Chapter 12 - War
He appeared down the road of camp, in an alleyway, pulling out of the narrow road, onto the busy streets of London. The sun blazed down onto the streets, the time around ten in the morning. Everyone just ignored the smoke rising above the walls from inside the compound, unable to see anything. The odd person stopped to look, concern on their face, seeing through the mist, but ultimately walking away, thinking it had something to do with the construction going on, a disguise for the camp inside. He stared in disbelief as he drove into the compound, shimmering out of the mortals vision, just seeing a car go into a worksite.
He threw open his door, stepping out, his ring turning into the crossbow, fear of causing a disturbance with the pistols. The other on his hand formed into a round disc double the size of his torso, a trident splayed on the front forged into the celestial bronze. He shot a bolt through the neck of a corrupted cyclops, ready to devour two campers that were left alive, others milling around checking for survivours around the cabins and work areas. Arc dropped to his knees infront of the two, The Daughter of Aphrodite and Son of Hermes, Rachael and Terry, gripping eachother.
Arc suddenly realised for the first time that they were together.
"What in Hades happened?" He demanded fighting back tears, tending to the puncture wound on Rachael. She pushed his hand away, struggling for breath. She'd lost too much blood they all knew that.
"We were winning the fight. Then during the night. We let our guard down. We were attacked from the rear. Laestrygonians and more corrupted cyclopes." She responded with laboured breath. Arc looked down at his two friends. They were like parents to him, the ones that took over the role from Poseidon.
"We did all we could. We tried to get all of the campers that were still with us to retreat, get out of camp. But it was too late." Terry breathed, Arc seeing blood dripping from places he wished he couldn't see.
"I'm so sorry. I should've been here. Fought through the pain." Arc cried, showing more emotion than he had done in years, all of the memories flooding back to him, rushing his mind like a Tsunami of anguish.
"You would probably be here like us too." Rachael wheezed in humour, coughing up blood. "We understand anyway, you have a war to prepare for, this was only the beginning." Her eyes were struggling to stay open, glazing over.
"Let us go Arc, we're ready. We'll see you in Elysium one day." Terry struggled. A stream rolled down each of their faces, a lump rising in his throat. A sob ripped its way through him, his heart shattering as he stared at the pair in front of him. He covered his mouth, watching the last breath escape their lips, heads lulling to the side; leaning on eachother. He let loose his cry of pain, anguish as he leaned his head on both of theirs, babbling like a newborn baby. His cries attracted a lot of unwanted attention, a commotion being heard from behind him. He turned to see the Cannibal Giants and Cyclopes grinning, hundreds of them, mumbling.
"Fresh meat."Evil grins spreading on their disgusting faces, covered in red.
He snapped.
The usual green aura that surrounded him turned a violent shade of red, the colour of blood, eyes burning with rage, almost as if he was channeling the god Of War himself. It was a blood bath. No one survived. All Hades broke loose. Bullets, bolts, shards of metal, blood, dust all scattered around the camp. Nothing stood a chance. Anything that stood in the raging son of Poseidons way quickly was turned to dust, even the ones that tried to run.
Nothing escaped his wrath.
He stood, panting in the centre of the camp. Looking at the destruction. Cabins were in flames, Dining Hall destroyed, the table and brazier overturned and on fire. Everything was gone. All but him. He wandered around the camp, the sun getting close to hitting the horrizon. He had no idea how long he stood there, wallowing in grief and rage. He collapsed to his knees, vomitting at the sight around him. This was his home. And it was ruined.
If only he had been here. Its all his fault. He should be dead.
The world around him moved on as if nothing was happening, he saw across the Thames that people carried on with their life, tourists, people in suits, workman changing traffic lights. He despised them all. Lucky to lead a normal life. Not knowing anything that had just occured this side of the river. He looked around at what was left of everything, pools of blood dotted around, bones picked clean of flesh in piles. It disgusted him. He had no idea how many campers there was here, couldn't pick a number.
