The wifi cut out just as I was going to post this -.- It finally got back on approximately... er... five minutes ago?
Piper, Annabeth, and Hazel were the most popular choices for the POVs, so I decided to do Piper and Annabeth for this chapter.
Next chapter will have Hazel in it, but I need a male character for it as well.
Luna (Guest): Thanks for all your reviews, and yes, it is Thursday. :)
Enjoy this longest chapter.
Piper
Piper's voice was already growing hoarse from all the yelling she was doing, and it was, what? Ten minutes into the battle? "Stay back! That spirit over there told me that it's more furious than you! Oh, and those ugly gray Furores on that side? They ratted you out to Lyssa when you accepted a bribe a couple hundred years ago! Fall asleep! Drop dead!" At this point, Piper honestly didn't even know what she was saying anymore. There were Furores all around her, whispering but with no sound. "Be quiet! Run away!" she wondered if spirits could run.
Join us, your magic-talk will be quite useful… a cold breath blew gently past the side of Piper's face. "Charmspeak, not magic-talk. Get it right!" Piper snapped, unaware that even that remark was laced with charmspeak. Of course. Charmspeak, how could we forget? She groaned in annoyance, and unsheathed her blade. Her voice was getting tired after talking nonstop; if she talked any longer, Piper was afraid that her voice might give out, and then what use would she be? The spirits seemed to have a strong reaction to the knife. No, no! Piper swung Katoptris in a long arc. She was no swordsman (or woman), but she was pretty handy with her knife.
Not the looking glass! Not that dagger! The looking glass? The looking glass! The blade of Helen! No! The glass of Troy! The Furores spun frantically. Piper didn't understand why they were so wary of her weapon, or why they weren't even trying harder to possess her, for that matter, but she would take what she could get. It wasn't as if she could afford to be picky.
And then, it happened. A chill swept from across the room—Lyssa. The Furores stopped, the fighting stopped. Only Percy and Jason—Piper swallowed—were still fighting each other, but their battle seemed distant now. In fact, Piper could barely hear their duel at all, except for a few muffled echoes of metal on metal, crashing waves, and the sound of sizzling. Piper couldn't move. Or maybe she could, but just wouldn't move. Or maybe Lyssa was playing tricks in her mind. Or—Stop it, Piper! Don't stress out, you're only in the middle of fighting for your life! And Percy and Jason's, too! She shuddered for Jason and Percy. They were in Lyssa's—no, Furor's clutches much more than she was.
With that unpleasant thought in mind, Piper looked to where Furor must be. She saw a motionless, standing figure behind Furor. Nico. I hope he's okay… but then her attention was drawn to Furor herself. Furor was horrible, but she was beautiful. She was horribly beautiful. That was the best description Piper was able to put together. Her face seemed to be made up of mostly varying shades of black smoke, but Piper couldn't see much else from her profile. She had a perfectly formed and shaped body, with entrancing, smoky designs of unimaginable wonders and horrors shifting around slowly. Furor had no shadow; she was the shadow. Even though Piper was the furthest away from the goddess, she felt all the emotions rolling in dark waves from Furor's body. Mindless rage, boundless fury, and anger beyond comprehension. Madness—madness beyond all logical possibility. Madness that entered Piper, slowly but surely—madness seeping into every inch of her. Images that weren't hers filtered into her brain, inexpressible, unreasonable fury reaching a fever pitch. It was as if the very fabric of her perspective of the world shifted. Piper still had shreds of sanity, but they couldn't comprehend what the rest of her was seeing. So they stopped trying to. And then, suddenly, it was all gone.
"You have angered me, Nico di Angelo. What you have just experienced is only a small sampling of what I can do! And look, your friends have suffered as well," Furor appeared to grow even taller, and as she did, Piper sank to her knees. The madness was gone… but the feeling of it remained. It was indescribable pain, complete helplessness, utter suffering. It was… sadness. Grief. Happiness. Rage. Joy. Fury. Laughter. The feeling of running in the rain, watching a rainbow break through storm clouds, fighting for your life, laughing at a funny joke, sitting up bolt upright in bed because of a nightmare. All mixed into one, blending into each other, until she couldn't tell friend from foe, enemy from ally. To be honest, Piper had never that that Dionysus, who ruled over madness, was one of the more powerful major gods. Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Athena, and (as much as Piper hated to admit it) even Aphrodite were powerful, in their own ways. I'll never underestimate Mr. D ever again, Piper thought. Not Furor either, for that matter.
