Ch12 - Unleash the Storm

The trio disembarked from their transport in the outskirts of Seattle, weary from the lengthy journey, yet glad for the lack of fighting as they had travelled. The gathering of monsters to the various monster strongholds had meant that their cross-country journey was made largely unchallenged.
The task now, they knew, was largely one for the Daughter of Hades, Bianca di Angelo, for neither a Son of Poseidon nor a Daughter of Ares could be of much use at all in the business of seeking out tunnels.

The day drew on, the path of the summer sun passing its zenith in the sky and then slowly beginning its lazy decent over the horizon when they encountered their first monster.
It was a Telkhine, fittingly, for it was the dog-monsters who were the unlawful occupiers of the forge of Hephaestus under Mt. St. Helens, some fifty miles northeast of where they had been left to their own devices by Argus.

It was, most likely, Percy reasoned, a guard of some sort, and so they had to ensure that they went unseen, lest they expose the presence of a second demigod mission to the Northwest, which not only endangered the hunters further, in the Labyrinth, but put their own mission at deadly risk.
Unfortunately, they had not been looking.
That was their biggest mistake.

"Amazons - Drop your weapons!" a voice shouted, and Percy dropped his sword at the sensation of a spear at his side.

The trio of demigods sank to their knees, Clarisse shaking her head in shame at the ease of their capture by potentially hostile forces. From behind them echoes the sound of boots, soft and measured as the warriors placed on this particular guard post circled carefully around them to bind and detain them.
The last thing Percy thought before the scent of Chloroform hit his nostrils was what exactly Chiron would make of three of his finest heroes being captured less than a day into a mission.

"Damn good thing Percy didn't take you on this quest Thalia," Annabeth remarked, pen in one hand and a notebook in the other, "I'm not sure if Clarisse and I would have been able to organise this many people at once, and it certainly wouldn't have happened quite as fast."
Thalia laughed good-naturedly, some of the stress being lifted from her shoulders at the completed task, though it was one drop removed from an ocean of tasks to complete, and certainly not the most important.

As vital as taking an audit of troops and their supplies was, there was far more than just that to accomplish, and the fact that half of her most capable leaders and administrators were away hunting for Telkhines, of all things, did little to help her current predicament.
It only got worse for the Daughter of Zeus when the tired face of a Queen entered her field of view.

At least, she could assume that she was face to face with a queen - albeit through the medium of an Iris-message - for she was bedecked in robes which would hardly be worn by many others.

It also exposed to Thalia quite how simple she appeared, despite her knowledge of her natural tendency to take the role of a leader, in her ceremonial armour and cape. Face to face with a dignitary as she was, she appeared unready, in not outright disrespectful in her disposition, grimy-faced and weary from lack of sleep and gruelling hours on the training field, improving her own fighting abilities alongside those of her troops.

"Daughter of Zeus," The woman spoke, "I understand that some of your campers entered Amazonian territory this morning, including the one who claims to lead alongside you. Do you acknowledge such actions from troops under your command?"
"Troops under my comma- Did you apprehend a Son of Poseidon, by any chance?" She responded, suddenly wishing that she was not beholden to the standards of a leader at this point, for her only true desire was to curse - violently and without restraint.
"Oh, he is your fellow leader, then?" the apparently Amazon Queen asked of her, no shortage of amusement present in the way she spoke, even through the Iris Message through which the pair were conversing, "He seemed rather fearful that you might get to know of their apparently premature capture, and implored that I inform you of the true circumstances of their apprehension. They were caught as they ran into a building, escaping a single Telkhine."
Thalia groaned in increased frustration, looking skywards in a desperately stressed outcry of irritation, straining within herself not to kick out at the giggling form of Annabeth behind her, and recomposing her at the image of a bound, gagged Percy, wherever he might be, and even at the mercy of a potentially friendly force, she could not help but feel fear for the Son of Poseidon.
"The group of heroes captured, however, came to me spouting some nonsense about a mission from Olympus itself, regarding the freeing of Lord Hephaestus' forge, and as such we asked our patron, Lord Ares."
At this, Thalia checked herself; she had begun to brace herself for negotiations between herself and the Amazons, ready to cede resources and protection in return for three of her most powerful warriors to be freed.
Now, however, she smelled an opportunity.
"And what were you told by Ares?" she asked, curious as to whether her rather optimistic suspicions would be confirmed.
"We were told, Thalia Grace, that the full might of the Amazon army is to be brought upon the forces of Othrys today, that the demigod heroes we captured would be those who decided the fate of the Greek world in little more than a year."
Thalia smiled a vicious smile, one that she knew was being mirrored by Annabeth behind her. Percy, alongside Clarisse and Bianca, and with an army of Amazons behind him, would inflict a loss upon the monsters and their Titan commanders the likes of which would serve long in the memory.

