It is with this chapter that "The Wolf" passes the 50,000-word mark. So that's pretty nice. And, as usual, I'd like to thank everyone who has read so far, you mean the world to me.

I'll admit it: I was having a tough time writing this one lately. But I think some of the fire is back in my belly for it. Reaching 3,000+ views on this story certainly didn't hurt either. Whether you find this story with just this chapter, or if you've been following "The Wolf" from day one, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I would also appreciate it if you checked out "The Adventures of Harley Danger", my current Pokémon story, after reading this chapter. Enjoy.


BRANDON'S POV

"No…" I mouthed, hardly believing that this was all real. Of course, a harsh reality often doesn't feel like reality until you're staring it right in the face.

"What do you mean, no?" Frank snapped back at me. "Are you saying it can't be real? That all those corpses aren't there?"

"That's not what I meant," I replied. My eyes were the size of dollar coins, my hair standing on end, and my heart beating faster than a cheetah's during its dash.

"Then what did you mean? Brandon, that battle was one of the deadliest Camp Jupiter has ever seen. Sure, it'll take some time to process everything, but at least accept that it's real right now."

"Again, I do know that they're dead" I snarled back at Frank. "It's just…it all happened so fast."

Dakota grunted, and I noticed that he seemed…well, not exactly numb to it. But he had evidently decided that the death toll wasn't something to be too riled up about.

After all, people die every day by the thousands. Some of those deaths are peaceful, when someone goes to sleep and simply never wakes up. Others, like the deaths I saw all around me, were anything but calm and peaceful.

"Do you want to help identify the remains?" the Fifth Cohort centurion asked me. "So that we can inform the families of the deceased?"

I can't think of anything I wouldn't rather be doing than that.

I shook my head. "With all due respect, I don't know most of these people. I don't think I could be of too much assistance."

Dakota sighed. "That's perfectly fine. I don't blame you. It's a ruthless, thankless job, but someone's gotta do it."

The Fifth Cohort centurion went off to where a group of fauns were standing. They seemed both relieved and frightened, if those two emotions can ever exist simultaneously in the same individual.

"That sound must've been pretty powerful, wasn't it?" I said, running a hand through my hair. "The Panic, or whatever it's called."

Frank nodded. "I've been in a lot of battles, but I've never seen anything like it. They say that fauns, which you might know as satyrs, are the only creatures who can harness that power."

I frowned. "Why do you think I'd call them satyrs? Do you think I'm a Greek demigod or something like that?"

Frank looked as though I'd just asked him his weight or something equally personal. He glared at me.

"Ah, sorry" I replied quickly, trying to do some damage control. "It's not like that…even if I were a Greek demigod, I wouldn't mean any harm to this camp."

"Drop it," Frank spat. "I know it may be hard to believe, but I am looking out for you. And admitting to being Greek, even if you're only paying lip service to that idea, is a very big mistake here. Especially after something like this."

"Because they might think I brought the monsters here?"

"That's it! We've got enough on our plates as is. Our casualties seem to have been pretty heavy, although counting the dead may take some time…".

"Guys, we have very bad news," a female voice announced.

I turned to see that Lindsay was walking towards us with a couple of fauns next to her. Her face was an equal mixture of grief and fear, a far cry from her usual demeanor.

"What's wrong, Lindsay?" I asked. "Other than the dead people all around us?"

My cohort-mate looked at the ground and shook her head slowly. She couldn't even bear to face us.

"Let me just show you," she said softly. "Dakota's by her side right now, but it really doesn't look good."

Who is "she"?

That question was bound to be answered soon enough. Frank and I followed Lindsay down into the trenches, where it suddenly occurred to me that this might be a good place to alter reality.

Why would that make any sense? More importantly, I have to focus. I have to see what Lindsay's so worked up about.

At first, the trenches had seemed to me like a great place to hide. But now that I was actually walking through one and saw how tall its walls were, it was hard not to feel trapped.

