Part I: Jack: Jack’s Final Song /The Concert of a Life Time
Content warnings for Part I: implied suicide, physical and emotional abuse, death of a main character (technically characters…), graphic depictions of violence
Jack remembered what Luke was like when he was in love.
It was at the Monster Mash, punch drunk on emotion and too many beers, needing Jack to help keep him in his seat. It was on the cliffs above the Princess Andromeda’s mast, inhaling the crisp salt air and the bittersweet tales of how beautiful her blue eyes were; how fierce her scowl. It was laughing after a meeting, discussing how Dr. Thorn could get to the point and how much it would annoy her if he didn’t when Thalia got here.
Jack firmly believed you needed love. That, to be human, was to seek love and be sought. Whether the love of a parent. Or a god. Or another soul as lost as your own.
And when your parent and god are one and the same, and neither loves you, that leaves only one kind of love.
When Thalia kicked Luke off a cliff, she shattered his body. She shattered his heart. It let Kronos seep in like tar, to hold Luke together. Not fixing him. Just to make a messy puppet-thing that once loved and felt love.
Now, Luke pretended it was Annabeth. And, by Annabeth, he meant Rhea. And by “he,” it was really Kronos who meant Rhea.
Jack didn’t understand. He assumed Luke was confused, like Jack sometimes got confused. He assumed Luke just needed someone to show him love. No matter how many times Luke hit him. No matter how many times he apologized for breaking Jack’s nose (“I can fix it! It’s just a nose!”) Jack knew that Luke just needed someone to show him love.
Only to have Ethan Nakamura ruin it. He told Kronos that Jack’s presence made Luke be more Luke. (Which was the point, was it not? What is someone if they’re not themselves?) Like Jack was the manipulative devil and Ethan Nakamura, the preacher; Jack was cast out of his best friend’s presence, and was, yet again, a lost sheep.
He didn’t understand. But, he did know that he wouldn’t give up on Luke. He would never give up on Luke. Luke had saved him. Like Flynn had saved him.
Luke must have wanted him to protect his seat of power. That must have been it. That’s why Luke let Kronos tell Jack and his boys to stay at Mount Othrys during the Battle of Olympus.
Jack didn’t forget those who were kind to him. Which is what brought him to someone he hadn’t seen since Luke lost himself.
“Phil…” he said, softly.
Phil was on a hill behind Mount Othrys. Jack didn’t know how much time the satyr had been spending here, but he had been vanishing since Luke started to lose his temper.
“Hey kid,” Phil murmured. He half-heartedly munched on an aluminum rod. The satyr knelt in front of a tree. Its blooms were beautiful, like bundles of white ribbons spiraling down. Shamrocks bloomed tall and strong at the base. “Glad you remembered you Uncle Phil. Come to pay your respects? Or to abandon ship?”
“What?” Jack flinched. “No—n-not abandon. Luke trusts me—trusts me to—to protect his base of power—”
“That ain’t trust. But what do I know? I’m expendable… I’m so sick of it.” Phil spit a wad of metal out into the distance.
Jack hesitantly knelt beside Phil. A pair of sheers—celestial bronze ones—rested against Phil’s legs. Maybe they were Phil’s—albeit brutal—choice of weapon for defense. Maybe he already knew about the incoming attack.
“Pax said the Romans will be here soon. Krios says I’m vital to protect against the Ol’ Sissies,” Jack said. He wanted to make sure Phil was safely with the others in the encampment. Jack had slipped out during Flynn and Axel’s defense meeting to find him.
“The Romans. The Olympians. The Titans. It’s the same,” Phil said. He sounded exhausted. “Except…” He snorted. “You ain’t seen what they do to fawns in New Rome. It’s like throwing food at interned Jews to watch them kill each other so they won’t starve.”
“Phil?” Jack asked.
That sounded like something the Romans would do. But Phil didn’t sound like Phil. Phil wasn’t talking right.
Phil laughed roughly. “You’re a good kid, you know that? I was so proud of you when you dispensed with your first corpse. Handled it like a real champ. And now you and Miss Fei Lin are pros, torturing war prisoners and such. Could make an old satyr shed a tear.”
Jack didn’t know if he was supposed to say “thanks” to that. Instead, he toyed with the guitar string braided around his wrist.
“Have I introduced you to my family?” Phil asked.
