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Notes and Etymology
Merlon – The raised lengths of wall atop a parapet that alternate with the open portions (crenels).
Ealdorman – A term to denote a person of high and/or royal status.
Wattle and Daub – A building method where a lattice of wooden strips called wattle is daubed with a sticky material made from some combination of wet soil, clay, sand, and straw. Popular during the time period and notably flammable.
Drinking horns – Hollowed out horns used as drinking vessels in viking culture.
Mead's making – A kenning used to refer to characteristics/behaviors that are a result of being drunk.
Sleipnir – Odin's eight-legged horse.
Politics of Steel – A kenning/phrase used to refer to battle.
Perseus Thrall-Born – Ledecestre, 889 CE
The walls of Ledecestre rose high above the rolling hills. Armored soldiers walked the battlements, each pretending they didn't notice the vikingr horde gathered just outside their city. Three times now the Englishmen had sallied forth to break the siege, and three times now they had been rebuffed. If the taste of sweat and fear in the air was to be trusted, then the fourth attempt was soon to come.
Men milled about the camp, readying themselves for the coming battle in all sorts of ways. Some prayed, others sharpened their blades, and a good number indulged in the drink pilfered from a nearby town. Many waved to Percy as he passed and a small few stopped him for idle chatter, but he still made good progress through the sea of tents.
When he reached the tent of the King, he heard muffled voices emanating from within. Stopping just long enough for Trygve's guards to recognize him, Percy ducked through the tent flaps and stepped into the makeshift war room.
"Apologies for my tardiness," he said. "I got held up on the eastern flank. Something about strange men on the walls."
Trygve looked up from the war map that had been his closest friend for the past two weeks, face contorted into a deep frown.
"Will it be an issue?"
Percy shook his head.
"I don't think so… At least not one large enough to trouble ourselves over. Our main concern should still be getting the gate open."
"We've discussed this," Liv chided from Trygve's side. "Too many battles have been lost because we acted rashly."
"Too many battles have been lost because you fought without Acke and I." Percy countered.
"We can't be everywhere at once, Percy," Acke reminded him. "You know that as well I."
"I also know that tactics change when your forces change. You and I could have Bjornar banners flying over Ledecestre by the end of the day. It's foolish to pretend otherwise."
"Perhaps you could, but how many men would die catering to your impatience?" Trygve asked.
"No more than we lose each time the Saxons try to break the siege."
"Those were hardly more than petty skirmishes. Nothing compared to what an outright assault would cost us."
"But–"
"Percy, we hear you, but you need to face reality. War is just as much about logistics as it is about soldiers and heart. Taking the gatehouse would be too costly." Liv said. "You just have to trust us on this. It's better this way."
She was asking a lot of him. They all were. Percy had never been one to sit on his hands for long, especially when the alternative was a bold strategy and a river of blood. They had to know that.
"Well, I'm asking you to trust me. If not with an open assault, then with something smaller. You give me three hours and a dozen men and I'll have those gates open casualty free. I can promise you that."
Liv and Acke both began to voice their protests, but Trygve silenced them with a glance. He, of all those present, was the only one willing to consider Percy's proposal.
"If I tell you no, will you go ahead with this inane plan of yours anyways?"
Percy didn't say anything, and that was answer enough.
"I suspected as much." Trygve said with a sigh. "You have two hours and whatever men you need. Just spare me the details, and get it done clean."
Percy grinned.
"Be ready for the gates to open. We have a city to burn."
And with that he left, leaving behind a skeptical Liv, a hopeful Trygve, and a typically solemn-faced Acke.
"Finished so soon, sir?" The guard asked him as he stepped into the daylight.
"Meetings are short when nothing changes." Percy told the man. "When the Saxons stop cowering behind their walls then we'll have something to discuss."
The man chuckled, and Percy used his laughter as cover to slip away before he could get tied up in conversation. He hustled through the camp, returning to the same distant flank he'd just reported on. It was there he met with the small group of soldiers he'd taken a particular interest in over the past few months.
They called themselves 'Snow Bears' but to Percy their title was unimportant. What mattered was how they handled themselves. Hand-picked from the best of the best both Bjornar and Fannar, they were trained by him for one purpose: to take on the risks that ordinary soldiers could never hope to face.
"Gather 'round men, gather 'round." Percy called as he entered their block of tents. "I've just spoken with King Trygve, and he's given me the go ahead for us to operate as we see fit."
There was a round of cheers from the men, but Percy silenced them with a single raised hand.
"Easy now." He spoke. "We'll need to move quicky and quietly if we want this to work. The Saxons can't know that we're on the move, which means neither can any of our men. Excitement spreads like the plague, and today dull and drab are our allies. Now, do you all remember the plan?"
This time, their response was kept to whispers and nodding heads.
"Good. You have thirty minutes to ready yourself and get to the rendezvous. From there, we make our move."
After that, he scooped up the knapsack and rope he'd prepared earlier and left the men to their preparations. He trekked through the camp towards the distant forest, where he vanished into the trees. It was a long walk through the underbrush, but entirely worth it once he reached his destination. Since the siege was to the south of Ledecestre, the northern wall was heinously undermanned. Even better, the Saxons had neglected the encroaching forest for far too long, and now the tree line was only a short sprint from the northeastern tower. The conditions could not have been more perfect for a covert assault.
His men joined him not long after he arrived. Once they had gathered, he led them in a sluggish creep up the side of the hill. It was slow going – made even slower by the constant need to stop and wait for patrolmen atop the walls to pass them by – but they ended up making it to the wall before Percy's patience could wane.
The 'Snow Bears' moved of their own volition, having practiced for this very moment a hundred times over. The four largest men – each massive enough to be mistaken for an ox – positioned themselves at the base of the wall. They combined their hands, forming a platform from their interwoven fingers.
Percy stepped up onto their upturned palms, praying to Freya that his ingenuity would pay off. He drew his axe as they dipped their hands, and once he felt them start to push, he jumped with all his demigodly might.
Up, up, and up he flew, closing in on the top of the wall in a blink. He reached out with his axe and hooked the lip of the wall just before gravity could take hold of him. A shower of sparks rained down on him, and the hideous shriek of steel on stone frayed his nerves, but no shouts of alarm came from overhead. When it seemed that the coast was clear, he used his axe to hoist himself up and over the wall.
He landed softly on the ramparts above, and when he looked up, he realized why he'd heard no shouts. Rather than yelling to the nearest man or trying to dislodge Percy's axe, the guard atop the tower had taken off for the nearest alarm bell. Worse yet, he had almost reached it already. Biting back a string of curses, Percy cocked back his axe and prayed that he had the arm.
