Absolute Symbiote Chapter 10: Artemis.

Chapter 10: Artemis.

(Thomas’s P.O.V)

Day four of Amazon house arrest. Workout rep #… I stopped counting.

I was halfway through my third set of pushups—sweaty, shirtless, and bored enough to start naming the ants on the floor—when the door creaked open behind me.

Finally.

“Princess Sunshine,” I grunted. “You remembered I exist.”

Diana walked in like she hadn’t just ghosted me for four days straight. No apology. No explanation. Just the usual unreadable warrior-princess face.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there watching me—like really watching me.

Her eyes did a quick scan. Shoulders, arms, chest.

I clocked it.

Didn’t comment.

Instead, I pushed off the ground and sat on the edge of the stone bed. “So. Hypothetically speaking, if someone happened to be sneaking out of this glorified prison tower at night... wouldn’t that technically be your fault for leaving him locked up with your sword-swinging sorority and not checking in even once?”

Diana arched an eyebrow. “Hypothetically?”

I knew she knew about my nightly escapades. Picked that bit from her surface thoughts before she clamped down her mind walls.

“Hypothetically.”

She crossed her arms. “I was busy trying to keep you alive. That council you love insulting behind their backs? They barred me from seeing you. I’ve spent the last four days negotiating for your life.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “That’s... actually kind of nice.”

Also, fuck the council and their dumb decisions. Just a bunch of outdated stubborn hags.

“You’re welcome,” she said flatly.

I shrugged. “I’ve been bored.”

No mention of the hunting trips. Or the neural snacks. Or the definitely-not-legal midnight tours of the jungle.

In contrast, she seemed more focused on something else, with the way her eyes kept flicking toward my chest. Muscles still glistening. Still shirtless. Still pretending I didn’t notice.

She shook her head. “You're impossible.”

“I prefer ‘creatively unhinged.’”

I leaned back on my elbows. “Listen, the only real problem I have with this arrangement—don’t get me wrong, most guys would commit war crimes to be surrounded by tall, beautiful, potentially homicidal women—but I’m getting real sick of being treated like a threat just because of the state of my… lower anatomy.”

Diana laughed—actually laughed—and shook her head as she leaned against the wall. “That’s why I’m here. Good news.”

“Yeah?” I perked up.

“You’re getting out of the tower.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “I managed to convince them and now you're getting work assigned. Manual labor. A way to earn your keep.”

My mind immediately launched into possibilities. Training arena? Hell yes. Hunting? Fun. Building stuff with battle-hardened women in leather armor? Even better.

“Wait,” I said, eyes narrowing. “What kind of work?”

Fast forward twenty minutes later, and I’m standing outside a horse stable, just below the Tower.

Spade in one hand. Rake in the other.

The scent? Unholy.

“This is a war crime,” I said.

“Be thankful,” Diana replied, voice way too cheerful. “You’re out of the tower, aren’t you?”

I gave a deadpan stare.

“That’s like saying a man’s lucky to be out of prison because he now works in the sewers.”

She didn’t even blink. “Keep the horses fed. Keep the stalls clean. And don’t slack.”

“Please tell me this is some kind of Amazon rite of passage, and not just free labor.”

“Oh, it’s definitely punishment,” she said with a smirk.

I sighed, internally screaming for Carnage to wake up. I would’ve taken his murder-y sass over this crap. Literally.

Then Diana’s tone changed. A little colder.

“There will be guards,” she said. “You’ll be watched.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Afraid I’ll sneak into the queen’s bathhouse?”

“No,” she said, pointing to a stone structure near the edge of the clearing. “That cell.”

A lone building. Solid stone. Reinforced with symbols I didn’t recognize but instinctively didn’t like.

“That’s off limits. You approach it, they’ll execute you on sight.”

I tilted my head. “Let me guess. Cell of the God of War?”

If she was surprised by the fact I knew one of the Island's most guarded secrets, she didn't show it and remained silent, neither confirming nor denying.

“You do know I’m not dumb enough to poke Ares with a stick, right?”