Jack felt a jolt of excitement. “Your family?!” How could Jack not know this!? He would have invited them to all of his concerts! And every Taco Tuesday!
Phil gestured in front of him.
“Your wife is behind the tree? Or—oh—she is a tree?” Jack asked. Weirder things had happened in mythology. He supposed Grover was dating that dryad that Luke used to fool around with. He wished he knew what kind of gifts trees liked. Maybe fertilizer?
Phil snorted. “My wife. The shamrocks were my kid. They died searching for Pan. That bastard left us. As soon as things got hard, he left us. We assumed we were supposed to follow after him. Maybe we were. Just in a different way than we thought. I get it. When you have nothing else to live for. There’s no point. Sometimes, it is easier to fade away.”
Phil fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a flask. He took a long swig. He offered it to Jack.
Jack shook his head. “I—”
“Yeah, yeah, your medication,” he mumbled under his breath, “You fucking straight-laced psychopath.” He tucked away the flask, reached over, and ruffled Jack’s hair.
Jack flinched, but let him. Phil was unconventional, but he had always been kind to him.
“Can you play a game with me, Jack? Close your eyes and think of your favorite memory. Maybe when you first met that girlie of yours.”
Jack complied. He didn’t focus on how Flynn had almost died. She had been gored by a monster while saving him, and Jack had healed her. He focused on how she’d let him carry her books between classes. How she tried to look annoyed, but he caught her slight smiles. Most people were terrified of Flynn or disrespectful or both. Jack didn’t know how people could be so cruel to such a phenomenal hero.
“You kids take care of yourselves,” Phil said. His voice thick.
Beside Jack, he heard a sharp chop.
The presence beside him felt empty.
Jack blinked. He looked around. The tree’s flowers swayed gently in the breeze, as though they were dancing. Jack glanced down. Beside the shamrocks sprouted a patch of beautiful white poppies, ones that hadn’t been there moments before. The celestial bronze sheers poked out of the dirt in front of them.
Hesitantly, Jack reached out to touch the flower petals.
With reverence, he gently cut one flower, then collected it and the sheers. He stepped back to Camp Othrys to prevent a massacre, wondering, absently, if Phil had ever even been real.
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Greetings friends and (the few of you left) readers!
This is a quick note to discuss what I’m not going to be writing about in the prequel to PJO, why, and some content warnings about the end of this prequel.
Lamia: I don’t want to write about Lamia creeping on Pax, confusing him with her children, and acting overall like she needs a restraining order. I’m not in the right headspace for it. Just noted: in the original telling of this story, Pax tried to be nice to Lamia to get her to be nicer to Alabaster. She took this the wrong way, and Pax was too uncertain on how to turn her down. Alabaster heard she and Pax were a couple and thought Pax was cheating on him, so their final conversation before Alabaster left for Mount Othrys was an argument. This series of events will not reflect that. Though, don’t worry, something way worse happens to Pax! (It was already planned/hinted at in Traitors of Olympus. Don’t worry—he isn’t getting extra pain from this omission.)
The Battle for Mount Olympus: You got that from PJO’s pov, and can find some tidbits about it in Alabaster’s povs in Book III and IV of Traitors of Olypmus.
And thus, we start the Massacre of Mount Othrys. Most of my series is written to mimic Riordan’s playful tone, but the ending of this series is not. Some of the content gets really heavy. I will post content warnings at the start of every short to give you a heads up!
Current Layout will be in four parts:
Part I: Jack’s Final Song/ The Concert of a Life
Part II: Don’t Speak
Part III: The Massacre of Mount Othrys
Part IV: Our Father, Hallowed be Thy—Protect Us From all Evil—
Thank you so much to those of you still around to read my work!
Pax didn’t understand the gravity of his brother’s infatuation. This was, in laymen’s terms, bad.
Part of the reason Alabaster gave the Pax brothers the Triple A Chimera helms was because he could trust them. None of the gods, such as Aphrodite, had meaningful sway over them. If the gods found out that Axel was bewitched by one of their enemies, especially a centurion, that could, and would, be abused.
This was no laughing matter.
… though, he did need to admit, if Axel could produce offspring with a demigod, Alabaster did wonder how much his Mayan heritage would weigh in, whether it would mean feline anatomy or size of litter. From a purely scientific perspective, of course.