A single breath passed, and his axe was in flight. It twirled end over end, flickering brilliantly in the sunlight as it closed in on its target. Another breath and his axe had covered half the distance. The man reached for the bell, Percy's breath hitched, and then, just before the man could ring the bell, Percy's axe struck home.
"Thank the–" he started.
But he spoke too soon. His axe collided with the man with so much force that it pushed him into the bell, helmet first. The clang of steel on bronze resonated through the air, and like a swarm of crows announcing a feast, the entire city took up the call. Alarm bells rang out, war horns flared, and shouts sprouted up all throughout the city. Ledecestre had effectively been stirred by a dead man. Just Percy's luck.
Knowing he had to move quickly, Percy darted over to the edge of the wall. He uncoiled the rope looped over his shoulder and secured it around the nearest merlon before tossing it down to his soldiers. He didn't stop to make sure they were climbing. They had a mission to complete, and he trusted them to see it through with or without him. In an hour's time, they would have the gates of Ledecestre open. All he had to do in the meantime was provide a distraction.
With a single thought, he summoned his axe to his hand, and with it he was ready to begin his one-man assault. His men would be moving for the gatehouse, which meant he needed to lure as many Saxons away from the southern wall as he could, and he could think of only one place in all of Ledecestre that would attract enough attention: the home of its most esteemed ealdorman.
His eyes scanned the city for the building in question. It took him a few moments, but before long he was able to spot it. Twice the size of the other buildings and three times as lavish, there was no missing the nobleman's home. After that, he was just a twenty-five-foot drop and a few minutes' run from success.
He went to work the moment he reached the ealdorman's home. Using the fire striker, piece of flint, and a strip of flammable cloth stored in his knapsack –essential tools for all aspiring arsonists – he was able to get a small, handheld blaze going. From there, it was mere child's play to get the wattle and daub walls burning. Smoke began to rise as soldiers took to the streets, and Percy knew that a crowd would gather long before the fire could devour the building.
Sure enough, a group of six soldiers arrived on the scene before the fire's heat could draw so much as a bead of sweat from him. The Saxon men formed up into a semi-circle around him and began to force him towards the flames. They approached hesitantly at first, but the sound of a panicked nobleman from within the blaze galvanized them into action.
Percy cut down the first man with ease, carving so deep into the poor fool's neck that his axe chipped bone. Blood fountained from the wound and showered the nearest Saxon in the crimson spray of his death-bound comrade. The bloodied man screamed in rage and rushed to avenge his fallen friend, but a crushing blow from Percy's shield crumpled his windpipe, stopping him and his shouts forever.
The remaining four soldiers were much more wary after seeing two men cut down in such quick succession, but more screams from within the flames once more jarred them into action. The third Saxon died before he'd raised his sword, and the fourth and fifth were soon to join. Lucky number six managed to hit Percy's shield a grand total of three times before Percy sent him to his God.
The time passed in much the same fashion for a long while. As the fire grew larger, so too did the parties of Saxons sent to investigate it. Before long, Percy had built a pile of dead Englishmen large enough to feed every crow in England twice over.
"I turn your Ealdorman's home into his funeral pyre, and this is how you fight?" Percy shouted to the city at large. "If I were your God, I would-"
He was interrupted by a crackling sound behind him. He turned to it just in time to be struck in the chest by a bolt of jagged blue light. The blow knocked him off balance, but as he hit the ground he was smiling. Sure, the air reeked of ozone and suddenly his lungs felt like dried leather, but such pain could only mean one thing. His bait hadn't just attracted attention, it had hooked the biggest fish there was. After so long, a child of Zeus had finally come to play.
Ignoring the crinkly feeling in his chest, Percy rose to face his attacker. She was a black-haired girl with bright eyes and a nasty snarl. Electricity crackled in an open palm, while a heavy looking sword was hefted easily in the other. She appeared confident, but that would be her undoing. She hadn't taken the killing blow when she had the chance, and now the king of Olympus would be mourning long into the night.
"Son of Aegir!" the girl shouted over the sound of the crackling fire. "You've killed far too many of my kind. Today you die, and my people will forever worship me for taking your head."
Percy turned to the stack of bodies behind him, making a show of counting the dozen or so orange and purple clad soldiers littered among the dead.
"A grand hope, but I see none of your people left to admire you." He snarked.
The daughter of Zeus snarled but made no move to approach him. It seemed that she was content to wait for Percy to walk into her sword. Impatience taking him, Percy decided to push the matter himself. He walked towards her, axe twirling in his hand all the while. Her eyes zeroed in on his weapon, and Percy couldn't help but to grin. Too many people failed to recognize that a shield was as deadly as any axe. This girl, this demigod royalty playing at war, would be another of many to be taught the same fatal lesson.
Her eyes remained locked on his weapon as he cocked back his arm. He whipped his axe towards her at a near blinding speed, but to her credit she was able to narrowly avoid the throw. Unfortunately for her, she was so focused on avoiding his axe that she didn't notice his shield flying towards her until it struck her in the chest.
The blow knocked her backwards and forced all the air from her lungs. He allowed her some time to recover as he continued his slow approach. Her breath returned just as he came within reach of her sword. Panicked, but believing she had the upper hand, she grabbed the hilt of her blade with both hands and swung hard for his neck.
Percy, unarmed and unprotected, had expected as much. A single backstep carried him just out of reach of the sword, leaving so little space between his neck and the tip of the blade that he felt the air in front of his jugular being sliced by the razor-sharp edge. The girl tried to slow her blade, but before her sword was under her control again, a heavy kick from his boot struck her temple. Hard.
The girl – in a show of true toughness – did not crumple right away. It wasn't until two seconds later when his shield – tugged by the water in its still living wood – struck her in the back of the head that she met the beginning of her end. She landed on the ground in a contorted heap, staring skyward with lightning eyes clouded by a semi-conscious haze.
Percy recovered his axe before stalking over to her side. He squatted beside her, a look of pure pity on his face as he murmured, "Your people would've loved you for taking my head. Know that none of mine will care that I've taken yours."
And with that he raised his axe high overhead, and the daughter of Zeus became a message to all sons and daughters of Olympus: To dance with Perseus Thrall-Born was to court death itself.
Liv Frodadóttir – Ledecestre, 889 CE
Nordic blood ran red with two things in equal measure: a thirst for battle and a love for drink. It was no surprise then that after a day of successful conquest, the streets of Ledecestre had become the sight of fervent celebration. As the citizens of Ledecestre cowered in their homes and Saxon blood dried on the cobbles, mead flowed like rivers of amber into waiting drinking horns.
Finding anyone among the chaos was difficult. Liv would've been hard-pressed to spot her own two feet, let alone the object of her search. It was only by sheer luck that she ended up stumbling into the one person who might be able to help her.
"Trygve!" she shouted over the bustling crowd.
