To 8Ball3- I like the turtle formation. I can't remember the name right this second, but I always love a turtle :D And I will not drink, it's green. And after a while, people like Nero stop surprising you so much :/ BLOODY ZOOM CALLS DX Yeah, I liked how it wasn't a grand finale type deal, but a series of battles to win the war, much better (also more books that way, so yay!)

To Writer 2006- Thank you! ^_^

The blast doors were a nice touch.

Apollo found his way back to the throne room level with no problem. The elevators cooperated. The halls were eerily quiet. This time, no-one greeted him in the antechamber.

Where the ornamental golden doors had stood before, the entrance to Nero's inner sanctum was now sealed by massive panels of titanium and Imperial gold, inscribed with sorcerous charms of protection worthy of Hecate.

Finding no doorbell, Apollo rapped his knuckles on the titanium. No-one gave the proper response, because barbarians. Instead, at the upper left-hand corner of the wall, a security camera light blinked from red to green.

"Good." Nero's voice crackled from a speaker on the ceiling. "You're alone. Smart boy." Apollo could have got offended by that boy comment, but there was so much else to feel offended by that he figured he should probably pace himself. The doors rumbled, parting just enough for him to squeeze through. They closed behind him.

He scanned the room for Meg. She was nowhere in sight, which made him want to smack a Nero.

The room was mostly unchanged. At the foot of Nero's dais, the Persian rugs had been replaced to get rid of those annoying bloodstains from Big Lu's double amputation. The servants had been cleared out. Forming a semi-circle behind Nero's throne were a dozen Germani, some looking like they had served as target practise for Camp Half-Blood's 'field trip'. Where Lu and Gunther had stood before at the emperor's right hand, a new Germanus had taken their place. He had a stark white beard, a deep vertical scar on the side of his face and armour stitched from shaggy pelts that would have won him no friends in the animal rights community.

Rows of Imperial gold bars had been lowered over all the windows, making the entire room feel appropriately like a cage. Enslaved dryads hovered nervously near their potted plants. The children of the Imperial Household- only seven of them now- stood next to each plant with burning torches in their hands. Since Nero had raised them to be despicable, Apollo did not doubt they would burn the dryads if he did not cooperate.

His hand rested against his jeans pocket, where he had tucked Meg's golden rings. He was relieved that at least she wasn't standing with her siblings. He was glad young Cassius had run away from this place. Apollo wondered where the other three missing adoptees had gone, if they had been captured or had fallen in battle to Camp Half-Blood.

Nero waved. "Hello!" He sounded genuinely happy to see Apollo. He reclined on his couch, popping grapes in his mouth from a silver platter at his side. "Weapons on the floor please."

"Where's Meg?"

"Meg…?" Nero feigned confusion. He scanned the line of his torch-bearing children. "Meg. Let's see… where did I leave her? Which one is Meg?" The other demigods gave him forced smiles, perhaps not sure if Dear Old Dad was joking. "She's close." The emperor assured, expression hardening. "But first, weapons on the floor. I am taking no chances that you will harm my daughter."

Apollo was so angry, he could not form words. How could someone twist the truth with such brazenness, saying the exact opposite of what was clear and obvious, and still sound like they believed what they were saying? How could anyone defend against lies that were so blatant and brash they should have required no challenge?

He put down his bow and quiver. He doubted they would matter. Nero wouldn't have let him into his presence if he thought they were a threat. "And the ukulele." Nero prompted. "And the backpack." Apollo set them next to his quivers.

He realised that even if he tried something- even if he could throw flames at Nero or shoot him in the face or Apollo-smash his horrible purple love seat- it wouldn't matter if his fasces were still intact. He looked completely at ease, as if he knew he was invulnerable. All Apollo's bad behaviour would do was hurt others. The dryads would burn. If the demigods refused to burn them, then Nero would have the Germani punish them. And if the Germani hesitated to carry out his orders… well, after what happened to Lu, Apollo doubted any of the guards would dare challenge Nero. The emperor held everyone in the room in a web of fear and threats.

But what about Meg? She was the only wild card Apollo could still hope to play.

As if reading his thoughts, Nero gave a thin smile. "Meg, my dear." He called. "It's safe to come forward."

