Percy raised his head in time to hear a very loud crash outside the entrance to the tent, quickly followed by an equally loud rebuke.
"Watch where you're going, Jack!"
This was proceeded by a crack, more grumbling, and multiple metallic clanging objects falling to the ground. Percy's shoulders fell into another lapse of dejected annoyance. Gathering the necessary paraphernalia was difficult enough when half of the work force was guarding the camp and on recon missions while the other were making sure the untrained soldiers weren't about to skewer themselves on their own weapons, but with the constant stubbornness that was Lyra Thorn and the physical representation of said emotion that flowed off her in rivulets was enough to make Percy want to simply hide under a rock.
Lyra tumbled up the stairs and into the command tent, Percy noting angrily that there seemed to be a lack of a certain accompaniment. The certain accompaniment that was meant to prevent her from intervening in war preparations.
"Lyra," Percy sighed, returning to his map of D.C. adorning the wooden table. "What are you doing?"
She humphed. Unroving eyes landed in the general vicinity of Percy, and an unnerving, unsettling uneasiness rocked his stomach. It was the way she could act as if she could see without actually looking at you, an element of being invisible that gave the unmoving stare such strength. She edged her way across the large tent, her feet never leaving the smoothness of the wooden floor.
"I'm not useless, Jackson," she started.
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say!"
"Yes, I do," Percy affirmed without glancing up once, "because you've thrown a fit each time I've answered the question."
Lyra fingered the side of the table. "Well, this time it's different cause I won't be asking a question. More like stating a—statement."
"Lyra, you can't even walk up stairs without tripping." Percy attempted to lighten, soften his voice, but he knew just how he sounded. She wouldn't feel anymore useful after being told that she was physically incapable of doing something that she originally had been more than gifted at. "You're not coming with us."
Lyra opened her mouth to object, but Percy overruled her. "Not even on surveillance. Which, by the way, requires being able to survey."
Her hands curled back into fists, a minor action in distancing herself from her friend. It was small but enough that Percy saw the defensive movement. "It's been a week," she growled, "and I can already walk around without the whole echoing thing happening. You leave in three days, what's to say I won't be perfectly back to normal by then?"
Percy rested a hand on her shoulder. It was meant as comforting, but at the last moment, he realized how condescending it was when he added, "because you won't be back to normal. Lye, you lost your sight. You can't go running around a battlefield, even if you can sometimes 'see' a bird a mile high."
A bodily figure stumbled into the cabin, huffing slightly and breaking off any reply Lyra had been about to make. Grey eyes glared pointedly at the girl who was practicing her impression of a pissed off cat. Michael straightened his jacket moodily and jabbed a finger into his commander's chest. Thalia and Annabeth entered behind him, too busy discussing tactics to notice Percy being assaulted on two fronts.
"When you gave me this job," Michael heaved, "I thought it'd be simple!"
The hunter and demigod fell silent and observed the happening with dry amusement.
"Watch a blind girl. Make sure she doesn't walk into a tree—!"
"Mike..." Percy tried.
"—what you forgot to mention was how averse to the idea she was!" He scrapped back tufts of brown hair, paper cuts covering every inch of his hands, to show a 'Y' shaped imprint above his eye, yellowish green and blue painting the area. "I've been dragged through a forest of pissed nymphs, had a box of shrunkens dumped on me, and a line of swords happened to fall on me as I passed by!"
Lyra, fully aware that her reaction could either save or raze her 'guide's' services, smirked proudly. Percy swatted her arm subtly as he moved past her, but the damage had already been done. Michael swore and shoved past Thalia and Annabeth.
"Overreact much?" muttered Lyra.
Percy glared his best and turned away with a low growl. Michael had been the only person he could get to watch Lyra willingly, everyone seemingly aware that whoever did it wouldn't last long enough to tell about it. Michael had lasted longer than expected, but now there was no one. For the past week, Lyra had been passively aggressive with anyone who tried to help her and flat out violent to anyone who tried to restrict her. Even when she had walked straight into a tree the second day, she still would not admit defeat—which was both good and bad. Sure, she shouldn't surrender and give up trying to get her life back under control, but when she insisted on joining the war efforts despite obvious limitations to her new form of seeing, Percy had to draw a line.
"How is the phalanx coming?" He redirected his attention to the other impossible elephant in the room.
Annabeth attempted to hide the cringe that racked her muscular frame. Thalia reacted similarly, albeit without disguising her annoyance.
"I'll take that as a work-in-progress?" Percy interpreted hopefully.
"Let's put it this way," drawled Thalia, "if we were invading Troy, we'd take the city by nightfall." She plopped heavily into a chair. "But alas, we're fighting special forces with semi-automatics. I don't think Odysseus had to deal with that."
Annabeth's stormy eyes roved over the map of the capital city. Red flags marked the black and white outlines, a few scattered blue and white sigils breaking the pattern of angry pockmarks. The Allies were still heavily out numbered.
