A/N: Hey, I'm back. I'm going to start posting info I think is important at the top of the chapter, like this:

Characters:

Percy: 18 years old. - Miranda: 19 years old. - Zoe: 12 years old. - Declan: 17 years old. - Mrs. White: 61 years old. - Macintyre: 53 years old. - Auralius Scott: 42 years old. - Joffery Harrison: 38 years old.

The Senate (339 members):

The NRLC: 42 members. - The Fundamentalists: 69 members. - The Centrists: 85 members. - The Freethinkers: 111 members. - The Independents: 12 members.

Other Factions:

The Hunt: 13 members. - The Pack: 32 members. - FUSE: 73 members. - Chaos' Faction: Who knows?

Chapter 14- The Plot Thickens

Percy's POV

I woke up the next day with a small splatter of blood on my thighs, my head complaining from a very slight hangover. Miranda's first time . . . and my own as well.

Walking over to the bathroom, I took a towel to clean up the various dried fluids on my thighs -the less hot part of sex- and pulled on a bathrobe. There was no wondering how we would adapt to this development -after all, this was something they both wanted. Perhaps not so quickly, though. I didn't think either of us would be ready for this step . . . ah, Hades.

I quietly exited the bathroom, creeping over to the champagne bottle and sniffing. It didn't smell odd, but then again I only had a faint idea of what champagne was supposed to smell like -I'd have to take it down to the Underworld if I wanted a true breakdown.

"Perseus?" Miranda groaned as she turned over in bed, "I'd ask if that was your first time, but I already know it was."

I grinned, taking a small, damp towel and tossing it to her, "What'll you have for breakfast?"

"You can cook?" asked the daughter of Nemesis in mock surprise.

"Hey, just because I eat peanut-butter and cereal three times a day doesn't mean I can't fix a good meal!" We both laughed as I set about making pancakes from my mother's personal recipe. And nothing could compare to the look on Miranda's face when I set them down, along with coffee and a few strips of bacon.

"Blue?" Miranda asked incredulously.

I smilied, "Inside joke. Trust me, they're delicious."

"But blue?"

"Be thankful the bacon isn't blue too." I smirked at the look on her face, "Trust me, Miranda, you'll love it."

"Trust the person who's plotting to take over the world, backstabbed at least two powerful organizations, murdered dozens, and has lied to everyone about everything from your name to your species?"

"Your words, my love, they sting." I placed a hand over my heart dramatically, the very picture of wounded dignity. Then the hand dropped and the sly smile found it's way onto my face again, "But yeah, that about sums it up. You're forgetting the property damage, though. Speaking of which-" I glanced at my watch, "There'll be some fireworks in, oh, five minutes."

"Where?"

"Let's just say you can get a great view from your window." I nodded to the window in question before taking another bathrobe, "Can you put something on? You're very . . . distracting as is."

The sexy daughter of Nemesis quirked an eyebrow, "Am I? Or are you afraid of what would happen if you get to close?"

"Both. I don't really have time to ravish you, eat breakfast, and arrive at the Senate in time." I answered honestly.

"Hmm. So the Senate is more important than your girlfriend?"

"Duty calls before booty calls, I'm afraid." I shrugged, not meeting her eyes, "This is my life, my purpose, my duty. I'd like to give it all up for you, but this isn't a trashy romance novel and I'm not a vampire. I'll sacrifice everything to accomplish the task the Judges set to me."

"Even me? If I had to die, would you wield the dagger yourself?" asked Miranda, forcing my eyes to meet her's, those icy blue eyes searching my soul.

I hesitated before making up my mind, "Yes. I can't prioritize your life over the hundreds that die every century, just because Zeus wants to remain in his throne. My soul and mind are dedicated to seeing him fall, and I can't be balancing you as well. I'm sorry, Miranda, so sorry. But you'll have to be content with what's left, because that's all I can give you."

"And what is left, Perseus Jackson?" Miranda pressed, searching my eyes, "Your love is already in the Underworld, waiting for you in the Isle of the Blest. What will happen to me when you die? Would I be forgotten for your beloved daughter of Athena?"