He stood. Anger coursing through his veins, anger too soft a word to describe what was happening to the disgraced son of Poseidon. He started a fire, finding the storage cabin with all the cabins banners inside. He placed every single one in the fire, one by one. Bone after bone, resisting the urge to vomit once more. He left his friends until last. He fashioned a pyre especially for them, placing both their bodies on the pile of neatly stacked wood, a stream running down his face as he said his last goodbyes their weapons laid by their sides. Shields decorated with their cabin symbol, a dove and the caduceus over their chests, banners over top. He looked down picking up both of their weapons.
Terry's was a long bladed spear, the blade itself around the same length of a scythe's blade, sharpened on both sides, Perfect for long reach, decorated with twin snakes wrapping around the shaft. It was an enchanted weapon, one that could retract into a sword for close quarters and the spear for longer reach, strong and sturdy. Rachaels was something uncharacteristic of a child of Aphrodite. It was a war axe decoratted with olive branches and doves, twin bladed as if it was a mini two handed battleaxe. Two very beautifully crafted masterpieces for two of the best people he'd ever known. He kept their weapons to one side as the fire was lit, burning hotter and melting their shields along with their bodies.
He was a broken man. There was not a lot he could do now. He was lost. He saw the forges were mostly intact and took off his rings, tossing them in the forge along with the weapons. They melted together, forming the ring once more as he stared, lost in the flames of memories.
"-Keep your guard up, come on." Screamed Terry from the side as he watched the boy swing wildly with the sword that was too big for him to handle. He was knocked off his feet, blade at his throat. Rachael staring down at him.
"Come on, you can do better than this. You need to learn to use weapons like these, you won't survive out there otherwise." Rachael looked sympathetically down at the young boy.
"I'm trying, its just so hard trying to find a weapon that works for me." The young Arcmelos cried. She cooed to the boy, bringing him into a hug.
"Hey. Shh shh shh. We'll find something that works for you. Don't worry. Even if it takes a million years. We'll find something that works." She smiled comfortingly down at the boy, Terry coming over to join them, ruffling the tussled mop of hair atop the boys head.
"Here." He said dropping the spear in to the boys hands. "We haven't tried our weapons yet in your hands. Maybe this'll be the ones." Rachael handing him hers too, letting him feel the weight of them. A flash of light interupted the trio, Poseidon walking over to the boy handing him the set of rings that contained the knuckle dusters he used to this day. He nodded to them both, all three understanding that this issue needed resolving and soon.
They brought over some training dummies, the thought of their weapons in his mind gone, too intrigued by the magical items that Poseidon had gifted the disapointing son.
"Again." Commanded Poseidon. Over and over. After his win in WRX and he returned from Ares, Poseidon was disgusted that his son sought out help from another god in fighting for his life. "Come on, boy!" Keep your arms up. No rest!" Bellowed Poseidon. "Get up you stupid boy, fight like a man!" He growled, as the monsters, one a small child wasn't meant to fight, let alone kill, kept knocking him to the floor over and over.
"You need to fight for your life boy! This isn't going to do anyone any good, is it!" He screamed at his disgraceful son, a river running down the boys face. He was harsh on the poor boy, his son, he knew but he needed him to be strong. Better. Incase the Prophecy was about him. He whipped everything out of the boy. Drained him of emotion. Made him a tool for the gods. A tool for him. He was starting to become proud of his son.
"Train hard my boy, and you will become something great." he told the emotionally drained boy. A husk of what he once was. Every praise of his son, every time he berated him, telling him to be better, emotion was drawn from the poor boy. Looking back on those memories something was off. The man he called father was. Different.
Looking back on that memory, he was too distracted to see that the weapons of his fallen friends were a perfect fit. These were the first weapons that acutally felt comfortable in his hands, but he was too distracted by his father's gift, the very first gift he ever gave his dissapointing son. He plucked the rings from the lava fuelled forge, using the pair of tongs and quenched the rings in oil. He slid the still warm ring onto his finger once more, the other on his other hand, bring out the shield that now had a Dove and a Cadeseus besides the trident, their names under their respective crest. A living memory of them both.