If Ajax were to have children, would he/she breed in litters?
That made no sense and shouldn’t have made Alabaster’s face feel warm. They were half-siblings, and Alabaster always assumed Axel’s mother had cat ears…
What if their father did?
Jack’s presence interrupted the absurd stream of consciousness. They would need to investigate Axel’s love curse later, and, maybe find out if Pax had any chance of having cat-children.[2]
“Witch Boy, you really need to learn not to break those,” Jack said, resting a hand on Alabaster’s tender ribs.
“Next time I’m trying to break a bone, I’ll keep your preference in mind,” Alabaster hissed.
If possible, Jack’s soft singing sounded more frenetic than usual. He tugged absently at his bangs. At least his healing took effect immediately; pain eased away from Alabaster’s ribs and wrist, and several other places he hadn’t known were injured until he felt well enough to feel them.
If time wasn’t of the essence, he would have preferred Mei’s triage treatment than the few seconds it took for Jack to, potentially, sing offkey and kill the whole room. Unfortunately, time was not a luxury they could afford. Luke (whatever was left of him) had deluded himself into thinking Mercedes was a spy, and had intended this mission to kill her strongest allies.
They needed to assure Kronos didn’t get any ideas about sending them after increasingly more dangerous foe until the Pax brothers died. Their surge in popularity wasn’t helping the crazed despot’s paranoia.
“Himari. Aoi,” Mei called.
With the pain diminished, Alabaster could focus better. He looked around to see Mei’s two siblings scurry after their sister, out the infirmary. Flynn, at some point, had entered, dragged a chair to sit beside Jack, and was watching him intently, like a stray note might shatter him into monster dust.
Rumor had it, Mei, Himari, and Aoi had euthanized one of Jack and Flynn’s torture subjects. Alabaster appreciated the three healers didn’t condone the evils Luke was willing to overlook. Like war crimes.
But, what was Flynn doing here?
Jack’s words warbled manically. “I told Luke you would be back! Another Praetorian badge, no less! Now—Axel, are you blushing?”
“Heat stroke.” Axel glared at Pax.
Pax winked. He tapped his photo album.
Jack leaned over to press a hand to Axel’s forehead. “My boy. You need to hydrate.” What Alabaster identified as thought blocking chopped the child of Apollo’s words into incoherent clips. “Now, I must—want to hear every detail—about the battle. Your victory! The ballad—it must be perfect! It… it…”
Jack trailed off. His hands withdrew. He hugged himself, trembling.
Axel and Pax stiffened. They exchanged a glance.
“Jack?” Pax asked softly.
“They—the Ol’ Sissies—ha—ha—ha!” Jack trailed off into hysterical giggles. “The Olympic Sympathizers.” He opened his mouth to continue, but no sound came out. He rocked on his heels. His nails dug into his arms. Alabaster finally noticed the splotches of irritated red from where Jack had inflicted earlier acts of self-harm.
“Come here, Jack,” Flynn commanded, not unkindly.
He sank onto the floor beside her chair, pressing his face into her knees.
She stroked his hair.
“Percy Jackson sent a suicide bomber to blow up the Princess Andromeda,” she said. “The ship is gone.”
Everyone in the infirmary froze.
Alabaster mouthed the words, suicide bomber. It didn’t process immediately.
Someone knocked something off their infirmary bed; whatever it was clattered on the floor.
“Matthias was doing routine maintenance on the ship,” Pax said, breaking the silence. His voice was small. “Like putting up random Herma—y-you know. The sculptures with nothing but a dude’s head, a column, and a dude’s dick sticking out the column? He-he and Prometheus were decorating the—the ship. To make… to make Luke mad…” Pax trailed off.
“He’s dead,” she said, “Along with many of our best builders and mechanics. Apparently Chiron has convinced his soldiers that all of us are mythological monsters and can be killed indiscriminately.”
A common war tactic: dehumanize your enemy.
Alabaster thought about Matthias sneaking into his and Lou Ellen’s lab aboard the Princess Andromeda to steal prank supplies. He thought about how recently many of them lived aboard that ship. How it had been a home.
“A suicide bomber?” Alabaster hissed aloud.
That was how low the Greeks were willing to sink?[3]
Someone in the Sabotage Unit began to weep quietly. Most of them had friends that regularly maintenanced that ship, whether monster or demigod.