"The problem with this plan is the mortals," she began. "We've stalked up on steel and other mortal weapons out of necessity, but—" she bit her lip.
"—but other than certain overly-furious demigods, no one actually wants to kill them," Percy finished.
Annabeth nodded in agreement. "And even if we decided the ends justified the means—"
"Or that revenge reigns higher than morals," Lyra muttered.
"—there's the thought of civilian casualties. If we just use celestial metals, we run the risk of dealing with fully mortal soldiers, not just the hybrids."
"What about that spell?" Lyra asked curiously. Her head was tilted to the side, her eyes focused on the air before her, a usual indication that she was seeing outside of the commando tent.
"What spell?" Thalia moved away from her spot in the corner chair, searching the map just like everyone else, identifying the faults in the enemies' guard.
"That spell on New York. When the Titans invaded. Percy told me about the mortals sleeping through the whole ordeal. I don't know about you, but I think the god-induced hangover could be real useful in this situation."
"There's just one problem with that," Annabeth pointed out. "It was god-induced. If you haven't noticed, we seem to be lacking in that department."
"It's simple: two demigods do the spell together. Half and half make a whole." Lyra held up both hands, locking them together in an awkward show of emphasis. "Problem solved."
"It took Hecate and Hypnos to cast a spell on New York. Where are we supposed to get power like that? I know I don't have that kind of strength!"
"I don't know! The sun? You're the smart one, figure it out!"
"'Figure it out'? How are we supposed to figure it out? Even if the entire Hecate and Hypnos cabin worked together to replicate a spell like the one during the Battle of Manhattan, we would lose over twenty fighters because there is no way any of them would have a enough energy to go join a battle!" Annabeth exploded.
"Maybe, but how about now?"
All four spun to the opening of the tent. Silhouetted by the light from the morning sun, his curly hair looked to be a golden brown although the actual color was closer to a black. Horns that had began as petite stubs now began to curl towards the base, and he had forgoes his minor attempts to hide his furry lower half. All in all, and despite the smell, it was great to see him again. Grover had disappeared a little after he and Annabeth had ventured into camp so long ago, and he hadn't told anyone where he was going.
Light glanced off his teeth, grinning slightly, and the satyr backed away from the command tent. Annabeth was the first to follow, soon joined by Percy and Thalia. Lyra tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes questioningly.
Grover walked quickly, not even glancing behind him to see if the halfbloods were following him, but soon enough, they didn't need to follow him. On the outskirts of the temporary camp in the monster-infested woods. There had to be hundreds of them, all ranging from nymphs to the grumpiest looking satyr. There were Cyclopes too, a few harpies, even those things Percy had only seen once while searching for his lost satyr friend all those years ago. The sirens were grinning at the new prey that had begun to gawk at the new arrivals, although more monsters and creatures held their bird-like friends back from doing anything rash.
"How—what?"
"I think the final count came out to seven hundred and two," Grover stated proudly.
It was Annabeth's turn to stutter. "How did you do...this?"
"Turns out my Lord of Nature deal comes with a few perks. I sent out word and," he gestured to miniature army, "it was received."
Lyra stumbled behind Percy, catching his elbow for reassurance. Her eyes roved over the creatures, her head mimicking the movement, and she turned in the direction of Annabeth. "How's my idea looking now?"
A candle seeped into the ground before every one of them, wax laid out in a circle, painted symbols adorned the spaces in between the lines of wax to form a star. At each point a demigod sat cross legged, others stood with a white flame lighting their cupped hands. The children of Hypnos and Hecate were charged with sending the city of Manhattan to sleep—as the entire camp was made aware—but they also had in mind something else, something Percy and Annabeth had made sure stayed within the walls of the old cabin.
While most of their energy was devoted to putting the mortals to sleep, five selected members of Hecate's cabin were to find the gods, with only two actually traveling to their world.
Lou Ellen, Jake Martel, Lyra Thorn, Keira Martel, and Michael Keefe rested with their palms facing upwards, repeating the same phrase in a monotonous hum. "Για να βρείτε ό, τι χάθηκε, μπαίνουμε στον νύχτα. Gia na vreíte ó, ti cháthi̱ke, baínoume ston nýchta." Their power was tangible. Echoing white lightening drifted between the demigods, coursing through the salt and wax that formed the pentacle. Blue energy seeped from the surrounding half-bloods, and their powers and strengths combined so that they contributed to both spells and all who were partaking in them.
Slowly, the world around them began to pulse and blur. A concurrent wave of blue energy blasted the walls and flew through them, into the mortal world so far away from the casters. The pulse continued steadily, and along the streets of Manhattan, mortals pulled over in the cars, locking the car doors and rolling up windows. They found a nearby alley or building and fell over asleep, immediately out of danger.
