AN: Ah . . . I love nice reviews. Thank you, with all my heart, to CrazyPeanutAttack, Acacia0321, Cerulean Apocalypse, Kifo Entiegon, and everyone else, for your warm support of my characters, particularly Steven Rust. He and these other characters all have some part of me in them, and your praise and help make my heart warm. ;) This chapter is the last before the shit starts to hit the fan- I'm going all out on Chapter Seventeen. You have been warned. :) I own nothing, not even any of Tony Benedict's casinos.
Camp Life, Chapter Sixteen
What Happens in Vegas/Hammer Time
A loud beeping makes Apollo blink and wake with a start.
Generally speaking, gods don't actually need to sleep. They do perfectly fine without it. They can sleep, of course; they can do pretty much whatever they like. But most just don't bother. The rare exceptions to this rule are (obviously) Hypnos, the god of sleep, Morpheus, the god of dreams, and old Helios and Selene, the sun and moon goddesses. Helios had slept at night and Selene during the day; and this legacy had been, to a certain point, passed on to Apollo and Artemis with the sun/moon duties. The twins certainly didn't just randomly pass out when their respective celestial body dipped below the horizen, but they are more inclined to snooze a bit during these times.
The alarm clock read, in bright glaring red digits, 12:01.
Apollo stretched lazily, prompting a sleepy murmur and a bit of shifting around to get comfortable by the pretty Army captain laying next to him, clad in nothing but her bare skin.
The god of poetry (among other things, but that was the most important) slipped out of bed, swiftly kissing her cheek and copping a feel (for good luck). With a thought he was abruptly clad in a flight suit and a pair of aviator sunglasses (It was never too dark to wear sunglasses, that's Apollo's motto. He'd written a nice poem about it.).
The air outside was still warm despite the late hour. Air Force and Army personel scuttled about, attending to this and that. A few minutes of brisk walking took him to an deserted strip of tarmac. Glancing around to make sure he was really alone, he grabbed his keys out of his pocket and clicked the electronic beeper a few times.
A gleaming Aston Martin V12 Vantage shimmered into existence in front of him. Apollo loved the car, but for this job he was going to need a different vehicle. He pressed the clicker again, and the sports car, flickered and became a WW1 Fokker biplane (In black, with flames on the side). That would be pretty funny, he thinks, but - he trys again, and frantically clicks the button repeatedly before the U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701, can materialize and crush like the whole island. The spaceship becomes a small fishing dinghy, then a flaming chariot, followed by a glowing unicycle.
Finally he gets what he wanted: a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter gunship. The large helicopter looks menacing with its all black paint job, massive rotors, and full missile racks. A pair of Vulcan miniguns point out of each side of the aircraft.
After due consideration, Apollo adds a skull-and-crossbones to the side of the fuselage. A bit more menace never goes uncalled for.
Amanda steps out of McCarran International Airport and raises a hand to sheild her eyes from the harsh Nevada sunlight. Jesse winces next to her and copies the gesture. "First stop, sunglasses," he murmurs. She nods in agreement.
Drew, sliding on her own sunglasses, smirks at them playfully, and elbows Rust, who glances over at them.
"Here," he says, reaching into his back pocket absentmindedly. He pulls out a wallet and hands Jesse a wad of cash.
"Um-" Jesse says weakly, staring at the hundred dollar bills in his hands, "Where did you-"
"Did you rob a bank?" asks Amanda craning her head to look over Jesse's shoulder. "I've always wanted to try that."
"No," he says, tucking the wallet back away, "I mean, I have, but that's not where the money came from. It's Echelon discretionary funds."
He grins mischievously. "I figure, if we're going to enjoy Vegas like it was meant to be enjoyed, we'll need some dough. Don't worry," he sniggers, "Ares is our banker. He just makes more of it and kills people who tell him about inflation and stuff. He'd probably give me a few million if I wanted."