Those words struck deep, hitting me right where it hurt: Loyalty. My fatal flaw for good reason, it seems.

"I know Annabeth, and I know she would want me to move on. If she was here, she would slap me upside the head and call me a Seaweed Brain for hesitating." I sighed, "And I don't know the entirety of what's left besides my soul and mind, but two things seem apparent."

Miranda finally found the answer she was looking for, "Your heart . . . and your body."

"And I had never given anyone my body before last night, nor did Annabeth take my heart as you did. You're mind's more sharp and cunning than mine, you have beauty enough to make Aphrodite faint and power to match. I could list what I love about you until I wither away." I took a deep breath, taking one of Miranda's hands, "I don't want to have to carry this out without you, but I can't let you stop me from making my mission complete."

My watch beeped, prompting a quick glance down. The five minutes had passed, which means a fireball was going to color the sky any minute.

"Any second now, Ms. Lytvyn." I warned, "And even if our relationship won't work, can we at least be allies? I could use you in my plans, and I'm sure you could use me."

"Using you sounds very appealing, Mr. Ekdikisi, but I'm afraid I'll have to refuse. I will be content with your heart and body, because those are the most precious and fragile things you have. Perhaps not as useful as your mind, nor as determined as your soul, but worth even more." Miranda was cut off by a bright flash of green fire, enveloping a warehouse and vaporizing the area around it.

"Di immortals!" cursed Miranda, then turned to me, "I sincerely hope they can't prove you were around there. The fallout from this will be massive."

"I know. Care to check over the speech?" I asked, wanting -needing- to bring the situation away from us possibly breaking up. Miranda nodded, silent, and I shadow-traveled through the wall, returning with a sheet of paper -it couldn't be that long, as I supposedly made it on the spur of the moment, speaking straight from the heart.

"Very rousing." was Miranda's verdict, followed by, "Pro-Consul White will either kill you for this or promote you."

"She's already promoting me, so it looks like death it is." I shrugged, "Nice knowing you."

"You as well, Perseus." she replied, "Now, get going. Early bird gets the floor first."

"What about breakfast?" I mock-whined, looking longingly at the blue pancakes I made.

"Get something on the way. I'll enjoy your cooking here." That evil, sexy smile. I love it.

I nearly walked into the door before opening it and stepping into the hallway -in my borrowed, pink, fluffy bathrobe.

"Ahh, just great." I mutter, dropping into the floor and ending up in my apartment. My briefcase was half-packed from last night, before I took my . . . Girlfriend? Lover? . . . significant other to dinner. Needless to say, I hadn't finished it.

As I hurriedly shoved things into my briefcase, I also decided on my attire. All black, for mourning, and a toga for the extra bit of classic Roman. After all, that was my goal: Do everything perfectly until I get to the top. Then the controversy starts, and the revolution.

Now ready -and dressed- I took the elevator to the lobby, making sure to look somber. After all, this was a great tragedy, a horrifying strike directed on the peoples of New Rome by an unknown and undoubtedly fearsome enemy.

I was stopped, however, when a teenager came out of the alley with a baseball bat. He was young -around fifteen- but had the confidence of a man twice his age. He carried the bat easily, as if it was used a lot, and something about him seemed . . . different: he wore a loose sweatshirt and knee-length cargo shorts. Red headphones hung around his neck, matching both his hair and a sash tied around his waist. This guy was cocky.

"Hey, wait up!" he yelled, reaching out and grabbing my arm. It was clearly a command, with a threat to those who didn't comply immediately. I twisted out of his grip with a jerk but didn't run -not until I knew more.

The teen held up an IPod, the screen facing him as he checked something. He smirked, "Prince's gonna meet you at six-thirty. Don't be late."

Then he ran off, twisting into narrow back allies and short-cuts only those intimately acquainted with the street would know.