All intelligence collected by their nymph and satyr scouts had pointed towards the idea of Prometheus and Hyperion commanding the Titan armies, with Koios remaining atop the mountain of despair.
Olympian forces were establishing their own presence in the Northwest, of course, in the Amazons, with the Hunters of Artemis steaming headlong into a trap in a few short days - or so they had assumed before the quest had been sent out, initially to warn them of the predicament.
Now, however, they could launch a sustained assault, even sweep the Prometheus-Hyperion army aside.

The Party Ponies had reported little issue in the Southeast, and continued to diligently patrol the area, the Northeast being similarly managed by the campers of Camp Half Blood, their victory over Hyperion's force in Ohio dealing a killing blow to all Othrys' power on the East of the country.
The Princess Andromeda remained a major threat, Kronos' personal army sailing from coast to coast, unchallengeable by the armies of Poseidon and impervious to the horrific storms which battered it near-constantly informing the demigods that this was the threat.

For now, however, they could remain secure in the knowledge that the Olympians had Othrys under constant watch through other unnamed resources, which Thalia assumed to be largely due to Artemis and Apollo's ability to watch the entire west coast.

She didn't have to organise it, so quite frankly, she didn't care.
If an army appeared from that position, however, and she or Percy received instructions to engage them, they would see no mercy.

Percy couldn't quite believe his good fortune.

The appearance of Lord Ares had been a fortuitous one in his eyes, the amusement of the deity rather clear to the Son of Poseidon as he ordered their captors - the Amazons, he noted, the fierce warrior women of mythology - to aid him and his companions in this mission. Truly it seemed, that the Gods of Olympus were being wise in their usage of their resources across the United States.

He was all too aware of the 'resource' which carried out a similar function to the campers of Camp Half-Blood on the west coast, though he couldn't help but wonder what exactly they were doing, given the location of the threat being in Seattle, of all places.

His focus, however, was not on mythical armies that might or might not exist, but on the upcoming battle which would go to decide the fate of the Hunters of Artemis, rushing as they were into a huge trap in the forge of Hephaestus at Mount St. Helens.
The Amazons were not an insignificant force, some hundred or so warriors, trained to the highest standard in the art of shock warfare. Their cavalry was famed throughout history, and their ability to assault and sack, much as they had done to Theseus' Athens and even on the dusty plains of Anatolia outside the walls of Troy.

Their leader, as it turned out, was a new one, and all too recognisable to the Son of Poseidon.

Hylla, the girl who had carried a clipboard and welcomed him to Circe's island, as it turned out, was now the Queen of the historical tribe, owner of the largest corporate entity in the world.
Suffice it to say, their encounter had been frosty at the very least, the concerns of the Son of Poseidon regarding her use of dark magic and the rage of the Queen at seeing the face of her past tormentor drawing both sides to a head, only the appearance of the Lord of War deescalating the mounting tensions.