"Awesome," Amanda says, beaming and whipping the cash out of Jesse's hands before he can protest. He can hear her counting it under her breath.
"You've created a monster," says Jacob, grinning and touseling Amanda's blonde hair. She smacks his hand away, not looking up from the money.
"She already was a monster," mutters Nico.
Adalina watches her half brother, the Giant Leon, toss another massive rock on the impressive pile in front of her. Already as big as a small mountain, the only thing that keeps it hidden from the Greeks are Hippolytus' spells.
The full moon lights the valley they stand in. It had started out as green and lush, but this operation had turned it into a rocky quarry. Adalina didn't mind that; she liked rocks more than plants anyway.
Hippolytus rumbled into view. A medium size Giant, about twenty-five feet tall, he carried a massive stone in his shimmering, ghostly arms.
A snivelling comes fom behind her, and she turns and glares at her companion (though not by choice). "I told you to shut up, Roman."
Octavian glares at her, but he knows full well that she could kill him with utter ease. Among her half-human siblings, she was rated the second best fighter, after Ana Massri. Not that she needed to be second best in order to defeat him. He looked like a stronge breeze would finish him off.
She takes a drink from her canteen and strides over to Leon. Her brother glances down at her expectantly. Ironically, Leon, with his fierce lion's head and sharp, long claws, is a strangely gentle soul (for a Giant). He stoops to hear her better.
Patting his cheek affectionately, she shouts over the sound of the Gigenes piling rocks and dirt higher and higher. "Leon, I have to go now! Ana has gotten herself in a spot of trouble, and I need to go help her. And I've got to take this half-wit to the Pit too. You keep up the good work! Make sure 'Lytus doesn't forget to reacharge the invisibility spell!"
Leon nods gravely and stands, waving good-bye as she heads for the jeep parked on the hillside, dragging Octavian behind her.
Micheal adjusts his aim so that the crosshairs of the telescopic sight on his crossbow is centered directly on the shadow barely visible in the window of the apartment across the way.
The rain is still coming down hard, and he's impatient. he really wishes the assualt team would get here, finally. He checks his wristwatch: one-thirty in the morning. He expects that the assualt team left from Clark Air Force Base in the Phillipines at zero dark thirty, so - only a little while longer.
It's actually only three minutes before he hears the thrum-thrum-thrum of helicopter blades, and smiles.
They hike down the strip towards their hotel rooms in the Bellagio (courtesy of Echelon), taking in the sights. Amanda and Jesse stare unabashedly, Jacob and Lily laugh at the Venitians' Roman gardens, Laurel and Danny boast loudly about their poker skills, and Nico glares around suspiciously, looking creeped out.
The man at the front desk of the Bellagio looks taken back when Steven curtly informs him that they have several suites reserved, but quickly gets to work when the son of Aeolus glares at him pointedly.
The rooms are big and fancy, and the tired demigods gleefully leap into the massive hot tubs and showers to wash the grime of monster dust and lack of showers since somewhere in Liverpool. Rust sticks his head into their rooms and tells them to come to his and Drew's suite when they finish.
An hour later, they assemble: Nico di Angelo, Steven Rust, Drew Tanaka, Laurel Smith, Jesse Fairway, Amanda Brooks, Jacob Van Isaac, Lily Mérida, and Dannielle (if you were suicidal) Hemingway. They were all wearing the big fluffy white bathrobes that the hotel/casino had provided, with the exception of Rust who was dressed in his customary darks- a grey button-up shirt under a black cardigan- and Drew, who wouldn't be caught dead in a bathrobe, no matter how comfy it was.
"Okay, guys," says Steven pacing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, "Here's what we know."
He pulls a large manila envelope from his bag and dumps the contents on the bed. The group sifts through the photographs- fifteen or so headshots of a number of individuals. Mostly humans, but a few monsters too; Amanda recognizes the Telekhine from that unfortunate instance in South Carolina with the canyon.
