My eyes surveyed the battlefield, tracing the outlines of each bloody body laying still on the wrangled dirt, a thousand empty eyes staring blankly toward the red sky. The ringing continued to roar in my ears, reaching a high crescendo when someone died, only to retreat to a low hum. It was the never ending tune of death.
"Little Angel, where are you hiding?" Mother Earth's hypnotic voice boomed across the land.
She doesn't know where I am, I realized, and a spark of hope simmered inside me. A skeleton of a plan began to form in my mind. Maybe I don't need to be stronger, or faster, or even have more firepower. Maybe I just need the element of surprise.
My brain went into strategy mode, taking in each hiding place, counting every enemy, and tallying up all the remaining demigods around me. Various covers are strewn on the terrain, so maneuvering undetected shouldn't be too big of a problem. However, the ratio of demigod to monster is severely low, ranging from 1:6, and with the rate at which we're dying, a head-on attack would be suicidal. Given the current situation, our best bet at winning is a covert attack, something even Gaea wouldn't expect, as Greco-Roman tactics usually don't involve stealth.
I spotted Reyna slicing and dicing a yard or two ahead of me. As nimbly as I could, I sprinted to her, ready to share my plan.
"Reyna!" I called loud enough for her to hear. She whirled, her dark coiled braid whipping in the gust of wind around her, a wild look in her eyes. Her Imperial gold armor glinted in the red sun and her purple Praetor garbs were in shreds.
"Nico? My gods you're alive?!" her dark eyes widened in utter disbelief, though she snapped out of shock surprisingly quick to stab a dracaena who creeped up from behind. "Are the Seven…?"
I looked away, unable to meet her eyes. She must have noticed the tears threatening to fall onto my cheeks, and wisely chose to shut her mouth.
"I have a plan," I proposed uncertainly. "I don't know if it will work, but it's the best course of action I can think of at the moment."
Reyna furrowed her eyebrows in curiosity. "What kind of plan?" I informed her on the strategy forming in my head.
A glint of hope sparkled in Reyna's eyes. "I think it's a valid strategy. Oh, and leave the 'killing Mother Nature' part to me," she paused. "You would make an admirable praetor, di Angelo."
I blinked in surprise. Out of all of the words I expected to leave her mouth, "admirable" and "praetor" didn't make the list. Not that I'm complaining. Praetor di Angelo does have a nice ring to it, but it could never replace Praetor Zhang.
"If we make it out of this alive, I might look into it."
We passed the message along to the survivors, regrouping and retreating to the opposite side of the battlefield. The few medics left treated the wounded with jaw-dropping speed. A lot of the medics are children of Apollo, and the rest are demigods with experience in medicinals. My gaze drifted over them and the injured with little regard, until a certain shade of yellow caught my eye. The color of sunshine looked out of place with the dreary gray, ruthless red, and soulless black—the shades that will be forever painted into our world. Before I knew it, my feet were walking for me into the direction of the bright, exotic shade, like a moth to a flame.
Will Solace, the stubborn son of Apollo, turned around swiftly and met my gaze. His sky blue eyes looked so bright, so intense, yet so shattered, all at the same time. When most would have looked away in fear or disgust, he held my gaze, as if silently reassuring me everything would be okay. For a moment neither of us spoke, neither of us turned away. He smiled—a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. A beacon of hope in the hopeless oblivion of war.
I broke eye-contact.
There's nothing left to say, not in the middle of war, anyway.
I walked away to locate Reyna. I trekked through the make-shift camp, made out of dirt, scraps, and any other remnants we could find in the ruins of Greece. I met with the daughter of Bellona around the corner. She, and what looked to be a lot of senior demigods, discussed the plans I proposed, elaborating and establishing order in the midst of all the Chaos.
"Reyna? What's the plan?" I asked.
She looked up and beckoned me to come over. "Nico, you're going to be a core part of the plan. I need you to lead the stealth team with me. Since you are the most powerful demigod here, I'll need your help with destroying Mother Earth once and for all. We've already set up the parameters: we're going to send in a strike team of twenty people and sneak into the enemy territory using the terrain as cover. It's going to be very covert, so try not to draw any unwanted attention. Kill if you have to, but don't make it a habit. We need to preserve the element of surprise."
I nodded in confirmation. "Do we have enough people?"
The Praetor of New Rome pursed her lips. "Yes, but only barely. We can't afford another blow." she let the unspoken words sink in: Or we're all gone for good.
We gathered twenty of the remaining survivors for the strike team, making sure to sharpen our swords, and say our last goodbyes.
Will Solace walked up to me in a purposeful stride. Blood, dirt and grime smeared his face like a second layer of skin, and his clothes looked more tattered than my jeans. "I'm going with you."
"Absolutely not," I deadpanned. "You're our best healer. We need you to treat the wounded."
"There are other healers you know. And in case you didn't notice, you don't have any archers on your team. Without any archers you all have to fight head-on anyway," he reasoned. He tried to sound confident but I could hear the doubt slipping into his voice.
"And you think you're the only good archer here? What makes you so certain you should come?" I fired back.
Panic invaded his features as he tried to think. I shook my head in exasperation. I don't have time for this. Will Solace once again blocked my way from the business I need to settle.
I sauntered off, only to stop short when a warm hand seized my wrist. "Who's going to heal the strike team if something happens? You said it yourself, I'm your best healer. You're already short-handed. If one person dies from lack of medical attention, you will all be at a disadvantage when you finally face her. You'll need a healer to prevent that from happening—you'll need the best healer you can find."
I suppressed a sigh. He's right of course. He does make a valid argument. I could feel a headache coming on from the emotional, mental, and physical exhaustion of the day, and the worst is yet to come.
"Fine," I conceded. "But don't expect anything else out of me."
No need to build up his expectations.