She appeared from behind one of the columns in the back of the room, flanked by two cynocephali. The monsters did not touch her, but they walked beside her in such a tight orbit, it was like a pair of sheepdogs herding a wayward lamb.

Meg looked physically unhurt, though she had been bathed to within an inch of her life. All the hard-earned grime, ash and dirt she had accumulated on her way to the tower had been scrubbed away. Her pageboy haircut had been reshaped in a layered pixie style, parted in the middle, making her resemble the dryads a little too closely. And her clothes… gone was Sally Jackson's valentine dress. In its place, Meg wore a sleeveless purple gown, gathered at the waist by a golden cord. Her red high-tops had been exchanged for gold-corded sandals. The only thing that remained of her old look was her glasses, without which she couldn't see, but Apollo was surprised Nero had let her keep even those.

His heart broke. She looked elegant, older and quite beautiful. She also looked utterly, completely no longer herself. Nero had tried to strip away everything that she had been, every choice she had made, and replace her with someone else- a proper young lady of the Imperial Household.

Her foster siblings watched her approach with undisguised loathing and jealousy. "There you are!" Nero said delightedly. "Come join me, dear."

Meg met Apollo's eyes. He tried to transmit how concerned and anguished he was for her, but her expression remained carefully neutral. She made her way towards Nero, each step cautious, as if the slightest false step or betrayal of emotion might cause invisible mines to explode around her.

Nero patted the cushions next to him, but Meg stopped at the base of the dais. Apollo chose to take this as a hopeful sign. Nero's face tightened with displeasure, but he masked it quickly, no doubt deciding, like the professional abusive villain he was, to keep the line taut without breaking it. "And so here we are!" He spread his arms to take in this special occasion. "Lester, it's a shame you ruined our fireworks display. We could have been down in the parlour right now with our guests, watching a lovely sunset as the city burned. We could have had canapés and cake. But no matter. We still have to celebrate! Meg is home!"

He turned to the white-haired Germanus. "Vercorix, bring me the remote control, would you?" He gestured vaguely to the coffee table, where a black lacquered tray was piled with tech gadgets. Vercorix lumbered over and picked one. "No, that's for the television." Nero said. "No, that's the DVR. Yes, that's the one, I think."

Panic swelled in Apollo's throat as he realised what Nero wanted: the control for releasing his Sassanid gas. But why would he keep something so important with the TV remotes?

"Stop!" Apollo yelled. "You said Meg would decide!" Her eyes widened. She looked back and forth between them, as if worried which of them might attack her first. Watching her inner turmoil made Apollo want to weep.

Nero smirked.

"Well, of course she will! Meg, my dear, you know the situation. Apollo has failed you, yet again. His plans are in ruins. He has sacrificed his allies' lives to make it this far-"

"That's not true!" Apollo protested. Nero raised an eyebrow.

"No? When I warned you that this tower was a death trap for your demigod friends, did you rush down to save them? Did you hurry them out of the building? I gave you ample time. No. You used them. You let them keep fighting to distract my guards, so you could sneak up here and try to reclaim your precious immortality."

"I- what? I didn't-"

Nero swept his fruit platter off the sofa. It clattered across the floor, grapes rolled everywhere. Everyone in the room flinched, including Apollo… and this was obviously Nero's intention. He was a master of theatrics. He knew how to work a crowd, how to keep them on their toes.

He invested his voice with so much righteous indignation, even Apollo wondered if he should believe him.

"You are a user, Apollo! You always have been. You leave a wake of ruined lives wherever you go! Hyacinthus. Daphne. Marsyas. Koronis. And your own Oracles: Trophonius, Herophile, the Cumaean Sibyl." He turned to Meg. "You've seen this with your own eyes, my dear. You know what I mean. Oh, Lester, I've been living among mortals for thousands of years. You know how many lives I've destroyed? None! I've raised a family of orphans." He gestured at his adopted children, some of whom winced as if he might throw a platter of grapes at them. "I've given them luxury, security, love! I've employed thousands. I've improved the world! But you, Apollo, you've been on Earth barely six months. How many lives have you wrecked in that time? How many have died trying to defend you? That poor griffin, Heloise. The dryad, Money Maker. Crest the pandos. And, of course, Jason Grace."

"Don't you dare." Apollo snarled. Nero spread his hands.

