Sziasztok, mindenkinek! So, here I am again. I apologize - it's been a couple months since my last update (not to mention Xed, and if any fans of that story are reading this, I promise I'm working hard on the next chapter, it's just struggling to come together the way I want it to).
WARNING: Violence and slight language ahead, but nothing too bad.
Hope y'all enjoy this different P.O.V. :)
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. Gosh darn it.
Vanguard of Ares
Part 2: Rumors of the Vanguard
The first time Percy Jackson heard about the Vanguard of Ares was from Luke Castellan's lips, soon after the son of Hermes declared he was betraying the gods to the Titans. Percy hadn't really been paying much attention to Luke's monologue, occupied as he was by the scorpion crawling its way up his body.
The son of Poseidon would have missed the reference entirely, if not for the fact Luke's tone suddenly went from angry and self-righteous to quiet and thoughtful, and the change was drastic enough to drag Percy's eyes up from certain death to look at his nemesis once more.
". . . you know, you remind me of him a little," the son of Hermes was musing, giving Percy a thoughtful look.
Percy, frozen in place, trying desperately not to agitate the scorpion clinging onto his shirt, whispered almost inaudibly, "Who?"
Abruptly, the nostalgia fled from Luke's expression. He threw his head back and laughed scornfully, "Just another demigod called Yata. You have the same spirit – you'll never stop fighting for what you believe in," Luke's handsome features twisted again with hate as he muttered almost too quietly for Percy to hear, "At least he managed to escape from this place."
Percy's throat was uncomfortably dry as he rasped out, "What do you mean?"
"Don't you worry, Percy," Luke brushed him off and returned to smiling at him, watching coldly as the scorpion inched closer and closer to the son of Poseidon's vulnerable neck. "There are other things you should probably focus on right now, wouldn't you say?"
What happened after that was a blur, but Percy Jackson did remember the sting of the scorpion's tail as it pierced his skin, the agony that flooded his veins as its poison set to work on him, the laugh Luke gave as he vanished into shadows, and the fleeting curiosity about a demigod called Yata, whom Percy had never heard of before.
Then the poison overwhelmed him and his world faded into darkness.
-first time-
When he woke up in the Infirmary and the full scope of Luke's betrayal was revealed by his account of the events that had transpired; he stopped Annabeth before she could leave.
Percy wasn't quite sure why he grabbed the daughter of Athena's sleeve, but he thought it might have had something to do with hating the expression of utter betrayal that she was wearing, and being desperate to get rid of it by any means necessary.
Bloodshot, angry gray eyes looked at him in askance, and Percy retracted his hand as though he'd been burned. In order to avoid an awkward silence, he cast around desperately for something to say, and – for once thanking the gods for the randomness that being ADHD blessed him with – blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "Who's Yata?"
To his intense relief, the anger vanished from those gray eyes, replaced instead by a flicker of surprise. Annabeth's brows furrowed, and she frowned as she replied, "He was just a demigod, Percy. He left the Camp a long time ago."
He couldn't quite keep his mouth from falling open in shock, "He left? Why?"
Annabeth bit her lip and shook her head, "I don't know."
Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously and she demanded, "Who did you hear that name from, anyway?"
His guilty silence was all the answer she needed, and to Percy's dismay the anger and sadness returned to her face, darkening her eyes and making her look much older than she was.
With a curt, "Make sure to rest up, Seaweed Brain," she stormed out of the room.
Percy stared helplessly after her, wondering if he should try to call her back. Deciding it wasn't worth the effort (and she probably didn't really want to talk to him right now, anyway), he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.
The son of Poseidon sighed.
-second time-
The second time Percy heard whispers about Yata was just before he left to find Grover in the Sea of Monsters.
Haunted by his dreams of Grover in a wedding dress (and more importantly, in danger), Percy had gone to the Big House to try to talk to Chiron about it. He'd just stepped over the threshold when he heard Chiron and Mr. D. conversing in low tones down the hall.