The Amazons themselves, for their part, had been oddly welcoming to the trio of heroes, their famous attitude to men disappearing in the face of the Son of Poseidon, for whatever reason that might've been.
"It is not out of respect for your character that they tolerate you, Perseus," Hylla had remarked, causing the Son of Poseidon to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Educate me then, Your Majesty, on why exactly it is that your people bow before me with the respect afforded to a prince, where in truth my role lies somewhere between General and simple warrior?"
"The answer to that, Perseus, is because you have been granted the status and role of a Prince, both by your father and brother," she explained, "You are a Prince in all but name, for your armour is one of Atlantean Royalty."
At this, Percy looked at the ground, the true weight of his father and Triton's political support of him coming to light. Not only was he a symbol to the people of their kingdom, but he was also a representative of them. His actions were theirs, and this struck him like the swing of a club.
"Well then, Your Majesty, I shall act in such a way that befits that respect," he responded, smiling briefly at the pleased nod he received in reply.
"Now, Atlantean," Hylla continued, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "It seems that we have a battle to plan. I hear that the Lady Athena herself has granted you the privilege of her tutelage; I should hope to see that in action today."
Percy grinned.

It was rare, for Clarisse, to receive a gift from her father.
That was not to say that it never happened, for that would be untruthful, and in all honesty, it would be ungrateful to the God of War.
Only a year or so ago, she had been granted the privilege of sailing a Civil War Ironclad warship, crewed and manned as it would have been in its heyday, that she might safely return the Golden Fleece, her father driving home exactly why he had granted her that privilege in a less than memorable encounter below decks.
Today, however, she had awoken to her father's grinning face in front of hers, and something rather more impressive than a battleship crewed by the spirits of the defeated.
A chariot.

The thing was beautiful, in the only way an instrument of destruction could be beautiful, with its scythed wheels and sleek form.
As Greek chariots tended to be, it was a small thing, clad in metal , with room for two warriors; one to drive the chariot, another to fight. Walking slowly towards it, she admired it, delighting in the fact that she was the recipient of a gift as valuable as this.
"Beautiful, is it not?" a voice behind her asked, causing her to turn to face the speaker.

It was a familiar face, with the firm jaw and high cheekbones, the wild hair and fiery eyes.
This was the first time, however, that she had seen her father as the ancients saw him; a warrior.
Gone were the modern military fatigues and assault rifle; the sunglasses and obnoxious leather boots dispelled to the distant memory at the sight before her, for Ares, God of War, was clad in the armour of a King, in gleaming gold from head to toe.
"It is yours, child," he said, no hint of jest present in his firm tone. "Do with it as I would, and bring to them the fear that would be felt had it been me in the back of that mighty vehicle."
With a swish of his cape, the God turned, vanishing in a vivid burst of fire, and leaving Clarisse shocked beyond any extent to which she had ever been shocked.

Bianca di Angelo had never met the Lord of the Dead, or at least if she had, she had no memory of such a time.

When he appeared in front of her, therefore, wreathed in black fire and to the symphony of the screams of the dead, she couldn't help but merely stare, dumbfounded at his face, both father and daughter rather unsure of what exactly to say.

It was the God of the Underworld who opened, the corners of his mouth crinkling into a smile, "Go outside, little one, for my gift to you makes rather more sense when it is before your eyes than it might have, had I explained it with words alone."
The girl complied, walking on jelly-like limbs which moved seemingly without her asking them to, still struck dumb by the appearance of her father before her, especially with the knowledge of his reclusive nature.

She had hoped that she might regain some measure of her composure as she walked, and she was somewhat comfortable in herself by the time she reached the courtyard to which her sire had guided her.
Then, all semblance of speech was lost once more.
A chariot rested in the centre of the Amazon courtyard, bearing the scarlet boar banner of Ares.

What drew her attention, however, was the pair of horses tethered to it, snorting and neighing to one another in the manner in which horses did.
When she turned around to thank the God, he had vanished, a slowly vanishing hole marking the place where the Elder God had stood.

As all of this happened, Percy was asleep.
Or, at least, to an outside observer he might well have been.
In truth, he was deep in conversation with the Queen of the Gods herself.

"Truthfully, Perseus, I cannot thank you enough," Hera complimented, resting a gentle palm upon the hero's armoured shoulder, "For this battle is not yours to fight; it never should have been."
The demigod could only glance up at the one who he might have considered an aunt, gaze questioning and uncertain, her divine glow abating by the merest hint to accommodate his changed line of sight.
"Perseus, I do not dare tell you more than what I shall at this moment, but the Campers, Hunters and Amazons are not all that we have at our disposal, dear nephew. There is a force under our command on the west coast, and their only reason not to be here, taking up arms against Hyperion and Prometheus is the fact that you are."

