But her thought went unfinished, because the giants had begun advancing towards her. She had positioned herself as near to Zeus as she could, although Hera – her chariot pulled by four winged horses – was between them. Athene turned to look at them all – the Olympians and the other deities who had come out alongside them – lined up to crush this impudent rebellion. Every one of them was ready to fight: Apollo and Artemis with bows raised and arrows nocked, their mother Leto beside them with a blazing torch, Ares in a chariot, brandishing a spear. Even Demeter had a wooden stave made of a fat tree trunk and you could hardly call her a fighter. Rhea was riding on the back of a huge lion, Nux had brought a vat of snakes. They had spread themselves across the width of the plain: no giant would escape them. As Hera’s horses flew forward, Athene caught sight of her father, his expression one of concentrated anger. Small sparks of lightning were glittering in Zeus’s hands as he readied himself.
But in spite of all their prowess, all their weapons, the mortal was the first to claim a kill. Athene had almost forgotten about him as she revelled in the strength of her comrades and the imminent death of all their enemies. She had brought the man here, set him down away from lions and chariot wheels so he would not be crushed by mistake. And like a gadfly, he had all but disappeared from view, before suddenly stinging a creature far larger than himself. Before a single thunderbolt had struck, the giant Alcyoneus was grabbing at his side, roaring in pain. His eyes were on the Olympians, none of whom was close enough to have hurt him, save the Archer and his sister, and neither of them had yet loosed an arrow. Alcyoneus was shot twice more before he collapsed, writhing on the ground. Only now did he see who had shot him and his face creased in fury. And in shock. His mouth was gaping as he tried to breathe but could not: the arrows had pierced his lung. The mortal looked up at Athene, craving her approval. She shook her head and let her voice carry across the distance between them.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Look.’ And as they watched, Alcyoneus wrenched the arrows from his ribs and started to revive. He began to sit up. ‘You see?’ she said. ‘He draws his strength from Gaia: they all do. You see the rocks over there?’ She pointed at a craggy place off to the side of the battlefield. The mortal nodded. ‘Drag him to the rocks,’ she said. ‘Separate him from the earth.’ And the man raced off to do her bidding. Athene watched him with surprise: he was remarkably strong for a human. And though she didn’t really care whether the man died or the giant （since the man would die soon and the giant would die today）， she found herself cheering on the mortal as he hauled Alcyoneus onto the rocks. The giant’s borrowed strength ebbed away: his arrow wounds proved fatal, now he had lost Gaia’s help. One down, Athene thought.
She heard a deafening crack from far across the battlefield, and the sky split in two. Zeus had hurled a thunderbolt at Porphyrion. The giant had attacked Hera, pawing at her as she tried to take her chariot out of his reach. Zeus would never let this stand: he accosted his wife on occasion, but no other creature would do so and live. A second giant down.
An anguished cry now rose up nearby: Apollo showing off his perfect precision. The Archer had shot Ephialtes, first through the left eye, then through the right. Doubly blinded, blood streaming from his blackening sockets, Ephialtes fell to his knees. Not even Gaia could save this one, Athene thought. She could give him back his strength if she wished, but he would still be blind on a battlefield. Beyond Apollo, Athene watched Dionysus as he clubbed Eurytos to death, his blows falling too rapidly for the giant to parry or evade. His brains spilled out on the fertile soil. To Athene’s right was Hecate, who lobbed her dark torches at Clytios and set him ablaze. His brows were drawn in pain and fear, but she didn’t hesitate, wielding her sword to separate his sorrowing head from his burning torso. Even the limping blacksmith god had found a way to fight, Athene noticed. Hephaestus lobbed huge gobs of molten iron at Mimas, who screamed as he burned.
Three, four, five, six.
Athene smiled as she surveyed the carnage before her: gods in the ascendancy, where they belonged, and half the giants slain when the fighting had scarcely begun. She could wait no longer or it would all be over. She had already picked her mark: Enceladus, a thick-necked giant ahead of her. He was pushing his matted hair back from his forehead, trying to untangle it from his beard so he could see better. But nothing would help him with what was coming.
Athene liked her spear too much to throw it at one of these filthy giants: what if he dirtied it with his blood, bent or broke it with his falling carcass? She knew Hephaestus would make her another, just as good, but she wouldn’t take the risk. Not yet, not when she didn’t need to. Instead, she picked up a huge triangular rock and hurled it at Enceladus. He could not escape its trajectory and was crushed into the ground. Athene wondered if he might try and draw on his mother’s power to aid him, but it was far too late for that. Moving closer she saw that he had been obliterated by her throw: his body buried beneath the rock. Seven.
She experienced a rush of exhilaration to have made her first kill in this most mighty of wars. But even as she felt it, she felt something else too. A strange sensation, like ants were crawling all over her skin. One was not enough, she needed more. She could not leave this battlefield having done the same as Apollo, as Dionysus. War was supposed to be her speciality, not theirs. All around her she heard the crashing of thunder and the clashing of metal. But the chaos only increased her focus; her senses had become tuned to the noise and speed. She watched as Poseidon chased one giant right off the plain and into the sea. Athene rolled her eyes. What kind of idiot tried to evade Poseidon by running into the sea? The giants had strength and size in abundance, certainly, but they were still not worthy opponents. This fool might as well kneel down and offer his throat to the trident. She looked away, still searching for her second conquest. She already knew how Poseidon’s fight would end. Eight.
Athene had moved closer to Artemis as she followed her uncle’s battle in the sea. But an ear-splitting howl made her turn her attention inland. The hunter goddess had just shot another giant, her quick arrows bringing him down to the ground, his snake legs slithering and squirming beneath him. Perhaps Gaia was reviving him, but Artemis had brought her hunting dogs into battle. Athene felt a brief pang for her owl, but no regret for having left him on Olympus. She would not see her bird’s beautiful wings sullied. Still, she had to admire the way the dogs launched themselves at the fallen creature. Teeth fastened around his throat, and this would make nine.
Athene couldn’t see Hermes anywhere on the plain, but she knew he was there. Wearing the cap of Hades, which he had borrowed （or more probably stolen）， the messenger god was invisible, even to her bird-sharp eyes. He was also invisible to the giant who flailed and bellowed into what looked like the breezes. But it wasn’t the wind that pierced his skin time and again, slicing through his hide from every direction and none. Screaming, the giant tried to grab at where he thought the god must be, but Hermes was nothing if not quick. And the giant was getting slower as blood poured from wound after wound: forearm, shoulder, neck, thigh, belly. That was ten.