Just as suddenly as the madness was gone, the remnants of it disappeared too. Piper briefly wondered why, amongst her overwhelming relief, until she came to the sickening conclusion. Piper was definitely not a child of Athena, but it was easy enough to see what Furor/Lyssa was doing. She was toying with the demigods, displaying her power. Piper shakily stood up and glanced to her right at Annabeth, whose steel-gray eyes were boring into the smoky shadow that was Furor with so much burning, intense hatred that Piper would have run away screaming. Piper's own resolve hardened. She lifted her chin and made sure that her knife was secure.
It was a good thing that she did so; just then, the Furores resumed their swirling motions. But something was… off. They seemed less smoky, and their movement was less like that of a ghost, and more like that of a… well, a living, breathing being. A clatter shook Piper out of her stupor. It was Hazel's cavalry sword, falling out of her grip.
"How...?" she trailed off, a frightened look plastered all over her features. "You made the Furores—"
"Yes, indeed!" Before Piper could process what was happening, Nico rushed to Hazel from behind Furor.
"She made them back into their original forms!" he gasped, panting harshly.
"You mean…" Piper stopped.
"They were demigods and monsters," he said grimly. "And now, they're demigods and monsters again."
Annabeth
Annabeth couldn't believe the sheer audacity of Furor. Finding a loophole through a promise on the freaking Styx was a brazen risk, but fine. Driving demigods mad to showcase her power, all right. (Well, it wasn't all right, even if it had seemed to affect Annabeth less than the other demigods, maybe because she'd been through the literal Greek hell. Leo and Hazel had had tears streaming down their face, Piper had almost collapsed, Frank had been changing forms every second or so, and Nico had had spasms every few moments.) Turning her spirits back into their original forms of life for her own personal army? No. Just… no.
Trying to fight shapeless spirits was already hard enough. Fighting monsters that had a solid form and that could use the powers they had in life? That was bordering on insanity. Of course, Annabeth thought wryly, tucking a loose strand of her wavy blond hair now streaked with dirt behind her ear, Furor is insane, after all. She gripped her new bronze dagger with grim determination. She was a child of Athena, retriever of the Athena Parthenos, one of the Seven, survivor of two wars, and a demigod that went through Tartarus; she was Annabeth Chase. This is for you, Seaweed Brain. Annabeth threw her shoulders back and charged into battle, screaming bloody murder at Furor in Greek, alongside Piper and Hazel, who wore equally determined expressions. Percy and Jason was still dueling, while Leo was rattling off curses as he furiously tried to untangle the netting surreptitiously. Frank scooped dup water and threw it into the air, trying to connect an Iris-message with camp, though he kept peering around the room nervously, anxious for Hazel, Annabeth guessed. Hazel was holding her own, though, battling against a Hyperborean giant with her spathe and occasionally manipulating the Mist to trick the admittedly dim-witted monster. As Annabeth watched, she slashed through the spirit and it disappeared into smoke, which was gradually filling the room. Another group of monster-Furores started swinging at the daughter of Pluto, who simply knocked them out by controlling their metal swords.
But Nico, on the other hand—oh gods, Nico. He was taking on Furor herself. He ducked, weaved, and dodged, somehow managing to not be struck by any of Furor's numerous attacks or be trapped in her smoky web. He occasionally slashed or stabbed a bit of smoke whenever he got the chance, causing it to slowly fade away, but the goddess always generated more to replace it almost instantly. Furor seemed to be enjoying herself; she cackled gleefully as a spirit fought with Leo (who had apparently decided to let Nico's skeletons take the job of untangling the netting) using a ghostly spear. One chuck of a hammer and a blast of intense fire later, the spirit was nothing but a puff of smoke.