He turned to face her, a half-drunk smile on his face. The scent of alcohol was heavy on his breath, and his eyes were glazed over with the familiar glassy eyed haze of mead's making.
"Liv!" Trygve boomed. "I haven't seen you all night."
Someone jostled her from behind, but Trygve – even as drunk as he was – still managed to steady her with a single hand.
"I've been with Acke," She explained. "He wanted to visit the wounded, and–"
"And he needed someone who could actually smile?" Trygve asked. "I can't imagine seeing his somber face inspires much hope when you're bleeding from seven different holes!"
The Fannar within earshot laughed at the ribbing of their stoic leader. Liv herself couldn't help but to chuckle right along with them. As much as she liked and even admired Acke, she had to admit that he was hardly the one she'd want trying to brighten her darkest moments. As wise as he was, the man simply lacked the part of human physiology that translated into 'fun'.
"Well," Trygve continued once his own boisterous laugh had subsided. "Now that you're finished, why not join the party?"
Liv shook her head, as she suddenly remembered the reason she'd ventured into the throng of partying soldiers in the first place.
"I can't yet. I need to find Percy first. Have you seen him?"
Trygve gave a bark of laughter, merriment twinkling in his eyes.
"Seen him? Have I ever! I bumped into him about an hour ago, in the church of all places."
"The church? What in the name of Sleipnir's hooves was he doing there?"
"Hell if I know. I asked him if he was converting and he told me he'd 'rather spend the rest of his days eating pig shit from a donkey's ass'. Can't say I blame him. These Christians are a crazy folk."
Before she could comment, a soldier she didn't recognize burst onto the scene. He quickly prattled off a whole bunch of nothing – his speech so slurred her sober mind couldn't hope to keep up – before tugging Trygve away. She had just enough time to shout her thanks before he disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone but much less aimless than she'd been only moments prior.
With a newfound purpose in her step, she once more delved into the writhing mass of bodies. This time though, she had direction. Using the skyward reaching tower of the church as a landmark, she quickly maneuvered her way through the throng of people. It was only a few minutes and lot of stepped on toes later that she re-emerged from the crowd, only this time the towering doors of the cathedral greeted her in Trygve's place.
The first thing she noted when she entered the church was the oppressive scent of burning incense. Every inch of the place was bathed in yellow-orange light, and the flickering wicks cast dancing shadows across every surface. Weathered pews lined either side of a carpeted aisle, and the carpet itself lead to an ornate lectern atop a slightly raised platform.
At the head of the room – only a few rows short of the dais itself – two people were tucked into a pew. The first she recognized as Percy, but the second was foreign to her. Liv noted a neat braid of blonde hair, fair skin, and an unfamiliar but decidedly dirty feeling in the pit of her own stomach.
Percy and the strange woman spoke in hushed tones. Liv knew when her ears were unwanted so, despite her raging curiosity, she held her ground and waited for them to finish whatever this was. It was only a few minutes – something she was eternally grateful for – before the woman rose and said her goodbyes.
The woman passed Liv by as she headed for the exit, and those few steps were among the most confounding of Liv's life. The stranger was immensely beautiful, so much so that Liv found herself wondering if such a pretty face could even be human. Moreover, the woman radiated the feelings of danger and compassion in equal measure, and to meet her eyes was to be faced by the horrifying similarities between love and hate. She was a dangerous enigma encased in a dainty looking shell, and in a blink, she was gone.
Liv slid into Percy's pew, mind running wild with a billion theories. Strangely, her memory of the woman grew more faint with each passing breath. By the time she'd scooted her way to Percy's side, all that remained was the haziest silhouette of a woman dancing through the furthest recesses of her mind.
"You're not celebrating?" She asked as she lost her grip on the disappearing memory
Percy ignored her at first. His eyes were focused forward, as if he were some simple-minded, god-fearing member of the laity. Though his attention seemed to be elsewhere, she could tell by the rigidity in his posture that he was thinking, mulling over his next words like they would be his last.
"Neither are you, it seems." He eventually replied. "You don't reek of alcohol as Trygve did."
"Perhaps we should join him then? It's been far too long since we've last enjoyed ourselves."
"If you wanted to join the party, you would have long ago."
"Without you?" She asked. "It's no celebration unless you're there to do that trick where you make the mead disappear."
Percy chuckled.
"You do so enjoy that, don't you?"
"I do. And one of these days you're going to teach me how you do it."
"Don't count on it. I'm taking that secret to the grave with me."
"Of course you are…" She grumbled. "But if you won't tell me how you do it, will you at least tell me what you're doing here of all places?"
Percy shrugged.
"It's quiet. Good for thought."
"Oh? And what's so important that it couldn't wait until morning?"
Percy's jaw set like stone, and silence dominated the church. She liked to think that she could read him – and at times that was true – but moments like these reminded her that there were parts of Percy she would never understand, no matter how much she wanted to. Often his words were only a slice of the world inside his head, and there was no fact she loathed more. For all that she knew him, he was as incomprehensible, as unpredictable, as boundless as the sea.
"It's nothing, I just…" he cast his eyes skyward, as if the answers he sought were hidden in the rafters. "Do you think that the gods would ever lead us astray? Would they let us fight this war if we were doomed to fail?"
"To fail? Percy, you and your little side project singlehandedly won us an entire city. You can't possibly be thinking about 'what if's' right now."
"Can't I? Cynefrith's words hound me. I can't help but think that somewhere, deep down beneath all his arrogance and pomp, he'd been right. That we'll win every battle and lose this war. That our defeat has been written from the moment we took up arms."
He sounded almost… Almost scared of the idea. The irony of the thought wasn't lost on her. Here was Perseus Thrall-Born, the most feared man in all of England, and he was afraid of a future that may never come to pass. It was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. It was good to know that for all that he seemed untouchable, he shared the same doubts as any normal person.
Slowly, cautiously, she reached out and grabbed his calloused hand. He looked up at her, frustration written across his features. Suddenly the world was defined by a single pew, by the warmth of his hand in hers, and by the feeling like a blazing fire in her gut.
"Remember what Halvard always used to tell us?" she murmured. "Fire forges steel. The gods have not led us astray, and we aren't a day away from disaster. The truth of it is that the price of freedom is pain. You know that better than anyone. It seems daunting now, but one day, long after we've endured and conquered, we'll look back and be glad the gods did not grant us an easy victory."
"One day…" Percy echoed; face unreadable. "May it be upon us soon."
Perseus Thrall-Born – Forest of Mercia, 889 CE
Mercia's woods were an unforgiving place, and their chosen path through the trees even more so. The uneven, bramble-covered excuse for a trail made every mile as slow and arduous as a conversation with a half-wit. The physical and mental drain of the trek was immense, and after three long days, the wear and tear was beginning to show.