Curious despite himself (and didn't curiosity kill the demigod?), the son of Poseidon snuck down the hall as quietly as possible, pausing outside the closed door and pressing his ear to the wood, praying for all he was worth that the centaur wouldn't hear his heartbeat.
"—don't think you should be so concerned, Chiron," Mr. D. was saying, voice monotone and obviously uninterested in whatever topic the two co-leaders of Camp were discussing.
"Of course I'm concerned, Dionysus," Chiron sounded slightly irritated, which was very unusual for him. "We've lost contact with Clarisse. She should have checked in days ago."
"You know how these Quests are," the god of wine drawled.
"Exactly," Chiron retorted, "Something is wrong, Dionysus. I can feel it."
Mr. D. heaved a put-upon sigh, and for a moment the two lapsed into silence.
When the centaur spoke again, he sounded strangely hesitant, "Do you think I should let Yata know Clarisse is missing?"
Percy's heart skipped a beat in surprise when he heard Yata's name, and the ensuing quiet was heavy before Dionysus replied, sounding supremely unconcerned, "Do what you want."
Blood pounding in his ears, the son of Poseidon slowly began backing away down the hall, not eager to try his luck and eavesdrop any longer. Heart in his throat, Percy didn't relax until he was halfway back to his cabin.
It was only then that he remembered why he had gone to the Big House in the first place. For a moment he considered going back to try again, but Tyson appeared and Percy found himself distracted with convincing his half-brother to stop terrifying the dryads.
Then, later that night, Chiron was banished from Camp, and Percy was forced to take matters into his own hands.
-third time-
About a week later, after a whirlwind of events (Luke was apparently now in command of a cruise ship, Percy had been turned into a guinea pig, Grover was saved, Clarisse had almost become a Cyclops' bride, Nobody had triumphed again in the end, the Golden Fleece had been recovered, and Percy's cousin – the daughter of Zeus – had been revived), Percy found himself back in the Infirmary as Thalia Grace was carefully examined for any lingering effects that having spent several years as a pine tree might have left her.
The guy from the Apollo Cabin had just given her a clean bill of health when Chiron came in and called out quietly to the daughter of Ares.
"Clarisse," he said, "Yata wants to speak with you."
Percy, who'd still been trying to wrap his head around the fact he had gained a cousin (and a half-brother, now that he thought about it) in a matter of days, whipped his head around just in time to see surprise flicker across the beefy girl's face. He watched in shock as her eyes actually softened, and she stood up quickly to leave.
He was so surprised he couldn't find his voice until she left the room, but then he couldn't take it anymore and blurted out, "Who is Yata?"
"Her half-brother," Chiron replied absently, giving Thalia a quick examination himself just to be absolutely sure that everything was in order, "Another child of Ares."
Ares, huh? Percy thought, imagining some giant guy with rippling muscles for arms, beady brown eyes, coarse brown hair – a male version of Clarisse, really. His musing was interrupted, however, when Annabeth interjected from her place at Thalia's bedside.
"Don't ask Clarisse about him, Percy," she warned, "It's a sore subject."
Percy still wasn't quite satisfied, but then he thought about how Clarisse had just survived almost being married off to an old, monstrous Cyclops, and decided he could relent for the time being.
He was still curious, though.
-fourth time-
Three years passed, and eventually Percy forgot about the mysterious son of Ares. But then the Labyrinth was destroyed, Camp Half-Blood began to lay plans for how to fend off Kronos, and his name came up again.
Representatives from each of the Cabins had gathered around the War Table, and were discussing various ideas for defenses to install, tactics to implement, supplies to gather, and any other feasible ways to prepare for an attack on Olympus, when Chris Rodriguez suddenly brightened and turned to his girlfriend.
"Clarisse," he began, "We need all the help we can get, right? Why don't you call Yata and ask him to come back?"
Eager for something to distract themselves from the fact they'd been getting pretty much nowhere, the rest of the table quieted down to listen.