“I’m not convinced,” she said. “And don’t make jokes about scouts’ honor. We both know you’d lie through your teeth if I asked you directly.”

Was it just me or were we more...comfortable with each other?

“Trying to get me to confess now?” I waved the spade. “Pretty sure coercing someone with the Lasso of Truth violates some human rights agreement, princess.”

Diana rolled her eyes and turned to leave.

“Oh,” she added over her shoulder. “Have fun cleaning up shit.”

I stared at the stables.

Pile after pile of future trauma.

“I miss when people were trying to kill me,” I muttered, rolling up my non-existent sleeves. That bastard J'onn took out even my shapeshifting, leaving me stuck in a rough Greek tunic unsure whether it wanted to be a T-shirt or a vest with terrible stitching.

Questionable fashion aside, I got to work.

By noon, my arms felt like wet towels.

I’d been scrubbing, digging, and scraping since sunrise and somehow, somehow, the stables still looked like a war crime. A very specific one involving mud, dried feces, and horse piss that had fermented long enough to qualify as chemical warfare.

The rake had lasted twenty minutes. Maybe. It snapped trying to scrape off a chunk of dried turd-cake that had fused to the floor like it was bonded with Martian resin. The spade? Bent. Handle? Warped. Grip? Smeared with regret.

It was official: Amazon tools were built for sculpted bronze goddesses—not ex-symbiote criminals doing community service.

I stood on the far edge of the stables, staring at the mess like it had insulted my ancestors.

Then I dropped the shovel and said the most honest thing I’d said all day.

“Fuck it.”

Time to cheat.

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.

Not because I needed to center myself or find balance or whatever. No, this was about focus. Extending the field. Feeling everything.

My psionic field stretched outward—slow at first. Then wider. The walls. The stalls. The hay. The literal crap smeared into stone like Jackson Pollock had a nightmare.

Telepathy and telekinesis weren’t about force.

They were about intuition.

And imagination.

I didn’t need to count every straw or measure every turd’s volume. I just needed to picture it all. Intuit the space, the shape, the texture, and mean it.

The moment that clicked? Boom.

The power surged.

Debris lifted. Walls stripped clean. Hay detached from rot. Shit peeled from stone with a squelch I’ll never forget.

When I opened my eyes, a hovering mass the size of a car floated dead-center in the stables. A giant, compacted sphere of filth, hay, and everything awful in life.

And the stables?

Pristine.

I grinned like a man who’d just cheated at an exam and gotten away with it.

“I love telekinesis,” I whispered.

Then came the real problem.

What the hell was I supposed to do with the turd ball?

No clue.

I was still debating whether to dump it behind the stables when two unfamiliar minds tripped across my mental range.

I froze. Must be the guards Diana talked about.

After days of neural feeding, I’d rebuilt enough of my mindscape to skim surface thoughts. No deep dives. No illusions. Just little eavesdropped whispers floating at the edge of consciousness.

These two?

Unfamiliar.

Hostile.

The first voice rang out clear as crystal in my head:

(“He probably hasn’t even started. Good. I hope he hasn’t. I’ve been looking for an excuse to flog that arrogant little man for thinking he could cozy up to the princess.”)

Charming.

I dropped the sphere of turd trash onto the ground with a heavy thud and rolled my shoulders. Made it look like I’d just finished a few hours of hard manual labor.

No smiles.

No fake pleasantries.

I already knew what kind of women were walking through that doorway.

Trouble.

Two Amazons stepped into view, sunlight cutting through the stable doors behind them like they were about to perform a public execution.

I didn’t flinch.

I just looked at them and thought:

(“Let’s get this over with.”)

They strutted in like they owned the air.

One was tall and blonde, the other lean and dark-eyed, but both carried that signature Amazon energy—resting war face, too many weapons for casual wear, and an attitude like they were seconds from challenging God to a fistfight.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t bow. Didn’t greet. Didn’t even pretend to be friendly.

I just kept cleaning my spade like I hadn’t overheard the whip fantasy playing in Blondie’s head five seconds ago.

