Caput XXXII
***CCCLXVII***
The two prostitutes, their servicing of the Roman men complete, departed their sight and exited the building. In the shadows opposite the brothel, a man waited for them. He wore the armor of a ranking officer and his face appeared equally hard. Despite the darkness, his eyes flashed brightly in the dark street. Being in Rome seemed strange after the past year in Spain. Beginning as an aide to Agrippa, he had left Iberia as a tribune.
"Report," he ordered in Latin. The women responded in the same language.
"They plot against Julia, wife of Perseus. Varus pushes Gracchus to fuck her, even if he must force her. He wants to then to charge her with adultery. Gracchus is scared of Perseus' response. Varus only wants to hurt Perseus."
"Fucking politics," the man muttered. He tossed them each a coin purse. They delayed leaving after the payment and the man tracked their eyes to his groin. "Not tonight, I already have an appointment." The appointment was with a woman just two years older than him. It was not lost on either of them the position in which they found themselves. Such similar ages, yet her husband was his father.
"Varus is willing to have you raped to destroy my father."
"You choice of wording intrigues me. Do you truly see Perseus as your father and not Varus?" She watched Publius square his shoulders.
"Varus may be recognized as my father by the public, but my father is Perseus. He did not raise me, but in the short time we have been together he has acted more as a father than Varus even attempted. He goes where Rome has ordered, that has kept us apart more than I would prefer, but that is his duty."
"Despite that he is now my husband?"
"War is not his only service to Rome." He paused, "And to my knowledge, you have honored him thus far. For as long as this continues…" Julia cut him off.
"So, you will protect his wife against the man Rome sees as your father?"
"I am protecting a woman who does not deserve to suffer because Varus hates my father." Her lips curled into a smile.
"Is that really so different?"
"Yes. My actions have nothing to do with you. I do this for my father." Her head turned slightly to the left before inclining a limited amount. It was an acceptance of his answer, therefore he continued. "We wish to end their scheming with one of our own."
"Who is we?" Publius smirked; it was clearly inherited from his father.
"That is not necessary at the moment." An attitude entered her voice.
"What do you ask of me?"
"Bring Gracchus home, we will take care of the rest."
***CCCLXVIII***
Annabeth stuck out with her spear, feeling the resistance of a monster's body before it turned into a shower of gold that fell onto the heads of its comrades. She withdrew the spear and thrust toward the face of a cyclops. From the parapet of the wall, she still barely looked down on the tallest cyclopes. At the gatehouse, she knew her mother and Perseus of Corinth dealt with Hyperborean giants. The temporary defenses outside the gatehouse and her portion of the wall slowed the enemy, but in retrospect none of them believed the extra day the temporary walls bought them worth the fifteen dead, twenty wounded, and seven missing fighters. On the day the delaying force marched north to slow the enemy, they numbered two hundred and seventy trained warriors, thirty-five Hunters, and more than three hundred they hoped to avoid the fight. No one avoided the fight anymore, not after six assaults in as many days. Hades, even my five-year-old is carrying bundles of arrows. Her brother, with just one leg, leaned against one of the wall's crenulations and fired arrows into the monster horde. And I hoped to never fight another siege.
A hand appeared upon the edge of the wall, pulling at it. Annabeth recognized it was human. She had only begun to reach for the iron xiphos when her niece, Aspasia, rushed past. In the girl's hand was one of the brutish Spartan swords, its hacking blade descending upon the forearm now present as the Scythian cannibal attempted to scale the wall. A piercing scream filled the air as the limb separated and its owner plummeted to the ground. Even Annabeth, Daughter of War, felt a twinge of fear at the bloodlust clearly etched upon Aspasia's face. As the crown of another human crested the parapet, she watched the girl swing the sword with two hands, cleaving the man's head into halves as he two tumbled to the ground below.