Percy's POV

"Fellow Senators, today a great tragedy shook New Rome, shook all of us and left us feeling unsafe in our own homes. Undoubtedly, our citizens will turn to us for assistance and assurance that an attack like this will never happen again. So we must give them both the assistance and assurance, even if it must come out of our own pockets. If this proposal fails to pass, I will pay for all funerals, rebuilding, and compensation."

My gaze swept the chamber, making note of dissenting expressions and powerful figures. As I suspected, both Macintyre and White were watching intently, along with the party bosses of the Centrists and Fundamentalists.

"As you all know, one of us was recently proved guilty of siphoning government funds, and both his account and property has been seized by the Bureaucracy. It is quite a substantial amount, needless to say, and here is a disaster that would require a substantial sum to rebuild. An old warehouse, and a line of residential buildings to one side where vaporized; Buildings three blocks away show damage from the blast. There are seventy-nine confirmed dead, over two hundred injured."

I was suddenly struck by how many were killed in the blast; How many I killed. But that was locked it all up inside. Later, I'd have a good cry and regret it. Not now, though.

"Any quaestors that have been doing their job -which are few, admittedly- would know that Pro-Quaester Donald Jenkins, the embezzeler, did not have enough to completely rebuild that area. But what is left of that tab could be picked up by our budget for disasters and war damage."

My proposal was quickly seconded by Pro-Consul White, the leader of the NRLC, and the debate started. As no one could really oppose helping the people, it was more the conditions of their surrender. Those in the Freethinkers opposed my proposal to pay for the repairs from my own pocket, which put them under fire from Fundamentalists who had more money than public speaking skills. The Centrists, of course, remained neutral while the NRLC supported my proposal whole-heartedly.

By the end of the day, my lightly altered proposal sailed through the Senate with universal support, and I left with my head held high -until Pro-Consul White ambushed me Jonas at her side.

"What should I do with you, Quaestor?" she asked rhetorically, "You keep acting without my sanction, yet you've proved to be corrected in your movements. Dinner at the Domus, seven-thirty. Be there, or be gone."

"Yes ma'am." I replied as she passed by me, Jonas following her like an eager dog. A true believer.

I checked my watch. Six oh five. Twenty-five minutes before my meeting with the "Prince", and another hour after that before Pro-Consul White's dinner. I need to get a secretary or something. Better to add one now, when I don't need one, then later when I mess up and miss something.

As soon as I got home, a misty screen appeared in front of me, showing a Judge in his golden mask, "Proctor. Come to the Underworld, there is something you desperatly need to see."

This left me in shocked surprise, then a shadow opened under my feet and I appeared in the Judging Pavilion.

In front of the Judges was a man of maybe fifty or sixty, dressed in ratty layers of street clothes. He was practically a gibbering idiot, looking around frantically and pointing at random things.

I knelt to the Judges, "What do I need to see, masters?"

"See? Look at that rock! It's the shape of the back thing-ma-jig of a airplane! You did 9/11!" said the idiot.

"This man was a homeless man who was witness to something . . . different." one of the Judges replied, with a thick German accent. He waved his hand, and the man's life was displayed in front of me: Normal childhood as a middle-class child in New York, was a contruction worker, went crazy after he saw the Trade Center towers fall up close and turned out to the streets . . . then an image froze on a picture of a hot Japanese teen and an older lady -late twenties or early thirties-, clearly not related.

"Look at the young lady on the left, and look closely." the Judge ordered, then went back in the crazy guy's memory. The hot teen walked in through a door opposite of the homeless guy, then looked straight at him.

I growled, "Drew."

"Drew Tanaka, daughter of Aphrodite and murder of nineteen. Twenty, if you count yourself. " The Judge confirmed, "But that is not all."

In a blinding flash of light, the lady appeared. She was tall, regal, and almost reminded me of Hera. But this was clearly a different goddess, "Who is she? Not Hera, I presume?"

The Judge shook his head, "Guess, Proctor."

"Rhea?"

"Older."

"Another of Gaea's human forms?"

"Older even than that."