Axel’s face was contorted with the same rage Alabaster felt. “Were there any surviv—?”
She shook her head. “Prometheus and Luke.”
Someone who could regrow limbs and another with the curse of Achilles.
When Alabaster got a hold of Percy Jackson, he was going to destroy that monster. Who is the monster and who is the man?
Pax hiccupped.
Axel clenched his jaw and set a hand on Pax’s shaking shoulder. The photo album fell to the floor.
Several photos of Matthias and his pranks scattered onto the infirmary’s tiles.
“Nakamura pushed Mercedes into a volcano. Jackson blew up Matthias—ha—ha—at least he went out with—with a bang.” Pax choked back a sob. “Sh—should we—should we have…” He looked to Axel. If possible, he got quieter, “Should we have stayed with dad?”
A low growl reverberated from Axel’s throat. “No.”
Jack blindly reached in Pax’s direction. “I’m here for you, my boys.”
“He’s not talking about—” Axel seemed to think better about finishing his sentence.
Alabaster couldn’t count the number they must have lost. He would need a list of who was assigned where. The thought was nauseating. How many family members had been dusted? An ache iced into something dark in his stomach, something heavy and solid.
“That could have been us…” Pax whispered. “It could have been Charlie.”
“We’ll keep Charlie safe,” Axel growled.
How is keeping a child safe unreasonable?
Alabaster exhaled to focus his eyes on Pax. He looked so small. He was still a child.
They all were.
Tears streamed down Pax’s cheeks.
Alabaster swallowed. He didn’t know why—it wouldn’t sate this feeling—but he found himself reaching for Pax’s hand again. Lou Ellen and Pax had taken it so hard when Sphinx died, and she was a Mistform.
Alabaster knew she was a Mistform, and he still wanted to punish the demented Roman who shot a cat.
Pax squeezed Alabaster’s hand, locking their fingers together.
Flynn watched, her gaze distant. “Kronos is planning an attack on Mount Olympus with the main force.”
Alabaster startled. “He what?” His mouth went dry. That should have been stated earlier.
The Pax brothers puffed up their cheeks and popped them simultaneously.
They just lost a major asset, everyone would be in mourning, and he was planning an attack?!
Alabaster tried to get to his feet, earning a squeak from Pax. The younger boy had tightened his hold on Alabaster’s hand, acting as an anchor of inaction. But, Alabaster couldn’t ignore this, even if his ribs stung.
“He didn’t want us—or you—” Flynn nodded to the Pax brothers, “—in the war room. We’re… not invited to that mission.” Her voice was flat, maybe in a vain attempt to avoid further upsetting Jack.
Not invited…
Alabaster trembled. “A third of his army is my family. I funded his mercenaries.”
Had Kronos waited to plan this when they weren’t around? Or had he decided on the attack in response to the bombing of the Princess Andromeda? And if he and Lou Ellen were on the assassination mission, then who was—
“Lamia,” Flynn said, “is representing the head of Hecate. Several of your siblings refuse to discuss their participation without you there.”
Alabaster scowled. He needed to be there. Lamia didn’t care about the demigods. She was barely better than the thugs of Olympus. From what Flynn was saying, she and Jack had just been kicked out. The meeting was still going on.
When Alabaster went to stand again, he still found himself moored. He almost snapped at Pax to let go. They needed to move now.
“I don’t want you to get blown up. Handsome Witch Boys should only lose limbs when their little sisters decide to steal them,” Pax said. His fingers were trembling.
Alabaster hesitated. This is exactly why he didn’t think they should be in a relationship. He was needed elsewhere. He couldn’t dwell on the people who died right now. He had to focus on the task at hand. Being with Pax made this complicated.
Pax’s black curls obscured his eyes.
Alabaster reached to tuck some of her—his (Pax was a boy right now, right?)—locks back. The skin around his amber eye puffed from tears. When he was crying—really crying, not just for attention—he was always so quiet.
It might be more time efficient to properly respond.
Alabaster half-crouched on the cot to level more with Pax. “Unlike some psychopaths, I blow up others from a safe distance.” And while following the basic rules of war. “I need to be at this meeting to make sure Luke doesn’t intentionally place my family in a disadvantageous location. So Lelly and I can stay safer.” Not safe. Safe would be an overstatement.
Pax nodded. His hand loosened.