To their rear, a great pillar of smoke rose, the evidence of the trap which had sent nearly two hundred monsters to Tartarus when the stocks of Greek fire were detonated. There the elderly and youths kept watch, ready to summon more warriors as necessary. She stabbed in the eye of another cyclops. Shouts to her left caused her to turn. A half dozen Scythian Anthropophage now claimed a foothold on the wall. Annabeth dropped her spear and drew the xiphos, sprinting for the group.
Closing in on the group, Annabeth dropped to her knees. Her bronze greaves skid across the walkway. In doing so she slid under the weapons of the six fighters. She slammed the rim of her shield into the side of a man's knee. It buckled under him even as her sword plunged into the groin of another man, severing multiple arteries. Howls of pain again rose into the air. Annabeth whipped the sword across the throat of the man with a damaged knee before thrusting into another man's abdomen. She ripped the blade to the left savagely.
She felt the blood and organs fall upon her as she attempted to stand. An armored knee instead drove into her face. Her body fell backward before her descent was accelerated by a foot driven into her chest. She felt the foot remain on her chest, the pressure in her ribs building. She felt the weight shift and then cried out as a foot found her abdomen. I should not have left my feet, she admitted as the man again stamped on her stomach. His weight shifted and she felt her sternum and ribs straining as he began to stomp on her chest. She attempted to swing her sword, her range of motion disrupted by the forest of feet around her; she felt it bite in an enemy, but the wrong one as again the foot fell on her chest. She felt the first of her ribs give way.
Another stamp and she felt a needle-like pain in her right lung. The man's leg rose and fell again. An increase in pain. The leg rose. In desperation, Annabeth slid the sword underneath it. The foot descended and the owner fell as he sliced the sole of his foot to the bone. Simultaneously, the blade cut deeply into Annabeth's chest. Rolling over, she ignored the blood now streaming from her ruined right breast and upper abdomen. She found her assailant attempting to stand. She severed his hand and the wrist before thrusting the blade into his screaming mouth. The man she wounded earlier struggled to remain upright, his hamstring clearly severed. Annabeth punched her shield's rim into the wound before her xiphos bisected his heart through his back. She turned to find the sixth man.
She screamed in rage. For she found him standing overtop Malcolm. Her foolishly brave brother appeared to have been coming to her aid. Instead, he found his diaphragm the new home of a Scythian axe. The Scythian leaned over him mockingly. Annabeth surged forward, ignoring the pain from her plethora of wounds. The xiphos whistled through the air as two vicious strikes sliced through both of the cannibal's hamstrings. The screaming man fell to his knees. With blows guided only by blind rage, seven heavy strikes fell in disorderly power upon the left side of the man's neck. When the head eventually hung by a narrow strip of skin, her shield fell to the walkway. She ripped at it, tearing the connection, and hurled the head over the wall toward their enemies.
Her eyes fell to her brother's, and she collapsed to her knees.
***CCCLXIX***
It struck Percy how odd it was, the peace that seemed to fall between himself, Athena, and Clarisse as other died around them. Distant from their minds lay the destruction of Athens or the death of kin. A unity of purpose existed between them, and the trio meted out death upon those that threatened the settlement. Gold dust hung in the air. Athena hurled her spear into the chest of a giant, even as trident and a second spear thrust into the throat of second. Great plumes of golden dust rose as the slain giants disintegrated.
Percy thrust at an approaching threat and then swore as the trident passed through it. The cannibal sneered in a misconceived notion of victory. With his shield, Percy shouldered the man off the gatehouse, where Chiron reared and his hoof came down upon the man's skull, crushing it. As a monster with the head of a dog rushed at him, Percy thrust the trident through his face. Beside him Athena now wielded a kopis, hacking at those attempting to crest the wall. Clarisse's spear hummed, a gift from her father with the ability to deliver lightning to its victim, ending the lives of man and monster. Though, is there any difference here, Percy thought as he hammered his shield into the shoulder of another mortal until he felt the bones give way. As the man screamed, Percy kneed him in the testicles and hurled him to the ground. As the man lay on the stone, Percy stomped his skull until it split open. His head suddenly ripped to the side as an arrow sparked off the cheek guards of his helmet. The motion allowed him to see a dracaena crumble. He looked down to see Chiron lower his bow and give him a single nod of his head. He inclined his head in return.