"These," continues the Camp Armorer, waving a hand carelessly at the photos, "are smuggleres, contraband marketers, underworld figures, etcetera. I believe you were familiar with a monster named Geryon?" he asks Nico, who nods curiously.
"He was one of these guys. They control sixty percent of the magical and divine illicit trade in the world. And we believe they have the next Doorway piece. They don't know what it is, which is good. It's on display in their rooms here in Vegas. Planet Hollywood, to be exact."
He pauses. "These photographs, and this information, is courtesy of Lord Hephaestus, who has eyes in pretty much every corner of the urban world. We're gonna bust these guys, and hard."
He grins evilly. "It's going to be fun."
"Romeo-Three-Niner, turn to heading three-seven-five and continue Northbound, angels one-two. Your egress route is not, I repeat, not marked. Coms will go black at that time. How copy?"
Apollo flicks a switch on the helicopters control panel and replies, "Good copy, Clark control. Romeo-Three-Niner egressing from area. Coms going black in five. Three-Niner out."
The tower operator clicks the mike in response, and Apollo pulls on the yoke, urging the Black Hawk higher. His copilot, not that he needs one, is a Roman Echelon agent, as are the two Crew chiefs manning the 7.62 mm M134 Vulcan cannons on either side of the aircraft, both enourmously powerful weapons. The grim-faced men in the crew compartment, wearing black balaclavas, Kevlar vests, and carrying a variety of weapons, were also Romans, most of them legacies. They were the best at working in teams; whereas the Greeks tended to be better at solo missions.
The helicopter soared over the South China Sea, and Apollo punched it, letting the disguised Sun Chariot show a little power. They would get to Hong Kong faster than most jet fighters.
Indeed, thirty minutes later, they were flying low and slow over the tall buildings and narrow streets of Hong Kong. Apollo glances at the readout on the panel, which shows his sons current location.
Two minutes.
He nods at the copilot, who sticks his hand between their seats where it's visible in the crew compartment and raises two fingers. Apollo hears a gruff voice from behind him shout, "Two minutes!" over the sounds of the rotors and the rain.
A minute thirty later, they see the building. Apollo can smell the monsters inside, and most of all the scent of age and power.
Kampe.
He brings the Black Hawk to a hover over the building. he glances out his port-side window, he can see his son in the window of an apartment across the street. No mortal would have been able to spot him, but Apollo is no mortal.
As soon as the helicopter becomes stationary, The assualt team begins moving. He hears cries of, "Ropes! Ropes!" and the soldiers begin exiting the chopper, rappelling down on to the roof below.
As soon as the crew chief shouts that the team is in place, Apollo says into the mic, "Romeo Three-Niner moving to provide cover fire," and guides the Black Hawk away, banking to give the port-side gun a clear shot of the apartments.
"Stop! Hammer time," he sings, grinning and humming. Ready to kick some ass.
The crew chief, making sure the assualt team is still on the roof, holds the trigger down and rakes the buildings from side to side. the minigun makes a deep buzz-buzz-buzz sound, propelling nearly a hundred and sixty rounds for every five-second burst.
The apartment is in flames in seconds.
Apollo watches the assualt team dissappear down the stairwell and hopes they don't meet Kampe on the way. They're more for dealing with the little guys.
Then he sees the big green hand reaching out of the broken, shattered side of the building, and Kampe pulls herself out of the wrecked apartment in full dragon-lady mode, roaring in defiance.
Apollo yanks the Black Hawk away before she can swat it. Pulling the chopper up over Micheal's building he gives the co-pilot the signal. The Roman, known to Apollo only as Jansson, legacy of Vulcan, reaches over to take the stick as Apollo vanishes in a flash of light. The port-side miniguns rumbles again, and bursts of cannon fire rake Kampe's body as she pulls herself onto the roof.
