Does anyone want my cold? D:
To 8Ball3- Don't get me wrong, I love the Romans, but we've known the Greeks longer, I did miss them XD I've never had a Mountain Dew in my life- all I sort of know about it is that it's popular with gamers? O.o Nero and Reggie are very similar, but I don't think Nero pulled his head off to reveal an alien underneath, so... :O
To Percy Fan- You're welcome! ^_^
To Writer 2006- Thank you! :D
Not much changed in this chapter :I
The key card worked. The elevator did not incinerate them or drop them to their deaths. Unlike the previous elevator Apollo had taken, this one did have background music. They rose smoothly and slowly, as if Nero waited to give them plenty of time to enjoy it.
Apollo had always thought one could judge the quality of a villain by their elevator music. Easy listening? Pedestrian villain with no imagination. Smooth jazz? Devious villainy with an inferiority complex. Pop hits? Ageing villain trying desperately to be hip.
Nero had chosen soft classical, as in the lobby. Self-assured villainy. Villainy that said, I already own everything and have all the power. Relax. You're going to die in a minute, so might as well enjoy this soothing string quartet.
Next to him, Austin played with the keys of his saxophone. Apollo could tell he too was worried about the soundtrack.
"Wish it was Miles Davis." He mumbled.
"That would be nice."
"Hey, if we don't get out of this-"
"None of that talk." Apollo chided.
"Yeah, but I wanted to tell you I'm glad we had some time together. Like… time time." His words warmed Apollo even more than Paul Blofis's lasagne.
He knew what Austin meant. While he had been Lester Papadopoulos, he hadn't spent much time with Austin or any of the people he had stayed with, really, but it had been more than they had ever spent together when he was a god. He and Austin had got to know each other- not just as god and mortals, or father and son, but as two people working side by side, helping each other get through their often messed-up lives. That had been a precious gift.
Apollo was tempted to promise they would do this more often if they survived, but he had learned that promises were precious. He had learned not to make them unless absolutely sure they could be kept.
Instead, he smiled and squeezed his son's shoulder, not trusting himself to speak. Austin seemed to understand, smiling too.
Apollo couldn't help thinking of Meg. If so little time with Austin had been this meaningful, how could he possibly quantify what his adventures with Meg had meant to him? He had shared almost his entire journey with that silly, brave, infuriating, wonderful girl. He had to find her.
The elevator doors slid open. They stepped into a hallway with a floor mosaic depicting a triumphal procession through a burning New York cityscape. Clearly, Nero had been planning for months, perhaps years, to unleash his inferno no matter what Apollo did. Apollo found this so appalling and so in-character for him, he couldn't even get angry.
They stopped just before the end of the hall, where it split into a T. From the corridor to the right came the sounds of many voices in conversation, glasses clinking, even some laughter. From the corridor on the left, he heard nothing.
Austin motioned for him to wait. He carefully removed a long brass rod from the body of his sax. He had all sorts of non-standard attachments on his instrument, including a bag of exploding reeds, tone-hole cleaners that doubled as zip-ties and a stiletto knife for stabbing monsters and unappreciative music critics. The rod he chose now was fitted with a small, curved mirror on one end. He edged this into the hallway like a periscope, studied the reflections, then pulled it back. "Party room on the right." He whispered. "Full of guards, bunch of folks that look like guests. Library on the left, looks empty. If you need to get to the southeast corner to find Meg, you'll have to go straight through that crowd."
Apollo clenched his fists, ready to do whatever was necessary.
From the party room came the voice of a young woman making an announcement. Apollo thought he recognised the polite and terrified tone of the dryad Areca.
"Thank you all for your patience." She told the crowd. "The emperor is just finishing up a few matters in the throne room. And the, ah, minor disruptions on the lower floors will be taken care of very soon. In the meantime, please enjoy cake and beverages while we wait for-" Her voice cracked. "For the burning to start."
The guests gave her a polite smattering of applause.
Apollo readied his bow. He wanted to charge into that crowd, free Areca, shoot everybody else and stomp on their cake. Instead, Austin grabbed his arm and pulled him back a few steps towards the elevator.