He spun then cried out as a shield intercepted his arm and the trident fell from his hands. It clattered across the stone before disappearing over the edge. The telekhine thrust a blade toward his midriff. Percy caught the hand holding the weapon in right hand. Then proceeded a series of brutal punches, delivered with the rim of his shield, that turned the monster's face into a disfigured mess.
"Perseus!" Chiron's voice called, and he turned. A sword rotated through the air. He caught it at the blade's center and felt the metal bite into his palm. Despite the pain, he continued to hold the weapon and thrust it into the chest of the monster thrice. The monster turned to dust and Percy adjusted the grip on the unfamiliar blade, hearing it whistle as he spun it through the air. To those about him, as impressive as his ability to kill with a trident seemed, it paled in comparison to the sword in his hand now.
***CCCLXX***
"Has he melted your heart as well, old one? You care so little about what he's done that you give him a sword? About where his allegiances lie?"
Chiron's eyes fell upon the face of Zoë, Lieutenant of Artemis. His eyes held sadness, but she could not tell for what. Is it regret of choice or from the dozens of dead and wounded lying about them? "It has unfortunately come a time when I do not care about where his allegiances lie, I care about his ability to win battles."
"He is too much a bastard to be worthy of Hector's sword."
"He is defending a people solely because he believes them worth defending, Zoë, little more could be more worthy of Hector." They tracked their eyes to him, gathering the remarkable sight of the soldiers reacted to his presence and appearing happy. They knew a majority of them had fought the man they now seemed to consider a comrade less than a decade before.
"He is certainly arrogant to be the bastard, Heracles," Zoë snapped harshly, before demurring at the reproachful look from Chiron.
"That is only because your hatred leads you to that." He turned back to the man now leaning overtop Athena's grievously wounded son and that man's daughter. No level of medicine could help him, and the nature of his wounds would lead to a long and painful death. Words passed between the older warrior and the young warrioress, before she passed him something. "Men like him are haunted by the vastness of eternity. And so, they ask: will their actions echo across the centuries? Will strangers hear their names long after they are gone, and wonder who they were, how bravely they fought, how fiercely they loved? Dear girl, they are not all Herakles." He raised a hand to her unvoiced protest. "I do not claim them to be all good, but they are not all him."
***CCCLXXI***
A blood-stained hand reached up to the girl's cheek. "Iiii… have failed…you…." His words were soft and drawn in pain. Tears struck his face as Aspasia clasped the hand in both of hers.
"No, father, no, no, never."
"Aaaa faaather, is supposed to… protect his family."
"Father, you always…" A groan of pain cut off her words as Malcolm grimaced. More tears fell to his face.
"First your mother… aaaand now, I cannot stay… with you…"
"You have always protected me. You made me strong."
"You were… born strong, my dear… Of that I am ssoooo… proud." His breathing became too ragged to speak, but his voice slowly returned. "Which is why, I must ask this. End it, my sweet, sweet girl. End… my suffering." Howls of anguish rose above all else and Aspasia nearly dropped her head onto her wounded father. She could not form words as she sobbed openly. She felt a presence near her.
"I…I… Father, I love you. But…but…I…cannot. I cannot." Malcolm felt the tears striking his chest. His hand squeezed her ever so slightly.
"My sweet…swwweeeeet, gir…." Spasms of pain cut off his words and sobs rose anew. She looked about for anyone who could. All her eyes found were the damnably green ones of the Roman.