Alabaster felt like he should say something else. He doubted they would immediately turn around and attack Mount Olympus, but Luke could be rash. If this was the last real chance he had to talk to the Pax brothers before battle, to Pax…
They needed more time. They needed to know how they were going to use the helms to overthrow Kronos.
He didn’t have time for that.
Instead, Alabaster leaned forward, like he was going to whisper something into Pax’s ear, on the side Axel couldn’t see. Alabaster chastely kissed Pax’s cheek, squeezing his hand. “I—I care about you,” he said weakly.
This wasn’t his forte. It was embarrassing. He hoped Axel just thought he just whispered and didn’t—
Pax caught Alabaster’s collar as he went to move away.
Then Pax’s mouth pressed his. The scent of peppermint gum sharpened Alabaster’s senses. Everything felt so surreal: Pax’s hair tickling his face, the tears wetting his cheeks, the comforting warmth of her—his, his—lips. (Oh, Alabaster felt humiliated to realize he wanted more of that comfort.) “I—I love you too.” Pax’s words were folded between kisses so seamlessly, that Alabaster almost didn’t understand them or the way they clenched his chest.
The sensation of Axel clamping his fingers on the back of his neck was much more grounding.
Pax meeped when Axel yanked Alabaster back. “You,” he growled at Alabaster, “Have a meeting you need to attend and survive so I can kick your ass afterwards.”
“Axel, don’t be unreasonable. He—”
“Is thirteen,” Axel said.
Alabaster’s face felt hot. Not for the first time, he would hope Axel would think better of him than to… to…
Jack latched onto the distraction. “Axel, you cannot thwart their love! Making it forbidden only makes it that much sweeter—”
Alabaster stiffly turned towards the exit. “I have a meeting I need to crash.”
His first steps felt so assured. Each one after reminded him about everyone they lost, about those they were to lose. He let that anger resurface, harnessed it into a focused weapon.
This was all Alabaster wanted: to bring the Olympians to justice.
Why couldn’t he shake the feeling that this was the wrong time to attack?
Footnotes:
[1] This is likely the last time I get to write Alabaster for the Tales From Mount Othrys (Unless I throw in a fluff chapter… hmmmmm--) So, you know, lambast me for sneaking him in here during Axel’s panic.
[2] Pax would like to complain that he would love for Alabaster to follow up on this and Alabaster, to date, never has.
[3] Pax, “Ha, ha! Sink! Like the ship!” *starts hysterically sobbing*
“You left the sword, Axel? The one weapon that won’t break on you with Ares’—”
“Garies—”
“Not now, Ajax—with Aries’ curse?” Alabaster said once the Pax brothers finished debriefing him, “And you didn’t kill the Roman?”
Alabaster lay in their “infirmary.” Since Jack would kill any other children of Apollo that might come into camp (intentionally or otherwise) it was staffed by a daughter of Ascelpius, the God of Medicine, a son of Hygeia, Goddess of Hygiene, and a daughter of Panacea, Goddess of Universal Remedies. These three were, in fact, all half siblings with the same mother. Axel chose not to listen to Alabaster when he pointed out, according to Epione, that also made one of them a half-sibling to the others’ parents.[1]
Aoi, the son of Hygeia, and Himari, the daughter of Panacea, grumbled about the number of wounded in their infirmary. Their older half-sister, Mei, shook her head and shoed them to tend to the others injured from the Sabotage Unit. None of them could instantly heal the way Jack could, but Aoi could disinfect any wound, Himari could cure any illness over time, and Mei could mend wounds overtime. They were perfect for keeping demigods stable until Jack could help.
For such a vicious fight, they had few causalities. It was an overwhelming success.
But Axel couldn’t stop replaying that final fight in his head.
Alabaster seethed at being ignored. “Axel. The sword? The Roman? Are you concussed—?” He cut off with a gasp. Mei had set his broken wrist, but couldn’t do much for the three broken ribs.[2]
Pax sat in a chair beside his infirmary bed. He fidgeted with one of his spy photo albums in one hand while his other squeezed Alabaster’s good hand. His grin was goofy. “We did have a handsome, unconscious witchboy on one hand and were retreating from the Second Cohort with the other. We would have needed more hands.”
“There are four between the two of you,” Alabaster said, but Pax’s tactic worked: their embarrassed friend’s scowl had weakened. His pale cheeks brightened with rouge.
