Apollo bowed to the crowd and then turned to Persephone.

“And now let us welcome our beautiful judge!” He smiled, but his gaze was threatening.

He gestured for Persephone to join him in the spotlight. She did, cringing when his arm snaked around her waist.

“Persephone, beautiful goddess that you are, tell us who is the winner of tonight’s competition? Marsyas,” he paused to let the crowd boo, the earlier hypnosis they’d experienced while listening to his music, gone. “Or me, the God of Music.”

The crowd cheered, and Apollo shoved the mic in her face. She could feel her heart beating hard in her chest and sweat beaded on her forehead. She hated these lights; they were too bright and too hot.

She looked at Apollo and then at Marsyas, who seemed just as frightened by what she might say.

She spoke, her lips brushing the hard metal of the mic.

“Marsyas.”

That was when all hell broke loose.

The crowd cried in protest and some rushed the stage. At the same time, the burly men who had dragged the satyr to the stage, returned and grabbed him again, forcing him to his knees.

“No, no, please!” It was the first time the young man had spoken. He pleaded with her, his dark eyes desperate, “Take it back! Lord Apollo, I was wrong to speak against your talent. You are superior!”

But his pleas fell on deaf ears because Apollo only had eyes for Persephone.

“You dare defy me?” he said through his teeth. His jaw was clenched so hard, the veins in his neck popped.

“There is no fine print, Apollo. Marsyas was better than you.”

It didn’t help that she had never actually liked Apollo’s music.

The god’s fury soon turned to amusement, and a wicked smile cut across his beautiful face. The sudden change in his demeanor turned her blood to ice.

“Jury, judge, and executioner, Persephone.”

He turned toward the crowd.

“You have heard Persephone’s verdict,” he cried into the mic. “Marsyas, the winner.”

The crowd was still angry. They shouted obscenities and threw things at the stage. Persephone ducked behind Apollo.

“Careful,” he warned. “She is protected by Hades.”

She found it odd that he would say that, thinking he might prefer that she face the abuse, but at his reminder, the crowd calmed.

“Though Marsyas is the winner, he is still guilty of Hubris. How shall we punish him?”

“Hang him!” someone yelled.

“Gut him!” another said.

“Flay him!” several cried. The cheers were the loudest then.

“So be it!” Apollo returned the mic to its cradle and twisted toward Marsyas who was struggling in the arms of the men who held him.

“Apollo, you cannot be serious!” Persephone reached for him, and the god shoved her aside.

“Hubris is the downfall of humanity and should be punished,” he said. “I will be the punisher.”