Jansson settles into the pilot's seat and watches as Apollo reappears on the rooftop behind her, and she turns, distracted by him. He spies muzzle flashes coming from the burned out apartment buildings, and hears the sound of sirens far below, even over the sounds of the rotors, the rain, the gunfire.
"Three-Niner here," he says tersely into the mic. "All units, we're about to have company from the locals. Do not, repeat, do not engage them unless absolutely necessary."
There's a pause, then the team leader replies. "Kilo One reporting. All finished here. Is the roof clear?"
"Negative, roof is not secure, repeat, roof is not secure. You need to find another way out."
A third voice cuts in on the transmission. "Kilo One, this is Big Eye. There are terraces two floors below you that can be used to ascend to the apartment buildings on your right and left. Those rooftops are secure."
"Roger that, Big Eye. Kilo One is moving."
Lord Apollo's son, Jansson thinks, the agent already here.
A loud roar interrupts his thoughts. Kampe is spreading her wings; as he watches she launches herself into the sky. Apollo doesn't follow, but instead his voice comes through Jansson's headset. "Three-Niner, it's time."
Jansson grins and reaches over to the com unit and switches the frequency. "All units this net, Romeo Three-Niner checking in."
The response takes only a second. "Three-Niner, this is Heavy Two-One, checking in."
"Heavy Two-Two."
"Bravo-One-Victor, providing cover."
"The trap is set," Jansson says. "Your recommended assualt vector is at three-seven, angels one plus one. You are cleared to engage."
After the meeting, Amanda and the others troop down to the casino floor to check out the scene. The place is massive, brightly lit and cacaphonous. Most of the gamblers are way older then them, little grandmas hunched over slot machines and potbellied old guys with big mustaches playing blackjack. Nico quietly assures them that they look old enough to be on the floor, snapping his fingers to use the Mist.
After a while wandering, they end up towards the back, where the poker games are. White-jacketed waiters offer them drinks (alcohol), which Rust glares them into declining. Not that he cares whether they drink, just not before a mission.
Amanda is wondering if she can possibly get a lemonade in this joint when she runs straight into Castor Anderson.
He gapes up at her from the floor, flabbergasted.
"Hey," she says, grinning and helping him up. "What are you doin' here? I thought you were back at camp!"
"I was," he says, still suprised. "We were. But we decided to - I don't know - have some fun. Explore. What are you doing in Vegas? We saw you in the newspapers!"
"The newspapers?" asks Laurel, hugging him. "What newspapers?"
"You didn't see them? We saw them last week in Denver, couldn't believe our eyes. 'American teenagers invade Buckingham Palace! One dead!' It was crazy. Who was they guy who got disembowled?"
"Someone got disembowled?" asks Danny.
Everyone looks at Rust.
"He deserved it," says Rust defensively. "He was an asshole. Trust me."
Jesse hugs himself. "In the papers? I don't want to be a terrorist! What'll my mom think?!"
"Relax," says Rust, rolling his eyes. "The Mist will have obscured your features. she won't notice a thing. Otherwise I'd have been in jail a long time ago."
"You said we?" asks Amanda. "How many of there are ya'll?"
Castor grins. "Follow me." Over his shoulder, he adds, "They said the whole room was coated in blood . . ."
"Shut up."
The son of Dionysus leads them to the Texas Hold'em table in the far corner. Lou-Ellen is seated amongst a bunch of big, motorcycle gang looking guys, cackling and raking in a big stack of chips. Malcolm and Miranda stare at her, looking extremely suspicious. Gardner Peck, his clothes immaculate, is sitting on a bench nearby, looking enourmously uncomfortable as two giggling, beautiful women pet his hair and try to make him drink more.
The two groups of friends cheerfully greet each other; Gard escapes from his drunken captors and Lou-Ellen bows out of her game, brightly informing them that she has thirty thousand dollars in her hand, which brings her total winnings to two hundred thousand. Everyone rolls their eyes.