The chosen five gasped simultaneously, throwing their heads back with their mouths gaping open, their eyes filled by a glossy white fire.
"Okay, this is definitely a lot weirder than dream hopping," Lou Ellen admitted. Her companion quickly agreed, following every slight movement with hope that it was their lost patrons. But the world Lyra and Lou had just entered was much more vast than a simple glance around to reveal the secret cache of the gods.
For one, it was endlessly night. The ancient city of marble and stone glowed in the starlight, and although there was no moon to reflect off the Athenian buildings, they shown in an eerie light as if a fire burned just beneath the glassy surface. The long pathway leading up the mountain was lit by torches placed on either side, and the five demigods felt something drawing them upwards.
Ellen took hold of Lyra's arm, and stepping as silently as possible, they mounted the pathway towards the magnificent palace at the mountain's peak. It was just as any Greek castle would have looked at the height of the Hellenistic period. Enormous pillars supported the golden and marble encased triangular roof, the wall-less sides allowing a foreboding wind to course through. The night was darker than the mortal world, probably because the stars that lit the sky were dulled and seemed themselves to be forlorn and bereaved, like they knew they had abandoned their children and home.
Walking underneath the hollow palace, the size of the pillars overshadowed the half-bloods so much so they were the size of David in Goliath's realm. It was disorienting to say the least.
"Lyra, anything?" Lou whispered. She didn't treacly have to whisper, but somehow breaking the quiet of the Night seemed blasphemous.
"No," the girl replied similarly. "It feels weird—like everything's alive."
Lou groaned, "please don't say that." She spun so she watch backwards in case something had the idea of taking them by surprise.
"Let's just this over with. The sooner we're back in our bodies, the better," Lyra hushed.
Lou took the lead in entering the palace. The feeling that had led them up to the palace increased in both intensity and urgency. Lyra groaned and grasped at her head, and each felt a sick pit sinking in their stomach. Something really wanted them either to leave as quickly as possible or to enter the throne room immediately. With having come for a specific reason and no real way to go back without automatically failing the entire mythical world by doing so, they chose the former.
Almost immediately they regretted it.
Twelve thrones were occupied, the representation on Mount Olympus a pathetically small imitation in comparison to the size and intimidation that was the counsel of the gods in Night. The occupants weren't the normal, full bodied image of the Olympians, instead in their place was the gods in spirit. Their forms were ghostly and glowing, but it was more of an incandescent outline, like the careful drawing of constellations. Their eyes burned with white fire upon seeing the entrance of the demigods. Flickering dangerously, only Hestia stood to greet the heroes. She wasn't the child they were used to seeing, instead she was a motherly woman with a Greek tunic and shall, both the transparent consistency of the rest of her form.
"Who are you?" She commanded. Again, it wasn't as any of them remembered. Back home, she was kind and welcoming, but this Hestia was forceful and demanding.
More forms flickered into existence behind the twelve Olympians. A man with an ever-shifting face hovered behind the hearth, and although he was standing and obviously was awake as he had just arrived, his eyes were closed like he was sleeping. A woman surrounded by pale arcs with an ombré tone smiled slightly at the changing sky that was the throne room's roof, next to her another woman with three aspects. One was a child with a black bird perched on her palm, the middle a young woman with a black dog and a torch, the last a grandmother with a snake curled around her arm.
"Mom," Lou gasped before she could censor herself.
The immortals glared intently and questioningly at the girl.
"Who are you," Hestia demanded again.
"We want to talk to the actual Olympians," Lyra snapped, "not some fanciful fire-poker."
Ares, adorned in full battle armor, barked with laughter. Hestia, however, was not nearly as amused. Her form flickered with a streak of reddened gold, and what used to be a tender old woman in shawls, a fury burned in her place. Lou shoved Lyra behind her protectively, and angrily, and addressed the entire counsel.
"My name's Lou Ellen, daughter of Hecate—" whatever she said next was lost as the throne room exploded in clamor. It seemed the goddess wasn't allowed to have children, or did so infrequently that they were beyond surprised.
"I have no child by the name of Lou Ellen," the three-faced goddess replied.
The five demigods started. The plan had been simple before: find where the gods had been hiding among the stars, convince them the world needs their help, and return with the glorious blaze of hellbent deities. Now, they faced a big problem if the gods didn't even recognize that they even had children.
"Well that's not good," Lyra mumbled.
The eerie silence brought back painful memories. Despite this time being the campers who created the spell and that the mortals were 'influenced' to find a safe place to fall asleep, it was almost exactly the same feel as when the Titans attacked. In the streets below, the traffic had stopped. Pedestrians were lying on the sidewalks, or curled up in doorways. There was no sign of violence, no wrecks, nothing like that. It was as if all the people in New York had simply decided to stop whatever they were doing and pass out (Riordan 163).
"And see the world in endless sleep," Percy spoke aloud.
