Daniel Mignault & Jackson Dean Chase
— as seen in BUZZFEED and THE HUFFINGTON POST —
Praise for TITAN: The Gods War, Book I:
“[Co-authors Daniel Mignault & Jackson Dean Chase have] stepped up to the plate with gusto…[a] diligently crafted debut novel…”
— The Huffington Post
“[Titan] succeeds in taking fiction to a whole new level.”
— TheBaynet.com
“Irresistible… a heart-pounding story full of suspense, romance, and action!” — Buzzfeed
“Excellent… Titan is a beautifully crafted story that braves all odds.”
— Medium.com
“…[loaded with] suspense, romance, and action thrills.”
— The Odyssey Online
“A delectably great experience… [gives urban fantasy] a new twist.”
—ThriveGlobal.com
“…will keep readers guessing until the very end.”
— WN.com
TITAN
The Gods War — Book 1
Daniel Mignault
Jackson Dean Chase
Get a free book at JacksonDeanChase.com
For the dreamers, the doubters, and the doers:
You made this happen.
Climb!
To those who dream:
those who dare are watching,
waiting for you to join them
high above it all.
The climb is hard,
but it begins for you
the same way it began for them:
by seizing the first rung of the ladder,
by never giving up,
never letting go.
Is your grip secure?
Have you packed your courage?
Good.
Now climb!
Jackson Dean Chase
Contents
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part II
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
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Acknowledgments
Glossary
About Daniel Mignault
About Jackson Dean Chase
Part I
CRONUS IS WATCHING
1
ONLY ROOM FOR ONE
I am the mountain.
I am one with it.
I am one with the earth.
Chill wind blasts my face. I'm hanging off the side of Mount Olympus, thousands of feet above the ground. The sky is dark and streaked with lightning. I dig my fingers into the stone, finding cracks, crevices. Handholds that keep me hanging on. My shoes scrabble against the wall, dislodging dirt and rocks that have been here for centuries. I look down and grin, watching the rocks fall, knowing I could fall just as far, just as fast. But not today.
Thunder booms. Adrenaline courses through me. I pull myself up, muscles burning, blood pumping. I don't stop. I keep climbing. My body knows what to do, but my mind is racing. Wild with exhilaration, with triumph! I am so close now, and if I can do this, I can do anything. And if I can do anything…
My toehold breaks away, knocking me off-balance. I scrabble, quickly find another, then pause to catch my breath. This mad joy I feel needs to be controlled. I must focus my mind as easily as I focus my body. It's not easy. The storm isn't just around me, it's in me. I take a moment to breathe, feeling my fingers dig into the stone, and close my eyes.
Darkness.
The sound of the storm dies. I no longer feel the cold. A sense of calm comes over me. I open my eyes and climb. Smarter, not harder. It's not about how fast I get to the top, only that I get there, and when I do…
“Hey, Andrus! Move your ass!”
The voice is sudden, unexpected. Mount Olympus is replaced by the rock climbing wall of the Axios Academy. I'm not thousands of feet up, just thirty. There's no palace of the Gods waiting at the top, only a red flag.
Blake Masters clambers up beside me. He's eighteen, a senior like me. Hard-muscled, tanned, with the hungry smile of a wolf. “Daydreaming again?”
Before I can reply, Blake kicks me, causing one of my hands to come loose. I swing wildly away as he climbs past me, straining for the top. Bastard! I should have seen it coming. There are no rules except winner take all. I see the upturned face of my teacher, Mr. Cross, and the other students in the gym below. Watching. Waiting for me to fail.
I swing back and find another handhold. I'm pulling myself after Blake, but now there's no joy, no calm. Just rage. He sees me coming and climbs faster. I don't like the feeling that's coming over me. It's a deep down, bottomless rage and it scares me, but it's all I've got.
I reach out and grab Blake's ankle, yanking hard. His whole body tenses, then he's lashing out with his other foot, trying to dislodge my grip. I grab his other ankle as his foot comes toward my face. Now I'm hanging onto him instead of the rock wall.
He grits his teeth, struggling to hang on.
“Get off my mountain!” I snarl, and I say it with such hate, I can't believe it. It doesn't feel like me. It feels primal. Ancient. And Blake can't hang on anymore, not with our combined weight. We're falling, but the harnesses we're wearing save us from splattering on the gym floor. Instead of broken bones, we've got broken dreams.
As we hang there, Blake mutters, “Good going, moron. Now we both lose.”