I searched my memories, racking my very limited knowledge of Greek myths I've deemed useless. Older than a first-generation Titan. Regal, queenly, so the ruler of a domain and not a "minor" deity. Someone thought gone for a long, long time. Ancient, powerful. My mind went back to a text document with barely a hundred words on it, one that I created just after waking up.

"Chaos?"

The Judge nodded, "Chaos. If the records are correct, the last time we've seen her was during Ouranos' reign."

A dozen other images appeared near the first, all showing the same queenly figure. They were all undoubtedly the same person: Shoulder-length black hair, braided. Blue eyes. High, sharp cheekbones. A regal manner. Either Chaos has an identical twin or she's still alive. And I'd bet anything on the latter.

Meanwhile, on the original set of memories, Chaos grabbed Drew and flashed away.

"I believe there is more going on here then we previously suspected." The Judge said, "This man witnessed this incident over a year ago, and only died a week ago. Admittedly, Machiavelli did not believe Drew to be the mastermind of this plot. She is too absorbed in gossip to plan something like this, nor is she powerful enough to charmspeak you like that on her own. Which means this was Chaos' idea, which in turn means we must be more careful in our movements. There are few methods of communication hidden from her gaze."

With that, the tall, thin man that served the Judges popped up, holding a charm of a set of scales. The Judge continued, "Like Kronos' scythe charm, this will allow you to communicate with anyone and everyone who holds a similar charm. Nemesis was kind enough to produce these for us. You will find more in your former quarters. Remember, do not communicate our plans verbally unless absolutetly necessary."

I picked up the charm, sliding it into my pocket. The Judge's voice now seemed to issue directly into my mind.

"Now, there are three real reasons for Drew to commit the actions she did under Chaos' orders. The first of which is to kill both you and Annabeth. That she chose to enter your cabin certainly gives credibility to this, but she may have just entered your cabin safe in the knowledge that you would be alone and thus easier to charmspeak than a more populated cabin."

"The second explanation would be to simply kill the entire Athena Cabin, which seems the most unlikely reason. After all, specifically targeting you and Annabeth would make Camp Half-Blood leaderless and, furthermore, distrusting of both leaders and heroes of the two Wars."

"The third explanation would be just to fake her own death. If that was her goal, she certainly chose a bloody and successful way to do it -everyone was so caught up in the tragedy no one questioned what a daughter of Aphrodite was doing in the Athena Cabin at that time."

"Regardless, this game we have been a part of has a new player, one with unknown strengths, weaknesses, allies, and rivals." The Judge looked straight at me, "Be ready, Proctor, for anything and everything."

I nodded before disappearing.

Percy's POV

I leaned against the side of the alley I was told to meet the Prince in, wearing a dark cloak with a deep hood. My axe was sheathed on my back, but none of the passerby outside the alley even noticed my apparel or weapons. Except for the fat guy, who walked straight into the alley. He was wearing a white hoodie and sweatpants, black sunglasses under the hood and bling around his neck. On the back of his hoodie was the word "FUSE", in a yellow-red meant to be fire.

"Hey, you." he ordered, pointing to me, "Prince's gonna see you."

I nodded and stretched, taking my time.

"Now!" he ordered again.

I fixed him with my best death-glare, "I'll take as long as I want to, fat man."

He glared back, but he was sweating lightly. Afraid of being late to your precious Prince? I kept my stare steady, meeting his eyes through his shades.

Eventually, he backed down, "Fine, fine."

I smirked. So he's more afraid of me than his boss. "Eh, I'm ready. Lead on."

The fat man turned, heading deeper into the ally before ducking through an underground shelter before coming up on the other side. We went through a boat-load of twisting back allies before ending up outside a restaurant.

Fuse's Meats!

Hottest Foods in New Rome

I raised an eyebrow at the deli-style décor, but this didn't look like the typical deli: The only tables were outside. Inside was a counter with stools and a lot of people hanging around, all of them younger than thirty and most of them in street clothes. A gang in New Rome? I shouldn't really be surprised.