"Only this time, we did this." Annabeth slipped into line beside her boyfriend.
Before them was the Empire State Building. It served as a holding point for them last time, and it would once again. They had gone over battle strategies on how to hold their lines for as long as the Hecate needed and that was all they could do until the rest of the world—or at least the government—realized what was happening in New York. Behind them, the army was resting while they could. Their numbers had tripled since they had begun the quest to retake their lives, and now they were joined by Hunters, Cyclopes, nymphs, satyrs, harpies, centaurs, and of course half-bloods. They may have had the numbers to hold against the hybrid army, but it definitely wasn't ready for a full frontal assault on both sides. Many nature spirits were only armed with their natural gifts as well as magic, and some half-mortals carried overused, old weapons that were quickly reformed, re-ironed, and re-hammered by a combination of Cyclopes and children of Hephaestus. Those that did have the correct weaponry most likely didn't have the correct armor.
Percy made sure to enforce the rule and need for protection, and although most technically had some sort of armor, it definitely wasn't up to par with Kevlar or bronze armor made for the Trojan war. Percy swore he saw Clarisse shoving hockey pads laced with celestial metal into someone's arms, another kid ran past him with soccer shin guards and a lacrosse helmet. It was an army of wear and tear, but Percy guessed that was how it always was and always will be.
Percy himself was wearing minimal armor, albeit his skin was impenetrable so he only really needed to wear a leather practice vest that blocked off his torso. It was big enough to cover most of his upper half so no one could guess wear his figurative Achilles heel was while covering the small of his back. More for himself than anyone else, he wore one greave on his right foot, casing one heel. Annabeth had stared at him, the heel, then back at his face. She had spun and walked away, shaking her head and muttering about snarky Seaweed Brains, but Percy had felt that he had proved his point and grinned.
He wasn't grinning now. He could hear the footsteps before he saw them. But even as they came into view—but they were still so far away—and their numbers seemed to stretch into oblivion, he felt hope flicker in its pythos. With every few steps, a man fell. No one had begun to attack, the men were just curling up and falling asleep. Not only were they confusing their fellow soldiers, but they caused a major traffic jam. Every odd man out was a mortal it seemed and one by one, their uncountable numbers shrunk to measurable.
"Paraskenazete!" was all Percy had to say before his own army, his own friends, lined up at his order and prepared to fight. The late afternoon light usually made the son of Poseidon tired, but at that moment, he was the commander of the sea. Quietly, he glanced at Annabeth, and allowed himself a slight grin.
"What?" She demanded.
"I feel like I should have some sort of catch phrase."
She quirked her eyebrows. "Really? We are literally living a conspiracy theorists nightmare and that's what you have to say?" She grinned and shook her head. "I thought you were going to ask for a kiss. It's sort of tradition now."
"I was thinking along the lines of 'Remember the Alamo,' but instead of Alamo, it should be 'Remember the Empire State Building!"
"You do know everyone in the Alamo died right?" Clarisse stepped right beside Percy just in time to catch the tail end of his war cry.
Percy frowned. "I didn't get to that part yet. Guess I'll have to settle for that kiss."
Clarisse made retching sounds in her throat before calling her regiment to the side and preparing for her part of the assault. Annabeth, on the other hand grinned deviously and slipped on her blue plumed helmet.
"Come back alive and we'll see."
Percy motioned for the demigods protecting the entrance to Mount Olympus to stay put while he, Annabeth, Thalia, and Nico made their way to meet the hybrid army head on. Smith was no where to be seen, but Percy did meet one of the 'teachers' from his time at the prison. The man was as strange as the first time he saw him. Markov Monroe had the muscle of a fighter, but the body shape of someone who had grown unequally and never overcame that awkwardness. His permanent sneer roved over the four commanding demigods, and he too motioned for his men to halt.
"You say you don't want to fight, and yet you brought an army to the peace talks."
"Says the guy leading his own army of monsters," grumbled Nico.
Markov's obsidian gaze settled in Nico, but when he spoke, he didn't address the son of Hades. "Last chance. Surrender and we'll spare your little nature friends."
Percy shook his head. His grip tightened on his pen, as he wanted to take the first swing if it came to it, or rather when it came to it. "Not gonna happen."
"I must commend you, Jackson. You've been much more of a thorn in our side than anticipated, and now you've gone and made our job easier."
"Yeah? How's that?" Percy not only wanted to strike first, he was ready to. Thalia and Nico similarly grasped their respective weapons. Annabeth slipped her hand into the back pocket of her jeans, the cache for her invisibility cap.
"Now we don't have to explain to a bunch of our citizens why we're slaughtering children."
Percy remembered taking American history when he was in the fifth grade. The Revolutionary War had never been one of his favorites, but he still remembered the whole issue the colonists had with the British overlords. The Tea Party, the Sons of Liberty, and specifically the 'Shot Heard 'Round the World." Only this time, there weren't any red coats, stones, or snowballs, and there wasn't shot from a musket.