The people that practically raised him.
He wandered over to the head cabin, the one that was home to Rachael and Terry, the leaders of the camp, and entered, the flood gates opening once more as he looked around the room, a sob escaping his mouth once more wrenching his soul even more, looking around at the destroyed room. On the the walls that were still left standing and scattered around on the floor was pictures, framed pictures, glass smashed around on the floor. Some contained a lot of campers, past away recently in the battle or from years gone by. But the ones that stood out the most were the ones that contained him. There were dozens of them. He bent down brushing the shattered glass covering one on the floor, lifting it and smiled through the pain, a bubbling watery laugh exiting his lips as he looked at the funny faces that they were pulling. A lot of them looked like they were done in secret, some showing the trio hugging, looking like proud parents. Staring down at the young boy with love in their eyes, as if he was their own. Every picture made it look as if they were a family.
It hurt him.
Knowing they were now no longer in the world with him, but felt a warm glow wash over him, a smile as if they were watching over him. He stumbled around the room, kicking away debris and heavily drained, scooping up every picture he could find with them in including the ones with him in, and sat on the broken bed, collapsed under the weight of the ceiling falling on top of it. He sat thumbing through the stack of pictures, broken cries exiting his mouth as he remembered picture after picture, memory after memory. All of these emotions coursing through him at once, brought him back from the brink of being an emotionless husk back to how he was before his change of becoming a WMD. But that part of him was still there, a ticking time bomb that could go off at any moment. He kicked the rubble around the bed, startled when he heard a rattle from the bedside cabinet that the rubble was burrying. He frowned, eyes puffy and red, as he opened the drawer, revealing a ring inside on top of some papers.
It was a wedding ring.
He wrenched the rubble off the top of the other and pulled open the stuck drawer, aided by the raging side of him. He sobbed when he pulled out the matching wedding band, and a framed picture of the two. They'd secretly gotten married. They kept it secret from the camp, from him, and he understood. It would have been stupid and frowned upon if they were to be found out. They would've lost their leadership mantle, for fear that one would sacrifice everything for the other.
But they hadn't. They fought to the bitter end in hopes that the campers would get away. They really cared about this camp. And it was his fault they everyone was dead. He should've been here.
He cried himself to sleep that night, clutching at everything he'd found, the pictures the rings; falling into a restless haunting sleep as his mind flashed through events, the quest his brother was currently on, seeing the aftermath of the giant prototype of Talos, Old memories growing up and haunting images of the events that transpired in the battle making him sick to his stomach.
It was his fault. He should be dead. Not them. He would trade his life for everyone to be back alive that died that day.
He awoke the next morning, eyes wet from crying in his sleep all night, hating everything in existence. He walked out the destroyed cabin, looking around at the desolate camp. He shook his head looking all around channeling all the hate and anger into the mist, reversing time almost and fixing everything to before the war broke out. He looked around in shock as everything was fixed, back to normal as if nothing had happened days before. His eyebrows knitted together, frowning as he half expected everyone to just walk out of their cabins, ready for breakfast and then start the day with chores and training.
He crafted two small marble platforms eitherside of the door to the cabin he stood outside, watching as the mist created two statues. A Dove and a Cadeseus with the words, In loving memory to the protector of the camp Rachael, Daughter of Aphrodite, and Terry, Son of Hermes on both statues. A plaque apearing above the door way on every cabin commemorating the loss of every cabins members, The Sons and Daughters of each Cabin, that lost their lives fighting to protect the one safe place for Demigods.
He looked around one last time, proud of his unintentional work to commemorate those that died. He slowly walked to the car that sensed his emotion and was currently his first rallycross car in road mode, clutching at the stack of photos tightly refusing to let them go. He didnt't have the heart to change it, let alone do anything. He just shrouded himself in the mist, going back to Camp Half Blood and hiding in his cabin, wallowing in grief.