The Son of Poseidon could only nod, resolving that he would discuss the idea of a force that might refrain from joining the Amazons in battle purely as a result of his own presence with Thalia, Annabeth and Clarisse at some point in the near future, perhaps when he had the chance to sit down alongside the ones he loved and trusted.
"Perseus, an apology is not the reason for which I have appeared to you," The Goddess continued, "For I bring to you a mission, no, a responsibility."
He looked up once more, eyes wide in wonder at what exactly he could be burdened with, further than the crippling weight of leading friends and comrades into battle, but he realised very quickly that it could get much worse.

For in the hands of the Queen of Olympus was a flag.
The banner of Olympus itself.

They met in the courtyard of the Amazon warriors' compound as the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon, three Heroes from Camp Half-Blood, and the Queen of the Amazons herself.

All four were fully armoured, each bearing the colours that befitted them; the boar of Ares and the bident of Hades upon the flagstaff of a shining chariot which now rested in the front of the ground, drawn by infernal horses, formed by fire and vehicle was a true sight to behold, prepared for war as it was, and it was more than enough to keep pace with the fearsome steeds of the Amazons themselves.

The most shocking person in the formation, however, was not Hylla, with her pure white stallion and her gleaming silver armour, no.
That figure was the last of them to arrive.

Atop a Pegasus with hair as black as night, clad in armour which heralded his status as an Atlantean, and carrying the flag of Olympus itself in his saddle, Perseus Jackson could hardly be mistaken as the commander that he was.
Piercing green eyes, scantly visible behind the gleaming bronze helm that he wore, turned towards the Queen of the Amazons, who gave him a sharp nod.
At the movement of a hand, the entire cavalry column began their move.

Their journey was made quickly, the distance of some 190 miles being made in just over a day, and mercifully without incident.
Of course, Percy knew now that this was no happy coincidence. Their allies in the Bay Area had diligently cleared a route from Seattle down State Route Seven, and then fallen back to wherever it was that they were based, all in the space of a single day.

The Son of Poseidon didn't know who they were, or why they did what they did, but he had conveyed to them a letter of his gratitude, and had in no uncertain terms pledged to them a return of the favour.
It was, however, as the sun threatened to rise once more that the Amazon assault force found themselves awake once more, the makeshift camp being taken apart in less than half an hour, and bringing them to a state in which they could either launch, or indeed react to, a strike.

All knew, of course, that the best time at which to launch an attack was at dawn; the enemy would be tired, their limbs weary and their heads clouded by the heady allure of sleep. They would have to take advantage of this, of course, as they laid down their challenge and formed up upon the field of battle, the sunrise to their fore and the forests to their rear.
Their retreat, too, would have to be immaculate, from the removal of the Hunters of Artemis from the fray, to the rearguard action that would need to be provided should they be overwhelmed by a reinforcing element.

All this whirred through the head of Perseus Jackson as he examined the battlefield before him, and it all vanished, dust in the wind as the enemy army began to draw up in front of them.
There was some time yet for their own force to advance from the trees, their true numbers still concealed from the enemy in order to keep the Titan Generals guessing as to what their numbers were, who exactly their assailants were, and even if their troops were mounted or not.

Outside the treeline were only three of the Greek-Amazon force, and that was only the Greeks; Percy atop his Pegasus mount and bearing the Olympian banner, and the pair of Clarisse and Bianca in their chariot.

To any unsuspecting foe it would have appeared as though it were the forces of Camp Half Blood who had emerged to engage the Titan Army on the field of battle, for it was one of their generals and two of his most trusted aides who stood there, in open sight of the enemy force, preparing to ascertain the rules of engagement with their foe.
The Titans, therefore, would likely prepare for an infantry engagement, against an individualistic foe, with some minor cavalry element, and significant numbers of light, skirmishing infantry in the form of the Apollo Cabin, perhaps even some heavy infantry if the Ares cabin were present.