Weary legs and the sheer tedium of the march were enough to make every man testy, and it was all Percy could do to maintain order. Were it not for his sterling reputation among the men, he probably wouldn't've made it this far without a coup. He sincerely doubted his men would have blindly subjected themselves to such a torturous hike had anyone but him given the order.
If the men knew their ultimate goal they might've been a bit more enthused but, for the sake of operational security, Percy couldn't tell them their purpose. There was a delicate plan at work, and though Percy trusted each of his men with his life, he trusted none but Acke with the fate of the Bjornar.
In a day's time, Trygve would be taking on a much larger Saxon force with a visibly diminished army. When the battle began to favor the Saxons, Trygve planned to retreat into a nearby pass. The Saxons would be forced to give chase and, if their timing was proper, Trygve would turn on the Saxons just as Percy's own forces came up behind them. The Saxons would be surrounded by rock walls and vikingrs on all sides. In a single moment, what had been a battle would become a slaughter.
It was a brilliant plan, born of Trygve's penchant for strategy and Percy's passion for massacres. The only flaw in it all was that to make it work, Percy and his men had to be more than hasty. If they didn't make it in time, Trygve's forces would be butchered while waiting on reinforcements that would never arrive. So, though his own muscles echoed the sentiment of all his complaining soldiers, he maintained the breakneck pace through the thick woodlands.
If there was any solace to be found in the misery, it was in the growing assuredness of their success. The bulk of their trek was behind them now, and for the first time in far too long they'd reached a semi-traversable path. Soon enough they'd be in battle, and when the politics of steel began, no man would feel the ache of the cross-country march. The black song would take to their lips, and their battle prowess would permanently silence thousands of English lives.
To feel such optimism was rare for Percy these days – the war had taken many dour turns as of late – but he had good reason to hope. His father had come to him in a dream last night, and in it he had promised that the end of the war began today. The god had spoken with a finality that had truly inspired belief in Percy and so, even as the Saxons clamped tighter around Bjornar holdings, he held on to hope.
Such was the nature of life that just as he reached peace within himself, a problem arose. As he and his men crested a hill and emerged from the trees entirely, they found themselves facing a small valley enclosed by forest on all sides. There was a village in the lowest point, too distant to make out the finer details, but close enough to see that it was barely more than a few houses jumbled together. Still, this was more civilization than they'd planned on meeting before the battle, and that posed a rather large problem.
"This isn't supposed to be here." Acke said from Percy's side. "All our maps had this area drawn as untamed forest."
"It's small and secluded. Perhaps nobody knew it existed."
"It's possible, but I doubt it. Look at the farmlands. They've hardly been tilled. And the houses are basically sticks and straw."
Now that they'd gotten a bit closer, Percy could see that Acke was right. The 'village' was nothing more than a few hovels hastily cobbled together. The streets were just trampled dirt littered with barrels, crates, and the odd piece of debris. It was clearly a sham, and Percy could think of only one reason why anyone would go through the trouble of setting it up.
"A trap then." he decided. "We should investigate."
Acke frowned.
"Are you sure? We could just walk around it and–"
"Either it's a trap, or it's not. If it's not, then we have to burn the village and make sure nobody survives to warn the Saxons we're coming. If it is a trap, we need to capture one of the soldiers and use him to find out how they knew we were coming, and how they knew what path we'd take. Considering the only people who knew of this plan besides us were Trygve and the Jarls, that information could change everything."
"I'm not sure, Percy. I have a bad feeling about this."
Admittedly, Percy did too, but that wasn't something he could be bothered with now. Sometimes, reason overruled instinct.
"Relax, Acke. We can handle whatever the Saxons throw at us."
Acke clearly didn't like it, but he was nothing if not loyal. He would follow orders to the bitter end, personal opinions and fears be damned. Despite his misgivings, he held his tongue and followed Percy into the threat they knew was lurking.
When they entered the village, the small sliver of unease flashing in the back of Percy's mind suddenly flared as bright as the midday sun. His men began to disperse to comb the village for signs of life, meanwhile, his attention was focused on the surrounding hills. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for the danger his gut told him was coming. He was so focused on his search that he didn't notice the barrel in his path until it was too late.
His foot collided with the obstruction, but instead of rolling like he'd expect an empty barrel to, the thing held firm. Percy stumbled forward, only just managing to catch himself before he ate a face full of dirt. Acke chuckled beside him, but when he saw the frown on Percy's face, he sobered up in an instant.
"What is it?"
"This barrel… It's full…" Percy muttered. "Why would they leave anything behind after setting this place up? They're just dropping supplies in our laps, and nobody is even here to make us fight for them? It doesn't–"
Suddenly, his mind was filled with vivid flashbacks to the dream that had dominated his nights for so long. He saw pounding rain and crackling lightning. Saw a field of mud leading up to slick stone walls. Thunder boomed inside his skull, and a barrel filled with powdered death exploded on the back of his eyelids. A barrel just like the one he'd stumbled over. Terror like he hadn't felt in years gripped at his stomach, and the words were ripping from his throat before he could hear his own thoughts.
"Everyone out!" he shouted. "Get away from the barrels! They're–"
His demigod ears picked up the sound of twanging bowstrings in the distance. His eyes shot skyward, and when he saw the flaming arrows ascending like arcs of bloodthirsty sunlight, he knew that this was exactly what he'd feared. A nightmare come to life.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Acke shouting orders. He heard the pounding of footsteps as his men tried to outrace a doom they couldn't yet fathom. He smelled the stench of burning oil as the flaming arrows hit dirt all around him. Through it all, his focus was on the distant hilltop, where a team of archers was readying another volley. As his men sprinted for the trees, he headed for the flame-slingers.
The first barrel was struck just as he reached the edge of the village. A booming sound like Mjolnir itself had been cast from Asgard erupted somewhere behind him, and a glance over his shoulder revealed flaming thatch roofs and a plume of midnight dust. Silence followed the explosion and then, as he took his third step beyond the village limits, chaos ensued.
Screams of agony echoed from within the village. Another barrel was hit, and another explosion shook the world. The scent of flesh being melted away assaulted Percy's nostrils, and the chill of death hung thick in the summer air. He felt the lives of the men too slow to escape the village being snuffed out one by one, each departing with a tormented scream. He redoubled his efforts as the barrage continued, but the archers' hilltop seemed more distant the longer he ran.
By the time he reached the top of the hill, the firing had already stopped. There were no more explosions, only the clopping of hooves and the whimpers of men far behind him begging to be saved from a certain and painful death. The archers were on horseback, only a few yards short of the distant tree line. They were going to escape, and that realization enraged Percy almost as much as the massacre behind him.
Summoning the powers of his father, Percy called on the water in the air ahead of the fleeing men. He congealed it quickly, forming it into a blade of ice as sharp as the finest steel, all in the span of a single hoofbeat. By the time the men realized what was happening, they'd already ridden neck first into the magical blade, turning their archer unit into a team of headless horsemen.
Watching the corpses topple did little to appease his inner turmoil. The guilt of leading his men into the village pierced his chest like a nail being driven by a giant, and the rage burning inside turned that nail into a white-hot prong of self-loathing. His fury continued to build, rain began to gather, and then, just before he could do something truly worthy of his divine nature, a voice cut through his clouded mind.
"What in God's name are you?"
Percy turned on the voice and saw… One of the archers? He was laying on the ground, one hand clutching at his ribs, and the other desperately clinging to a tiny dagger. He looked bloody and bruised, and a fleeing horse sans the dead rider told Percy the rest of the story. The man's compatriots had trampled him in their hasty retreat, and now… Now he was going to give Percy every piece of information he had.
"My name is Perseus Thrall-Born."
The man flinched, and Percy smiled a sinister smile. His reputation certainly preceded him.
"You know who I am then. Good. That means that you know what I can do. What I'm willing to do. It means that you'll tell me everything I want to know. And after that…"
"I beg of you! Please let me go! Show mercy! I'm just a man! I had orders!"
"Mercy? You expect mercy after today? After the mercy you've shown my men?" Percy spat. "Know this. For the rest of your days, you will suffer. You will suffer until you've renounced your God a thousand times over and then, only then, will I allow you to die. You will enter your afterlife a traitor to both your people and your God, knowing that I intend to bring the same fate to each and every one of your countrymen. And once the lot of you burn in your hell together, I will burn your homes and salt your lands and turn your children into pagan savages. How does that sound for mercy?"
Hazel Levesque – Ethoney, 2017 CE
The inside of Ethoney was like something taken straight from a science fiction movie. Every surface was sheening white and lined with new age tech, and every menial task in the world was automated. More notably, Hazel hadn't seen a single sign of monster activity outside or within Ethoney. Somehow, Adrian Hale and his people must've devised a way for demigods and technology to safely co-exist.
Her surprise only grew when she saw the accommodations afforded to the residents of Ethoney. Demigods were not pushed into cabins they didn't belong in, forced into overpacked barracks, or treated according to godly parentage. Everyone had their own personalized living quarters, access to every amenity a five-star hotel would provide, and as much or as little free time as they wanted. It was paradise. It was too good to be true.
The doorman gobbled up her astonishment as they went. Each dropped jaw and bewildered gaze made his grin grow ever wider. The longer the tour lasted, the more his smile unnerved her. He was like a man who'd just hooked a prize fish. Hazel could understand why so many demigods had ended up here. Every inch of the place was made to seem perfect. Every aspect designed to manipulate young and impressionable demigods. It was a recruiting scheme of the highest order, and this man was most certainly in on the scheme.
After the tour was complete, he brought them to a stop outside a door made from frosted glass. He promised to see them again once they'd finished initiation before heading off in the direction of the building entrance. Percy and Hazel exchanged uncertain glances. The glass panel sank into the floor and the heart of Ethoney was revealed.
The initiation chamber was like a high school gym if 'warfare 101' was an elective. Weapon racks covered every wall, offering a choice selection of armaments ranging from staves to medieval flails to sai. The floor was broken off into sections so that spars could be hosted all across the room and, if the dried blood was anything to go by, it saw a good amount of use.
A jumble of young teens had congregated in the center of the room. They were chatting quietly among themselves and spared little more than a few uninterested glances in Hazel's direction. She recognized a few of them as recently vanished legionnaires and probatios. It took a considerable amount of self-control to hide her distaste. She was an understanding woman but, compassion or no, she was a Roman, and to Rome desertion was a cardinal sin.
"Control yourself." Percy murmured, careful to keep his voice low. "Traitors are bad, but blowing our cover is worse."
He nodded to her hand, where Mist and shadow were beginning to coalesce into an undulating beacon of her ire. Percy put himself between her and the other demigods while she took a few controlled breaths. Slowly, she felt her frustration ebb away until only the mission remained.
Her regained composure came not a moment too soon, as only seconds after her unrestrained power had waned, a new arrival entered the room. He was a behemoth of a man, standing far taller and bulkier than any human had the right to. Percy was by no means a small person, but compared to this guy, the son of Aegir may as well have been a child who'd never seen a set of weights in his life.
The presence fostered by the newcomer's imposing stature was only further amplified by the finer details of his appearance. Graphic tattoos depicting bloody battels covered every visible patch of skin below his neck, a hammer the size of a human hung on his back, and his clothes had enough chains and black leather to make Jason's sister Thalia envious. Most intimidating of all were his eyes, which promised he would love nothing more than to drink a smoothie made out of Hazel's intestines. All things considered, there was nobody in the world who embodied 'hammer-wielding, baby-murdering, godly steroid-taking psycho', more than this guy.
The living representation of all things violent meandered his way to the head of the room, where he waited and allowed his presence to wash over them. A few of the gathered demigods shifted nervously, and Hazel swore she heard at least one of them gulp down their fear. Then, just before the recruits had a chance to rethink their decision, the goliath finally spoke.
"Form up." He ordered.
The gathered demigods were quick to oblige. They arranged themselves shoulder to shoulder in a single, room-spanning line. Hazel ended up tucked between Percy and a daughter of Venus from the Fourth Cohort. Once they were settled, the man began to pace up and down the line.
He sized them each up one by one. When he came to Hazel, his eyes bore into her like diamond-tipped drills. A tiny voice in the back of her mind told her that he could see through the Mist disguise she had created, but she shrugged it off. She had too much faith in her magic to allow herself to panic at the first sign of scrutiny. That faith was well rewarded when only a moment later the man nodded to himself and moved down the line.
Eventually, the man finished his rounds and returned to his place at the head of the room. He rummaged around in his pocket for a while before producing a small remote control. He pressed a button, and within seconds three orderlies came marching in. Each carried a tray loaded with paper cups filled with a shot of some foreign liquid Hazel didn't recognize.
"Welcome to Ethoney," The man said. "My name is Sprout, and I speak for the Alchemist. My words are an extension of his voice, and my actions an extension of his justice. He has entrusted me with the training of his army, which means that I am the one who will be guiding you on your journey to enlightenment."
Sprout snapped his fingers, and the orderlies sprang into action. They moved swiftly, delivering a cup to each demigod before disappearing through the door from which they'd come. Hazel stared into the cup, eyeing the viscous black liquid apprehensively. The stench alone made her stomach churn, and she very much doubted the taste would be any more pleasant.