That means Mr. Cross will have to punish us. I get the feeling our gym teacher enjoys punishing more than teaching, though he never calls it that. He calls it “correcting.” Mr. Cross is a stern man, middle-aged, with a military crewcut that's more salt than pepper. Rumor has it he got a “Section 8” from the Army before the Gods War ripped our planet apart. I don't know if he really is crazy, but I do know he's the kind of teacher you don't mess around with.
I guess you could say we have a love/hate relationship, and I can already tell what kind it's going to be today. Most of the time, I'm his star pupil, a model warrior, but that just means he's that much harder on me when I fail.
From below, a familiar whistle shrills. Mr. Cross yells, “Andrus! Blake! Quit fooling around and get down from there.” After we're back on the gym floor, he tears into us in front of the whole class. “What was that?” he demands, not waiting for an answer. “You do know there's only room for one winner, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Blake says. “I know it, but I'm not sure Andrus does.” Snorts and laughter come from the class.
“Quiet!” Mr. Cross demands
and the whole class shuts up. Our teacher paces back and forth, scowling, and I know he's about to let us have it. I'm not wrong.
“Preventing your opponent from winning is not the same as you winning,” he spits. “To be a winner, you must win! No mercy, no compromise! War is not limited to the battlefield or the classroom. War is the struggle you face each day, from the moment you wake, to the moment you fall asleep. War is everything! It is not just glory and honor, it is survival. Those who do not survive, do not win!”
There are nods and murmurs of agreement from the class. Mr. Cross waits for his message to sink in, and I know where he's going with it. It's where he always goes, and he doesn't disappoint me. “Andrus,” he asks, “can you tell us what our world would be like if Cronus and Zeus had destroyed each other in the Gods War?”
A lot of answers come to mind: Happy, normal. Not living in fear of monsters―or failure. But I know better than to say any of that. Instead, I say what the teacher expects me to say: “Lost. Alone. Without guidance. Without protection. Worthless.”
Mr. Cross nods. “That's right, and that's exactly what I saw from you and Blake today. I saw weakness!” He says it like a dirty word. “I saw tragedy! I saw two of my best students fail. And do you know why you failed?” His flint-gray eyes flash under the harsh overhead lights. “It's not because you lack passion. It's because you lack focus. Winners use their passion; they do not let their passion use them. This isn't the Old World. This is New Greece! The Titans only want the best to serve them. That's why you're here at Axios! And what does 'Axios' mean?”
“'I am worthy,'” Blake says.
Mr. Cross shakes his head. “I can't hear you.”
“I am worthy!” Blake repeats, and this time, I join him.
“I still can't hear you,” Mr. Cross says, then turns his attention to the rest of the class. “I can't hear any of you!”
“I AM WORTHY!” the class yells.
“Again!” Mr. Cross shouts. “Louder!”
We all yell, and we keep yelling until it becomes a chant, until we feel it in our bones, our hearts, our souls. We are worthy―or at least, we've been given a chance to be, which is more than most people in the New Greece Theocracy get.
Finally, Mr. Cross raises his hands to stop us. “Very good, class. We all need a little reminder now and again why we're here. Why we must survive, and never forget.” His eyes skim over the students, then hold on me. “Some of you may feel I'm being too harsh, that I'm training you too hard. It's easy to lose sight of your goals, to think you've got it safe and easy because you're here. But you're not. The Titans are watching. And the mightiest Titan, Cronus, sees you! He sees all. You are his children, in a way, and like his children, he will devour you unless you can prove you are strong enough to survive, to serve him. It doesn't matter who we were before we came here…”
He pauses, and his eyes go unfocused and far away before coming back to us. “The truth… The truth is we must train hard because we must be hard. Always. We are the future priests and warriors of this world. We get there by proving ourselves, by giving glory to the Titans, and by making sacrifice. So unless you want to end up in Cronus's belly, you'll climb that damn wall. You'll climb, and you'll win!”
Blake and I glare at each other, our eyes punching the hate our fists can't.
“Blake!” Mr. Cross says. “Andrus! Because you both failed, we're going to have a little rematch on Monday.”
Blake smirks and whispers to me, “You're gonna lose.”
“We're going to have a rematch,” Mr. Cross repeats, “but not like you think. What is the penalty for failure?” He addresses the class and two dozen kids shout, “PUNISHMENT!” Most of them mean it. Most of them want to see us fail, because we're the top students in the class. Blake looks as happy about the idea of punishment as I do, maybe even worse.
“Punishment,” Mr. Cross agrees. “But what kind of punishment?”
“A duel!” Vince Garber suggests. “Swords and shields at twenty paces!” Vince is a dick and just psycho enough to suggest the worst and rarest form of punishment our school has to offer. That's because no one can die anymore.