"Please," she begged, tears cutting clear troughs through the grime on her face. The Roman moved forward and knelt beside her. "End it, d… d… do not let him suffer anymore. I… I… I am not str… strong enough." Her hand reached out and in it was a small iron dagger. "He…he…he gave to me long ago, it…it…it is…fitting." Percy closed his eyes for a moment and then gripped the dagger. He put one arm around her. At first, she flinched, but as he placed the dagger above her father's heart, she turned her face into his cuirass.
Malcolm's eyes met his. He gave the Son of Poseidon a single, exceptionally weak nod. Perseus returned the action. Aspasia felt herself pulled tighter against the Roman's cuirass. Then she felt the flexing of muscles as he thrust the dagger into her father's heart. Despite her abhorrence of the man, she cried into his armor until she fell silent in sleep.
***CCCLXXII***
He was drunk. Already, too many visitors came to him, either in gratitude or anger. For nearly two hours after ending the man's life, he remained by his side, holding the girl before carrying her to a sleeping quarters. It was not the one she had shared with her father for years, that would have been cruel. The realization that he comforted the girl that swore kill longer than he had any of his daughters only caused him to drink more. Athena and Annabeth visited him, their visit interrupted by Clarisse's arrival with several large jugs of wine. She shared one cup with him and then urged the others to depart. Dione came, offering any service he required, but he was in mood for fucking. Then, came Kassandra.
"What are you here for?" He drained the remainder of his cup and poured another.
"I wish to leave the Hunt for good, to be a woman."
"Hah," he laughed harshly. "And you expect me to fucking do it?" Her silence answered his question. He could feel himself sobering and resented her for it. "Do you remember what I told you the night after those cunts tried to buy your virginity like it was an auction?"
"To sell off what has been my legal right would be opposite of why I have not claimed it."
"By Roman law, I could have had you or other two whenever I wanted, but for all things I have done, I will not do that."
"But I offer…" he raised a hand.
"You offer what you believe to be my desire. All I desire tonight is to fucking drink, ask Dione, I turned her down as well. If you claim yourself to be free of the goddess's whims, so be it, I say you are free, as are your other sisters I own. So is fucking Dione. Go do what you will." He waved her from the stable and refilling his wine, sank to the dirt beside the black stallion, Podarkes. With one hand, he drank, with the other he ran a hand along the steed's flank. His eyes merely studied the dirt he believed himself destined to sleep under before this siege ended. He was not sure how long he stared their before a noise caused him to look up.
***CCCLXXIII***
"What is your name?" the young Greek sat next to Kassandra as she drank wine before a fire. At news of their freedom, Naomi and Kyra immediately returned to the Temple of Artemis and the Hunt. Kassandra had not. She instead found wine, embarrassed by her willingness to throw herself at the man once her master. She looked from the cup over to the man.
"Kassandra."
"I am Brasidas, named for…"
"The Spartan general, I knew him."
"You are one of the Hunters?" he stood and began to leave. She studied him, he had a kind face.
"I was." She gave him a slight smile and lifted a pitcher, "Sit and have some wine."
***CCCLXXIV***
Julia and Gracchus stood in the entrance way of Perseus' domus. She felt his body react to the kiss. Most of his body softened, the tips of her fingers danced across the only part of him that did not. How has he been so successful, she thought. With this little shrimp. A slight moan escaped his lips as he watched the thin line of saliva connect their lips as she moved away. That moan became a scream as two hulking Batavi appeared from the shadows and lifted him from the ground. A third pulled a black bag over his head before Publius Varus entered the courtyard from inside the domus.
"You seemed to play your part exceptionally well." She drug a sharpened nail down the side of Gracchus' neck, tracing the pulsing jugular vein in his neck.
"One must always commit to one's role. But what will done with this one?"
"Better you do not know," Publius responded and led the way out of the domus with the Batavi behind him.