She looked around, lips curling.

“Well,” she said. “This is... cleaner than I expected.”

Dark Eyes sniffed. “He probably bribed someone. Men don’t do real work.”

There it was.

I tilted my head. “You two always walk into other people’s jobs just to insult them, or am I special?”

Blondie sneered. “You’re not special. You’re an unwanted guest. And an accident waiting to happen.”

“Funny,” I said. “You sound like someone whose ego’s only slightly bigger than her forehead.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Dark Eyes stepped forward. “Say that again.”

“Your forehead,” I repeated, “is massive. It's like your thoughts echo.”

And just like that, I was on the verge of being jumped in a stable full of horse shit.

Classic me.

They lunged.

Correction: They tried to.

Because the moment their boots left the dry floor and hit the bits of turd mud splattered around, I gave the tiniest nudge with my mind.

Just a little flick of telekinesis under the soles.

Both Amazons slipped like cartoon villains on a banana peel.

"Whaaaa---"

Blondie went down first, straight onto her back with a meaty thud. Her armor clanked. Her pride shattered.

Dark Eyes stumbled as her feet got tangled against Blondie's limbs. She flailed in the air like a confused chicken, then hit the ground face-first into the sludge pile I’d dumped earlier.

I stepped back, expression neutral, like I hadn’t just turned two highly trained warriors into a commentary for "Why You Should Watch Where You Step."

Blondie growled, pushing herself up, brown muck dripping down her cheek. “You filthy—”

“Ironic coming from someone literally covered in shit,” I said, holding back a laugh.

Dark Eyes reached for her sword. Her surface thoughts revealed killing intent aimed my way and all my humor was replaced by an icy compusure.

I prepped a kill shot. Just one. Quick. Spine or skull. Wouldn’t even take effort. You'd be surprised how lethal Telekinesis could become in the right hands.

I didn’t want to kill them.

But I would.

I was mid-calculation—lethal force ratio vs public fallout—when someone else showed up.

“Enough!”

The voice cut through the stables like a whip.

We all turned.

There, leaning in the stable doorway like she’d been watching this whole thing unfold with mild amusement, was a tall striking woman with crimson hair cropped into a sharp pixie cut, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

She wasn’t armored like the others. No blade in hand. Just the kind of confidence that said she didn’t need one.

The two Amazons scrambled to their feet, covered in filth, and stiffened.

“Lady Artemis,” Blondie muttered.

Ah. That name I knew.

Artemis. The other warrior princess. Guardian of the Western Edge. And apparently one of the few people here not trying to treat me like a disease.

She stepped forward, eyes on the two goons.

“Did Diana send you here to supervise?” she asked, voice cold. “Or to embarrass the entire damn island?”

No response.

“Get out. Before I make you clean this mess yourselves. With your tongues.”

They bolted. Fast.

Artemis watched them go, then turned her attention to me.

“Nice trick with the mud,” she said, smirking. “Subtle.”

I shrugged. “If I’d known it was going to be performance art, I would’ve sold tickets.”

Inwardly, I was curious at how she was able to keep her mind and thoughts hidden from my powers.

She walked closer, eyeing the clean stables and the turd mountain off to the side.

“You actually cleaned this?”

I nodded. “With a little psychic elbow grease.”

“Impressive.” Her tone was neutral, but there was something under it—mutual curiosity? Maybe even approval?

Which was new.

She extended a hand.

“Artemis. I’m part of the team that watches the western perimeter… and Ares' cell.”

I took her hand. “Thomas. Resident telekinetic alien-human hybrid turned stable boy.”

Her grip was firm. Warrior’s grip. But not aggressive.

“I’ve heard of you,” she said.

“Let me guess—rumors and horror stories.”

Artemis smirked. “Something like that.”

And just like that, for the first time since stepping foot on this island and besides Diana,

Someone talked to me like I was just a person.

Not a man. Not a monster. Not a ticking time bomb.

Just... Thomas.

And I had no idea what that meant.

But I liked it.