"Yata?" Silena Beauregard from Aphrodite asked, looking puzzled. Then her expression cleared as she placed the name, and sadness darkened her eyes. "I remember him. Mother said his love life was going to be disastrous."
(For a moment Percy couldn't help but feel kinship with this demigod he'd never met, even though he was a son of Ares, because the son of Poseidon knew what it was like to have the goddess of love twisting everything to get her kicks.)
Perhaps that was why the burning curiosity that had been lying dormant within him for the past three years suddenly flared up and led him to open his mouth.
"Hold up," Percy interjected, because he could see he wasn't the only one unfamiliar with the name, "Can someone please tell me who Yata is? I've heard some rumors, but . . . ."
He trailed off, surprised when Clarisse replied immediately, "He's the Vanguard of Ares."
"Vanguard?" Percy blinked, confused.
"Yata is a son of Ares," Chiron said simply, "He left Camp with his father's blessing five years ago. It's frankly amazing he's been able to survive on his own for so long."
Percy digested this while Clarisse looked proud on her half-brother's behalf.
"Wait," Michael Yew of Apollo protested, "We're gonna trust a guy who hasn't been seen in five years? How do we know Kronos hasn't gotten to him?"
Clarisse whirled on him, teeth bared in a snarl of fury, "Don't you dare talk bad about him! Yata would never turn."
"Calm down, Clarisse," Chiron tried to soothe her, "It's a valid question. Not everyone knows Yata as well as you do."
But the daughter of Ares shook her head, refusing to back down.
"First it was the chariot and the stupid rhymes," she sneered, clenching a fist and slamming it down on the table, "and now this. I've had enough. Ares Cabin has had enough."
"What are you saying, Clarisse?" Annabeth asked warily as the husky girl stood up, face crimson with fury.
"I'm saying Ares is done with being disrespected," Clarisse snarled. She drew her knife from her belt and threw it down, embedding the blade into the wood of the table, "His children – including his Vanguard – will not fight in this battle unless we are shown the respect we deserve. Good luck winning this war without us."
Tossing her head, the daughter of Ares stormed out of the Big House, leaving the rest of the gathered demigods staring after her in horror. Casting them an apologetic look, Chris stood up to leave as well.
"I'll go try and talk to her," he said. He left, and the remaining demigods found their eyes drawn to the knife embedded in the table, gazing at it with morbid fascination.
Somehow, Percy didn't think Clarisse would relent.
The Battle for Olympus would have to be fought without Ares.
(Who must Yata have been, Percy wondered, if dissing him was enough for Clarisse to consider it the last straw?)
-fifth time-
The next few days were a blur for Percy (Beckendorf was dead and Silena was a traitor), and some time in between being tricked by Nico into Hades' realm and taking a dip in the River Styx he forgot again about the so-called Vanguard of Ares.
But then he arrived back on the streets of Manhattan and took down Hyperion with his new invulnerability; buying the demigods and their allies invaluable time to rest and treat their wounded for the night.
He and the other leaders (including Grover of the satyrs and dryads, and Thalia of the Hunters of Artemis) had commandeered one of the hotel suites and were using it as a headquarters for a quick meeting.
(Nobody mentioned how three Cabin leaders were missing, or how there were so many more shrouds waiting to be burned.)
Annabeth had just finished consulting Daedalus' shield, and they were just completing a rather grim assessment of what would happen tomorrow (the day Percy turned sixteen, the day Typhon would reach Olympus, the day of prophecy) when Clarisse held up a hand for quiet.
(Something about the daughter of Ares had changed within the past twenty-four hours, Percy thought. The obvious change was the red aura of power – Ares' blessing – that still flickered around her form every once in a while, but Percy thought the reason her eyes were more serious, the reason she looked older and more world-weary had more to do with the fact she'd held her best friend's cooling corpse earlier in the day.)
Clarisse took a deep breath and was unusually serious when she said, "We need all the help we can get, right?"