***CCCLXXV***
Annabeth rubbed her eyes. Just an hour remained until dawn. Perseus' mercy killing of Malcolm, lay a fortnight past. Her chest still ached from the cut and the damage to her bones. She looked past those heavy bandages to the mutilated left hand. A cyclops' club had turned her left arm into a pulverized mess just three days before. Like her brother, no healer could help her, unlike her brother, she was forced to live with it. Twenty days of siege, ten days of straight assaults turned to an assault every other day for a week. Thus, the defenders rested when able, having faced twelve attacks. It had been three days since the last one. With her ability to fight destroyed, she now volunteered to watch through the night. Which provided her with the ability to watch the chaos of settlement at night.
It amused her the number of sexual liaisons that her fellow demigods attempted to hide from their compatriots. The most intriguing, however, was the blossoming relationship between the former Huntress and the young Son of Sparta. Initially, the two merely spoke by the fire. But just two nights before, they had disappeared into a small supply building. They exited just a few minutes later, he with a red face, thus revealing the boy's experience level. A few hours later they returned and the glow upon the girl's face at this exit caused Annabeth to laugh, knowing that Kassandra was a girl no longer. The pair had spent the full night together the next night and appeared ready to do the same tonight.
She winced as her left hand throbbed, before remembering that the hand no longer existed. She stared at the empty space. Damn, she thought. At the fire below her, Athena and the Roman sat. Shields, trident, and spear sat near them. They both wore armor with helmets beside them, though different from her, the Sword of Hector hung from his hip. The two still appeared to loathe each other, yet repeatedly she found them side by side. She knew the answer though. It was a bond a combat. On multiple occasions, the two of them alone held the line others tried to keep up. It was occurring more often as the number of fighters available continued to decrease.
WHOOMPH!
An ear-splitting burst of sound shattered the night. At the portion of the wall where the defenders had once ambushed their enemy with Greek fire, great gouts of green flame now shot into the sky. With it, sections of stone and wood hurled into the sky, the reason for the monsters' absence of attack became clear. The explosion rent the predawn darkness and flaming projectiles flew in all directions. In the dark, thousands of torches sparked to life as the location of the enemy force appeared. A great section of wall, nearly twenty yards in breadth, opened. Annabeth's heart pounded in her chest as she rushed to the bronze bell. At first, she reached for it with her missing left hand before cursing herself and grasping the iron hammer with her right. She slammed the bell with the hammer thrice, before turning her attention back to the flaming chaos below.
***CCCLXXVI***
The breach beckoned the monsters forward and hundreds surged toward it. In answer, just two beings rushed to fill it. The dawn glinted off spear and trident as the dark-haired fighters filled the void. With Greek shields held high, they filled a gap that should have been held by twenty hoplites with aspis and dory. With a violence born of the knowledge that defeat would invite death, they held. Their weapons wove through the monsters' defenses. Within the foreloin hope, blade and sauroter painted the ground beneath them a golden hue from the remnants of their vanquished foes. The two spun and thrust, their shields as much a weapon as the spear and trident. Annabeth could only watch as Wisdom and the Son of the Sea bought the time for a response, but that response would be too little, and the duo knew it. Too few fighters remained able, therefore the two took it upon themselves to hold as only those of great strength could.
Hold they did. With great cries and exertions, they hurled the foe back. Dashing left and right to prevent any from passing into the settlement, they did all they could. Athena whirled her spear as a whip, its blade slicing through enemies; as Percy leapt, and his weapon's haft came down across the throats of three foe and bursts of golden powder surrounded them. The dust slowly turned to mud as it mixed with their blood and sweat. The great mass of the Son of Poseidon heaved with effort and blood leaked from a half-dozen wounds. His armor was torn and gashed. Beside him, the bronze cuirass and helmet of Athena showed the after-effects of enemy blades. The blood leaking from Athena's bare arms and staining her white clothing was crimson; it was a color she never presumed to see herself bleed. Beside her Perseus crushed the facial bones of a Scythian mortal with the rim of his shield, nearly cutting it in half. But even as he did so, an arrow struck his left thigh. With the shield, he broke it off as one found her shoulder. Neither would give in first and appear inferior to the other, even if either's pride would allow them to give up at all.