"Watch out!" Piper screamed. Annabeth ducked just in time, an arrow whistling just barely an inch above her head. Damn, Chase, pay attention! She scolded herself, yelling out a quick thanks to the charmspeaker, who was holding off a group of empousai- Furores. Annabeth herself was running around, trying to stab unsuspecting spirits, who evaporated into smoke once defeated. But despite all the action, she couldn't help thinking that if Percy was fighting with her, they would have each other's backs, and the whole arrow incident would've just consisted of him yelling out, "Watch it, Wise Girl!"
And then, she was face-to-face with a fellow demigod—a demigod Furor. He was completely solid, unlike some of the half-transparent monster Furores Annabeth had killed. He was tall, and handsome in a scruffy kind of way, with thin stubble dotting his chin and ruffled, shoulder-length brown hair. He was wearing basic battle armor, combat boots, and held painful-looking spiked chains in one gloved hand. He had a large shield in his other hand. The shield looked as if it was once green, but now rust coated the otherwise-magnificent defensive tool.
"What—who are you?" Annabeth asked, struck by the fact that the guy couldn't have been more than a few years older than herself when he… well, died and became a Furor.
"I was a demigod. Son of Demeter," he replied, sounding very much alive. He didn't sound like an enemy. He sounded like… a demigod. An ally. Don't forget, he's a Furor!
"Why?!" Annabeth burst out, though she kept a wary eye on the spiked chains in the boy's grip. He seemed to understand what she was asking, his warm—not smoky at all, Annabeth noticed—blue eyes seeming to smile though his mouth was in a questioning frown.
"I died back in the sixties, when Demeter's kids were preaching about nature left and right, though I was never part of that crowd. Anyway, children of the 'less' powerful gods are supposed to attract less monsters, right? Well, that hellhound attacked me anyway. There was actually another demigod with me—child of Ares, I think. Didn't do anything to help. Lyssa recruited me; I didn't want to rot in the fields of Asphodel for eternity!" He spat out a cloud of smoke, which drifted away. "This shield here was one reserved for the kids of Demeter. You'll notice that I let it rust in the afterlife."
Annabeth understood the fallen son of Demeter's thought process. Hell, she'd felt that way too, lots of times. Still, she tried to reason with him. It? No, him. "Please, consider what you're doing here. Things are much better now… And how did you know that you would go to Asphodel?"
"Yeah, that's true. I could've ended up in the Fields of Punishment, yeah? But as for things being better… You're a daughter of Athena. So tell me, are they, really?" he asked lifting an eyebrow, shifting his weight subtly. Annabeth couldn't really answer that. To tell the truth, things really weren't that much better. The fallen demigod sighed deeply. "I thought not," he said, almost sadly, adjusting his armor plating. "Prepare for death, daughter of Athena."
Annabeth tensed, ready to spring to the side when he attacked. That way, his heavy armor, shield, and weapons would work against him. But nothing happened, except that her leg began to itch.
The thought struck her like lightning. He was a son of Demeter. That tickling on her leg… she slashed at her leg with her knife, right before a thick vine completely ensnared her around her calves. That triggered her battle reflexes, which were itchy for a fight after so long. She rolled away from the Furor, and struck at the back of his knees, but he blocked it with his shield. She retaliated by stabbing his arm, but he barely winced before swinging his heavy, spiked chains at her, straight at her head. Annabeth forced herself to wait an agonizing, long second. A split second before impact, Annabeth flicked her knife up and caught the chains around the hilt, crying out as one spike created a gash in her palm. She sent the chains flying back at the former demigod's head. He let out an anguished, pain-filled cry before crumpling to the ground, and soon a new wisp of smoke rose into the air, joining the many others in the room. Annabeth stood there, paralyzed, with a new spoil of war, the chains.
She mechanically fought off one monster, and another, but her mind was on one thing, and one thing only. I didn't even know his name.
In the reviews, tell me which male character's POV you want next! (If you already said someone, you don't need to say it again, I've noted them all down.)
Thank you for sticking with me up the this chapter! The next update will be sometime on the weekend, per usual.