Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians. All characters belong to Rick Riordan.

For obvious reasons, Reyna will not be this story. She will be in the next one, though. Enjoy chapter 4, and don't forget to review and give me your thoughts and opinions.

IV
Death Ball

As the first light of dawn illuminated the dorm room, Jason was already awake. He lay on his back on the bed, a gray sock hovering a few feet from his face. He had summoned a small gust of air to hold the sock up in the air as part of his experimentation with his powers. He thought back to the bridge when he caused the winds to cocoon him as the dragon breathed fire on him. He shuddered slightly as he recalled that feeling of being trapped inside that fiery enclosure. It brought back horrible memories. Memories he would prefer to stay buried. Memories of blistering hot gold in that dank cave and the monster dragging him under...

He shut his eyes and the memory dissipated. He did not like recalling his last quest. Sure, it was his first serious one and he was claimed by Jupiter because of it, but it was a terrible experience for him. He remembered vividly the crackling lightning bolt that shone above his head like a halo, and the entire legion saluting him. Back then he had barely noticed the sign. All he could think about was the quest.

He let the sock fall back on his chest and steadily rose up from the bed. It was getting lighter outside, they had to get a move on. He took a quick shower and moved to wake up his fellow dorm mates. He was the youngest, but he had become their unelected leader. It was no surprise, looking at the people in the dorm. Besides himself, there was Dakota who had barely completed a year in the legion, Bobby who grew up in New Rome but was still on probatio, Roger a plump boy who had arrived two weeks ago with a battered recommendation letter and an asthma problem, and three other hippie dudes who didn't care about anything that happened at camp and ended every sentence with 'dude'. Jason had more years at camp (or so he thought, the hippie dudes never told) and he outranked them, so he had the privilege of ordering them around.

"Everybody up!" Jason shouted over their heads. "You don't want to be late for muster."

Everyone groaned and some covered their heads with their pillows.

"Chill, dude," one of the hippie dudes murmured hoarsely, and promptly went back to sleep.

Jason grunted in annoyance. He had to go through this every day. Why do Romans have to be selfless, he thought miserably. He really wanted to leave them behind.

In the end they managed to make it on time. Morning muster was the most unnecessary thing in the world in Jason's opinion. Every morning they formed ranks and pledged allegiance to the gods with a lot of shield banging and boot stomping. Legionnaires turned up with pajamas poking under their armor, yawning profusely. Most mornings Jason's mind swam and his dyslexia acted up, so that he ended up confusing his Latin with his English due to being only half awake. If he ever became praetor, abolishing morning muster would be the first thing he would do.

After muster was over, and his armor was safely tucked under his bed, he walked to the mess hall with his fifth cohort friends. On the way, they ran into a group of girls from the second cohort. They were older, about sixteen, and immediately they swarmed around Jason.

"Jason, right?" one of the girls asked him.

"Yeah," he responded cautiously.

"That was so cool, what you did on the bridge. You're totally brave. How old are you?"

He told them his age with a wary look on his eye.

"Awwwwww," the girls cooed in unison.

"He's so cute," one of them added. "I wish he was my little brother."

The girls walked away, leaving his bewildered friends staring at him.

"What was that?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"Oh that, it happened all the time when I was younger," Jason said. "It's quite annoying, actually."

It was annoying. He was trying to become a serious hero, how would he do that when he was still seen as an adorable kid. Lucretius was never called cute. Hadrian, their praetor, had never been called cute. Well, actually he had, but in an entirely different context.

Breakfast was as chaotic as ever, with plates floating above their heads and kids constantly changing their seats. Jason sat opposite Dakota at a table, his other friends suddenly nowhere to be seen. Gwen arrived and sat down next to Dakota, her face red from the cold.

"I still don't get why we have to continue with our camp activities this close to Christmas," she said, grabbing a plate with food from an invisible aura. "Shouldn't we be getting a break?"