Percy, surprising himself and Markov, struck first. Whatever followed became a complete blur as Annabeth vanished—literally—and Thalia and Nico brought on the first wave of demigods. Hours or minutes passed as Percy fell back into a pattern of parry, strike, slash, and dodge. It even got to the point where he hadn't even noticed that he was fighting beside ghouls and zombies. Both civil war corpses as well as Trojan or Greek hoplites tore through hybrid monsters, although the abominations revealed their true colors and abilities. They weren't just vulnerable to celestial metals, they had other—gifts.
Soldiers with certain monster blood climbed along the walls of the skyscrapers or along the pavement on all fours. With every inhuman skill they employed, the less human they became in appearance. First the eyes began to shift, in all the men and not just the wall-climbers. The irises were the mixed colors, whatever the original man's or woman's had been, but then a black cloud would set in the sclera and fangs would follow. The man became less and less until the snarling, drooling, vicious creature was just that. A monster clawing at children and teenagers.
Percy struck out at a chimera-man, rolling under the tail set on tripping him up. Riptide sliced through the thin cartilage and bone, and Percy finished the attack with a swift kick to the thing's neck. Another creature took its place, but before the two could fight, a zombie that was missing a quarter of its lower jaw launched itself at the monster, which could have been half dracena. Nico appeared next to the son of Poseidon and gave him a grim grin. His black sword never stopped moving, an obsidian ripple tearing across his targets or through the cement in order to raise more dead warriors. Occasionally, out of the corner of his eyes, Percy would catch sight of an enemy soldier simply fall down with a pained grimace of surprise. No one was ever there, holding the bloody dagger that felled so many, but Percy knew it was Annabeth in all her glory.
The entire time he was fighting, Percy was searching for him, and the entire time only foot soldiers had made themselves known to the camp leader, until—
Finally, Percy saw him. He held a golden sword, a mix of blood on the hilt and blade. He must have stolen it from one of the demigods as some of the blood was an obsidian black—the same lifeblood that came from the abominations created by Smith and Jones and whoever they worked for—but there was also a crimson red coating the blade. The agent drove it towards a camper dressed in leather practice armor. Whoever the kid was, he fought gallantly. He dove, parried, and struck of his own accord and perfectly executed, just not prefect enough. Smith brought the kid down with one forceful blow, and as if he could feel Percy's gaze, he turned and smiled. He waved the sword tauntingly and beckoned Percy to follow.
With all the cliched meaning behind it, Percy saw red. This was the time he could make the agent feel the pain that all he and his family had suffered over the past few months, and he intended on making it last. Before he could come within distance of the monster, though, he was halted by a chimera. Multiple clawed at his skin, none of the claws or fists injuring him in the slightest. Percy sliced and stabbed and swung, and they dodged momentarily. Soon they couldn't keep themselves from his celestial blade, and their monster blood crumbled to sand. When he turned back to where Agent Smith had been, the beast was gone.
In his place, more fallen friends littered the path he left. On the far end away from the thick skirmish, the wiry man reappeared. He grinned at Percy, backing away even farther. Although he knew he was being lured away from his friends, his support, Percy followed. He'd had enough, and now that street lamps were lighting up, it meant that it was after eight thirty at night.
He just hoped Lyra and Lou were done convincing the gods there was no place like home.
"Yes, I am sure," growled Lyra. "My mom is Hecate, we live in the United States of America in the 21st Century, a task force in our government—which is primarily monotheistic although it technically is secular—is waging war against the Greek world while also oddly making it part of their own by mixing monster blood with chemically enhanced soldiers who want to imprison and brainwash all who oppose them including most of your children."
Luckily for Lyra, her tirade was allowed to finish before another bout of arguments rocked the magnificent hall. Any of the gods, whom Lou had told they had sired children, were outraged and downright defensive of the allegations. The only one—aside from Aphrodite who was very eager to hear of her exploits—who seemed all right with the idea of having a strong and admiral child was Poseidon, but he hid the feelings under an unemotional frown. Lyra was only aware of his true sentiments because she was searching for any sort of recognition by the deities.
Athena felt the tampering and blocked out any further prompting from the demigod. "There are things no mortal should think of seeing, witch-girl."
Lyra scowled. "That's half mortal to you, Owl Face."
Lou groaned and resisted the urge to run her hand down her face. Every time Lyra's anger got hold of her, it set everything they had been working on for only the gods knew how long back. She finally shoved her friend behind her.
"Why don't you believe us? Why would we lie?"
The moment the words left her mouth, the gods froze. It was as if someone had pressed pause on the Olympian universal remote, and the only ones exempt were Lyra, Lou Ellen, and a slight breeze blowing through the throne room. A soft fluttering accompanied the wind, and the two demigods searched around for the source. When they glanced back at the twelve thrones, a shroud of black smoke coiled around the base of the stones while a white fog sifted in from the side. Two new arrivals stood perfectly still before the motionless deities.