Reluctantly, nursing injuries that all of them (except for the son of Poseidon) had sustained during the day of fighting, the gathered leaders nodded. Clarisse took this as her cue.
"Why don't we call the Vanguard of Ares?" she suggested, "Why don't we call Yata?"
There was silence for a moment as they all turned this idea over in their heads, and then Annabeth decided it by heaving a sigh and saying, "I don't see what we have to lose at this point."
Upon receiving the weary assent of the others, Clarisse stepped out to make an IM call.
Her eyes were brighter when she came back (lit with a light that just might have been hope), and her voice was crisp when she reported, "He said he's on his way."
(And if everyone left to tend to their duties after that with shoulders that were slightly more relaxed than when they gathered for the meeting, no one said anything about it.)
-sixth time-
The fighting in the streets began anew the next day, though this time there was more of a feeling of todayisthedaythisends and fightforallyouareworthbecausethereisnotomorrow shared by both demigods and monsters, making both sides ten times as ferocious and determined.
The demigods managed to hold their positions until around noon, but then the endless number of monsters that just kept on coming began to overwhelm them, and their defenses began to buckle.
Slowly but surely, the children of the gods and their allies were pushed back, steadily losing ground to teeth and claws and creatures that were born in the darkest place on Earth, beings who wanted nothing more than to bathe in their ichor-imbued blood.
The Ares and Aphrodite Cabins in particular were feeling the strain: the children of war struggling to make up for their fellow campers' weaker skills with a blade. They were hard-pressed to hold the two-block radius they'd managed to secure around the Empire State Building, but without reinforcements their future was looking bleak.
Gritting her teeth as she dragged the drakon's corpse behind her, her father's blessing still sizzling in the air around her, renewed with the battle, Clarisse was just about to call an extremely reluctant retreat when a column of crimson flames erupted at the back of the crowd of monsters. In an instant, half of the legion of gods-damned creatures they'd been trying (and failing) to fend off were gone, burned away into nothing but dust that was already drifting away on the wind.
A ripple of shock ground the fighting to a momentary halt, as one by one monsters and demigods alike turned to stare at the enormous cloud of monster-dust that had abruptly billowed up overhead.
One of the monsters closest to the strange fire's epicenter roared and charged forward, slashing at some unknown assailant.
There was another lick of crimson flame, and the monster was reduced to dust.
(The rest of the monsters shifted uneasily, a deep primal feeling welling up in them and informing them they were caught between a rock and a hard place.)
Clarisse gaped along with the rest of her brothers and sisters, shocked by how their enemies had been reduced to half their numbers in a matter of seconds. Then a suspicion occurred to her, making her heart swell and her lips slowly spread in a genuine smile.
"What are you waiting for, maggots?" she screamed at her shell-shocked companions, causing them to startle and turn to her. With a bloodthirsty smile, a look of glee in her eye, and her father's blessing crackling in the air around her, she truly looked like a child of war.
"Let's end these freaks!" she hollered, raising her sword, "For Olympus!"
"For Olympus!" the demigods roared back, and charged into the melee once more, taking the still-confused monsters by surprise. In an instant, the remaining number of monsters had been decimated. Screaming in triumph, the demigods felt their blood begin to sing (they were hard-wired for war, after all), and moved forward as one great entity, reinvigorated because those crimson flames had given them a fighting chance.
Clarisse lead the charge, fighting her way through teeth and claws, cutting a clear path to the end of the street, where those crimson flames were making quick work of the few remaining monsters.
Finally, she thought with relief, slamming her fist into a scaly face with glee, not even pausing to watch the dracanae crumble to dust, the Vanguard of Ares has come home.
As though in reply to her thoughts, a voice rose from the epicenter of the chaos at the far end of the street. It was deeper than she remembered, but she recognized the owner without having to see their face.
"Bring it on, bakemono! Omae wo korosu!"
Clarisse allowed herself a small smile before ramming her sword through another dracanae's chest.
Perhaps the day could be won after all.
V . O . A .