"Hey, Tyrone! Who's this guy?!" one of them yelled out.

"What, you got the hots for him, Starr?" replied the guy with the headphones.

Instantly, her fist was wrapped in flames, "Ya bet I do!"

"Yeah, this guy's going to the top." shot back Tyrone. "Straight to Harrison."

"Well, better get going. You don't want to keep the Prince waiting." This was the man behind the counter, in his late thirties. He was dressed in a white button-down shirt and slacks, with spiky black hair reminiscent of Thalia's.

"More like the joker." Starr muttered, but got no further before the man the counter stepped out, grabbing her by the throat.

"You don't insult the Prince, got it?" he growled, his left hand lighting on fire, "You couldn't ask for a better leader."

Meanwhile, Tyrone opened a door behind the bar, one leading down stairs. He led me down, stopping at a door, which he knocked on.

"Enter." replied another voice, this one more commanding than others in the bar, more powerful. But it was detached, as if this was just another job that he had to do.

I opened the door and stepped in, shutting it behind me. It was a dark room, a desk at one end with a few chairs in front of it. Behind it was a tall man in a fur lined coat, the front opened displaying a black Arcade Fire t-shirt. He was leaning back in a swivel chair, booted feet propped up on his desk

"So you're the Senator that's showing up in the papers." His eyes, naturally red, met mine, "You screwed up bad, kid. If I were you, I wouldn't mess with us in the future."

My mind whirred, sorting through possibilities, "The Greek Fire?"

"Got it in one, kid."

"I'm not a kid, Harrison." I growled, itching to draw my axe.

"So you know my name. Some of my grunts have a bigger mouth than sense." he replied, still looking bored. He held out a hand, "Joffery Harrison."

"Perseus Ouroboros." I went to shake it, but instead he grabbed my wrist and twisted. My hand was palm up, the eclipse design in plain sight.

"Hmph. I thought so." Harrison growled, "Where's the Sword, kid?"

"You think I'm stupid enough to take it?" I shot back. Something about him just made me iching for a fight.

"You're stupid either way. The arrogance of a teenager." He leaned back again, taking a cigarette from a drawer and sticking it in his mouth. A flick of the finger, and it was set alight. Harrison took a long drag, before blowing out a puff of smoke.

Who the Hades is this guy? Not only does can he control fire, everyone under him can too. "How?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Harrison held up his right hand, palm outwards. On it was a Celtic cen, a rune for torch and the Sword of Fire's brand. At least, according to Jeanne.

Well, at least I know where all four of them are now. "So what am I doing here?"

Harrison shrugged, "Just wanted to met the wielder of Shadow. A much more tame blade than Fire. There are so few actually influential people in New Rome. The party leaders. That Freethinker, Auralius. The leader of Chaos' Children. I. And you, as it appears. With your money and your Sword, you could be quite annoying. Maybe I should kill you now."

"That might be harder than you think." I warned.

He shook his head, "No, it really wouldn't be."

A sharp point of fire flew from his cigarette, flying towards me. I lunged at the wall, sinking into the shadows . . . or trying to, but I bounced off the wall.

Harrison chuckled, "This room is a box of Stygian Iron, Celestial Bronze, and Imperial Gold. Not even an Olympian can shadow-travel in or out. You're trapped with a roaring fire, Perseus."

Now columns of flame erupted from all over his body, twisting and coiling before shooting at me. I tried to form solid shields of shadow, but nothing came and I was forced to roll away.

"You see? You cannot draw power from your blade. Practically every connection is cut in this room." he snarled, "You would be dead if I was trying to kill you. I've trapped minor gods in this room and cooked them until they gave me what I wanted."

Suddenly, the fire vanished, "But I'm not trying to kill you. So go before I change my mind, and grow up some before playing with the adults again."

Defeated, I opened the door and walked out to the laughter of Tyrone, Starr, and the others.

A/N: A shorter chapter this time, but I was really rushed on this. Anyways, two more factions introduced this chapter: FUSE and Chaos.