Both were women, and both were graced with wings. The young woman to the right was the complete opposite of her left counterpart. Her tunic was a cotton white, her angel wings tucked just below her shoulder blades to giver her an elated, glorious mien. A golden circlet laid carefully over her reddish gold hair that cascaded fully down her back. She would have been beyond beautiful if she had been smiling. Instead she was watching the two half-bloods with a calculating puzzlement.
The second woman was older, worn. Her black hair was streaked with grey, and her clothes, though white, fell from her lethargic form along with her wings. Her gaze was softer and more caring, one that cared about the outcome of the battle.
"It's not that they don't believe you, child," the woman in black replied. "It's that they don't hear you."
"And who are you supposed to be then?"
"I am known by many names. Although at this time, it is more fitting to name me Rhamnusia."
A flicker of recognition went through Lyra's head. She remembered Percy mentioning his dream about Olympus and a woman with black wings. The dream had ended in fire, and the whole discussion had been about balance. None of the gods Percy and Lyra knew was called Rhamnusia, but Lyra did know about the deity dedicated to evening the scales.
"Nemesis," she growled. "Who's your friend?"
"I am Nike, goddess of the victories," stated the woman in white.
"Great. So...why are you here? I understand the whole maintain-the-balance goddess, but why victory?"
"Because it is up to us to determine who wins and loses this battle."
"Wait you know?" Lyra demanded. "You both have known this whole time?"
The two winged goddess gave a slight nod.
"Well, that's just great. Our friends are dying, and you're playing guess who?"
"The mortal world is not ready for the gods. Until his decision is made, balance will not be restored."
Lou Ellen growled. "I'm really getting sick of this whole balance shtick." She waved a broad arm at the frozen deities, focusing on her mother and Hypnos. "My brothers and sisters are depleting whatever energy they have to send us here while at the same time keep the mortals asleep. My friends are fighting men mixed with monster blood, so not only are they fighting for their lives, there killing people. Stop wasting time, and bring back the gods."
Nemesis regarded them coolly. "I must ensure their survival."
Lyra raised a hand. "Weren't you, uh, fighting for their destruction last time?"
"A second being would have taken their place and so—"
"I swear if you say the word balance one more time..."
Nemesis amended her statement. "This time is different. Humans have the power to fade not only the gods, but the world they have created. I cannot allow that to happen."
"Which is why we are fighting for it. Which is why I'm now blind, and why Nike is standing right next to you thinking about how Percy is going to make the right choice once again to save Olympus, not raze it." Lyra guided herself around Lou, using her arm as a boundary to avoid collision. Even as she stood in front of her half-sister, she kept a grip on the girl's elbow to keep herself from wobbling. "You know I'm right. Just as I know you prevented the ambrosia from healing my eyes."
"You saw too much," explained Nemesis. "And now you see more."
"And I see the victor of this war."
Percy was far from the main battle by now, chasing the man with no humanity left. He dropped his grip on his sword, allowing the point to scrape just above the surface of the pavement. There weren't any sleeping mortals in this part of town. They must have felt the effects of the spell and tried to retreat somewhere more friendly in case it was merely their own person who was falling asleep. Percy knew he would rather not fall asleep with the chance of some person finding him helpless and vulnerable.
He kept walking, looking for anything that would give away where Smith was hiding, but everything was quiet and as it should be. That was until Percy felt something crack and grind under his boots. Glass. He spun in circles, searching for the broken window. He glanced upwards, and the canopy just behind him glittered in the streetlights. The window above was shattered into oblivion, its remnants showering the pavement in continuous drafts from a slight breeze. Percy knew it was a trap, but then again what else was he expecting. He made it through the window, falling to the first floor as the window had simply been a fanciful design by the architect. Inside there was no moonlight to guide him.
"Smith," he called. "Smith, face me like the beast you are."
The first floor was empty. A basic reception desk and couches so Percy made his way into the stairwell. Black blood was smeared against the railing. It was perfectly placed, no possible way it could have gotten there on its own. He was luring the half-blood upstairs. Percy complied, side-stepping each stair, careful for any attack. His sword and collection of knives at the ready.
A crude X was drawn in blood on the first floor door. Percy rest his head against the metal and listened for any sign of movement. No one was on the other side, as much as he could tell from listening through four inches of whatever metal they used to make office doors. Percy shrugged and kicked it with all his might—which was quite a lot of strength. He watched in grim pride as the metal shattered around his foot, part of the lock remaining in its slot while the rest of the bent door swung into the plaster on the other end.
And there a few feet from the stairwell door stood Smith in all his glory, arms crossed with a pistol haphazardly held in his grip. He grinned when he followed Percy's gaze.