Not for the first time, Axel wondered what was going on between the two of them. Now, however, wasn’t the time to remind Alabaster how fragile the rest of his ribs were.
“It can’t be that hard to find another weapon outside of Ares’ curse,” Axel said.
Alabaster glared.
“You are the grumpiest victor ever,” Pax teased.
They did kill Praetor Ari. Her medallion hung on his lion skin, threaded beside Julian’s. Two lovers together again at last.
Axel felt sick. Just as the sensation threatened to make him shut down, it seeped away into the Leonis Caput helm.
Leaving him replaying that battle. [3] He rubbed the contusion on his thigh. It was tender. As were the bruises along his bracers. Even through the Nemean Lion fur and his bracers, the centurion’s sword blows still left him bruised. “We’re lucky we didn’t lose more. That Centurion recovered the troops much faster than we predicted, even calculating in her training from Circe. She was good. A better fighter than me.”
“But, you can kick Luke’s ass. And Garies’,” Pax said.
Axel glanced at his little brother in confusion. He hadn’t been seeking a confidence boost; he was stating a fact they would need to keep in mind. “I’ll bet,” he said, “she could too.”
Before she kicked him, he saw something he wasn’t used to seeing: it wasn’t that she didn’t fear the monster attacking her. She did. She didn’t care about fear. Her courage, the kind she was sharing with her troops somehow, was choosing duty over terror.
Something Axel did often.
Something Axel did when he realized she could have killed Alabaster and Pax in under ten seconds.
“I think her shampoo was honey-scented,” he muttered absently. It had been bothering him—that sweetness barely perceptible intermixed with the armor and sweat. Had he really made a joke about being Canadian? He definitely wasn’t going to share that (or how she chased him around the clearing like a scared, hopping chicken) with his friends.
Pax almost choked, “Wow—that is the creepiest thing you’ve ever said. Stop everything. We need to call 1-800-APOLLO-STALKING for advice.”[4]
Axel fumbled. “Excuse me?”
“Ajax, that’s too many numbers for a—” Alabaster tried to sit up, grunted, and sank back into his bed. Pax, subtly, propped him up. “Axel, is there any chance she bewitched you when the two of you were alone?” Alabaster sounded genuinely alarmed. “If she had tutelage under Circe, she might be able.”
“What? No—”
“Ta—da!” Pax interrupted. He plucked a photo from his album, triumphantly presenting it between the three of them. “Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano, Axel’s new crush.”
Axel’s cheeks felt hot. “She is not—” His fingers froze while reaching to snatch the photo.
Pax’s grin was one of sinister delight. “You think she’s cute, don’tcha?”
Centurion Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano: the name sang and rolled like sunrise on the Gulf of Honduras.
His little brother had trapped him. If he said, “no,” he would sound unconvincing and like an asshole. But, could Axel say, “yes” in a way that showed factual indifference?
“Fuck, she is cute,” was not the right way to put it, and that is exactly what came out.
Axel could feel his ears sink into his hairline.
“OooooOOOooo!” Pax called, gleeful, “But where would you raise your children—?”
“Shut. Up.” Axel hissed.
The members of the Sabotage Unit were desperately pretending not to hear this. They were scattered around the infirmary, but they weren’t that far away.
As Mei walked by to bring more bandages to Nasir’s bedside, she took a quick glance at the photo, nodded, and continued forward. “She looks like someone who stretches before battles. Someone could learn a thing or two from her,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jazmin, who had torn a muscle, grumbled from her bed. This proved, in fact, everyone could hear them.
“Do you think they’ll have cat ears?” Pax went on, grinning evilly. He tucked the photo back into his album. His expression widened to earnest excitement. “Titans, Axel, I could knit them little hats with cat ears built in! Why have I never done that for you? The Cat Cap. The CatKNIT—hee hee hee—”
“Ajax, stop. This is serious.” Alabaster glared.
“So is the CatKnit—”
Alabaster ignored him. “I’ll have Lou Ellen help me make a potion to counteract this. She knows more about Medea-like magic.”[5]
“No, you will not,” Axel snapped.
“He’s right. You can’t,” Pax said, “Lelly will be too heartbroken to hear Axel is in love.”
“I’m not—” Axel clenched his jaw. