There's only 53 chapters on this, whereas Lou's Past (Part 1) has 70. So I will keep alternating days, so it gives me more time to write stuff (in theory), so I will try and post the quarantine one-shots on Love is Boundless, keep all of them in one place. I have found my notes on the Demigods and Magicians as well, I'll be rewriting The Son of Sobek and The Crown of Ptolemy, not The Staff of Serapis, mostly because there's not really anything for me to do there. I'm also tempted to rewrite Camp Jupiter Classified, but none of it will be my canon because I think Lou's technically dead at that point? Let me recheck my timeline :P
To Imagine Coldplay- CLIFFHANGERS ARE GREAT! But only when I'm writing them!
To 8Ball3- I WAS SO READY TO MARCH ON OVER THERE AND THROW HANDS WITH HIM, LIKE FIRST JASON, THEN FRANK? HELL TO THE NO!
A third degree burn was the least painful thing he carried from that tunnel. He staggered into the open, back sizzling, hands streaming. Every muscle in his body had been scored with razorblades. In front of him, the spread of the emperors' forces, hundreds of battle-ready warriors. In the distance, stretched across the bay, the remaining thirty or so yachts waited, primed to fire their doomsday artillery.
None of that hurt as much as knowing Frank Zhang had been left behind in the flames.
Caligula was gone. Apollo could sense it; the emperor's consciousness had disintegrated in a blast of superheated plasma. But it had cost too much. Beautiful, awkward, lumbering, brave, strong, sweet, noble Frank… was gone.
The enemy forces appeared to be as stunned as Apollo was. Even the usually stoic Germani were slack-jawed at watching their bosses get blown up in a massive fiery eruption from the side of a mountain.
"URGSSSHHH." Apollo turned at the barely human noise. Of course Commodus was still alive, crawling from the smoke-filled cavern on his elbows, his armour half-melted, his skin coated with ash. His once-beautiful face now resembled a burnt loaf of tomato bread.
Apollo hadn't hobbled him enough. Somehow, he had missed his ligaments. He messed up everything, even Frank's last request.
None of the troops rushed to their emperor's aid, frozen in disbelief. Incredibly, Commodus got to his feet, wobbling as if still caught in the throes of the explosion. "SHIPS!" He croaked, slurring so badly, it sounded like he had said something else altogether. His troops must have thought similar as they did nothing. "FIRE!" Commodus bellowed.
Yes, Apollo thought, you are on fire. He only understood the order a heartbeat later, when Gregorix yelled:
"SIGNAL THE YACHTS!"
Apollo choked on his tongue. Commodus shot him a ghastly smile, eyes glittering with hatred. Apollo did not know where he found the strength, but he charged and tackled the chargrilled emperor. They hit the softened tarmac, Apollo straddling his chest, clamping his hands around his throat like he had thousands of years before. This time, he felt no bittersweet regret, no lingering sense of love. Commodus fought with fists as strong as paper. Apollo let loose a guttural roar, a song with only one note- pure rage at maximum volume.
The onslaught of sound reduced Commodus to ash. Apollo's voice faltered, ragged breathing in its place. He looked at his empty, ash-speckled palms. He stood, backing away, horrified. The charred outline of Commodus's body remained on the tarmac. What had he done? In his thousands of years of life, he had never destroyed someone with his voice.
The troops were staring at him in astonishment. Given another moment, they would have attacked. Their attention was caught by a flare gun going off nearby. A globe of orange fire arced into the sky, trailing coloured smoke. The troops turned towards the bay, waiting for the firework show that would destroy Camp Jupiter. Apollo- tired, helpless, emotionally shattered- could only watch too.
Louisa had destroyed what she could before realising the camp needed her. But it still left thirty-six green dots on aft decks, flicking with Greek fire. PLEASE, ARTEMIS, Apollo prayed, NOW WOULD BE A GREAT TIME TO SHOW UP.
The weapons fired. Thirty-six fireballs rose into the sky, illuminating the entire bay. Thirty-three of them rose straight upward, struggling to gain altitude. Three veered away. Apollo watched the majority, confusion rippling through him. Why would the missiles be aimed like that?
They rose another fifty, hundred feet, slowed. On Highway 24, the entire enemy army followed their movements, standing on their tiptoes, poised as if levitating. The fireballs stopped and hovered in mid-air.
Then they fell, straight down, right onto the yachts from which they had come. The display of mayhem was worthy of the emperors themselves. Thirty-three yachts exploded in green mushroom clouds, sending confetti of shattered wood, metal and tiny flaming monster bodies into the air. Caligula's multi-billion-dollar fleet had been reduced to shipwrecks, a string of burning oil slicks and three very charred, very bruised and battered looking yachts.
Apollo may have laughed, but the three that had veered away, had veered away in the direction of New Rome. And they were nearly there. The city was going to be destroyed and he all he could do, once again, was watch. He was going to have to watch Rome's last legacy be obliterated, utterly and finally. He had no choice, he- hold on a second, he thought, fear once again turning to confusion. Since when could New Rome shoot green lightning?
It wasn't green lightning exactly. There was definitely green light, he recognised that from Louisa's exploits. But lightning had cocooned it, ricocheting off the energy and accompanied by thunder.
The first dual bolt ripped through the sky, casting the clouds, the hills, everything in a brilliant green-silvery light, crashing into the first fireball with a CRACK worthy of the master bolt. The fireball became nothing, its dispelled explosion washing the land in a blast of hot air.