"Don't worry. I'm fully aware this will do nothing to your impenetrable skin. I must say it is unfortunate you bear the curse of Achilles. Makes it so much more difficult to deal with you."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," snipped Percy.
Smith continued like he hadn't even said a word. "Besides shooting you would be too anticlimactic."
"Since when do you have a sense of anticlimacticism?" Percy scoffed.
Smith shrugged and set the gun on the desk he was leaning against.
"So," Percy began, slipping a little knife from his belt, "I was wondering why you and Jones were always wearing blue gloves. Care to share?"
"What? Didn't your little friend glean it from me before she died?" He shoved the desk and strut right before Percy, who was using all his mental strength not to attack that moment. He also wasn't quite sure why he wasn't attacking either, but that was generally how boss fights went.
"Oh that's right. She was unable to read me, and because of that, you're dead. It's simply a matter of time," Smith smiled crookedly.
"If you're going to kill me anyways, answer me this: who is Marius B? Why hasn't he shown himself at all?"
Smith laughed. Or at least that's what Percy thought he was doing. The sound that came from the agent's mouth was worse than nails on a chalk board. It echoed the sounds that resounded from the Fields of Punishment in Hades. He seemed in pain—and Percy would have thought he was actually if the man hadn't been smiling while cackling.
"Marius B? Have you been occupied by the name since you first escaped?" He cackled again. "Richard Marius Bouldus is dead! And he has been even before you were taken."
"What?"
"It's true he started this whole occurrence, but he no longer commands our actions. The best part of his role in this: he was one of you! A bastard child of your precious gods. He died by my hand, just like you will." He struck out as Percy drove his sword at his side. Smith caught his wrist and twisted it painfully, causing him to drop the weapon. Riptide spun under a desk, useless
He smiled cruelly and the half-blood kicked at him, a roundabout to the face, which he caught again and struck his face. Percy was thrown against a desk which collapsed underneath him. He might not feel pain, but getting tossed around like a doll did nothing for his self-esteem, or anger. But Smith sported the worst of it. His nose was broken along with a few fingers.
"Is that all you have?" He spat on the ground, "pathetic. I could never fathom why they wanted creatures like you!"
Percy let loose another knife—even though he acknowledged that knife throwing had never been his strong point, no version of projectiles had been his strong point. Whistling through the air as it flew, Smith caught it with a single hand swipe. He smiled cruelly at the half-blood, snapping the blade with one hand.
"Pathetic."
A shot cracked the silence of the office building. Percy flinched. He was used to the sound of battles, bows real easing arrows, swords clashing with other metal objects, cries of pain cutting deeper than actual weapons, but inhaling the smoke of a gun and coughing on its powder was a different warfare. It was worse than Percy had imagined.
Shooting someone, even a monster such as Agent Smith, who collapsed with a muted grunt and grasped at his thigh, a hole a centimeter wide seeping with a black substance. He hadn't aimed, just raised the gun and fired, thinking back to when Lyra had done the same to all those guards in the prison.
Percy lowered the gun and walked over to the body. He felt as if he were dreaming. The abomination was rocking slightly, like he was trying to convince his mind and body that the bullet that had shattered his kneecap was nothing. Percy knew it wasn't a good sign that it was so surreal, so emotionless, that he would have no regrets for what he planned on doing. But he couldn't stop himself, stop the slight flame of triumph—no, it was more than that, and with horror and revulsion he realized it was glee—that coursed through his blood. Standing over the struggling agent, Percy said, "catch this," and he fired a second time.
The noise was so strange now. He wasn't used to the normalcy of it. He passed the Big House and seeing someone there was so surprising that Percy actually started. Chiron waved solemnly raising himself from the false-chair, growing exponentially and rapidly. Even the action of something so characteristic of the activities director was strange that Percy wasn't sure if he should approach his mentor or wait for the centaur to join him in his journey to Cabin Three.
He opted to wait for Chiron.
"Percy," he smiled sadly. It seemed that the old centaur hadn't forgiven himself for his involuntary leave of absence. Campers had repeatedly told Chiron that it wasn't his fault what had happened.
"Did you hear back?"
Chiron nodded. "Richard Marius Bouldus. That agent was telling the truth. Apparently he was a half-blood, undiscovered and unclaimed. He was in his fifties by the time you made the deal with the gods, and not only that, he had died."
"Died? But that would mean he started this whole thing last year."
Chiron pulled to a stop and crossed his arms. Even though he spent half the year in a dream world and he was technically immortal, the teacher seemed to have aged centuries. His hair was more gray than speckled, retreating a little more along his hairline—or it could just have been more obvious to Percy since he hadn't seen Chiron in months. More lines were drawn across his tight face, and it didn't help that his smiles were closer to happy frowns.
"He wasn't dead for long. He drowned but was resuscitated, with one draw back.—"
"Only one?"