"There's too many of them." He said. "Let me cause a distraction. I'll draw as many as I can into the library and lead them on a chase. Hopefully, that will clear a path for you to get to Meg." Apollo shook his head.
"It's too dangerous. I can't let you-"
"Hey." Austin smirked. For a moment, Apollo glimpsed his own godly self-confidence in him- that look that said, I'm a musician. Trust me. "Dangerous is part of the job description. Let me do this. You hang back until I draw them out. Then go find our girl. I'll see you on the other side."
Before Apollo could protest, Austin ran to the junction of the corridor and yelled, "Hey, idiots! You're all gonna die!" Then he put his mouthpiece to his lips and blasted out 'Pop Goes the Weasel'.
Even without the insults, that particular song, when played by a child of Apollo, will cause a stampede one hundred percent of the time. Apollo pressed himself against the wall by the elevator as Austin dashed towards the library, pursued by fifty or sixty angry, screaming party guests and Germani. Apollo could only hope Austin found a second exit from the library or else it would be a very short chase.
He forced himself to move. Find our girl, Austin had said.
Yes. That was the plan.
Apollo sprinted to the right and into the party room.
Austin had cleared out the place completely. Even Areca seemed to have followed the rampaging 'Pop Goes the Weasel' mob.
Left behind were dozens of high cocktail tables covered in linen, sprinkled with glitter and rose petals, and topped with balsa-wood centrepiece sculptures of Manhattan going up in painted flames. Even for Nero, Apollo found this over the top. The sideboard was loaded with every conceivable party appetiser, plus a multi-layered red-and-yellow flame-motif cake. A banner across the back wall read HAPPY INFERNO!
Along the other wall, plate-glass windows (no doubt heavily insulated) looked over the city, allowing for a beautiful view of the promised firestorm, which now- bless the trogs and their magnificent hats- would not be happening.
In one corner, a small stage had been set up with a single microphone and a stand of instruments: a guitar, a lyre and a violin. Oh, Nero. As a sick joke, he had intended to fiddle while New York burned. No doubt his guests would have laughed and clapped politely as the city exploded and millions perished to the tune of 'This Land Is Your Land'. And who were these guests? The emperor's billionaire golf buddies? Adult demigods who had been recruited for his post-apocalyptic empire? Whoever they were, Apollo hoped Austin stampeded them straight into a mob of angry trog shareholders.
It was fortunate no-one was left in the room. They would have faced his wrath. As it was, he shot an arrow into the cake, which wasn't a satisfying experience.
He marched through the room and then, impatient with the sheer size of the place, began to jog. At the far end, he kicked through a doorway, his bow drawn and ready, but found only another empty hallway.
He recognised this area from his dreams though. He had finally reached the Imperial family's living area. Where were the guards? The servants?
He didn't care. Just up ahead would be Meg's door. He ran, calling her name as he barrelled into her bedroom.
No-one was there.
The bed had been perfectly made up with a new comforter. The broken chairs had been replaced. The room smelled of Pine Sol, so even Meg's scent had been erased, along with any sign of her rebellion. Apollo had never felt so depressed and alone.
"Hello!" A small, tinny voice said to his left. Apollo shot an arrow at the nightstand, cracking the screen of a laptop computer showing Nero's face on a live video call. "Oh no." He said dryly, his image now fractured and pixelated. "You got me."
His image jiggled, too large and off-centre, as if he were holding the camera phone himself and not used to using it. Apollo wondered if the emperor had to worry about cell phones malfunctioning, like demigods did, or if the phone would broadcast his location to monsters. Then he realised there was no monster within five hundred miles worse than Nero.
He lowered his bow.
"Where is Meg?"
"Oh, she's quite well. She's here with me in the throne room. I imagined you'd stumble in front of that monitor sooner or later, so we could chat about your situation."
