(I'm back. Took me long enough, eh?)

-O-

The drive through Nebraska was at once one of the most relaxing and stress-filled experiences of Oliver's lives. The relaxing side came from the rolling, pleasing landscape breezing past him in various shades of green and blue. Rolling hills flowed in green waves and mountains pierced the clouds in the horizon. Paired with this idyllic imagery, however, was the ever present reflection of armored black vans in his rear-view mirror. The Sons of Saturn were a blessing and a curse in Oliver's eyes: he was never one to pass up an advantage, and two dozen Grade-A mercenaries was one hell of an advantage, but it was the monster in charge of them that put a damper on it. Oliver didn't quite trust Thorn, no matter how many time he called him 'Commandant', and that night in Vermont still haunted him at night. Though it seemed that Gaea had put a leash on the Manticore, Oliver had ordered Rosa to keep an eye on him as long as he traveled with them. Just in case.

As the convoy approached their destination clouds gathered, blanketed the sky in a white-gray shroud, and it began to snow. At first it was light, only lightly coating the road ahead of them. And then, exponentially, it began to come down harder. Eventually, when they were only about an hour away from the compound, the snow was coming down in thick sheets of flakes the size of a half-dollar. Oliver smelled magic, and when he asked Thorn over the comm-line if he knew anything about it, the Manticore replied with, "One of our allies is providing us with protection from sight, magical or otherwise. Apparently these Demigods we are after have slighted her, and she has agreed to join our cause."

Oliver wasn't quite sure how a snowstorm could shield two dozen mercenaries, the Manticore and a Tiger Two from sight, magical or otherwise, but he decided not to question it too hard.

The drive itself was relatively uneventful. The convoy had to stop a few times to refuel and reorient themselves in the snowstorm twice. Thankfully no Godlings had decided to come out of nowhere and start shit, but Oliver figured it was only a matter of time. However, once or twice during the drive, Oliver thought he saw dark shapes in the snow, moving just out of his periphery. He couldn't exactly make out what they were, as they seemed to disappear as soon as he looked head on, but they were big, easily taller than a horse. Again he consulted Thorn about what he saw, and he swore there was a grin in the monster's voice, "It has been more than a month since you killed the Hunter Goddess, Commandant. Without her hunt to keep them under control, monsters have reigned all but unchecked in these parts of the country, growing stronger every day they are not slain."

Oliver sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a curse under his breath before replying, "Think any of them would be willing to join us?"

"Oh, certainly not. The monsters in these wilds are untamed, so to speak, unwilling to listen to reason or obey a structure of command. They will most likely attack us on sight, given the opportunity," there was a slight pause before Thorn continued, "Werewolves would be the exception, I suppose. Kill the Alpha, and the rest of the pack is obligated to obey you. But, seeing as we don't have any silver on us, that would be rather difficult."

Oliver made a mental note to commission Maja for silver bullets when he got back to Fort Ignis.

After about an hour and a half of travel along dark, snow-covered highways and turning onto some lonely country road, Oliver saw their destination ahead. It was a huge white mansion, not unlike what you would see in the middle of Hollywood, with high stone walls capped with iron spikes and a large gate with a glided 'M' on the front. The convoy stopped in the driveway leading up to the mansion, with Oliver's car next to the callbox next to the gate. After pulling his balaclava down to protect his face from the thick snowflakes pouring from the sky he leaned out of the window and pressed the buzzer, calling out to it, "Midas, open up! We're here to see you on behalf of Lady Gaea!"

The callbox was quiet for a minute before a young, masculine voice answered, "You're here to deal with the Demigods that are due to fly overhead?"

Oliver yelled again as the wind kicked up suddenly, "We are!"

The voice said, "One moment."