Percy Jackson and his group had been pushed back to the entrance of the Empire State Building, trying frantically to keep the army of monsters they were facing from storming the lobby.
The son of Poseidon was in the thick of the fighting, doing his best to hold the line a few feet from the front door. All around him, his friends were tiring and making mistakes, succumbing to poisonous claws or sharp fangs and having to be dragged away from the fighting – screaming in agony – by increasingly frantic dryads.
Percy was doing his best to stay focused and intercept the brunt of the assault. His shirt had been torn to shreds ages ago, his armor ripped free by a lucky swipe from a Laiystragonian giant.
Annabeth was standing to his right, gray eyes fierce and Celestial bronze blade flashing in the sunlight as she stabbed yet another dracanae in the heart (and somehow she always unerringly made sure the small of his back – his only weak point – was protected by her own body).
"To your left!" a child of Hephaestus screamed, and Percy automatically brought Riptide up to bear, metal clanging on metal as the blade stopped the attack of a telekhine's short sword. Sending his own glare in reply to the monster's snarl, the son of Poseidon flicked his wrist (in a move that reminded him painfully of LukeandKronos and the fact that todaywashisdestiny), and the diminutive creature's weapon went flying.
The telekhine barely had time to shriek in displeasure before Annabeth was sliding her own blade home between its ribs.
As the monster disintegrated into the world's smelliest sand castle, the blonde-haired girl moved closer to the black-haired boy, causing tingles of that strange awareness to creep up his spine.
"We're not going to be able to hold on much longer," her grim declaration was barely above a whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.
I know, Percy thought, but didn't have the heart (nor breath) to say it aloud. He panted, feeling his lips thin into a frown even as he fended off another attack from some kind of half-boar, half-dog. It was a moment before he had enough time to murmur back, voice hard with determination, "We have to hold on as long as we can."
"I know that, Seaweed Brian," her attempt at humor was brittle at best, but it was enough to cause his lips to twitch into the vaguest definition of a smile.
Another demigod further down the line fell, collapsing to the dirt with a terrifying, final stillness, and Percy's smile vanished. His throat, already hoarse from yelling commands and screaming war-cries, was ravaged once more as he opened his mouth to shout, to vent the burning tidal wave of anger and helplessness that was rising up inside of him –
Then crimson fire erupted from down the street and the dying screams of monsters of all shapes and sizes drowned him out entirely.
Freezing in shock, monsters and demigods alike whirled to gape in amazement as a giant mushroom cloud billowed up from where an entire contingent of enemy Cyclops had been standing (What flame, Percy wondered with a peculiar kind of hysteria creeping into his thoughts, could possibly destroy Cyclops, which had been born to withstand Hephaestus' forge-fires?)
Then the smoke cleared and Percy Jackson caught his first glimpse of the fabled Vanguard of Ares.
His first thought – ridiculous though it was – went something like: How can he be a son of Ares when he's so small?
Indeed, the Vanguard was much shorter than Percy had expected (the other demigod couldn't have been much taller than him, for crying out loud), and had a much slimmer build than any child of Ares Percy had ever seen (but he was built wiry like a dancer).
The Vanguard of Ares wore light armor over a long-sleeved white shirt and black shorts, and a dark beanie was pulled low, keeping his wild-looking chestnut hair in place. A spear was slung across his shoulders, and his face was twisted into an expression of such ferocity that any doubts the son of Poseidon had about his parentage immediately disappeared.
(But what really grabbed Percy's attention was the aura of something red that sizzled around the other demigod, a clear warning to any and all not to get too close, unless they wanted to burn.)
"Is that Ares' mark?" Grover's voice was slightly awed. From the corner of his eye, Percy saw Annabeth shake her head, "No, I don't think so – Ares doesn't bless his children with fire, so it must be something else."
The sons of Ares and Poseidon met eyes for an instant across the battlefield, fierce hazel boring into shocked sea green, and then a monster recovered their wits enough to charge at the new player on the field.