Jason chewed on a piece of toast thoughtfully. Gwen was new as well, and she was still on probatio.

"Romans don't celebrate Christmas," he explained. "We have a feast on what we call Saturnalia, but it's not for celebrating. You see, in the old days the king of the Titans held the Romans hostage by ruining their crops. He would only set them free if they worshipped him."

"Woah," Dakota said. "That's rough. This Titan dude, his name's Saturn right, he sou-"

"Don't say his name out loud, names have power," Jason told him hastily. "But yeah, from then on Romans had to hold a feast in his honor on Saturnalia, although we're not happy about it."

"Wait," Gwen interjected. "I thought the Titan Lord was chopped up into a million little pieces and sent to Tartarus by your dad."

"He was, but he's immortal so he didn't really die. Somehow part of his essence managed to reach the surface world and threaten our ancestors."

"So every year we have to pay homage to an evil Titan?" Dakota asked nervously.

"Basically, yeah. The holidays aren't very cheery for us. First there's the winter solstice which is when evil is at its strongest, then there's Saturnalia."

"There goes putting up Christmas decorations," Dakota said.

All the talk about Titan Lords made Jason slightly queasy. He had been forced to memorize that bit of Roman history in countless morning Latin lessons. Speaking of which...

"Guys, I think we have hurry up. We'll be late for Latin class."

It was back to the unbroken routine at Camp Jupiter. In the morning they had Latin, and it was torture. They had to conjugate verbs and interpret epic poems. All morning Jason was occupied with translating the Aeneid into English, but he wasn't sure whether Dido threw herself off the cliff or if she tried to push Aeneas off. Eventually, his head started hurting and the words started getting jumbled up, the Latin combining with English to form some strange hybrid language. It didn't help that English was Latin-based. When the class ended, he practically ran out of the room.

The afternoon was much more interesting. They had legion training at the arena next to the principia. It was by far Jason's favorite lesson at camp. He had been allowed to start training only at the beginning of the year because he had previously been too young. This afternoon their trainer was Hadrian, and he showed them the technique of sword fighting before he allowed them to hack and stab at straw dummies. The praetor was considered the greatest swordsman of their generation, and Jason hoped he would someday be as good as him. He twirled Ivlivs, in gladius form, about and hacked at a dummy until only bits of straw remained. They were also made to spar in threes against each other since legion training was not individual. Towards the end of the lesson, Hadrian gathered them in a circle in the middle of the arena.

"Do we have any volunteers for today's final sparring match?"

A skinny pale kid from the first cohort volunteered himself boldly. He had sandy blond hair, and for a moment he reminded Jason of the demigod from his dream. He was about fourteen, yet he carried himself with an air of superiority and arrogance. Jason felt a lump of dislike growing within him.

"Thank you, Octavian," Hadrian said. "I need a second volunteer. Anyone?"

No one else was willing to volunteer. Octavian snorted loudly.

"Come on," he jeered. "I'm not that scary, am I. What about you?" He pointed a finger at Jason. "Jason Grace, is it? Come spar with me. I want to see what you can do."

"I don't think so," Jason replied.

The crowd murmured softly.

"Come on, you're a son of Jupiter. I don't understand why you chose the fifth cohort in the first place. But don't worry, my family is very influential in the first cohort. I'm sure if I put in a good word, you can join us and ditch those losers."

The murmuring grew louder as legionnaires started discussing the situation that was unfolding. Jason felt his blood boil and clenched his fists. He really wanted to beat the smug smile off the skinny kid's face.

"Thanks for the offer, Octavian," he said darkly. "But I don't think I want to be in a cohort that you're in."

Octavian's smirk slowly faded.

"Suit yourself," he said coldly. "I suppose you're not first cohort material." He turned to the crowd. "The first son of Jupiter in seventy years. What a disappointment."

Jason had heard enough. He stepped forward, but Gwen grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

"Don't listen to him," she whispered. "Octavian's such a...such a...a jerk."