After what felt like half an hour the gate swung open, parting the 'M' straight down the middle. The courtyard was bigger than Oliver expected, almost the size of a baseball infield, and the convoy had little trouble finding a place to park. Oliver climbed out of the driver's side, G36c slung over his shoulder, winter camouflage keeping him relativity warm as the rest of the convoy disembarked. The Sons of Saturn formed up into two rows of twelve with Thorn in front of them, apparently unbothered by the biting cold in his crisp gray suit. He pointed at the center of the courtyard, "Get set up. If you brought any bigger guns with you, I want'em unpacked and ready to get hot by the time I'm back out here," he moved his point to where Kevin and Rosa were preparing Schrödinger, "Your primary objective is to protect the tank. After we take down the dragon, I'll take half of the Sons, Denali and Nina to retrieve the Godlings, while the rest of you stay here and hold down the fort. Understood?"

Thorn snapped a salute and turned on his heel to the mercenaries, barking out orders, who in turn returned to the vans and began unpacking cases of ammunition and parts. Oliver gestured for Denali and Nina to follow him, and then turned towards the mansion, windows burning with light, "Time for a talk with our host."

The main hall of the mansion was big. Not quite as big as the one back at Fort Ignis, but it was still a bit of a shock to Oliver as he walked through the door and he saw the gold. Huge, dark windows lined the walls, and an enormous golden chandelier hung from the ceiling. There were several pieces of furniture, couches and chairs and ottomans and small tables, all solid gold. Even the curtains hanging from the windows appeared to be made of metallic thread, gleaming in the light from the chandelier. But what made Nina gasp and Denali scowl beside him were the golden statues. There were about a dozen of them, most depicting demigods with swords or other weapons, but one was a man in robes with a pair of shears in his hands, a look of shock on his face. And another was of a little girl, horror etched onto her golden features.

Across the room sat a gilded chair on a slightly raised dais, resembling a throne too much for it to be a coincidence. And in that 'throne' was a pudgy man with dark hair, his legs crossed, drinking some kind of hot drink from a golden mug. He was wearing a fine Italian suit that looked as though it were spun from gold silk, and a matching bowler hat that looked just a bit off to Oliver for a reason he couldn't place. Midas. Standing to the right of the throne was a young man with dark, curly hair, a sword at his side and a shirt that said 'Cornhuskers'. Oliver assumed he was the one who had answered the callbox. Though judging by the way his face was sliced up like a holiday ham, Oliver would've pegged him as a bodyguard rather than a manservant.

Midas gave the trio a broad grin as they approached the dais and stopped a few feet in front of him, "Greetings, guests. Oh, it is so good to have company over who aren't trying to kill you for once, isn't it Lit?"

The young man, apparently named Lit, just nodded, "It is, father."

Midas waved his hand, "Forgive my son, he has not yet grasped the art of conversation," the grin seemed to grow even wider, "but the art of the blade, now there is where he is unmatched."

Oliver wasn't really sure how to answer, so he just nodded and said, "Well, we're here to-"

Midas cut him off, "Yes yes, the polite German fellow who contacted me yesterday explained it all: you're here to capture the Demigods who will fly over my territory in about," he rolled up his sleeve and checked the golden Rolex on his wrist, "five minutes, but I do not see why that must get in the way of pleasantries, is it, Lit?"

Lit said, "No, father."

Midas gestured at his soon, "See? Even Lit, and I mean no insult my boy, understands the rules of hospitality that hosts are obligated to follow."

But Oliver wasn't really paying attention. Five minutes? They really did cut it close. He said, "One moment, sir," and turned to Nina and Denali. They seemed to understand what he was getting at and huddled closer towards him.

Nina whispered, "I don't like this, man. You know that little girl is his daughter, right? Who does that? We gotta do somethin' about that."

Oliver nodded in agreement, but said, "I get what you mean, but that isn't our place to get involved. We just need to do our job and get out, with as few complications as possible," she still looked uncomfortable, so Oliver added, "You really wanna piss off Gaea by fuckin' with Midas's shtick? Think of the big picture here, Nina."

