Sorry I wasn't able to update sooner; my Internet is screwed up from all the viruses.

"That was lame," I stated.

"We don't even know where the HMS Annihilator is," Desmond said, "Good plan, Tim."

Carthage's face tensed, "Don't call me that. I hate being called Tim."

"It's your name," I said, "You should use it."

"I don't, thanks to a rebellious son of Athena that wants me dead on a stake."

"Ha! I bet its Hitler."

He really wanted to get off the subject because his face showed it, "You guys better rest if you want to fight a ghost ship."

I muttered about poltergeists and realized how late it was. The stars were out and reflecting across the cluttered ocean, even when the sky was partly orange. I immediately heard snoring when Des slammed his head on the inflatable part of the motor boat. Who knew someone so restless could sleep well?

I leaned back and watched the constellations of Pisces, Taurus, and Aries light up the sky. I didn't have a favorite star pattern. All I knew that most of the heroes, animals, and objects were killed because they betrayed the gods. Perseus was like the only hero that had a happy ending. Man, I wish happy endings were frequent. I'd die for a happy ending. Wait… that just defeated the whole purpose; Damn.

In order to get a happy ending, you would have to do something great without having a tragic love affair. I had a few girlfriends back at Camp Half-Blood, but they all broke up with me, and they never had a reason why they did it; So much for love. Anyway, it's basically not about gossip; it's about whether you're a raging, power-hungry monster slayer or a hero that protects his men that is willing to give up a few things in order to save the world.

Unfortunately, I'm not one for personal loyalty. I never learned my fatal flaw. Since the gods don't care, why should I care? Okay, man… just drop it. And I did once I finally fell into a dreamless sleep. Until Carthage managed to wake me up in the middle of the night. A large vessel floated dreadfully in the water as if a giant squid would tear it down at the last minute.

"HMS Annihilator," he confirmed, "it looks deserted."

"Then what in Hades would a ghost ship look like?" I impatiently whispered.

"You're mom," Desmond replied. I glared at him while Carthage slowly revved the motor and propelled us towards the starboard side of the destroyer ship. It jutted out like a sore thumb in the water. Before the admiral could climb the service ladder, I asked if anyone has a spare weapon.

"Check in the bag," Des half-compelled. I did as he told me to and brought out a pair of daggers that bore dull, metallic blades that tapered to a fine point at the end. Some world of weird weapons we live in.

"What are these?" I asked in disgust.

"Dirks," Carthage replied while climbing the service ladder, "the Scottish Highlanders formerly used them back in the days."

"Of what?"

"Heck if I know; I sucked at history."

"You're making history now," I sheathed the dirks and climbed. He hauled himself over the railing of the HMS Annihilatorand scouted a few feet before beckoning us over. A fell voice hung in the air like ghostly whispers. Heroes aren't supposed to be afraid of anything, but it looks like this hero has really bad phasmaphobia with a case of ADHD and dyslexia; Not exactly what you call a "true" hero. I unsheathed my dirks while my hands shivered. Desmond wasn't afraid of anything. Though, he acts like he's holding back something he's not telling me and I ignore it most of the time. He took out his celestial bronze dagger and held it firmly against his thigh. The admiral grabbed the knife out of his suit pocket, lifted the leather, and his magic sword sprang to life.

Ghostly whispers became more distraught like the sobbing of victims that lost their loved ones during a horrible incident. We crept across the artillery deck of the ghost ship. When I turned the corner, I froze in place and stared ahead at the large midnight black mastiff chewing on a deceased body.

Carthage caught up with me, "What?"

I pointed in front of me and whispered, "Hellhound."

Just then, Des slowly turned the corner at the opposite end of the deck with a pistol aimed at the hellhound. Carthage tried to shake his head and I stood like I'd just been (emotionally) petrified by a basilisk. I wish I hadn't thought that, because I heard slithering against wood and metal from behind us. Without thinking, I turned around and pierced my dirk into the shoulder of what it looked like to be a Scythian dracaenae. She burst into a cloud of sulfur.

A loud bark echoed the entire deck. When the hellhound tried to bark again, a gunshot fired and a yelp followed afterwards. Footsteps marched towards us and Desmond turned the corner while blowing the smoke from the barrel of his pistol.

"Had to send the bitch to Tartarus before she alerted everyone," he growled, "There are more of those beasts patrolling the railing of the ship."

"Follow me to the radio center," the admiral started, "We need to get the last recorded transmission before they were commandeered—find out why these monsters were set loose."

"Can I ask a question?" I blurted.

Carthage motioned me to continue.

"Are you a regular admiral or a fleet admiral?"

He turned his back on me and turned the corner, "Can't you tell by the badges?"

I dumbly said while Des trailed in front of me, "Umm…?"

"Fleet admirals have five stars and four blades while regular admirals have four stars and three blades," he replied as I finally caught up with him, "I was promoted according to my command at sea with the help of Colonel Tavington and his strategic positions."

"So… is that a high rank?"

"I guess so. I'm not in the army, I'm with the navy. Plus he's British if you pay attention to his accent."

"What's that make you?"

He climbed the stairs onto the command deck, "Australian."

I let that sink in as soon as I reached the doorway to the radio center. I never knew that Timothy Carthage was an Australian; then again, I never pay attention to people's accents. It just seems weird to me.

When I walked in, the door in the back of the room seemed to thud like someone is trying to kick it down. Screeches and yells bellowed behind it.

"You get on that radio, Alex," Des barked, warily holding his bronze dagger out in front of him. I ran towards the table with transmitting equipment on the recording module. I made a grab for the headphones and turned the dial on the recording.
"Die sea scum!" a voice hissed behind the door. Static filled my ears until it cleared.

HMS Annihilator to Portsmouth, do you copy? We lost communication with the USS Suburbia. Wait—what the—

A slicing sound echoed through the headphones and another voice hissed with laughter.

Your preciousss ssship is now oursss, Colonel Roy Tavington. Either you stop meddling in the lord'sss affairsss, or you're going to be dragged to the bottom of the sssea along with that thief and the ssson of Aresss. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy our little presssent we sssent you. Your half brother will be pleasssed if you do.

Then the recording ended with static. Suddenly, the door in the back of the room exploded and a few of those midget people stormed the room along with two large giants flanking the sides. Their muscles rippled under tattered shirts, teeth were like an alligator's, and their chests were like shag carpets.

One of them put their pawed foot on Desmond, who was struggling to get up.

"This one is feisty," the hairy giant muttered. Carthage and I drew our weapons.

"Hehe! Looks like I'm going to do the honors now, Argius," the other growled, "Lets see what you make of our little friend."

He stepped away from the door while some type of large mutant animal that was mixed between a dragon and a rooster trotted in. Its skeletal-like tail was curled in a deadly kind of way, almost like its eyes. The wings were part leather-part feathery and the mane on the cockatrice's head was like a frill-necked lizard except it was more skeletal. The rest of the body seemed feathery... unless they were dangerously sharp like thousands of blades.

The killer munchkins prodded the giant rooster towards us. I barred my dirks in front of me in case it lunges at us.

"Whatever you do," Carthage whispered next to me, "do not let it breathe on you."

"Breathe on me. Got it."

Edit: The original chapter for the story was a message from the Oracle, but I had second thoughts. The "BIG BAD" prophecy would be given to Chiron after the Battle of the Bulge. Then after WWII, the gods decide not to sire childeren. Blah blah this, blah blah that. You get the picture. Also, you will see little to no romance in the story. And Alex and Des are "Frenemies" not homosexual.