My throat felt as though it were closing up a bit more with each step. The "bad news" Lindsay had mentioned seemed to be barreling towards me, as though it were a moving train on whose tracks I was tied.

And then I saw her.

A tall, dark-haired girl, lying in the dirt. Her eyes already looked rather glassy, but her chest was rising and falling faintly.

It didn't take long to see what was bothering her: A giant smoking wound in her stomach, roughly the size of a CD.

"Reyna?" I mouthed loudly.

The praetor didn't have the strength to nod. "Yes…" she croaked. "I was…attacked…with an Imperial golden sword."

"Jason Grace survived that, you can too!" Frank exclaimed. "We just need to get you some nectar and ambrosia; can anyone here start an IV of that stuff or something?"

Nobody said yes. Even if a medic had been close enough, I got the sense that Reyna's condition was too advanced for her to recover. Given how the wound was emitting smoke, I didn't think any mortal medicine would help.

There were tears in Lindsay's eyes. "Reyna…I'm so sorry…".

"Don't be sorry" the praetor sighed. "And don't…pay me back…either. Pay it forward. Hold an…election…for praetor."

"There must be a way!" Frank exclaimed. "Do the three of us want to carry her to the infirmary?"

"I'm…afraid…you can't," Reyna replied, blinking. It was plain to see just how much effort it took the praetor to say each word.

Dakota's eyes widened. "No! I refuse to believe it!"

"Good luck, everyone…" the praetor said very faintly. It was almost impossible to hear her speak by this point; to this day, I'm amazed I could make out those words.

And then her eyes rolled up in the back of her head, and she seemed to black out for the final time.

It was then that I saw just how enormous the pool of blood beneath her was. It spread rapidly, and I realized that the beat of Reyna's heart must have caused the blood to flow even faster. The scene was horrific.

"It was an enemy demigod who stabbed her" Frank breathed. "It must have been. Or rather, an empusa masquerading as one."

I turned to Dakota. He was sobbing and sniffling, to the point that I could barely hear him talk. Perhaps he wasn't talking at all, and I only imagined those words.

"I just can't accept it," Dakota said softly. "I mean, nobody can live forever, but Reyna always seemed invincible to me. She was our rock."

"People tend to look 'invincible' until they actually die" Frank replied, sighing and closing his eyes. "I'm sure that, as a fellow child of a war deity, she would tell us to move on."

I wasn't necessarily desensitized to all of the death, but I still found myself asking the following question: "What happens now?"

"I was wondering the same thing," Dakota responded. "I know Reyna would want us to keep going in her absence, but it was hard enough with only one praetor. Unless Jason Grace comes back -".

"He won't," Frank interjected. "I know Jason well. He's not going to come back to Camp Jupiter, as much as I might wish he would."

"So, in other words, we're in a state of anarchy until we find a new praetor."

"I'm afraid so," Dakota said. "The only question is, how do we find a new praetor? We can't just have someone appoint themselves; it would not be seen as legitimate."

Frank frowned at the Fifth Cohort centurion. "Dakota, didn't you hear what she said? We have to hold an election in order to decide who will be praetor. That's the fairest way to do it."

"But who will run that election? If the person running the election is a candidate within it, that would be a conflict of interest. And how do we delegate someone to do that dirty work?"

"Guys, let's not argue about this anymore" I interrupted Dakota. "We've got enough on our plate already. The bodies aren't even cold yet."

Zeus: So…your first battle as a probatio at Camp Jupiter. Did it ever occur to you to request full membership in the legion after that?

Defendant: It did not.

Zeus: May I ask why not?

Defendant: Simply put, I didn't think about it. It was hard enough to accept that this world, the one I'd heard about from Charles "Upchuck" Weldworth, was real. I didn't need to worry about the legion's traditions.

Zeus: Did they seem…archaic to you?

Defendant: Perhaps. I just didn't see why they were still relevant in 201X. Uh, no offense.