The Vanguard's eyes flickered away from Percy's and zeroed in on the new threat. Snarling, the young man flipped his spear from his shoulders and threw it hard enough to pin the slobbering monster to the ground; he followed through with his throw, moving with surprising quickness and agility, dashing over to the fallen creature even as the other monsters surrounding him regained their senses and closed in.
With one tug, he yanked his weapon from the corpse and stabbed two more servants of Kronos in the neck before raising the spear above his head and twirling it with surprising skill, unleashing a hail of now-familiar crimson flames upon the crowd of monsters surrounding him; the result was a chorus of blood-curdling wails and a circle forming around the Vanguard as creatures of all shapes and sizes scrambled back, desperate to escape the firestorm of death.
The Vanguard – Yata, wasn't it? some hazy part of Percy's mind recalled – dropped into a ready position, spear in hand, daring the monsters to come at him again.
Then the earth shook and an army of the undead dragged themselves out of the ground, followed quickly by the son of Hades and the Lord of the Underworld himself, riding a chariot pulled by black horses made of hellfire and bone.
Within an instant, the street in front of the Empire State Building descended into chaos once more, and Percy lost sight of the Vanguard as the monsters redoubled their efforts to break into the lobby, seeing it as their only chance to escape from the double-pronged attack of immortal soldiers and flames that reduced them to dust.
Percy was swallowed up by the fighting as the demigods – filled with renewed hope – fought to save Olympus, until he had to retreat because his Fate beckoned (and he found he was glad he got to see the hallowed Vanguard of Ares once before he died, because let's face it: Percy knew his chances of surviving this were slim, invulnerability or no).
And so, Riptide (the cursed blade, the darkest part of his mind whispered despairingly) clutched tight in his hand, Percy Jackson left the defense of Olympus in the hands of Thalia, daughter of Zeus, and entered the elevator with Annabeth at his side, her beautiful gray eyes narrowed and dark with grim determination.
"Seaweed Brain," she said softly, before clearing her throat and trying again, "Percy . . . ."
It took everything he had to give her a reassuring look, but his voice was sincere when he said, "I know. Don't worry, Annabeth. We'll make it out of this."
She gave him a small smile, and he reached out (to what? touch her face? grab her hand?), but then the elevator doors slid open and they stepped out into a ravaged Olympus.
It'll have to wait 'til later, he thought, then gritted his teeth, There will be a later.
Moving as one, the two demigods set out for the throne room, trusting a child of Ares they'd never met and a god who was known for being an outcast to keep things under control down below so they could finish this, once and for all.
-seventh time-
Later, after Kronos had been defeated, Luke was dead, and Percy had turned down immortality in exchange for an oath from the gods, he went to check on the wounded half-bloods, and in doing so finally met the Vanguard of Ares face-to-face.
The strangely-built son of the war god (so different from his half-brothers-and-sisters), was crouching over a girl from Hermes Cabin, re-bandaging a gruesome wound to her shoulder with an ease that spoke of much practice.
Clarisse was sitting not far away from him, speaking softly to Chris Rodriguez, who was doing his best to comfort his half-sister, and looked up when Percy's shadow fell over the group.
The daughter of Ares didn't bristle immediately at his presence as she might once have several days ago (before she had slain a drakon and held her best friend's hand as Silena gave herself over to Thanatos). Instead, she gave him a twitch of the lips that might just be considered a smile, her eyes dark with pain but also victorious.
"Not bad, Prissy," she said, and he was just too tired to rise to the bait, so he replied, "Not bad yourself, Clarisse," and glanced over to see the Vanguard of Ares had finished dressing the girl's wound and was considering him with a small scowl.
Undeterred, Percy held out a hand.
"I'm Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon," he said, "And you're the Vanguard of Ares. I've heard a lot about you, but I've never actually heard your full name."
Hard hazel eyes bored into his own for a moment, before the Vanguard grunted and rose to his feet, shaking the proffered hand.
