In the airy, light-filled cave, a faint herbal scent lingered. A weak, muffled groan drifted from the sickbed.
Moments later, as the liquid began to boil, Chiron lifted the cauldron, poured the brewed potion into a bowl, and carried it to the patient.
"What on earth did you do?"
The centaur sage poked at the man's belly, swollen like a ball, his expression strange.
"Overstuffed..."
Samael replied with a bitter face, then struggled to sit up and downed the stomach-soothing potion in one gulp.
"What did you eat? Something this hard to digest? That shouldn't be possible."
Chiron leaned closer, tapping different spots on the ancient serpent's belly, still curious.
"Don't ask. Talking about it just makes me want to cry."
Samael waved a hand, his face full of grief.
What else could it be? The food Athena and Medusa had prepared!
Medusa wasn't bad—she'd at least picked up a little culinary skill in Mesopotamia. Her cooking was still edible, even tasty at times.
Athena, on the other hand, had spent her whole life with food and service brought to her. Cooking? She hadn't the slightest idea. Realizing she couldn't compete with her old rival in flavor or technique, the Goddess of Wisdom simply gave up and poured all her effort into plating and color.
What she ended up with was a chaotic mess of random ingredients thrown together. Samael suspected she wasn't cooking at all, but experimenting with alchemy.
The dishes looked bright and appetizing, but the first bite nearly broke his teeth. Forcing it down, he was hit by an explosion of flavors—sweet, sour, salty, spicy, bitter, astringent, bloating, numbing, and more that defied description—detonating all at once on his tongue.
Swallowing was worse. His stomach churned like an alchemist's cauldron, ingredients boiling and fusing yet refusing to digest.
Watching his belly swell larger and larger, his two old rivals still maintained elegance and composure, continuing to pour their "love" into each dish, torturing him, their unwilling judge.
Seizing his chance, Samael fled to Chiron for refuge, seeking medicine to calm his gut. The centaur sage, deeply sympathetic, agreed to cover for him and gave him shelter for a while.
It took a full day and night before the ancient serpent purged the last of the suspicious residue from his body.
But the carefree days of lounging at Chiron's, drinking wine, eating fruit, and skipping his duties didn't last long. Soon, the young nymph Daphne brought news from Themis.
Samael broke the seal on the parchment scroll, read its contents, then burned it. A heavy look clouded his eyes.
Prometheus had descended the mountain.
This meant the Age of Man was about to begin.
The time left to prepare was short.
He instructed Chiron to head to the Arima Caverns and summon several of Typhon's offspring to a designated meeting point. As for himself, he turned and hurried home.
...
The moment he stepped inside, a chilling wail echoed from deep within the cavern, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.
Samael crept closer, hiding behind a stone pillar as he peered inside—only to see Cerberus, massive as a young bull, thrashing desperately.
The three heads were bound together by bronze-forged cursed chains, tethered to a stalagmite beside the dining table. Its eyes, wide with terror, fixed on the white-haired demon crouched before it, smiling with narrowed eyes.
Another dish of dark red, nearly black, substance was placed in front of it. Cerberus shook his heads wildly, jaws clenched tight, refusing with all its might.
But against the tyranny of that white-haired demon, such resistance was meaningless.
Athena calmly pulled out a small black vial, drew a measure of liquid with a long needle, and jabbed it into the hellhound's muzzle.
The unfortunate beast, which had only just regained some strength, instantly collapsed to the ground, paralyzed. Its whimpering turned into slurred, drooling moans, like a stroke victim.
The white-haired demon easily pried open Cerberus's jaws, spooning the suspicious concoction from the tray into the helpless dog's mouth.
At once, the hellhound's limbs convulsed, its eyes bulging as though it were enduring unspeakable torture.
"Ugh..."
After three or four spoonfuls were forced down, Cerberus, driven by sheer instinct for survival, retched violently and vomited everything out in a mess.
"Tsk, that reaction was a bit much. Did it build up resistance to poison? Was the dose too small?"
"Fine, I'll get some more from Little Nine. I'll be more careful next time."
Athena gave the small black vial in her hand a casual shake, nodding as if it were nothing.
From his hiding place in the shadows, Samael suddenly understood.
Her cooking really was so bad, even a dog wouldn't eat it!
Yet as the air shifted and a familiar scent reached its nose, Cerberus's eyes welled up with tears.
"Woof!"
With snot and tears streaming, the dumb dog let out a pitiful whine. Its three pairs of eyes burned with desperate will to live as it pawed frantically toward Samael's hiding spot.
The ancient serpent, seeing Athena's gaze follow, knew there was no avoiding it. He straightened his face and stepped out solemnly.
"Enough tormenting Cerberus. Get ready. Say goodbye to Tina—I'm taking you both out to handle something."
At once, Athena curbed her eagerness and nodded with a smile.
But before leaving, to avoid wasting food, the ever-frugal Goddess of Wisdom simply tipped the rest of the red-black mess into Cerberus's mouth in one go.
This time, she shoved it down with the spoon, pressing until it slid deep down his throat.
"Woof..."
Freed from his chains and barely recovered from the toxins, the dumb dog yelped in terror. In a flash, he bolted behind Samael, three heads trembling, teeth chattering as he shook uncontrollably.
Who told you to come here? Didn't you know she's been "cooking" as an excuse to practice alchemy these past few days?
Samael crouched down, stroking the battered heads with pity as he whispered softly.
It's not the dog's fault. The dog is innocent!
I went to fight Hydra one-on-one, but your Athena blindsided me, knocked me out, and secretly dragged me here!
It's been three days. Do you have any idea what kind of hell I've lived through? Can't a dog be allowed to live in peace?
I may not be a god, but your hound... is a real dog!
The abused Cerberus blinked and grimaced with all three heads, looking utterly aggrieved.
Don't worry. I'll come back and teach her a lesson for you. I'll make it right!
Samael stroked the sulking heads, his eyes firm and solemn.
No matter what, this dumb dog had taken the suffering for him. Athena had gone too far.
Punishment! She must be punished heavily!
Cerberus, crouched on the ground, gazed at the righteous serpent with heartfelt admiration. Tongue lolling, he leaned forward, eager for his usual comforting lick.
He even imagined that when Athena and Hydra finally got beaten, he'd bark his heart out—loudly, proudly—venting all his bottled-up frustration.
Meanwhile, the upright and kind serpent stroked his chin, deep in thought.
The punishment should be simple: make her eat my cooking a few more times, so she can learn what proper food tastes like.
The poor dog, tongue hanging out as he waited for justice, had no idea.
Like mother, like daughter.
In this world, there is no "most pitiful." There's always worse.