She immediately covered her mouth as if she had uttered the worse possible insult. For her it probably was, she was the nicest person Jason knew. But Jason was tired of him and his friends being picked on by the other cohorts. Someone had to stand up for the fifth cohort.

"I'll do it," he told Octavian. "I'll fight you."

The circle opened wider as Jason stepped in the middle. He faced the older kid and took an fighting stance with his blade raised. Octavian had a pilum in his hands and he stood on guard. Jason was at a disadvantage since his weapon was shorter. He hoped Octavian would underestimate him because of this, but that remained to be seen.

The older boy jabbed at him with his pilum, and Jason sidestepped. Octavian stabbed again, and again but Jason was too quick. The older kid struck once more and Jason was forced to use his sword to block. For several seconds they went back and forth, Octavian jabbing and Jason parrying until it looked like a fencing match. Jason tried to switch to offensive, but he couldn't get close enough break the stalemate. He jumped forward in a superman jab, and Octavian barely brought his pilum up to block the strike while he stumbled backwards. While the older kid was disoriented, Jason swung Ivlivs in a wide arc at his shoulder. Octavian anticipated the attack, but Jason pulled back at the last minute and twisted around, lashing out at the pale kid's feet with his back heel. The older kid hit the ground with a surprisingly hard thud, and his pilum rolled uselessly on the ground. In a fluid motion, Jason placed his knee on Octavian's chest and brought the point of his sword to his throat. For a moment the crowd was silent, and Hadrian cleared his throat loudly.

"Great match," he said. "Well done, Jason." He turned to the crowd. "That concludes our session. See you at evening muster."

The crowd dispersed slowly, still discussing the final sparring match. Jason got up and extended a hand to the skinny kid who still lay sprawled on the ground. Octavian took the hand, and for a second Jason saw a look of fear in his eyes. It was replaced by anger as he bashed Jason's hand away once he was on his feet.

"You got lucky, Grace," he said through his gritted teeth and walked briskly away.

Dakota and Gwen were by his side the moment Octavian left.

"Nice man," Dakota said. "You showed him whose boss."

"Yeah," Jason agreed. "That kid is really irritating."

Gwen gave him a wide smile.

"Keep this up and we may have a chance tonight in death ball."

It was amazing how quickly Romans forgot about a person's accomplishments. While Jason ate dinner with his friends, he was back to being treated a member of the loser cohort. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about his success with Mordred's dragon. Even the fauns referred to him as 'random kid' while they begged for food. It was unfair. Jason had saved the cohort, and this happened only the day before.

"I know how you feel," a disembodied voice said suddenly, making Jason jump.

Next to him a purple form of a young man materialized. His face was twisted in a scowl that made it look as if he died angry. Jason wasn't sure he had seen this ghost around camp before.

"What fickle minds the Romans have," the ghost said. "They easily forget the greatest deeds performed by the greatest heroes. Look at me, I singlehandedly retrieved the legion's standard the first time it was lost during the Jewish rebellion. But do people remember me?"

The purple form of Vitellius arrived at their table and sat down in a huff.

"Oh, go be moody elsewhere, Brutus," he told the gloomy ghost.

"Wait, you're THE Brutus?" Gwen asked.

The ghost only got angrier.

"No! I'm the other Brutus. You see, everybody remembers him and not me."

"Oh, quit your whining," Vitellius said. "Its not very Roman of you." He turned to Jason. "Don't worry, my boy. All sons of Jupiter are remembered at camp for their great deeds."

"Except for me," Brutus complained.

"You're a son of Jupiter, too?" Jason asked.

"Of course, but now I have faded to the background while less impressive heroes such as Ulysses claim all the fame. He got lost at sea, anybody can do that!" The ghost took an imaginary breath. "Mark my words, Jason Grace. No matter who you save, you will always be in the shadow of another hero. Perhaps the first Jason, the Graecus."