"Damn right I'm the Vanguard," the son of Ares responded in barely-accented English, his voice deeper than Percy had expected, "Misaki Yata. Pleased to meet you," the Vanguard suddenly glared at him, and growled, "But you better call me Yata, or I'll show you why no one was able to best me in the Arena."
"Deal," Percy declared, even as Clarisse interjected, "That was years ago, Yata. I've been practicing, and I'm sure I can wipe the floor with you."
The Vanguard – Yata, Percy reminded himself – dropped his hand and turned to glare indignantly at his younger half-sister, "I haven't just been sitting on my ass for the past five years, Clarisse."
Their friendly banter was interrupted by the girl from Hermes groaning in pain, and Yata immediately returned to her side, crouching down to poke at her ribs as gently as possible. His face was grim as he reported, "She's broken at least two of these. You'll have to call someone from Apollo – I've done all I can for her."
Percy was just about to turn and wave Will Solace over, when Clarisse gasped and hissed, "Yata, you're bleeding!"
Alarmed, Percy and Chris gave the Vanguard a quick once-over, and, sure enough – spotted a rivulet of blood sliding down Yata's leg.
"Kuso," Yata hissed, easing himself down and pulling up his pants-leg far enough that the other demigods could clearly see a once-white bandage stained crimson. With surprisingly deft hands, Yata removed the soiled bandage – growling as the gauze stuck to his skin with the blood as an adhesive – and tossed it aside.
Concerned, the other three demigods bent to examine the wound, and abruptly concluded from the size and shape of it that it couldn't possibly have been made by any blade or claw, which meant he had not sustained it in the Battle for Olympus.
"Yata," Clarisse demanded, her face pale, "is that a gunshot wound?!"
"It's just a graze," Yata deflected, reaching for some fresh gauze to staunch the bleeding.
The burly daughter of Ares' face flushed with anger (and no small amount of concern) as she snapped, "What happened?"
"Nothing," Yata replied, not looking up as he reapplied a bandage, pulling the white gauze tight and tying it off deftly.
Chris and Percy exchanged glances, and Clarisse opened her mouth – no doubt about to press for more information, but the Vanguard looked up at them with eyes that had seen and done too much, and said simply: "Leave it, Clarisse."
The son of Poseidon was shocked when the brown-haired girl bit her lip but nonetheless reluctantly backed down without a fight.
They were all silent for a moment as Yata returned his pants-leg to its usual position (but he didn't look like he wanted to risk trying to stand for a while). After a moment, Clarisse asked tentatively (and it was the first time Percy had ever heard her sounding even remotely hesitant), "Are you going to stay this time?"
Yata did not reply for a long while, and when he finally raised his head his expression was apologetic but firm.
"I can't," he sighed (and Clarisse's shoulders slumped, not that she would ever admit it), "I have other duties. But," he promised softly, "I will stay long enough to see the Camp settled."
Clarisse brightened visibly at that, and her lips quirked up into a challenging smirk, "Good. I'll have enough time to kick your ass in the Arena."
Yata snorted, "You can try, Clarisse. Who was the one who taught you to wield a sword?"
The two half-siblings continued bantering with each other, and the atmosphere around the group gradually lightened. Percy was content to watch, but he couldn't help but wonder –
Just who was the Vanguard of Ares?
(The rumors had said that the Vanguard of Ares was fierce. They had not mentioned that he could wield flames, or what he had been up to the last five years.)
So, the Second Titan War has come to an end. Yata has agreed to stay and help rebuild the Camp. But what about those he left behind? Will the Red Clan just let his disappearance go? I think we all know the answer is a resounding, "No way in HELL!"
Next time: we get a peek at what's been happening on the other side of the globe.
Customary question: Who is your favorite K character? I have to say I'm kind of divided between Mikoto and Munakata. Seriously, they're both kick-ass and have great character depth, not to mention one wields swords and the other fire with his bare hands . . . let's just say it's a tie. :)
Until next time!
~Home By Another Way