and golden eyes that gleamed with cruel confidence. He wore armor—red, like the blood of battle—but this was no ordinary armor. It was unmistakable, marked with the symbol of the Myrmidons.

Euenus rose to his feet, stepping protectively in front of Briseis. His voice trembled as he spoke. “Who are you?”

The man smiled—a chilling, confident smile. “I think you already know.”

Euenus’ throat tightened, and he gulped, his worst fear confirmed. “Achilles.”

Their worst nightmare had indeed arrived—Achilles, King of Phthia, stood before them, a force of death incarnate.

“Father!” A voice rang out, and a young man clad in full armor barged into the throne room.

“Epistrophus!” Euenus’ eyes widened in horror as he saw his youngest son. “I told you to leave!”

But Epistrophus stood firm, his eyes ablaze with determination. “How can I leave when my brother is fighting for us out there? I am not a coward!” His sword gleamed in the dim light of the hall as he pointed it defiantly at Achilles.

“Run! You can’t defeat him!” Euenus pleaded, his voice thick with desperation, but his son’s resolve did not waver.

Achilles merely smiled, the kind of smile that sent chills through any who knew of his reputation.

Feeling provoked, Epistrophus let out a battle cry and rushed toward Achilles, his sword raised high, intent on striking him down. But before his blade could descend, Achilles moved like lightning.

SLASH!

In an instant, Epistrophus’ arm was severed, and blood sprayed into the air.

“GAHHHH!” Epistrophus screamed in agony, staggering back as his lifeblood spilled onto the marble floor.

“I commend your bravery,” Achilles said coolly, swinging his hand with effortless precision.

SPATTER!

Before Euenus or Briseis could react, Epistrophus’ head was severed from his body, rolling across the floor, leaving his father to watch in silent horror. His youngest son was gone in an instant.

“No…no….” Euenus fell to his knees, his entire body trembling as Briseis rushed to support him. His kingdom was crumbling, his youngest son was dead, probably the eldest as well, and now his last hope was extinguished.

“Lyrnessus has fallen. It’s over,” he muttered through clenched teeth, wiping the tears from his face as he looked at Achilles, who stood there, unmoved by the devastation he had caused.

With nothing left to lose, Euenus bowed his head, his fists shaking. “Kill me…but please, spare her. She has nothing to do with this.”

Achilles glanced at Briseis, who stared back at him, her eyes filled with defiance.

“You have my word,” Achilles said after a moment. “No one will touch her.”

“Thank you,” Euenus whispered, a faint glimmer of relief crossing his tear-streaked face.

“Your Majesty?! No!” Briseis cried out, shaking her head, unwilling to accept what was about to happen.

Euenus placed a trembling hand on her arm. “Please… live for us. You must live for us.”

Tears streamed down Briseis’ cheeks as she stepped away, her heart breaking. She had no choice but to honor his final wish.

Euenus knelt before Achilles, his head bowed in submission. “You are a good king,” Achilles said solemnly, truly respecting the old King. “But this is war.”

SPATTER!

With a swift stroke, Achilles ended Euenus’ life, leaving Briseis standing alone in the blood-soaked throne room, her tears mingling with the horror of the moment. The last King of Lyrnessus had fallen.