"What about Olympus?" Gwen said. "What if he saves all of Olympus?"

That served to shut the ghost up. He obviously knew about the mysterious prophecy that involved Jason. But he had gotten Jason thinking. No matter what he did, there would always be a hero who overshadowed him. Right now it was Hadrian. Jason doubted if he would ever outdo him.

"Get lost you sour sap," Vitellius said as he dragged the Brutus away from the table. They went out of the mess hall still arguing.

"And thought I had issues," Dakota said and gulped down a glass of Kool-Aid.

A horn blew at the end of the hall. The officers who were currently seated at the praetor's table got to their feet.

"The games begin!" Jessica announced.

The legion gathered at the field of Mars. The engineers had managed to create a dilapidated, post apocalyptic small town in only a few hours. Legionnaires were dressed in a strange mixture of modern warfare gear and golden armor. They were armed with what looked like ordinary paintball guns, but these guns were far from normal. For one, they shot fire. The paint pellets were not really paint pellets. They were balls of poison and strong acid that ate through concrete and even Imperial gold. Legionnaires were also armed with an assortment of grenades and bazookas, so the battlefield looked like a scene from Call of Duty with expensive bling. The praetors circled above on giant eagles, ready to play referees and medics.

"Okay, Romans," Hadrian announced. "You know the rules. Victory is by conquest. Last cohort standing wins."

In death ball a person did not lose simply because of a paint stain. It was much more gruesome than that.

"Alright, don't bore them with the details, Princess" Jessica told Hadrian. She liked teasing him about the fact that his mom was the goddess of love. She looked down to address the legion. "Just go out there and kill each other."

On the ground, Jason was waiting for the fifth cohort centurions to give last minute remarks. They were oddly silent though, and they were avoiding each other's eyes. Dakota cleared his throat loudly and the officers were forced into action.

"Augustus," Jenny said cautiously.

"Jennifer," Gus replied nervously.

"What's wrong with them?" Jason asked no one in particular.

"Apparently, Dale caught them in an empty dorm, and they were about to kiss," Bobby said.

"I can see how that would be awkward," Gwen said.

"Can we get on with it?" an older kid said.

"Right," Jenny said. "You know the strategy, stay together at all time."

"Shouldn't we scatter?" Gwen asked. "That way it will be harder for them to round us up. Maybe one of us can hide until the game is over."

"That won't work," Gus said. "The second cohort has a homing device. Beside, legion training teaches us to work as a unit. Staying together is our only way."

"Try to have fun, guys," Jenny added.

The other kids didn't look too happy. They knew that death ball was not fun, not fun at all. Somewhere, the horn blew and the game began.

...

Only eight legionnaires from the fifth legion remained. Jason was one of them. Dakota, Gwen, Bobby and the centurions had survived. Even Roger had managed to survive, although his left pants leg was smoking and he was curled up at the corner hugging his knees and crying. Jason was in no better shape himself. His cheek had an angry red welt and the sleeve of his long sleeved shirt was missing. His golden breastplate had turned a shade of reddish brown at the stomach. Roman breastplates tended to be sculpted like a muscular torso, so it looked like his golden abs had rusted. He was standing impatiently while the rest of the cohort were slumped on the dusty ground in defeat. Sounds of the ongoing battle echoed around them, which made Jason more impatient.

"Come on guys," he said to the officers for the umpteenth time. "I know where the weapons stash is. I can make it there."

"I already told you, its too dangerous," Gus said. "We have to stick together."

"But we're running out of ammo," Jason argued. "We're sitting ducks out here."

"You're not going anywhere, Jason," Jenny said angrily. "That's an order."