Death doesn't exist since Hades, the God of the underworld, was defeated by the Titans and imprisoned in the depths of Tartarus. You'd think not being able to die would be a good thing, and that's how the Titans sold it to us, but they can magically heal themselves and never grow old. Humans aren't that lucky. So if you get injured bad enough to die or be crippled, you just have to suffer. Forever. And if you can't do your job anymore? If you get too hurt or too old? Maybe you get fed to Cronus, or put on display in the Museum of Failure as a lesson to others.
I've been to the Museum. I've seen the wretches hanging on hooks and on poles or pinned to walls like butterflies in some madman's collection. I've heard the screams, the moans, the cries for mercy. Every year, our history teacher, Mrs. Ploddin, takes us on a class field trip, and every year, she warns we could be the next exhibit. She says it with a wink, almost as if she hopes she can show one of us being tortured there to next year's class. I think I'd rather be eaten by Cronus than put on display. At least then, my suffering would be private.
The idea of a duel makes me nervous. I'm a good fighter, but so is Blake. He also fights dirty.
Fortunately, Mr. Cross shakes his head at Vince's suggestion. “No, there will be no duel, though I am sorely tempted. Do you know how many nights I wish I could just arm you all and set you loose on each other?” He chuckles, but no one sees the humor in it.
“If it won't be a duel,” Vince asks, “what will it be?”
Mr. Cross smiles. “What do the Titans enjoy more than bloodshed?”
“A contest,” I say. “A battle of brains and brawn.”
“That's right,” Mr. Cross agrees. “And it seems to me that I can use your failure to make a point―not just to you, but to the rest of the class.” His withering gaze falls on Mark Fentile and Brenda Larson, the two lowest-ranking gym students. “Mark, Brenda! You're going to partner with Andrus and Blake for the rematch. Mark, you're with Andrus, and Brenda, you're with Blake. You'll be harnessed together as a team and both of you must make it to the top of the wall. It's Friday, so you have the whole weekend to train.”
“What happens if both teams fail?” Blake asks.
Mr. Cross shrugs. “Then it's swords and shields, except only one of you will have a sword, and the other a shield, and you'll be tied together. Probably something you want to avoid, so you focus on training your teammate and do not fail. Class dismissed!”
“Ha!” Blake snorts. “You got stuck with that Loser? Looks like I've as good as won.” He grabs Brenda by the arm and practically drags her out of the gym. He's already whispering strategy in her ear (or more likely, threats).
Mark stands there, looking miserable. He's bookish and skinny, a better candidate for the priesthood than the warrior class. I know he's smart because I've seen him ace history tests and get straight A's in everything that doesn't involve gym. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I don't want to let you down, but I'm not sure how good I can do. That wall is pretty high, and ―”
Before I can say anything, Mr. Cross shuts him up. “That's Loser talk, Mark. Do you praise the Titans with that mouth? Get out, and you better not disappoint me Monday.”
“Come on,” I tell Mark. “We can train after school.”
“Not here,” Mr. Cross says. “The school's putting in some improvements to the gym. Construction zone. Off limits and all that.”
Mark and I turn to leave, but the teacher stops me.
“Andrus, stay here. I'd like a word with you. In private.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. “Mark, I'll see you in history class. We can figure out where to train afterward.”
Mark nods and heads for the exit.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I ask Mr. Cross.
He doesn't answer until the gym door closes behind Mark. “I saw you up there, Andrus. You were winning! You w
ere whipping Blake's ass, and then something happened.”
“Yeah,” I say. “He kicked me.”
“No, before that.”
“I'm not sure what you mean, sir. I was climbing.”
“No, you were daydreaming. I'm not sure about what, and I don't care. You slowed down, acted like you had all the time in the world. That's how Blake caught up. That's why you failed, and I don't understand it. This isn't the first time this has happened. What's going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing, my ass!” Mr. Cross says. “Look, you may think I'm a bastard, you might even think I'm stupid. I'm no priest, I can't read omens, but I can read my students. I know a winner when I see one, Andrus. You could be number one. You should be number one, not Blake. Kids like Blake are a drachma a dozen. They're tough, they're cunning, they may even be charming, but they're not hero material.”
“And I am?”
“You could be,” Mr. Cross says, “someone has to be, and I have to train them. Contrary to the Vince Garbers of this world, I don't get off on blood and guts even though I have to act like it sometimes. I don't want to see my students fail, even the weak ones like Mark. But he will fail if you don't train him, and you will fail if you do what you did up on that wall today. Know yourself. Gain focus. Get control.”
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