Zeus: I'd imagine you might not have felt very heroic. Perhaps that is another reason you did not ask for your performance in battle to be labeled an "act of valor."

Defendant: That could be it as well. I really didn't do much in that battle besides almost getting killed.

Zeus: Well, that's the demigod's curse, constantly being on the edge of death. After a while, you get used to it.

For obvious reasons, I hadn't been able to partake in any of the typical mourning rituals after my foster parents died. I hadn't been in attendance at their funeral, nor would I attend their memorial service. I wouldn't have a chance to process my grief in that way.

This time was different.

As it turned out, New Rome had a crematorium, and each deceased legionnaire was turned to ashes there. The ashes, according to Dakota, were to be scattered all over the Field of Mars, where the trenches would remain intact just in case the monsters attacked again.

Casualties had been heavy on both sides, and the ovens at the crematorium were running nonstop for several hours. The air in downtown New Rome was thick with smoke, in more ways than one.

Although we no longer had a formal leader, the centurions from the First Cohort, whose names I couldn't remember, led the group in prayer. The prayers were said in Latin, a language I barely understood. Fortunately, I probably wasn't alone in that regard.

Reyna's remains were given an extra honor. As Dakota explained to me through thick tears, they would be scattered at the Temple of Bellona in the valley, a place I hadn't visited yet. This was supposed to provide blessings to guide her soul to the Underworld or something like that.

The grief at that ceremony was palpable, and I felt it too. Even though I'd only known Reyna for a few days, I'd come to trust her as a leader, certainly more than I trusted the enemies we'd fought today. To see the others mourn her like that had an effect on me.

After all of the ashes had been scattered, we settled into the dining hall for a very late dinner. This meal was very different from the previous ones.

While it hadn't been perfectly happy in the dining hall while I'd been there, it had always seemed like some effort was made to have the atmosphere feel festive. No such effort was made this time.

Legionnaires barely spoke to one another. Most of them barely even looked up from their plates. I saw a few ghost-like creatures for the first time, which should have shocked me, but then, nothing shocked me anymore.

Even the food tasted like sawdust. With every bite, I felt as though I would cough it up. It just didn't feel right, to be enjoying a meal while so many of our fellow legionnaires would never eat again.

Although we'd just been through a catastrophe, another potential one loomed on the horizon; namely, the coming anarchy at Camp Jupiter. Who would make the first move?

At the end of the meal, which had felt interminable prior to this, Dakota made his way to the front of the room. Considering how much anguish he no doubt felt, the Fifth Cohort centurion walked with surprising authority, holding his head high.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make," Dakota said, holding his hands in front of his mouth to magnify his voice.

"Wait a minute, who put you in charge?" one of the First Cohort centurions, a girl perhaps my age, shot at him.

Dakota narrowed his eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, this whole camp is looking for a leader. I intend to be that person, at least temporarily."

"But that's not how it goes!" the First Cohort centurion replied angrily. "The Fifth Cohort isn't supposed to lead in the absence of a praetor!"

"Who cares about that? We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Reyna told us that we needed to choose our next praetors democratically, so that's what we're going to do."

"But that could create a conflict of interest if you're overseeing that election," another member of the First Cohort, a boy this time, said.

Dakota smiled. "Well, let me tell you something: I promise that I will not run in the election to be the praetor. And if I break my promise, which I won't, feel free to execute me the old-fashioned way."

"The old-fashioned way? What's that?" I blurted out.

Lindsay turned to me and whispered. "Thanks for drawing attention to yourself, probatio. Now they'll all know you're clueless."

"It's a legitimate question, Brandon," Dakota replied, shooting Lindsay a rather dirty look. "Now, in the past, one would be sown up in a sack with aggressive dogs and dumped in the Little Tiber. There are several ways one can die under that method, none of them pleasant."

"But there's still the election," Hazel, the girl who'd saved my ass in battle, replied. "How can we trust that you're running it fairly?"