"This potion is the first step. It's a special blend of the Alchemist's own design. It will sever the connection between you and your godly parents while allowing you to maintain your abilities. You will keep their strength, but from now on the gods will not be able to sense your presence, alter your dreams, or play puppet master with your lives. One drink, and you will be free from godly tyranny."
The gathered demigods all seemed to like the sound of that. One by one they downed the strange beverage, leaving questions by the wayside. Percy joined them, and Hazel began to fear that he was an idiot. There was no way in hell that the drink did as Sprout said. Then again, she could hardly refuse to partake now. Biting back her revulsion, she brought the cup to her lips and tasted… nothing.
The Alchemist's concoction evaporated as soon as it neared her mouth. She wasn't sure how, but she knew Percy was responsible. Silently praising his brilliance, she feigned swallowing and completed Percy's ruse. Sprout's self-satisfied grin as she lowered the cup – the same exact grin she'd seen on the face of the doorman – told her that she'd been right to doubt his honesty.
"Now that that's settled, we can discuss further matters. First and foremost, you must understand that everything that we will provide for you comes by the good grace of our benefactor. He has provided us with safety, community, and purpose. Through his efforts, we will be able to protect you where the gods would leave you to die. We will treat you not with indifference, but with compassion. We will not sit idly by as the world decays. Together, with your help, we will seize control of the world. We will steal the reigns from the corrupt. Destroy those who would treat us as fodder. When our mission is done, the world will begin anew under a just regime. A regime that will rise as you rise and succeed as you succeed. Today marks the first day of a world where demigods are at the helm of their own destiny, and guide ourselves towards a better tomorrow… Now, let's get started."
Hazel Levesque – Ethoney, 2017 CE
It was mind-boggling how little progress they'd made in their time at Ethoney. It didn't matter that they obliterated records in every training exercise. It didn't matter that they followed every insane cultish teaching to the letter. And it definitely didn't matter that they kissed up to Sprout as much as they could. No matter what they tried, they weren't any closer to scoring a meeting with Adrian Hale than they'd been three weeks ago.
Though their ultimate goal seemed as distant as ever, they weren't entirely empty handed. They had learned a few key things about the organization. Adrian Hale, while perpetually unseen, was almost omnipresent. His influence spanned all of Ethoney, and his 'teachings' could be heard spewing from the mouths of every member of his organization. They hadn't realized it at the time, but Caleb had merely been the tip of the iceberg. Once they saw Ethoney for themselves they understood exactly how brainwashed Adrian's subjects were.
Even more unnerving than the cult's corruption – and a lot harder to notice – was the presence of godly intervention within the organization. They hadn't exactly seen any gods or goddesses lurking about, but Hazel knew in her bones that a deity had been to Ethoney on numerous occasions. The magical trace lingered, and though neither she nor Percy could place its origin, it was there. Whatever god was responsible, the issue the feeling raised was the same. Adrian Hale had divine backing, and that didn't bode well for either camp.
Percy had seemed even more bothered by the revelation than her. He had spent days ranting about gods and their meddling, raging long after she'd accepted the unfortunate circumstances. She knew from Alex and Nico that Percy had a history with the Olympians, but his ire seemed to run much deeper than some foreign gods punishing him for a targeted culling of their own children.
Whatever the reason for his spite, Percy had eventually regained his composure. Over the past week, his anger had turned to revitalized determination. During the day, he pushed harder than anyone to move up Ethoney's hierarchy, and he spent half his nights scouring the complex for any secrets to be found. His searches had largely proven fruitless, but a note slipped under her door the previous night had hinted at a big discovery waiting to be unveiled.
Waiting an entire day had been torture, but now the time was finally upon her. Dusk had long since turned to night, and the bustling halls of Ethoney had been abandoned. The empty corridors made making it to the mess hall easy. It was once she reached her destination that things grew complicated.
The mess hall was so dark that even Nyx herself would've been hard-pressed to navigate it safely. Blinded as she was, Hazel spent more time bumping into tables and chairs than she did looking for Percy. The search took longer than she would've liked, but eventually she managed to scour the entire room. For all her effort, she was unable to find even a single trace of him anywhere. Either he was late, captured, or she'd forgotten how to read in the last forty-eight hours, and she was looking in the wrong place.
Before she could begin to doubt her literacy, the sound of hydraulics springing into action flared up behind her. When she turned, she saw the floor peel away, revealing a dimly lit staircase to gods only know where. She heard footsteps creeping up the stairs, and just before she could make a mad dash for the exit, Percy's head peaked over the floorboards.
"C'mon." He whispered. "You're gonna want to see this."
She joined him as quick as he could. He led her down the stairs with a smug grin on his face. They eventually came to a door like you would see on a bank vault, only it was made from the purest imperial gold Hazel had ever seen. Immediately her mind began to run rampant imagining all the heinous secrets worthy of being kept behind such obscene security measures. Deadly weapons, a kennel of monsters, a hidden shrine to the mystery god backing Adrian, all would've made perfect sense to her. None of those things were what she got.
The first thing she noticed when she entered was the smell. It was like a spirit of the underworld had taken a bath in a tub full of ambrosia and bleach. The strange scent came from the shelves lining the walls. Each shelf was packed with vials, and each vial was filled to the brim with a bubbling green liquid. She wasn't sure what it was, but she very much doubted it was good.
"Any idea what it is?" she asked.
It was a hopeful question – Percy didn't seem the type to understand complex divine chemistry – but a little hope never hurt anybody.
"Not a clue." He chirped, dashing her hopes in an instant. "But odds are it's bad news. Hale is harvesting all sorts of nasty ingredients, and he's force-feeding these demigods all the potions he can make out of them. I can't even begin to fathom what twisted shit he thinks is dangerous enough to keep hidden away like this."
"Speaking of," Hazel wondered aloud. "How'd you even find this place? It's not exactly something you just bump into."
Percy shrugged.
"I saw Sprout visit here one time too many. After that I felt around with my powers, and I noticed all of this." He gestured theatrically at the stacked shelves. "I must've spent a dozen hours bumbling around in the mess hall before I finally figured out how to get it open."
Hazel quirked an eyebrow, asking a silent question. Percy grinned from ear to ear, as if the answer was the most amusing thing he'd heard in ages.
"It seems that Hale and I solve a lot of our problems the same way." He held up his hand, where a bloodied bandage was wrapped around his palm. "The secret is demigod blood."
"Hygienic." Hazel deadpanned.
"Effective." Percy countered. "You wouldn't believe half the stuff your blood is capable of. It's–"
Heavy footsteps echoed on the cafeteria floor. Hazel's eyes widened, and suddenly her mind was screaming at her to duck and cover. The footsteps grew closer, but the only place to hide was behind Percy. Realizing they were pinned down, she readied herself for a fight.