Of course, their troops would not be prepared for the whirlwind brand of warfare championed by the Amazon cavalry, and certainly not for the devastating power of Percy and Bianca as they doubtlessly utilised their powers to the greatest of their abilities, trusting in the likes of Hephaestus and Hades to prevent any large-scale activity affecting the Volcano which served as the backdrop to their battlefield.

As the Monsters moved about, lugging about their heavy weapons and armour, of course, the Amazons were not even mounted on their steeds.
They rested, lightly armoured and armed so as to recoup energy expended over the course of their punishing move. All the while, their enemies expended vital energy as they formed their battleline, preparing themselves to counter a threat that did not exist.
The blow of a horn, however, marked the end of that.

A hundred and fifty Amazon warriors mounted their steeds as one, the motion smooth and silent as a result of years of rigorous training in the fine art of horsemanship. Bows were checked, spears and lances affirmed to be as they should, and within a few short moments, the forces of Olympus were ready to bring war to their foes.
From the trees emerged Hylla, the presence of her armour doing nothing to detract from her poise and elegance as her status as Queen of her people demanded. Her horse, a steed of purest white, formed from the crests of the waves themselves, carried her level with the chariot which bore Clarisse, Daughter of Ares, and Bianca, Daughter of Pluto.
Together, they marked the point of the Amazon formation; a Cuneum, or a Wedge, of the finest cavalry that history had ever known.

Far in the distance, Percy could see the figures of his opposing generals, Prometheus and Hyperion each stood in their own chariots, ornate and imposing as they should be, and yet their faces, even across the distance of eight hundred yards, were quite clearly ashen with fear.
One did not need to be a genius to understand that their force had been equipped in such a way that was meant to oppose a force of campers.
They were not expecting Amazons at all.

A punchy blast of a horn across the battlefield saw the Titan skirmishers fall back behind the lines of their heavier lines of Dracaena swordswomen and Telkhines.
Nowhere in this army, however, could Percy see the dreaded Cyclops phalanxes which would have marked significant difficulty in the execution of his and Hylla's plan.
The first move, as befitted the role of the assailing army, was that of the Amazons, and they did not shy away from that obligation.
Fifty horse archers; Amazons proficient in the way of the bow, rode out from within the lines, and began a fierce skirmish against the lightly armoured Titan force.
The Dracaenae held, their gleaming golden armour and shields protecting them from the hail of arrows unleashed upon their positions by the Amazons.
The Telkhines, however, were less fortunate.
Master bladesmiths and craftspeople they may well have been, but that did not extend to their own warriors upon the field of battle.

Unarmoured swordsmen fell victim to the bronze-tipped barrage directed their way, and more than one unit began to fall back, their lines held only by the orders of their horrified generals.
It was only at the reappearance of enemy slingers and javelinmen that the Amazon light cavalry fell back, whooping with elation as they returned behind their ranks, prepared to give their horses some rest before the continuation of their role on the battlefield.

The Titan forces were shaken, Percy knew, and it was only a matter of time before the enemy Generals did something to solve that problem.
A glance in Hylla's direction affirmed to him that the next phase of their assault was due.
Percy grinned.
Of course, had Thalia been present, lightning may well have been an option, their joint powers combining as they often had in the past to shatter enemy resistance.
The Daughter of Zeus, however, was on the other side of the country, marshalling her troops for what might well be the fight of their lives, atop the flimsy wooden walls of Camp Half Blood.
A hurricane, therefore, would have to do, Percy mused to himself, with a light chuckle to himself.
Of course, summoning a storm on a clear day was difficult, and for that he admitted to himself, he had been foolish to offer such a thing.
Since he had, however, he could hardly hope to disappoint.

As he closed his eyes, he pulled, a single bolt of lightning hurtling from the heavens themselves to crash into the centre of the Titan lines, instantly incinerating an entire phalanx of Dracaenae.
That was only the beginning.