"My situation? You're under siege. We've ruined your inferno party. Your forces are being routed. I'm coming for you now and if you so much as a touch a rhinestone on Meg's glasses, I'll kill you." Nero laughed gently, without a care in the world. Apollo didn't catch the first part of his response, because his attention was drawn to a flash of movement in the hallway. Screech-Bling, CEO of the troglodytes, materialised in Meg's bedroom doorway, grinning with delight, his colonial outfit covered with monster dust and tufts of red bull fur, his tricorn hat topped with several new headwear acquisitions.
Before the trog could say anything that would announce his presence, Apollo gave him a subtle shake of the head, warning him to stay put, out of range of the laptop camera. He didn't want to give Nero any more information about their allies than necessary.
"-quite a different situation." Nero was saying. "Have you heard of Sassanid gas, Apollo?" Apollo had no idea what that was, but Screech-Bling almost leapt out of his buckled shoes. His lips curled in a distasteful sneer. "Ingenious really." Nero continued. "The Persians used it against our troops in Syria. Sulphur, bitumen, a few other secret ingredients. Horribly poisonous, causes excruciating death, especially effective in enclosed spaces like tunnels… or buildings." Apollo went cold.
"Nero, no…"
"Oh, I think yes." He countered, his voice still pleasant. "You've robbed me of my chance to burn down the city, but surely you didn't think that was my only plan? The back-up system is quite intact. You've done me a favour by gathering the entire Greek camp in one place! Now, with just a push of a button, everything below the throne room level-"
"Your own people are down here!" Apollo yelled, shaking with fury. Nero's distorted face looked pained.
"It's unfortunate, yes. But you've forced my hand. At least my darling Meg is here, and some of my other favourites. We will survive. What you don't seem to realise, Apollo, is that you can't destroy bank accounts with a bow and arrows. All my assets, all the power I've built up for centuries- it's all safe. And Python is still waiting for your corpse to be delivered to him. So let's make a deal. I will delay releasing my Sassanid surprise for… say, fifteen minutes. That should be enough time for you to reach the throne room. I'll let you in and only you."
"And Meg?" Apollo demanded. Nero looked baffled.
"As I said, Meg is fine. I would never hurt her."
"You do nothing but hurt her!" Apollo protested. The emperor rolled his eyes.
"Come on up and we'll have a chat. I'll even…" He paused, then laughed as if he had had a sudden inspiration. "I'll even let Meg decide what to do with you! Surely that's more than fair. Your other option is that I release the gas now, then come down and collect your corpse at my leisure, along with those of your friends-"
"No! No, I'm coming up!"
"Excellent." Nero smirked. "Ta-ta." The screen went dark. Apollo faced Screech-Bling, who stared back, his expression grim.
"Sassanid gas is very- GRR- bad." He said. "I see why Red Priestess sent me down here."
"Red- you mean Rachel? She told you to find me?"
"She sees things," Screech-Bling nodded, "as you said. The future. The worst enemies. The best hats. She told me to come to this place." His voice conveyed a level of reverence that suggested Rachel would be getting free skink soup for the rest of her life.
The CEO scowled at the laptop's dark, cracked monitor. "Is it possible Ne-ACK-ro is bluffing about the gas?"
"No." Apollo replied bitterly. "Nero doesn't bluff. He likes to boast, then follow through. He'll release that gas as soon as he has me in the throne room."
"Fifteen minutes." Screech-Bling mused. "Not much time. Try to stall him. I will gather the trogs. We will disable this gas or I will see you in Underheaven!" Apollo didn't get a chance to protest. Screech-Bling vanished in a cloud of dust and bull hair.
He tried to steady his breathing. The trogs had come through for them once before when Apollo didn't believe they would. Still, they weren't underground now. Nero would not have told him about his poison-gas delivery system if it was easy to find or disarm. If he could fumigate an entire skyscraper at the touch of a button, Apollo didn't see how the trogs would have time to stop him or even get their forces safely out of the building. And, when he faced the emperor, he had no chance of beating him… unless Lu had succeeded in getting his fasces from the leontocephaline, and that mission seemed impossible.
On the other hand, he didn't have much choice but to hope. He had a part to play. Stall Nero. Find Meg.
He marched out of the bedroom.
Fifteen minutes. Then he would end Nero or Nero would end him.