"Relax." Percy whispered. "It's all part of the plan."
And then the door was swinging open, and Sprout was staring down at them with the most furious gaze Hazel had seen.
"What the hell are you two doing in here?" he demanded.
"Late night. We got thirsty. You know how it is." Percy joked.
Sprout's nostrils flared.
"This room and its contents are a closely guarded secret." Sprout hissed. "You will never speak about this to anyone, or you will never speak again."
"A little late for that." Percy said. "I've already started a few text chains, and taking those back is this whole thing and–"
Sprout gave a throaty roar and stomped over to Percy. He reared back a heavy fist and backhanded the son of Aegir, sending him sprawling to the floor. Hazel rushed to his side to help him, but something in his eyes stopped her. Even as he wiped blood from his split lip, he didn't look pained. In fact, he looked almost… Almost relieved.
"You punch like a Greek." Percy taunted. "When does the real punishment start?"
Sprout's face flared cherry red, and his eyes narrowed in rage.
"You want punishment? How about this?" He unslung his ever-present warhammer and hefted it threateningly in his hands. "You two are going to come on a little trip with me. We're going to visit the Alchemist, and when we get there, he's going to dunk you in an acid so powerful it burns your great-grandchildren. Either that, or I paint these walls brain-matter grey."
Percy grinned, and Hazel knew then and there that this had been his plan all along. If he couldn't brown-nose his way to Adrian Hale, then he could sure as shit antagonize his way there.
"Well when you put it like that… Road trip it is!"
Perseus Thrall-Born – Adrian Hale's Factory, 2017 CE
Being unarmed, outnumbered, and deep behind enemy lines was far from ideal. That's why if Percy was going to do it, he preferred to do it on his own terms. In his mind, it was better to be an overstepping subordinate being dragged to the leader than it was to be a prisoner of war. He just hoped that Hazel wouldn't be too angry with him to see things his way.
It wasn't that he didn't trust her with his plan – Alex and his friends had long since proven themselves capable individuals – but rather that he didn't expect her to agree to it. Getting someone on board with purposefully antagonizing a cult from within was a lot more difficult than dragging them along and asking them for forgiveness later.
She seemed rather calm right now, though it was hard to tell through the bag on his head. He would just have to wait until they reached Adrian Hale to find out just how eager she was to help him out. He was cautiously optimistic – she'd demonstrated an impressive amount of adaptability in their time at Ethoney – but if his hopes were unfounded, well… It had been a long time since he'd truly let loose, and there was no better time than the present.
By the time the van came to a stop, Percy had mapped out the coming meeting a thousand times over in his mind. Every outcome had lived a hundred lifetimes behind his eyelids. Most encounters were won before they ever began, and Percy would be damned if he didn't come out of this on top.
When Sprout guided them from the van to Adrian's lair, he did so with a heavy hand. A nudge here and there would've sufficed, but Sprout was clearly not a man for whom compassion was a concern. Percy didn't mind though. Sprout could hit him as much as he liked now, because in due time he would return the favor tenfold.
A few minutes and a lot of punches later, Sprout had brought them to what Percy could only assume was Adrian's factory. The whirr of machinery – so familiar from his foray into Caleb's memory – filled the room, and the air was thick with the same stench that had emanated from the vials of green liquid. Percy's suspicions were confirmed not a moment later when Sprout tore the bag from his head and shoved him to the floor.
The first thing he did was check on Hazel. Her hair was ruffled from her own headbag and she was sporting a few bruises courtesy of Sprout, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. More importantly, she didn't look furious, only determined. That was good. He could work with determined.
"You two wait here." Sprout grumbled. "And don't even think about running. You'll be dead before you make it outside."
"Wouldn't dream of it, big fella. Take your time."
Sprout muttered something about 'insubordinate wastes of oxygen' before stalking off in the direction of a set of double doors on the opposite side of the factory floor. They only had a brief moment, which meant planning had to be quick. He just hoped Hazel was up for a bit of improv.
"What do you have on you?" Percy whispered, keeping one eye on Sprout's retreating form.
"Nothing." Hazel hissed. "I wasn't exactly prepared for this surprise vacation."
"Right, sorry about that. Scoring a meeting with Adrian was taking too long, so I decided to expedite the process."
"Except now we don't know where we are, we're unarmed, and we're chained up!"
"I've been in worse spots." Percy said with a shrug. "Besides, the whole point was finding the factory. If Nico followed the van like he was supposed to, he should be back at camp planning an assault as we speak."
"And what about us? We're not exactly in an ideal position."
"We're fine. You're a daughter of Pluto. You can shadow travel us out of here, no?"
"Not with these cuffs on." She said, jangling them emphatically.
Sprout, who was at the doors by now, shot a look of warning at them. Percy gave him a wink and a theatric wave before turning back to Hazel.
"Don't tell me you never learned how to pick a lock."
Hazel rolled her eyes.
"Give me some credit. I had the Stolls show me how a while back. I'm not that good though, so I'll need a distraction and a lot of time."
"Done and done." Percy promised.
That decided, Hazel reached up into her hair. After a few seconds of rummaging around, she extracted a bobby pin made of celestial bronze from within her curls. Percy couldn't help but smile at her preparedness. Alex sure knew how to pick his friends wisely.
"Hold off until I get him talking." Percy said. "These mad scientist types love to monologue."
Whatever Hazel was going to say next; it was cut off by the sound of doors swinging open. Percy swiveled his attention to Sprout's position at the end of the hall just in time to see… Mini-Sprout?
The guy Sprout had fetched was a carbon copy of himself. Well, a carbon copy that had been shrunk down to regular human size and taken up science instead of murder as a childhood pastime. Still, Percy was willing to bet anything that the two were brothers. Brains and brawn. A perfect tandem for all your conquering needs. Dollars to donuts their godly parent was the same one that had been getting their divine-interference on back at Ethoney.
"These are the two, sir." Sprout said when they were once again within punching range.
'Sir' looked down at them condescendingly. Percy recognized the look well. It was the same face he'd seen on a pompous king a very long time ago. A look that said, 'you are ants beneath me, and I am your god'. Percy knew then and there that this was, without a shadow of a doubt, the ever-elusive Adrian Hale.
"So," Adrian drawled. "You're the ones who've been snooping around Ethoney. Sprout has had his eye on you two for a while. Said you were too good to be true. It seems he was right."
"Oh, I'm plenty good." Percy promised. "We just play for different teams is all."
"A shame. We could've used you. Unfortunately, my plans leave little time to be wasted on meddling fools such as yourself. I suppose we'll just have to kill you and be done with it. Sprout, if you would."