"He learned of the immortal world, of all the children with amazing gifts and powers hidden from the rest of the world. I guess that drove him mad and he started this—I believe the term is black operation. Perhaps he wanted to rule the immortal world as well as conquer the known one, or maybe he felt betrayed by his parent. All we do know is that he was killed after his funds were transferred to the black ops group dedicated to finding and studying demigods."
Percy continued his walk back to his room. Every now and then, when he would pass a group of orange t-shirts, he would hear angry comments or grumbled replies about how they would never have a normal life. Percy may have agreed during the whole ordeal what with being chased by half-monster, half-human soldiers, but now he sort of didn't. He was a demigod. That was who he was, and who they were, and normal wasn't really in the job description. Maybe being hunted by the government wasn't exactly the 'norm' even for a demigod's life, but what really was?
Chiron halted just before the porch of Cabin Three while Percy mounted the steps and leaned against the patio railing. He played with the wood work, squinting in the late afternoon sun. "So that's it?" He asked. "Marius B. is dead, the Blue Hands are taken care of, and we go back to getting kicked out of school and failing reading tests?"
Chiron cracked an amused smile, "and here I thought you'd passed that phase of getting thrown out of school."
"You know what I meant."
Chiron sighed. "Yes. Mnemosyne and Hecate are handling the mortals who are aware of the other world's existence, Hades is personally deciding the fate of anyone who had a hand in it, while Zeus is—tending to matters of the state."
"Meaning he's yelling from the sky and sending torrential downpours to D.C.?"
"Diplomatically speaking yes."
Percy tried to hide his grin, but it came anyways, rearing its ugly head. And Percy began to laugh. Despite everything that had happened and everyone that they'd lost, he finally didn't have to worry about being tasered or forced to wear any more white clothes or anything regulation. Chiron patted his shoulder, seeing that the dam had finally broke, and went off to mentor some other child still suffering the aftershocks of being a fugitive.
"If you'll excuse me, I must ensure that the Hermes children did not take their status to heart."
For the rest of the afternoon, Percy remained aloof to any troubles. He made it his personal mission to not deal with anything pertinent. If anyone came to him about a nymph swatting them with tree branches or throwing acorns or a Hermes camper gluing ill-humored posters of "wanted dead or alive" to cabin walls, he told them to complain to Mr. D—just because he could.
Lyra had come to collect her things, her dog for one, but that had been it. No big good-bye, no cliched moment where she became one of the biggest leaders in camp. She had simply hugged Percy, promised to come back for training, practice, or just some visit, and she had left.
Percy guessed it was a lot to handle in the first place, and that everyone was sending mixed signals everywhere, it was time for the empath to get out of town until it smoothed over.
It wasn't until dinner time when things grew for the worst. The angry, disgruntled talks Percy had been hearing earlier came back full force. One camper started talking about how the government got off too easy, that making them forget about the last six months was the coward's way out, and then everyone started to voice their opinions.
Percy tried to curb their anger and yelled over the clamor, "it may not have been the best solution in your mind, but now we can move on. We can have our lives back."
"And we are just supposed to forget about what happened!" A camper cried out. Many more voices added to the discontent.
Percy had had enough. He snapped. "No! Just like we will never forget about the war against the Titans, but we will move on. Go to school, train, survive like we always do. It was wrong what the government allowed to happen—and we'll always remember and honor those who died fighting to protect us and our home—but this is so much bigger than a mistake made by one of our own. We fought hybrids, we fought FBI agents, we fought...whatever the hell Smith and Jones were, and we won without the help of the gods. This proves that we were meant to survive, and that we can and will live in a society split in half by two worlds. Don't let one man's mistake ruin what so many—mortals and half-bloods—have fought for. This is our home too."
He turned and walked away, without a second glance at his friends and fellow campers. Percy felt the pain and betrayal, but if he had held onto all of his grudges, he'd have no one left.
It wasn't until he was at the lake did he realize Annabeth had followed him down. She slipped down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her fingers interlocked with his own, and they sat with the sun falling to their west.
"Very motivational," she said softly. She may have been slightly mocking, but Percy remained silent. "Maybe someday you'll run for president."
So as always if there are any mistakes, just comment, or comment case you liked/disliked the story.
Well I finally finished it!
In case Percy seemed weak in the story and Lyra was too strong of a character and Mary Sue like-I try to make my stories even out so no character is above anyone else (ignoring the fact Percy can control water, Clarisse is strong and advanced in fighting techniques, Grover is part goat). That is why Lyra was blinded and didn't take part in the actual fight. Also Percy was the final winner against the demonic chimeras.
Telepathy in comparison to Piper's charmspeak/ the Hecate kids doing magic/ Leo's pyrokinesis isn't so beyond (which isn't to say I am anywhere near Rick Riordan's league, but the idea's similar in character development). Each on is imagined with strengths and weaknesses that are different from the others
Hopefully that makes sense