Apollo watches Kampe soar over him, shrieking something awful. Her poisoned scimitar swings alarmingly close to him, and he dodges, nice and slow, doing his best to keep her interest. He dearly hopes his son doesn't try and shoot Kampe with that crossbow he had, it would only piss her off and put Micheal in danger, not to mention ruin their whole plan.
As if on cue, his immortal eyes spot the grey speck of the F/A 18E Super Hornet fighter jet begin growing in the sky behind Kampe. He waves his hand at Jansson frantically, dodging Kampe's swinging tail, and the Black Hawk fires another couple of bursts at the monster, just missing - purposefully, of course.
"Three seconds," he hears in his headset, then- "Heavy Two-One, engaging target. Good lock . . . Fox One."
Fox one. Missile away.
The AIM-9 Sidewinder missle impacts Kampe in seconds, blowing away most of the left side of her body. She roars, spinning crazily, and somehow manges to stay aloft.
Heavy Two-One roars overhead, moving at five hundred miles per hour. Kampe tries to swing at it, but misses, by a lot. As she shrieks again, the pilot of Heavy Two-Two holds the trigger on his 20 mm cannon. The weapon shreds Kampe, and she dissolves slowly, falling towards the earth. Apollo wills himself into the apartment across the way as the Hong Kong SWAT team finally makes its appearence. Grabbing Micheal, he sets the boy down in the crew compartment of the Sun Chariot, and slips into the copilot seat.
"Target is confirmed eliminated," says the copilot of Bravo-One-Victor, the SR-71 Blackbird orbiting fifty-six thousand feet over the engagement zone. "Operation Fletcher is a success."
"Bring it home, everybody," says Apollo, grinning at Micheal, who smiles back tiredly and gives him a thumbs up. "Good work."
He can't wait to write a ballad about this.
"You guys ready for some more fun?" Rust asks, grinning expectantly.
Gardner glares at him. "No."
Castor and Malcolm exchange looks. "Sure," they shrug.
Lou-Ellen counts her magnificent pile of money chuckling to herself and paying no attention to her surroundings.
Miranda strokes the length of her bow and says loftily, "Weellll, I suppose you may need my help. I did kill a giant."
Malcolm snorts, pausing from his room-service bacon cheeseburger to say, "Ares killed a giant. You just helped him."
"You killed a giant?" Rust asks, his thoughts momentarily derailed.
"Yes," says Miranda gravely. "It was very difficult, but-"
"Anyway," says Castor, looking amused, "What do you need?"
"We're planning on hitting a crime syndicate meeting tommorow afternoon. Bust 'em up, take what we need, and get out of Dodge. We could use a few more helping hands, if you like."
Castor and Miranda exchange looks. "Why not?"
Amanda follows Steven down a dark, dank stairwell. The place is in a seedy part of the city just off the strip. They look seriously out of place among the thugs and tweakers and hookers here; her in her plaid shirt and blue jeans and Rust in his black V-neck sweater, but Steven had apologetically told her he didn't have any disguises with him.
Which is probably just as well.
They pass through a door into the building and are greeted by a dirty, bare hallway with a flickering, naked lightbulb. Rust strides down the hall, apparently not troubled by the smell.
He enters the first door on the left. A couple of guys in dirty tank tops and L.A. Dodgers t-shirts look up from their card game.
"Svabo," says Steven commandingly. Amanda stares at him, but the guys just nod. One of them gets up and taps a rhythm on the wall.
Which opens.
Inside is a room covered wall to wall with guns and swords and other insturments of death. A bar intersects the far wall, and behind it sits a scowling eastern European man with a big broken nose a shaved head and an unshaven face.
He squints at Rust, then blinks and brightens up. "Johann! My old friend! I heard you were dead!"
Rust grins. "Nope, not dead, Svabo. Just weaponless."
Svabo grins widely. "Ah, then you've come to the right place! But I am confused - I recently heard you misplaced a body part."
Steven rolls his eyes. "Even in the Underworld? You never cease to amaze me. But-" He grins, "I got it replaced."