Dakota shrugged. "You'll just have to take my word, I guess. Why would I rig it if I'm not a candidate? It's not like I favor the Fifth Cohort over all others."

Many of the other legionnaires exchanged glances, as though silently asking each other, Why wouldn't he favor his own cohort?

Even so, I think that's when the tide clearly shifted in that room. The other legionnaires seemed to silently agree that giving Dakota some power would be wise if it avoided chaos in the long run.

"Okay" Dakota said quickly. "Now that we're all in agreement that I'll oversee this election, let's set some ground rules. Candidates must declare now, and they'll each have a chance to plead their case, and then everyone votes for their top choice. The two with the most votes become praetors."

He was practically slurring his words together, and I wondered if he'd been hitting the happy juice in order to distract from his grief. If so, I wasn't sure whether or not to be angry about that.

I always love taking orders from someone who's still half-sloshed, I thought sarcastically.

"Now, who here wants to be a praetor?" Dakota asked. "When I say to raise your hand, do it, and it doesn't even matter how much experience you have at camp. You could be a probatio for all I care. As long as you can convince others to vote for you to be praetor, you'll be praetor."

"But isn't there a process or something?" someone else blurted out. "There are traditions, Dakota, that must not be deviated from."

"Fuck tradition" the Fifth Cohort centurion muttered quietly, but still loudly enough for the others to hear. Our mouths, including my own, were all wide open after hearing Dakota say the F-word.

After the incredibly awkward silence, Dakota cleared his throat, then looked at all of us apologetically.

"Sorry" he said. "There are…different ways people react to loss. And that's how I do it, for better or worse."

"It's definitely for the worse," Lindsay muttered.

"Anyway", the Fifth Cohort centurion continued, "it's time to raise your hand if you wish to run for praetor of Camp Jupiter. Like I said, all you have to do is get in the top two in terms of votes, regardless of age or seniority."

Imagine having a twelve-year-old praetor. That would be quite something, and probably not a great idea.

Frank didn't even hesitate as he raised his hand, and neither did several other people, including Hazel and a couple other centurions. There was even a young girl who looked way too excited as she thrust her hand in the air.

Dakota sighed. "I know I said any age, but I really don't think you're up to the job, Julia. I'll have to discount your hand this time. Maybe when you're older."

The girl identified as Julia turned her gaze to the ground, evidently quite crestfallen. Personally, though, I couldn't be bothered to shed a tear. We'd been through enough sadness as it was, so it was hard to care about a pre-teen girl who'd been denied a chance to be praetor.

"Anyway", the Fifth Cohort centurion continued, sounding much like a game show host, "you can all plead your case as to why you deserve the title of praetor and all the power that goes along with it. Hazel Levesque, you can make your opening statement first."

Hazel cleared her throat before she spoke.

"I'll keep it brief. I've got two quests under my belt at this point. In June of last year, I was with Frank Zhang and Percy Jackson as we traveled to Alaska to free Thanatos from his chains. And later in the summer, I was one of the demigods in the Prophecy of Seven.

"The Prophecy of Seven, of course, needs no introduction. It's how we became acquainted with the Greeks; whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, you decide. I was part of the quest to defeat Gaea, a quest in which we were ultimately successful, although we did lose Leo Valdez in the effort.

"What I'm trying to tell you all is that I've got the experience necessary to be a praetor. I've demonstrated that I have the courage, the conviction, and the record that you would want from me. So please, if you want Camp Jupiter to have a bright future, vote for me to be praetor."

I got the sense, upon Hazel concluding her monologue, that it wasn't quite good enough. Although I had no desire to stay in this room any longer than I needed to, Hazel had given a shorter speech than I'd have expected. Would it matter, though?

The next person to plead their case, a boy who looked about sixteen, was far less eloquent. Even if one didn't expect a 16-year-old to be an amazing speaker, it was also odd to hear him say with a straight face, "I truly believe butterflies are just dead relatives saying hi."

What the hell was that? He's not convincing anybody!