The second bolt, just lightning this time, curled around the next fireball, branching off to catch the third. Apollo had never seen lightning move as such, curling back on itself to catapult the missiles whence they came. It released the destruction onto the ships and then followed it, once again partnered with brilliant green that leapt from the water itself, to the last remaining vessel. It hit everything metal, bouncing and encircling the ship in a terrifyingly beautiful display of raw power, pulling the ship apart from its multitude of purchases.
THWOOM!
The last yacht buckled, simultaneously folding in on itself and bursting as the lightning exploded skyward, dancing through the storm clouds with thunderous laughter, while the green light evaporated and melted into the waves with a soft whoosh. Cold, sea air blasted across the bay, bringing a momentary relief to Apollo's burnt skin.
Apollo stared. New Rome was safe. The yachts were gone. The enemy troops turned as one to face. Oh right, he internally winced, I'm still facing hundreds of hostiles.
But they didn't look very hostile, expressions stunned and unsure. He had killed Commodus with a shout, helped burn Caligula to cinders. Despite his mortal form, it was possible they had heard rumours that he had once been a god. Was it possible they'd be wondering that he somehow caused the fleet's demise?
Honestly, Apollo had no idea what had gone wrong with the fleet's weapons and he only had a hunch as to the source of the green and lightning. There were many possibilities and many things he could rule out, piling questions for later.
The only thing he was sure about- it had definitely not been him. But it did give him an idea.
He cobbled together the last shreds of his courage, channelling his old sense of arrogance. He gave Gregorix and his army a cruel, emperor-like smile.
"BOO!" He bellowed. The troops broke and ran. They scattered down the highway in panic, some leaping straight over the guardrails and into the void, just to get away from him faster. Only the poor tortured pegasi remained. Storm was fussing over them, licking their faces, biting at their harnesses and kicking the chariot. The wheels were staked to the tarmac to keep the animals from bolting. Storm kicked at those too, tried to pry them out with her teeth and huffing when she made little or no progress.
Apollo fell to his knees, gut wound throbbing. His charred back had gone numb. His heart seemed to be pumping cold, liquid lead. The two emperors were gone, their fleet destroyed.
Frank was gone too. So many others were gone as well, too many.
On the bay, burning oil pools spewed columns of smoke that turned orange in the light of the blood moon. The Bay Area emergency services seemed to register the new problem. The East Bay had already been deemed a disaster area. With the tunnel closure and the mysterious string of wildfires and explosions in the hills, the storm and green energy/lightning combination, sirens had been wailing across the flatlands. Emergency lights flickered everywhere on the jammed streets. Coast Guard vessels were cutting across the water, aiming for the oil spills. Police and news helicopters sped towards the scene from a dozen different ways. The Mist would be working overtime tonight.
Apollo was tempted to lie down on the street and sleep, a sleep he knew he would not wake up from. At least there wouldn't be any more pain.
It was Storm that pulled him from his stupor, quite literally. She bit the front of his smouldering shirt and dragged him to his feet. She snorted at him, glaring. He did not speak Pegasus, but thought he understood. His sister had not come to his aid- he wasn't mad, just hurt at being ignored. And Frank… the legion…
But he could still help. Other people were hurting and he could do something. Tarquin was still alive, he could feel it in his infected blood. He wasn't sure what good he would be, but he had to help them.
Storm let him go once he was in arm's reach of her brethren. Up close, he saw the one on the left had a blind eye. The pegasus did not like the look of his pity, shaking his bridle and making a raspberry kind of sound. "I'm so sorry this has happened to you." Apollo told them, voice hoarse. "You are beautiful animals and deserve better." One Eye grunted, almost rolling his eyes. "I'll free you now," Apollo continued, "if you'll let me." He fumbled with their tack and harness, Storm snorting criticism at him and nudging her new friends in comfort. Apollo found an abandoned dagger on the tarmac, cutting away the barbed wire and spiked cuffs that had been digging into the animals' legs. He carefully avoided their hooves, but it was Storm's that would be the bigger problem.
He stood. "There." He said, once they were free. The pegasus on the right, who still had both eyes but whose ears had been cruelly snipped, snuffled his face in what he hoped was gratitude and not a 'You smell like death'. Then he trotted away, towards the College Avenue exit. He stopped halfway, looking back for his friend.
One Eye and Storm were having a conversation, a series of nickers and mane shakes, ear twitches and snorts. Storm headbutted him gently, pushing her shoulder against his to turn him. Go, she seemed to say, I know someone that can help you, but later.
OK, One Eye nipped at her lightly, but if he gives you any trouble, he huffed at Apollo, kick him in the head.
I love kicking people in the head, Storm nodded, whinnying happily. She neighed loudly, a goodbye to Short Ears. One Eye cantered forward and they left. Apollo hoped they would find somewhere safe to rest and heal.
Apollo took one last look at the Caldecott Tunnel, the interior still a maelstrom of green flames. Greek fire would just keep burning. He didn't pretend to understand what Frank had done, or why he had made that choice, but he understood he had felt it was the only way. Frank burned brightly, alright, just as he said he would.
He wanted to call for Frank, the kindly boy who had made sure his last words had not been for himself, but for the legionnaires who would not see tomorrow.
But Storm turned to him, blowing air in his face. She looked to the sky, a worried look flitting in her eyes. Apollo looked up too.
The rain had stopped. The storm was breaking.
Storm flicked her tail impatiently. "OK," Apollo said, "I'm coming." He looked to the flames, wishing he had time to cry. "I'm so sorry, Frank." Storm knelt so he could climb up. He wrapped his arms around her neck. She smelt of hay and rain. He fixed his gaze on the crest of the hill. "Let's go."