"Should I go on? The deaths at Camp Jupiter. Don. Dakota. The parents of that poor little girl, Julia. All for what? Because you want to be a god again. You've whined and complained across this country and back again. So I ask you: are you worthy of being a god?"

He had done his homework. It wasn't like Nero to remember the names of so many people he didn't care about. But this was an important scene. He was putting on a performance for all of them, especially Meg.

"You're twisting everything into lies!" Apollo argued. "Just like you always have for Meg and your poor other children!" He shouldn't have called them poor. The seven torch-bearers glared at him with disdain. Clearly, they didn't want his pity. Meg's expression remained blank, but her eyes slid away from him and fixed on the patterns in the carpet. That probably wasn't a good sign.

Nero chuckled.

"Oh, Apollo, Apollo… you want to lecture me about my poor children? How have you treated yours?" He began rattling off a list of Apollo's parenting failures, which were many, but Apollo only half-listened. He wondered how much time had passed since he had seen Screech-Bling. How long could he keep Nero talking and would it be enough for the trogs to disable the poison gas or at least clear the building?

Whatever the case, with those blast doors sealed and the windows barred, he and Meg were on their own. They would have to save each other, because no-one else would. He had to believe they were still a team.

Apollo.

He managed to suppress a jump at the voice. It popped into his head, faint at first, but steadier when it called him again. Apollo.

Lou?

Hi.

How are you-?

Called in a favour. You OK?

You're good at distracting people, right?

Obviously. Is that Nero? What died on his face?

I think that's supposed to be a beard. Wait, can you see him?

I see what you see, so don't blink. It's annoying. She was quiet for a moment. Apollo could feel her thinking. She was a warm ball in his brain, a presence that he could not ignore, but was reassured by.

"And even now," Nero was saying, "your children are fighting and dying below, while you are here." He shook his head in disgust. "I tell you what. Let's set aside the issue of fumigating my tower for the moment."

The issue of what? Louisa's voice demanded. What's Meg wearin', oh my gods. Nero placed the remote control next to him on the sofa, somehow making it seem like an incredibly generous concession that he would wait a few more minutes before gassing all their friends to death.

Nero turned to Meg.

"My dear, you can choose, as I promised. Which of our nature spirits should have the honour of killing this pathetic former god? We will make him fight his own battle for once." Meg stared at Nero, as if he had just spoken backwards.

Say what? Apollo heard a mental raspberry, flinching at the noise. Gonna do somethin' questionable, sorry-not-sorry. He didn't get a chance to ask. His left arm went numb, swinging up of its own accord and firing a rude hand gesture at the emperor.

"No!" Apollo clamped his right hand on his wrist, pushing down the offensive arm. Everyone was staring at him. Lou!

Worth it. Her presence in his head turned his attention to Meg. She was baffled, corner of her mouth twitching, frozen in pinching her fingers where her rings used to be. Apollo wanted to give them back to her so badly, but he dared not move after Louisa's latest input.

"You see?" Nero flung a hand at Apollo. "How rude and disrespectful he is! Choose, Meg!"

"Hey, Meg." Apollo's voice sounded like his own, but it was Louisa pushing the words out. "Meg, look at, look at me. It's Lou. Viva la unicorn." Meg blinked. Some of the fog in her eyes faded and she took a step towards Apollo, a subconscious action that surprised her. Nero scowled. "Haha, dumbass neckbeard." Apollo- Louisa- blew another raspberry, out loud this time, and Nero's scowl turned into a snarl.

"Fine. I shall choose. We have so many dryads here and they all deserve vengeance. After all, their species has only one natural predator: the Olympian gods." He glared at Apollo. "Apollo, in the name of Daphne and all the other dryads whom you have tormented over the centuries… I decree that all our dryad friends will be allowed to tear you apart. Let's see how you defend yourself when you don't have any demigods to hide behind!" He snapped his fingers. The dryads didn't seem too excited about tearing him apart, but the children of the Imperial Household held their torches closer to their potted trees, and something in the dryads seemed to break, flooding them with desperation, horror and rage.

Uh, Lou?

Yeah?

Help? The dryads were closing in- they may have preferred to attack Nero, but since they couldn't, they did what he asked. Lou! Help!