Sweeping in from the sea, as far away as it was, came a gale, strong enough to cause the enemy troops to shield their eyes. That gale swirled and spun, clouds gathering in the bright morning sky and going so far as to blot out the sun itself.
Then, it started to rain.
Swirling and churning, the sky roiled like the most treacherous parts of the ocean in the midst of the most fearsome of storms, angry grey clouds unleashing a downpour upon the Titan lines.
Shields came up to mask stinging eyes as thunder boomed overhead, and lightning struck once more. It was at that point that the Amazons chose to begin their advance.

The earth itself split open as the onyx eyes of Bianca di Angelo took on a hellish glow, hands outstretched in front of her.
It was with her father's aid, of course, but one could hardly deny that the child of the Underworld was the trigger for what was to come next.
Clawing their way out from under the earth's crust, skeletons staggered to their feet, rotting flesh and bone forms trudging across rapidly deteriorating terrain in the direction of the Monster front lines, their foe still blissfully unaware of the new assailant on the field as a consequence of the torrential rain which continued to sting at their exposed flesh.

Still, the Amazons advanced, their horses not even quickening their pace to a canter as they moved, still holding the tight, rigid formation which would strike into the heart of the enemy's weakening force.
Three hundred yards stood between the cavalry and their target.
Typically, at this point, they would be engaged by enemy skirmishers, the range only just within that of a talented archer.
That, however, was not to be, for that particular threat was all but gone, the skeletons having vanished before the Titan Generals could so much as realise that their entire corps of skirmishing infantry was little more than a shattered wreck, fleeing the battlefield or simply dust upon the reducing wind, banished for the foreseeable future to the dark realm of Tartarus.
When the hurricane did vanish, however, a lack of slingers was far from their greatest issue.
The Amazons had closed to two hundred yards, and their steeds had broken into a canter.

Clarisse loved the feeling of war; the rush of blood, the heady feeling of elation that settled upon the mind as the body fell into the rhythm of death and destruction.
The slow crescendo of a cavalry charge, however, was quite something else.
Five hundred yards had been little more than a trundling walk for their mounts, even slower than the pace at which they had made their admittedly impressive move along the West Coast towards the Forge of Hephaestus for which they had been ordered to challenge.
At a distance of three hundred yards, however, had come the break into a canter.
The bloodrush began here, the thundering clatter of so many horses' hooves upon the hardening ground sparking the same fire in her heart, the same lust for blood that the tramping of hobnailed boots did in the Daughter of War.
The transition to a gallop, however…
That was something she did not think she could ever relinquish from her memory.
The pounding of horses' hooves seemingly from all around her despite her position at the point of the formation; the harsh flapping of the banners of Ares and Hades that were so proudly borne on the flagstaff of her vehicle; the high, ringing song of the scythed blades which sat at the axles of her chariot's wheels…
It was something else entirely.

To her right, she could see Queen Hylla, the leader of the Amazons only now lowering her lance, at the scant distance of twenty yards, and all of a sudden the gravity of it all struck her, the forest green and glimmering gold of the Amazon banner at the end of her lance suddenly all around her as the entire column prepared for the shock of impact.
Next to her Bianca braced, and Clarisse did much the same as they ploughed into the centre of the Titan line, bright golden dust suddenly clouding her vision as swathes of monsters were eviscerated in the blink of an eye.
Some fell to the sharpened bronze of their weapons, others to the sheer weight of the charge itself, for not many could withstand the force of so many horses striking them.

What she would have seen had she been in Percy's spot soaring above the battlefield, however, would have been three divisions of the monster army shattering all at once, a thick cloud of gold marking the charge with frightening emphasis.
What the Son of Poseidon also noticed, however, was the quick rally of fleeing troops around the banners of Prometheus and Hyperion.

A signal by his hand brought the entire column of heavy cavalry out of the engagement, their fall back covered each step of the way by a fresh wave of arrows from the bows of the reinvigorated light cavalry.
Normally, at this point, Percy might have favoured a heavy infantry advance of some sort, hoplites ready to take full advantage of the scrambling Titan Army and grind their flagging medium infantry down to only the stragglers and survivors.
What he got instead, however, might just have been better.

