I chugged the last of the water from my canteen. Dammit, if I was going to die, I didn’t want to die thirsty. I tried not to think of it as an act of desperation, but it probably was. Not only was I severely injured, but I was on a hostile island, and I’d managed to burn through most of my ammunition already. On the plus side, those spider boars could’ve gotten me. But they didn’t, and I was still breathing. Chalk one up for the good guy, I suppose.

The sun crept toward the ocean in the distance, and the shadows lengthened around me like inky fingers. Most of the buildings inside the city were intact, but they looked beaten down and not just from age.

A while back, me and the guys from my squad had visited Ephesus, an ancient city in Turkey that dated back to before the Romans. That city had been ravaged by time and the elements, worn down by long, hard years. This place looked different. Everything seemed well-preserved—the frescos fresh and sharp, the rooves intact, even bright splashes of paint remained. It almost seemed like these mysterious ruins had been ransacked after a battle, then abandoned days later.

The central temple dominated the landscape.

Fanning out from it were barracks and stables to the north, a massive hall to the west including several terraces overlooking the Mediterranean. I wandered past the stables and entered the barracks. An iron, leaf-shaped short sword lay in the dust. I picked it up and gave it a few swings, the blade whistling through the air. Wasn’t sure if it would pierce the skins of the harpies, but it certainly couldn’t do worse than my pistol. I thumbed the blade. Still wickedly sharp. Huh, maybe there was a little magic to it.

I’d played in untold Dungeons and Dragons campaigns where non-magical weapons couldn't hurt certain creatures.

I stopped the thought dead in its tracks and shook my head in disgust at my extreme dorkiness. Here I was, fantasizing about magic swords as my wounds stiffened and drying blood coated my green skivvy shirt. I was being a moron. My DnD skills weren’t going to help me here. While it didn’t feel like it, this was real life.

Still, even though the sword probably wasn’t magic, having it at my side was a small comfort. With only five rounds left, I’d need something better than my K-Bar to fight off the freaks roaming this island. I slid the sword through my utility belt and moved further in. There were spears and other weapons littering the ground. And a few skeletons. I inched closer and toed the thigh bones of someone long dead. For a heartbeat, I envisioned the body springing to life like in the old Jason and Argonauts movie, the yellowing bones jerking like Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion creatures.

No, these skeletons were just the remnants of dead people surrounded by their weapons from a war that seemed like old news even when the fall of Rome was still fresh.

Idly, I wandered out of the barracks and through the columns holding up a massive dining hall. The interior was chock full of wooden banquet tables, covered in dusty plates and silver wine goblets. Battered shields and torn battle standards decorated the rafters like war medals on display. I kept going, emerging onto a wide terrace, framed in by a marble retaining wall. I made my way over to the short wall and peered over the edge, straight down to the frothing water two-hundred feet below.

Off to my left were a set of treacherously narrow stairs, which switch-backed down the cliff face, connecting to a secondary defensive wall that edged a white sand beach.

The cliffs, the marbled city, the ocean, it all reminded me of the island of Santorini. Admittedly, Santorini didn’t draw in crowds of mutant Greek mythological creatures, but mostly European honeymooners and drunk Australian tourists.

Moving across the terrace, I saw other buildings to the south, mostly marble and stone, but a few wooden structures as well. One looked like a palace fit for a king. There was another smaller building nearby with several chimneys poking up toward the sky like accusing fingers, making me think that was probably where the forge was located.

A black shape swept over the sky, immediately drawing my thoughts away from the strange cityscape. I squinted and strained to see what the hell this new thing was, but it was too far for me to make it out clearly. It was humanoid though, with giant bat wings and obsidian-colored skin. Another monster, no doubt, though I noticed it didn’t fly over the ruins proper but kept to the walls. It alighted on a guard tower on the east side of the city, crouching low, its wings stretched wide.

Well, it seemed the city had some magic to it after all. Otherwise, I would’ve been battling the bat-winged creature, too.

I turned my back to the scenic ocean view and made my way back to the great hall and toward the temple.

My combat boots click-clacked on the marble floor, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. All the while, the bat thing watched me from a distance. I heard the gurgling of water as I neared the temple. On the east side of the building was a fountain underneath a colossal statue of what could only be Ares, the god of war. A Greek warrior’s helmet covered his head, a cloak billowed behind him, he held a sword to the sky, and a shield concealed his other arm. The statue was at least fifty feet tall, and I traced a finger on the sandal straps etched into the marble.

Well, I’d found a water source—another small victory. I filled my canteen with the sparkling water, pure and crisp and clean. Then, I leaned forward and drank my fill. I really needed to take some time to wash my wounds, which were almost certainly infected. I mean those harpies didn’t exactly seem cleanly. But my head was aching like mad, and I felt weak and woozy. What if I passed out here in the open?

Would the bat thing come and snack on my body?

What had the harpies said? Flesh for their faces? Yeah, that was no good.

And I’m sure the spider-boars would love to slurp the skin off my bones. I didn’t want to think about what the snake-men would do to me.

So instead of lingering out front, in full view of the bat-winged creature, I slipped up a wide-staircase which led from the fountain into the temple, which reminded me of the Parthenon in Athens. But when I reached the top of the steps, I hesitated, some part of me reluctant to go into the inner sanctum. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but deep down I had the strangest feeling that if I crossed the threshold, my life would change forever. Call it intuition, but this temple of Ares had a power to it that was undeniable.

And that power called to me, beckoned me on. A warm breeze blew a dusty, musky smell out of the temple and into my face. Come, come, come.

I moved through the outer columns on stiff, reluctant legs, then stopped in front of the frieze carved into the far wall. It was a battle scene divided clearly between the good guys and the bad guys. And those bad guys looked very familiar. Clustered around a faceless god, nagas, spider creatures, harpies, and a whole host of other villains were posed in various pre-battle formations. They faced a copy of the statue I’d seen in front of the temple: Ares, with his sword, shield, and helmet, looking heroic as his cloak billowed out behind him.

A thousand women warriors surrounded the war god, bristling and fierce, holding a variety of swords, spears, javelins, bows, and other implements of Greco-Roman warfare. Amazons, if I had to guess. Curiously, some of the women also road huge mounts like ancient mammoths, boars, even some giant eagles. Others pushed war machines crafted out of wood and metal—catapults, trebuchets, ballistae, and siege towers rolling on great stone wheels. Some of these looked like medieval siege engines but hopped up on steroids and tricked out.

A few of the female warriors had their hands raised and energy seemed to coalesce around their magical fists. Spellcasters? Probably.

Other women were in the process of turning into animals: wolves, bears, even a snake or two. Shapeshifters? Definitely.

I blinked, trying to understand what I was seeing. Then I noticed a bat-winged woman perched on the shoulder of what could only be called an evil god. A faceless being of dark power, carefully depicted in the stone masonry. It was an exact copy of the bat-creature I’d seen flying around the city. The same one who was now perched on the eastern guard tower. Could it be the same creature? And who was the evil god? I moved closer, studying the frieze, rubbing absently at my chin with one hand.

The faceless god seemed to be rising out of a hole in the Earth even as that same hole puked out the fiendish beasts around him. At the bottom of the scene were ocean waves meticulously carved into the marble. And in the midst of those waves were three islands—two circular, one crescent-shaped. And surprise, surprise the evil god was rising from the crescent-shaped island. The same one I was currently stranded on.

Another warm breeze blew through, and I smelled that musky scent again, which reminded me of gym class or the barracks when Stinky Pete skipped a shower.

I left the frieze and rounded on a hallway, which connected with the Temple’s inner sanctum.

What I saw stopped me in my tracks.