With each thrust and smashing of shields, more of their foes fell before them. Those of human flesh found themselves bleeding or trod over upon the ground. Those of monstrous origin merely ceased to exist. Mercy lived not in the ten yards of breach, yet the two fighters held back countless foes. They would fight until they could fight no more. Old grievances were forgotten as they shared but a single goal, to kill everything within their sight. Perseus and Athena would suffer none to pass.
Yet, even as the countless dozens fell to them, the tyranny of numbers now turned against them. Fatigue fought against the indefatigable desire for survival. For in this hour, both were mortal. But then, far from them, a change in sound. It overcame the din of battle which had become the noise which no one heard. It began as a low hum, the stamping of thousands of feet in the distance. The thrum grew louder until a voice called out in the way only a god could allow. It called out clear from the woods and the stamping of feet grew louder still.
"Sons of Rome! Mors awaits us, let him wait longer!" From the trees emerged first a single man with armor glinting in the sun. Soon behind him emerged hundreds, thousands of similarly clad men, their weapons giving off a golden glow. The monsters now responded to his presence, several thousand forming a shield wall to oppose the advance. The single man began to run, the legionnaires just behind him. "Now men of Rome! Forward the Twelfth! PERCUTE!"
As a wave, four thousand red and iron clad men rushed toward the monsters. At their fore, Lucius Cornelius Jason raised the aquila of Legio XII Fulminata. Lightning shot toward the enemy and rent their battle line. The distance between the forces closed ever rapidly.
Their collision shattered the ever-present din of battle which none heard. With the groans of men and the crashing of iron, the Twelfth did not entertain the concept of mercy. The wedge-shaped formation of killers overpowered the shield wall and they advanced with murderous effect. From her place on the roof of Athena's Temple, Annabeth watched as the human blade penetrated the monster army. The weapon of destruction drove for the formation of giants, all protecting the monster which her mother created. Her Roman counterpart within the breach swung his trident forward and the surviving warriors of the settlement hurled themselves forward, even as a second blade of red pierced the monstrous host. A formation of cavalry, she estimated five hundred, clove into the enemy's rear. Three prongs of violence, a trident of death, plunged into Arachne's army.
Closest to the settlement, Clarisse led the remaining Greeks in an attempt to catch the wave of destruction that followed Perseus and Athena. Together they formed a maelstrom of annihilation that tore into the heart of their enemy. Despite their lack of numbers, the devastation they caused was the gravest threat to the enemy. The pair would have it no other way.
A phalanx eighty strong of Scythian dracaenae did nothing to stop them. The dozen cyclopes that followed suffered equally. The first of the giant guards attempted to stop them. His death involved the Son of Poseidon vaulting himself into the air and driving his trident into his chest. The second found both knees pierced with Athena's spear before her sauroter imbedded itself in its face. Their trail of carnage continued to be a path for the following Greeks as they closed upon the one that led their enemy. From even a distance, Arachne saw no quarter in either's eyes. She ordered her giants forward, even as the Romans closed upon her left flank. If the goddess and Poseidon's son served as a dagger, the Romans proved themselves an ax into her force. On three sides, the army of monsters fled before the advancing force. Yet only one of those advances drew the attention of the eight-legged monster behind this war. She drew her swords and spun to face Athena and the raging of the sea that charged beside her.
The formation of giants met the charging pillars of death. Despite size and numbers, Athena and Perseus tore through the group. Trident and spear flashed, and monster died. Then, from across the field, Percy saw the javelin of a great giant rise and fly. No action of his could avoid its path as it flew toward him. He merely watched its advance with cold judgement as it closed the distance between himself and death. His thoughts were equally cold. So be it.