From behind the Titan Army came a fresh wave of arrows, before a new force entered the fray, pouring out of the same exit from the forge as the monsters themselves had emerged.
All thirty of the Hunters of Artemis, glowing with the unrestrained power of their patron, and led by their finest, entered the already skewed battle.
The Titans couldn't win if the Primordials themselves intervened.
At least, in the battle-drunk minds of many of the Amazon warriors, such was the case.

Silver arrows streaked through the once-more bright sky, not a shield or armour plate capable of halting their paths of destruction, and no chance of their rate of fire diminishing.
For too long, the son and handmaidens of the Goddess had roamed dark, musty tunnels.
They were itching for a fight, for the rush of battle and the letting of blood.
Like the onrush of the high tide, thirty huntresses and the Godling who led them fell upon their foe, with the ferocity of tigers and the tenacity of the one who gave them their strength.

What a hundred Amazon cavalry had accomplished, the Hunters of Artemis matched and bettered.
Fore among them was the Son of the Goddess; Thales himself.
Had Percy not witnessed his majestic duels against Atlas and Talos previously, he might have been rooted to the spot, frozen where he sat atop his flying steed.
Instead, he forced himself to drag his entranced gaze away from the form of Enyo personified and focussed on the Godling's target instead.
It was rather obvious that his path took him into the attentions of Prometheus.
Percy shrugged to himself.
He would once more have the honour of duelling Hyperion, Titan of the East, Lord of Light.

On the last occasion, the Titan had nothing for which to fight, the assault of the Hunters and Heroes deployed by Olympus onto his retreating force unexpected, and his tactics in the face of overwhelming odds against a foe of superior power and training, and a fleeing army.
This time, however, the battle would not necessarily be quite so easy.

As the Son of Artemis made his approach on the waiting Prometheus, Percy guided Blackjack to the ground, the battle at large fading into the back of his mind as chaos and death found themselves disregarded in the psyche of the Son of Poseidon.

Holding his blade out towards the Titan of the East in challenge, he awaited the snarling nod of assent before he sprung into action.
He cast aside all thoughts of defensive duelling as he charged, driving himself forward by the power of his legs, and using the moisture of the air as a springboard as he hurled himself at the Titan's stoic form, shield out in front of him as he aimed a vicious hammer blow of Anaklusmos at his opponent's head.
The blow, however, was evaded masterfully, Hyperion retaliating with a strike towards his midsection as he landed; a blow he caught upon his shield before he turned on a sixpence and swung a retaliatory strike at his opponent's armoured torso, which was deflected off bright golden armour.
Hyperion snarled, and the battle continued.
Charging forward once more, Percy ensured his position within the striking arc of his foe as he made a thrust towards the Lord of the East's exposed neck, a glimmer coming to his eye as his opponent backpedalled.
He pushed forward to press his advantage.
Big mistake.

Hyperion's ploy had caught him entirely off guard, the Titan Lord's gargantuan blade crashing through the unaware hero's defences and cutting deep into his right arm, the Lord of the East demonstrating remarkable agility as all ten feet of his form twisted to exact his strike.
Percy, however, was not one to concede.
Growling in rage at his own mistake, he discarded his shield, taking up his sword with his left hand. The pain was blinding, but he had a goal; pain be damned to Tartarus, he would win no matter the cost.
Now he was forced onto the defensive, the skill of his left hand insufficient in the face of an opponent quite as fierce as Hyperion.
Their fight, however, was not long to last.

The reason for that manifested itself in a rather incredible chain of events, the first of which was punctuated by a deafening scream of pain.
Whirling around and retreating quickly from his opponent, Percy was faced with one of the most terrifying things that he had ever seen; Prometheus, the terrifying Titan of Foresight and counsellor to Kronos himself, was prone upon the dust-covered ground of the battlefield, a pool of his own ichor propagating around his motionless form.
The fire thief was not dead; far from it, but he would certainly be out of the battle for a considerable length of time.
The true defining figure of the image, however, was Thales.