The rest of the speeches went by quickly, but they still felt long to me. It had been a very overwhelming day of preparations for battle, an actual battle, funeral rites, and now this election. My greatest desire was to get some sleep, even if I doubted I'd sleep properly for some time after what I'd seen today.

With every minute that passed, I felt wearier and wearier. The talks started to blend together, and I wouldn't be surprised if I fell asleep at one point during them.

But then: "Last but not least, Frank Zhang will make his case, and then it'll be time to vote."

Finally! Thank the gods it's almost over!

The black-haired boy walked to Dakota's side just like most of the other candidates had. He surveyed the room and narrowed his eyes.

"Much like Hazel Levesque, I was on the quest to free Thanatos. I was on the quest to defeat Gaea. I've gone toe-to-toe with giants. I am the total package."

That's how you do it, I remember thinking. Just sell yourself as "the best", and it often works. Be forceful with your message.

"If you entrust me with this leadership position, I will not abuse it" Frank continued. "Indeed, I will fully acknowledge the importance of my new role, and I will never forget the burden it brings. And I will fully carry out my duties in accordance with New Rome's laws and traditions, so help me gods."

There was a considerable amount of clapping after Frank finished his pitch, and I felt confident then and there that he would win one of the spots as praetor. So many people seemed to be not merely okay with the idea of Praetor Frank Zhang, but outright thrilled by it.

"Okay" Dakota said, yawning. "We're not going to hold a secret ballot here; I think all of us need our sleep. Just put your hand up if you want Hazel Levesque to be a praetor, so that we can be done with this."

A few hands went up, then a few more. Little by little, much like the "wave" one sees at a sporting event, the number of raised hands expanded across the room. Mine wasn't among them.

Dakota silently counted the hands in the air. Eventually, he spoke, slurring his words together a bit.

"There are thirty-two votes for Hazel Levesque to be praetor. Whether that is enough remains to be seen. Because the number of legionnaires is common knowledge, I will know by the end if someone voted multiple times or not at all. Please, only vote once, so that we can all get to bed."

The Fifth Cohort centurion might have been trying to project bravado before, but if so, he'd clearly given up the act now. His eyes were encircled by dark purple rings, and he yawned every couple of words. I also didn't think anyone would vote twice; all of us wanted the same thing Dakota did.

The handful of other candidates each got a number of votes between ten and twenty. Finally, Dakota announced that only Frank Zhang was left to be voted on.

The son of Bacchus consulted a clipboard, which is where he'd been writing the vote tallies down. "Nobody else has exceeded Hazel Levesque's tally of thirty-two votes. This means that Hazel will be one of our next praetors."

"Okay" Hazel responded blankly. As excited as many people would have been to be bestowed such an honorable title, the girl was clearly struggling to stay awake. Her eyes blinked like crazy, and sometimes they stayed shut for several seconds. It was as though she couldn't care less.

"By my calculations, which are perfectly infallible since numbers don't lie, there are forty-five legionnaires who have not yet voted. There is only one candidate left to vote on. So that means, by default, Frank Zhang will be our other praetor."

"That's cool," Frank said. Much like Hazel, he didn't seem nearly as passionate as he'd been while giving the speech. Perhaps this passion was dulled by the loss of all the legionnaires, or maybe it would take some time to sink in that he'd won. Personally, I leaned toward the former possibility.

"Yes," Dakota responded. "Hazel and Frank, you two will be moved to the praetors' official residence in New Rome. Make sure to pack your bags with everything you'll need, because the cleaning harpies will destroy any belongings you leave behind."

I pictured the chicken lady who'd dropped me from a great height and cringed at the thought of her holding a broom and sweeping.

"Can we do that tomorrow?" Hazel enquired tiredly, her voice devoid of any passion or desire. She sounded like a weary small child, not someone who'd just been entrusted with a praetorship.

"I'm afraid not," Dakota replied. He didn't seem any happier about it than Hazel. "The harpies were told to come at a specific time, and they won't skip their duties just because it is inconvenient for their clients."