Percy glanced over at Hazel. Much to his dismay, she still hadn't made it through the cuffs. Adrian must've designed a damned complicated lock. She needed more time, and if Adrian wasn't going to monologue, well… It was time for his distraction to get… violent.
"One request." Percy pleaded as Sprout lofted his hammer. "Make it fast. I get bored quickly."
Sprout lifted his hammer high overhead.
"If only I could kill you twice." He muttered.
And then Sprout brought his hammer crashing down. It closed in fast, but Percy was faster. He rolled just out of reach, coming up from his roll only milliseconds before the massive weapon thundered home. The cement floor cracked beneath the force of the blow, but Percy didn't waste time marveling at Sprout's strength. By the time Sprout started to raise his hammer, Percy was already making his move.
He jumped on Sprout's back like a baby gorilla, and he hung on for dear life. Using his legs as an anchor, Percy took the time to loop the chains of his handcuffs around Sprout's neck. Then, before Sprout could wriggle free, Percy yanked on the chain with all the strength he could muster.
Sprout bucked and flailed like a rodeo bull, but his panicked throes only drove the chain deeper into his neck. Adrian moved to save his brother, but every time he came close, Percy used his makeshift garrote as reigns. He steered Sprout like a show horse, using his massive frame as a human shield against Adrian's attempts to help.
Eventually Sprout wised up and moved to slam Percy against the nearest hard surface, but it was too little too late. He was so weakened by his blood-starved brain that Percy barely even felt the impact when Sprout backed into the nearby wall. It was only a few pathetic attempts later that Sprout sank to the floor, thoroughly defeated by the weapon he'd unknowingly strapped to Percy's wrists.
"An impressive show," Adrian appraised. "But ultimately moot. I don't need my brother's help to kill you."
Percy grinned. This was where he excelled. Making fools of those arrogant enough to challenge him.
"Wanna bet?"
Adrian snarled in anger. Apparently insulting his competence was infinitely more enraging than choking the consciousness out of his brother. Guided by his fury, the cult leader drew his sword and charged.
Percy let the man come, hoping to draw the fighting as far from Hazel as he could. When Adrian reached him, he opened with a powerful thrust. It was a strike intended to gut him, but it was far too slow. Percy managed to not only evade the attack, but to draw the chain of his cuffs taut and position them directly in the path of the sword. The chain stood no chance against the sword. Just like that, his hands were free.
"Thanks." Percy chirped. "That makes this next part easy."
What ensued next was a beating of biblical proportions. Even without a weapon, Percy far outclassed Adrian. Every move the poor demigod made was telegraphed to Percy's trained eye. Every swing of his sword like a snail through molasses compared to Percy's speed. Percy dodged everything at will. He landed punches with impunity. He did the same thing he'd always done. He won.
By the time Percy was through with Adrian, the man was little more than a bloody pulp at his feet. For all that he had been touted as a terrifying figure working from the shadows, he had been no different from any run of the mill demigod. Just a nobody who couldn't live up to his own legend.
"It's a shame." Percy said as he stalked over to Adrian's battered form. "I've spent weeks waiting for this moment, and for what? You experiment with blackstone. You brainwash demigods. You ally yourself with meddling gods. All this subterfuge, all this planning, just for you to lose it all to a single fight? I wanted to make you suffer for what you've done, but I can see now that you're no Cynefrith. You're just a kid playing with powers you don't understand."
"Funny." Adrian rasped. "You couldn't be further from the truth."
"What are you –"
Adrian reached into his pocket with a trembling hand. He came back with a syringe full of glowing green liquid, and Percy's stomach dropped. Adrian primed the syringe, and Percy started racing to his side. He slid in and tried to tear the damned thing from Adrian's hands, but it was too late. He'd already injected his own thigh.
"If that was poison, I swear I'll track you down in the underworld just to–"
Adrian's hand shot out faster than should've been humanly possible. It struck Percy so hard and so fast that he was sent flying into the nearest machine. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, leaving behind a Percy-sized dent in the machine and kissing goodbye to the structural integrity of his ribs.
He slowly rose to his feet, groaning all the while as he fought against the roaring pain in his chest. Horror took him as he looked up to see a revitalized Adrian Hale. Never before had he seen a mortal move so quickly. Never before had he been hit so hard by anyone not named Freya or Thor. It was impossible. Unthinkable. For the first time in far too long, Perseus Thrall-Born was looking at an enemy that was worthy of his fear.
Adrian moved again, moving even faster than before. He closed the distance between them so quickly that Percy could barely react at all. He desperately raised an arm to ward off the blow he knew was coming, but it only earned him more pain. Adrian's punch shattered his forearm on impact.
Percy reared back and clutched at the dangling limb, but Adrian didn't give him the time to process his pain. He attacked again, this time kicking at Percy's knee so hard that his leg bent like a crane's. Percy collapsed onto the cool stone floor, and hot tears of intense pain burned agonizing paths down his cheeks.
"It's a shame." Adrian parroted. "You spend weeks planning. You plot and scheme and ready yourself for this day, just for you to lose it all in a single fight?"
He reached down, grabbed Percy's face with an iron grip, and hoisted him into the air. He threw him across the factory, where Percy landed hard enough to snap one of his already damaged ribs. The bone shot up into his lung like a knife, and suddenly he wasn't just beaten, he was drowning in his own blood. He heard a cry of shock and horror over his own wheezing and gurgling, and he knew Hazel was nearby. That was bad. He hoped that if nothing else, she could escape before things got any worse.
"Just a kid, you say?" Adrian boomed. "It's you that doesn't understand! My serum is far beyond anything you've ever seen before! With it, I can temporarily eliminate the mortal half of my physiology! I can become a god! Next to me, you're nothing."
Percy didn't respond. Couldn't respond. It was all he could do in that moment to stave off unconsciousness, and that was growing increasingly difficult with each passing breath. He heard Adrian's footsteps getting closer, and his eyelids started to droop. Hazel shouted in his ear, but to him it was just another piece of white noise. He felt a cool, calming hand land on his shattered arm. Saw Hazel's face like he was looking through a fishbowl. There was a scream, a rush of wind, and then the world was nothing but black.
AN
Hey all, long time no see. I wish I could've been back sooner, but two of my grandparents have passed in the time between this chapter and the last, and that took precedence over writing for a while. Nevertheless, I have returned. I'm sure you're glad to see I'm still alive, just as I'm glad to be bringing you another chapter.
I don't have much to say (I feel this chapter speaks for itself) but I do want y'all to know that this is where things get spicy. Both in the past and in the present, the big bads and their ultimate weapons have been unveiled. Now it's up to Percy to figure out how you beat death powder and literal god mode hacks. How will he do it? Fuck if I know.
Anyways, I love y'all, I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you're doing well. Until next time,
Peace