The Son of Artemis stood, victorious, over his defeated opponent, eyes shining with a power that all present would shudder at, that one would never desire to be directed upon one's most hated rival.
A shockwave rippled through the air, loose rocks tumbling from their resting places all along the slopes of Mount St Helens.
Something was very, very wrong.

On the opposite side of the country, Thalia Grace returned from the dining pavilion having only just eaten lunch, to discover an Iris message active in the room of the Big House which she, Percy, Annabeth and Clarisse had turned into their administrative headquarters.
By the looks of it, she had missed the vast majority of the battle which she knew was being fought, but this meant that there was most likely some form of strategic value to what was to follow.
If the Olympians had desired for her to witness something, they would have manifested this message wherever she was, regardless of circumstance.
It was this exact moment that was of such importance.

She could see a significant cavalry force, plus a single chariot, which bore the insignia of Ares and Hades, clearly in the midst of sweeping up the fleeing monsters in the aftermath of a crushing victory.
Closer to the volcano, she could make out the Hunters of Artemis, and squinting harder, Thales and Percy, each locked in their own duels, or more accurately, at the end of their own duels.
She could see no specifics, but there was some distance between Percy and his opponent, a Titan in vaguely familiar Golden armour, and Thales' opponent was on the floor, not to awaken for some time at the very least.
What, then, was of such concern?

As it turned out, it took Annabeth's arrival for such an answer to be provided.
From the Volcano emerged a thick plume of blackest smoke, dirty and ominous, like the beginnings of an eruption of the active volcano.
That, however, was not to be the case.
At least, not yet.

The smoke grew arms, and legs, and a grotesque torso. It formed from its chaotic form a head, with eyes that promised violence, and a sneering mouth filled with dirty, stained teeth.
Out from the crater it emerged, rock and snow crumbling away from the lip of the mountain's peak and tumbling in lethal landslides and avalanches down the opposite side, mercifully not causing any visible damage.
Down the mountainside the monster came, his gargantuan form rising some fifty feet above the rocky slopes as it seemed to adjust to the world.
Then, Percy's opponent disappeared, taking with him the motionless form of Thales' own foe.

The Son of Artemis was the first to engage the new foe, the Goddess' immortal companions following him in a fearsome charge as Thalia watched her beloved stagger back to his patiently awaiting Pegasus, breathing out a sigh of relief when he was whisked away from the threat. She knew in her heart that he would be begging the horse to take him towards the fight, to give more, but the selfish part of her cried tears of joy that he was no closer to that abomination than he had previously been.
The two clashing sides; Huntresses and beast; clashed in a blinding flash of light, the true nature of the engagement hidden from her, though the trademark silver trails of their arrows cast their light upon the dusty combat.

She had counted thirty one Hunters entering the fight.
Twenty left still standing.
Still, the monster advanced.

That was, of course, until the first pillar of light struck it.
Then another, and another.
In total, twelve pillars of light surrounded the grotesque figure, Typhon as Annabeth murmured under her breath.
The pillars solidified into humanoid form, and Thalia gasped.
The Gods of Olympus had joined the fight.

A/N
Damn
It's two in the morning, and I'm practically falling asleep as I edit this down, but yeah, it's been a long session of writing.
This chapter was 6,750 words before I wrote the Author's Note, it was 2,500 yesterday, and about 500 words the day before that.
Normally I might've apologised for the length of time between updates, but not this time. I was working the first weekend since I last posted, then the next one after that I went back home from university fir the first time in 3 months. No apologies here haha.

Anyway, onto the chapter; it covers a large proportion of BoTL, up to the eruption of Mount St Helens. No Calypso, I can't be bothered to write that, and it's not going to add to my narrative here. Yes, the Amazons exist, and there's a vague knowledge of some (maybe) Romans to the Greeks, because it's a glaring issue that nobody cares about a literal enemy stronghold. At least here they know that it's being taken care of.
The chariot is a reference to the canonical bit with Clarisse, Phobos and Deimos, wherever that was from, and badass mf Bianca continues to be the character we didn't know we needed.

Until next time, then,
Sol
(I don't own PJO)