He raises his left hand and taps the stainless steel counter. The sound it makes is distinctly metallic.
Svabo blinks, then laughs. "Well, well, I am truly amazed! But come. Enough of this catching up; it is for old women. Who is your pretty friend?"
Amanda steps forward to introduce herself, but Steven waves his arm in her general direction and says, "This is Jenna. A friend. She likes clubs. With sharp bits, preferably."
Svabo roars with laughter, slapping his sizable belly. "Don't we all! But come, come. Pick from my wares, young Jenna. They are the best! In Nevada, in the U.S. - anywhere!" He laughs again.
Amanda frowns at Steven, who smiles reassuringly. She walks over to find something to hit people with.
The Czar leans back in his chair and puffs on his cigar, letting the aromatic smoke fill the room. "Twenty percent?"
Garg, the leader of a sizable band of Telekhines in Oakland, nods in agreement. "Twenty," he burbles. "We will not let that continue, of course. They should be taking more from that in just ambrosia sales, never mind the nectar. We will have our profit."
The Czar nods carelessly. "Just see that it happens." He glances over at the rest of the group, busy argueing over an original Monet enchanted to sound like the sea.
Chester Munfield nods next to him. "That damn painting ain't worth shit, in my opinion, but it'd go for fifty thousand drachma in an auction. Raybo needs to up his price, or he's gunna be shit outta luck."
Czar nods again. He really doesn't care about that either; he's done enough heroin today to make sure of that. He tries to grasp the shot glass of gin-and-tonic in front of him, but his hand is shaking too badly. The glass drops to the floor and spills all over the expensive Persian carpet. Disgustedly he waves for another.
And the lights go out.
The elevator doors open, and two waiters in white tuxedos with red bow ties step out, pushing a covered tray. One of them removes the cloth cover and pulls a submachine gun from under it. The other waiter produces his own.
"Get some, fuckers," Steven Rust says brightly, and opens fire on the crime lords.
The suppressed Mp7 he's holding sprays fire all over the room. Steven empties the clip and ducks back into the elevator, followed quickly by Malcolm, who begins reloading his weapon. Nico and Jesse leap out of the elevator, celestial bronze sword and Stygian Iron blades at the ready, quickly going for the non-humans in the room. As soon as they've reloaded, Malcolm and Rust leap back into the room and begin shooting down the criminals and their bodyguards.
Steven reaches the doorway several of the men had stumbled through, trying to escape the slaughter. Through it is a long, sunny hallway.
Several of the windows have bullet holes in them, and the would-be escapees are sprawled on the floor. The walls are splattered with blood, skull fragments and brain matter. Rust brings the walkie-talkie to his lips and says, "Nice shooting, Danny."
"Thanks," she says back, "But that wasn't me. It was your girlfriend."
Rust pictures Drew on her stomach, peering through the scope of the sniper rifle, and experiences . . . stirrings.
"Awesome," he says, and Danny laughs.
All of them gather in Nico's room that night. The Doorway pieces - a long, slender cylinder made of stone, with strange markings, and what Rust calls the keystone: a teardrop shaped stone with edges like flower petals on the bottom. A greek Delta is visible in it's center.
"Two down, one to go," says Lily, high-fiving Amanda.
"Good work, guys," says Rust, lounging on the bed with Drew in his arms.
"Do you know where the next one is?" asks Jacob.
Rust shrugs. "One of the gods will, soon." He checks his cell phone to be sure.
"What about you guys?" asks Laurel, ruffling Malcolm's hair. He takes a bite the peanut butter cookies Jesse had ordered for their gathering and shrugs. "I'm getting a bit bored. What do you think?" he asks Castor.
The son of Dionysus shrugs. "I'm getting that feeling too. It's time for California." He hums a bit of Zepplin's 'Going to California'.
Lou-Ellen stuffs the last wad of cash into her duffel bag. "I'm ready if you guys are."