"Can't you tell them to come later?" Frank asked between yawns.

"We can't. Terminus is gone, remember?"

That's probably a triggering topic for many of them, I realized. Just because so many legionnaires died as a result of Terminus not being present.

Indeed, many of the legionnaires shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Some of them grimaced visibly, as though picturing something highly traumatic - most likely the battle.

"Fine" Frank yawned. "I'll go there right now. Man, I wish I hadn't put my name in the ring right now."

"Don't say that," Hazel replied sleepily. "I'm sure being a praetor will be worth it."

The two designated praetors stumbled out of the room, completely lacking the grace that would be befitting of people with that title.

Once those two were out of the mess hall entirely, Dakota cleared his throat. He also blinked several times, as though he were going in and out of sleep every few seconds.

"Okay," the son of Bacchus announced. "This meeting is adjourned. All legionnaires, you may return to the barracks. Let us put this horrific day behind us."

Suddenly, I heard several gasps from the crowd. They might have been on the edge of sleep before, but they were wide awake now.

"What is it?" Dakota replied with some anger in his voice. "You people do realize that it's time for bed, right?"

Nobody else spoke, which made me wonder exactly what was happening here. Had the monsters come back for Round 2?

The Fifth Cohort centurion seemed to have the same thought as me. He narrowed his reddened eyes into slits and glared at us.

"Look, people. If enemies are at our doorstep, and someone knows this before us, don't be afraid to let us know, okay? We need to be prepared!"

"It's not that" a girl all but gasped from somewhere else in the room. "If anything, it's even worse."

"Then what is it, Leila?" Dakota bellowed. "We can protect this camp from enemies outside our borders, but only if you help us protect it as well!"

The girl identified as Leila shook her head. "You don't understand. The enemy is within."

Leila didn't specify which legionnaire was the enemy within, but she was looking at me when she used those words. So were many of the other demigods.

"So you're talking about me," I replied. Perhaps this wasn't a good move, but I felt my blood boiling at that point.

"I am," Leila admitted. "It's nothing personal."

Suddenly I felt a chill run through my whole body. It wasn't an ominous type of chill; if anything, it was a calming one. It was as though I'd achieved a certain degree of clarity.

But I was still angry. "How can you call me the enemy and it not be personal?"

"I think she's just stating a fact," Lindsay told me, a certain glint in her eyes. "Leila didn't mention how she felt about you personally. She's just stating that the legionnaires of Camp Jupiter don't tend to get along with people like you."

"People like me?"

Dakota's eyes grew to the size of golf balls as he pointed at a point above my head.

"Oh my gods" he mouthed. "I didn't think…I didn't think it was actually true."

"You guys can just tell me, you know," I replied. "There's no need to beat around the bush so much. What's wrong?"

"There's something above your head, Brandon," Dakota told me. "A symbol. And it's one that should frighten all of us."

"Frighten? But I don't mean you guys any harm. You guys should all know I wouldn't hurt a fly. You do realize that, right?"

Lindsay shook her head. "It's not that simple. The symbol over you is one associated with a Greek goddess. You do know what that means, right?"

I remembered what Pranjal had told me in the infirmary, about how you were considered to have been "claimed" when your godly parent announced that you were their offspring. Clearly it was a big deal, if that's indeed what was happening.

"Brandon St. Lawrence, it appears that you're a son of Hecate, the Greek goddess of magic. How much do you know about her?"

At the G-word, there was a massive collective gasp from the other legionnaires. You might have thought Dakota had just used a racial slur.

"I don't understand," I replied. "Why is it such a big deal that I'm Hecate's son?"

The others all gazed at me as though I'd just said something unbelievably stupid, Dakota included. Hey, I thought it was a legitimate question!

The Fifth Cohort centurion eventually snapped out of it and sighed. "I'll talk privately with you about it" he said. "For everyone else, this meeting is now officially adjourned."