It was obviously still bothering her, but the Magician pursed her lips and said "Fine. Should I go outside and help with the prep? I really don't wanna be in here any longer than I need to be."

Oliver nodded approval and she left without another word, magic box held tight against her hip. Denali stayed, face placid but eyebrow raised slightly. Oliver sighed and rubbed his face, "Don't give me that look. You wanna leave, too?"

The smaller man glanced out the window, at the snowstorm and the mercenaries, and shook his head. Oliver breathed a silent sigh of relief. Truth be told, Oliver didn't feel very comfortable in here either, with the golden statues staring at him in wide-eyed horror, but he needed to set an example. And, frankly, the guy was just a comforting presence, like a bodyguard. Turning back to Midas Oliver folded his hands behind his back and projected his voice to give off an air of confidence that he didn't feel, "Sir, we are grateful for your hospitality and willingness to assist us, but if you wouldn't mind, we need to get back to-"

In the middle of his sentence the yard erupted into noise. He heard shouting from the Sons of Saturn, and Kevin's voice sputtered into his ear through the radio, "Boss, we've spotted them. Coming in hot, north by northeast."

Oliver glanced at Denali, gave a short nod to Midas and said, "Excuse me, sir. We have a dragon to kill."

With that he gave the former King a short bow, turned on his heel and marched out of the hall, trying to scrub from his memory the image of the golden girl's face, open in a silent scream.

Dammit, he needed a cigarette.

The courtyard was transformed. Only a few minutes ago it was sparse, but nice, with a few frozen flower beds and a small fountain in the middle. Now the Sons of Saturn were encamped in the area, sandbags piled up in an improvised defensive fortification around Schrödinger. Half of the mercenaries were behind the sandbags, with a .30 caliber machine gun, manned by three of the Sons, pointed at the gate leading out of the mansion. The other half milled about the yard, checking weapons and armor or just watching the dragon soar above them. There was a pair of huge spotlights set up in the middle of the yard manned by a Son each, connected to a generator, pointed at the sky as one of the mercenaries held a pair of binoculars up to his face, rattling off a list of coordinates into a radio. In response to the new information, Schrödinger's turret whirred it's motors and traced a smooth path, pointed at a near forty-five degree angle. Oliver followed the projected path of Schrödinger's shot, and his breath caught in his throat as he laid eyes on the dragon.

It was tiny from this distance, about three inches across, but it gleamed like a mirror from the powerful lights trained on it. And if he squinted really hard, he thought he could see tiny specks riding on the back of the beast. Kevin's voice once again crackled in his ear, "Just give the word, boss."

Oliver waited for the dragon to be almost directly overheard to make sure it was as close as possible when it crashed, before pressing a finger to the radio and ordering, his voice breaking the abrupt silence that had filled the courtyard, "Fire."

Even though he braced himself, the resounding BOOM that erupted from Schrödinger's 88mm cannon still hit him like a truck. It shook him down to the bones and made his ears ring as all of the snow that had built up around the war machine was suddenly flung upward into the air from the power of the weapon. But Oliver kept his eyes glued on the mission at hand and, after an agonizing moment of silence, the dragon flared to life in an eruption of red-tinged light. It fell like a meteorite out of the sky, streaking overhead as friction super-heated the bronze and made it glow vibrant orange through the cold winter night. One of the mercenaries spoke up in a high-pitched, child-like voice, "Santa?"

And even though it was the blackest kind of humor, Oliver found himself grinning as the rest of the Sons of Saturn either chuckled or laughed outright. He felt himself worry, though, that there weren't going to be any Godlings at the crash site to bring back. Or, rather, that the pieces they found were going to be enough to placate Gaea. Shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the doubt, he unslung his G36c from his shoulder, flicked the safety off and yelled, "A-Squad, moving out!"

Whatever, Godlings come a dime a dozen. Worst case scenario, they would need to ask Midas if they could borrow some body bags.

Or trash bags, as the case may be.