Jason sighed heavily. Sometimes he hated Rome and its customs. It always stuck to group fighting, but sometimes that was not practical. Sometimes a lone hero was enough to tip the scales of battle. Jason made up his mind, he was going to find that weapon stash regardless of the consequences. He grabbed his death ball gun and ran out of the clearing, ignoring the outraged cries behind him. He still had several shots left, and he intended to use them wisely. He turned a corner and ran into two third cohort kids on patrol. He hid around the corner as the kids fired on him. A fireball exploded above his shoulder and multiple pellets splattered against the wall. He heard sizzling and the acrid smell of sulfur burned his nostrils. He turned and shot a couple of acid balls, quickly returning behind the wall. He heard one kid cry out in pain and collapse heavily on the ground. Jason had found his mark. He faced the remaining kid and fired wildly. A poison pellet hit the kid on the forehead and he collapsed like a rock.

Jason started forward, but stopped when he realized the burning pain on his thigh. He looked down, and almost threw up. His camouflaged pants leg had a smoking hole, and beneath it his skin was still sizzling. With a grimace, he uncorked a vial of nectar with his teeth and poured it over the wound. Seconds later the skin stopped sizzling and started to heal. He limped painfully forward, eager to reach his destination. He had memorized the way to the weapons stash while they were still being chased around before. It was on the eastern side of the ruined village, and last time he checked the first and forth cohort were locked in battle over it. He would have to sneak in while they were still distracted.

He hid behind a ruined wall and appraised the scene before him. Across the street lay the building that housed the weapons stash. It was a small hut, but it was being fought over like it was the senate building itself. It was a war zone. Legionnaires shot at each other wildly from behind overturned cars (how they got there Jason didn't know). A grenade exploded, taking out four first cohort kids. The pavement was scorched and cracked by the unrelenting fighting. A brave hero broke away and ran toward the hut, but he was taken down quickly and painfully. There was no other option, Jason realized. He would have to go through the battlefield. He counted to three, then dashed across the street and into the battle. He ducked under a fireball a fired shots wildly about him. He made a break for the hut, but was hit on the back by a heavy pellet. He collapsed forward, his back plate crumbling into a pile of rust. He pulled off his breastplate and was left unprotected around his torso. He turned and faced the kid who had stopped him, but instead found four legionnaires aiming at his exposed torso. They fired at him at once, a dozen deadly pellets bearing on him at incredible speeds. He felt a tug at the pit of his stomach, and all the balls were halted an inch in front of him. The legionnaires looked at the floating pellets in surprise, but before they could act he willed the winds to fire the the balls back. They found their targets, and the four kids collapsed in defeat. He was about to turn and head for the hut when his fifth cohort friends emerged across the street. For a split second he was distracted, and he didn't see the poison ball that smacked him squarely on the forehead. His vision blurred and he staggered slightly before he collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

He awoke to find Jenny glaring at him intensely. His other friends were nowhere to be seen. The game was over, and from the looks of their smug expressions, the first cohort had won. Again. Jason slowly got the his feet to meet the fuming centurion.

"You disobeyed a direct order," she said. "I'm sorry, but I have to punish you. I believe a few hours in a sack of weasels would-"

She turned abruptly to look at the commotion that had suddenly erupted behind them. The celebrating legionnaires were backing away from a kid who was twitching spasmodically. It was Octavian. The pale boy shouted out, then his voice started to change. First it sounded like two voices were coming out of Octavian's mouth, one small and frightened and the other deep and menacing. The deep voice took over and the screaming subsided, but Jason started backing away as well. A circle of flames appeared around Octavian, and when he opened his eyes they were pools of fire. Like miniature nuclear explosions. He moved his head about experimentally, then examined his hands curiously.

"This is your augur?" he said in the same deep voice. "You guys sure have dropped the ball around here."

Jason wasn't sure of what was happening, but it looked as if Octavian was possessed. Normally he would have been happy when something bad happened to the pale kid, but this force seemed powerful. And dangerous.

"Where are my manners," the voice said. "Romans! My people, lend me your ears. I am Mars, god of War and patron of Rome, and I come with a grave message."

A/N: The poison balls do not kill. They drain one's energy and knock a person unconscious.