"I don't want to leave here, ever." mutters Amanda, sprawled on the bed next to Drew. Jesse shrugs. "We can come back later, if you want."
Drew laughs. "Ooh, you hear that, 'Manda? He'll take you. Just the two of you . . . a nice little vacation . . ."
"Honeymoon, sounds like," says Miranda, winking at Jesse, who turns red and sputters denials.
Amanda just chuckles, grabs his hand, and drags him out of the room as everyone cheers.
"Well, I guess that's our cue," says Steven, scooping Drew up into his arms and exiting.
Laurel grins at Castor. "Shall we follow their lead, lover boy?" Castor blushes and looks at Malcolm for help, but the son of Athen just grins and grabs another cookie.
And with that, the room empties fast.
Eventually, Nico, leaning on the wall, is alone with Lou-Ellen, who is attaching an enchanted padlock to her duffel bag. She finishes her task and grins up at him. "I'm rich!" she announces with a grin.
Nico rolls his eyes and walks over. "All honestly gained, right?"
She sniggers. "Of course not."
Turning she kicks him in the midsection so that he lands on his back on the bed.
The daughter of Hecate slips her top over her head and leaps on him, chuckling and ignoring his half-hearted protests.
Adalina stops the jeep in the middle of nowhere, or so it seems. She gets out and drags Octavian to the side of the hill.
On the side of the grassy rise is a cave, like a wound in the side of a body. It's dark, the only light a pair of torches on either side of the walls.
"In," she says, shoving him forward. He wants to run away, anywhere other then here. There is something very not right about this place.
But she shoves him forward again, and he reluctantly steps into the caves.
"How far do I go?" he asks the Spanish girl.
She grins wickedly. "You'll know."
Micheal steps forward and kneels before Zeus's throne. The god of the sky observes him curiously.
"Micheal Yew," he rumbles. "You have served me well, and sacrificed much- your friends, your old life. The chance to finish the Battle of New York."
Micheal nods slightly, not meeting Zeus's gaze. "It was worth it, my Lord."
The King of the gods nods, his voice slightly warmer than usual. "You will be rewarded well nonetheless, grandson. But first . . . I have a new assignment for you, if you wish."
Hera, seated next to him, the only other Olympian in the Throne Room besides Apollo, smiles kindly at him.
Micheal simply nods.
An hour of walking, farther and farther down, Octavian comes to the Place. Hear the walls are red earth, not cold grey stone. The passage becomes smooth and perfectly circular. Finally it opens into a small room. Above the room, suspended somehow, is a boiling mass of lava and rock and dirt, glowing a soft menacing red color.
The essence of Gaea.
Octavian kneels hesitantly. The power of being so close to the primordial deity is beginning to crush his body.
His head hurts.
OCTAVIAN.
He flinches.
YOU HAVE FAILED ME.
He cowers. "Great Mistress, I'm so sorry, I am but a worm to-"
SILENCE.
He quiets. His head hurts.
MY HAND MOVES, OCTAVIAN.
He shudders.
YOU WILL BE USED AGAIN. BUT DO NOT FAIL ME. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE.
He prostrates himself, unable to think any longer.
Hisheadhurtshisheadhurtshish eadhurts-
MY HAND MOVES.
AN: This is the second to last chapter of the gearing-up-for-war-thing. I've never been to the Bellagio, but I'm pretty sure it's not to different then what I described. Chapter seventeen will be a bit slow coming out, but bear with me.
If you ever have any questions about characters, storylines, or just want to tell me how awesome/terrible I am, review or PM me. I love talking to people. Even if all you want to say is, 'Hey! Monkeys!'. That's okay too.
Next Time: Ana and her sister Adalina are reunited and begin planning their first attacks. Steven Rust and the gang move to recover the last artifact, Hades marshals his army, and Percy completes his training with the help of his father and girlfriend.
And the Hand of Gaea moves.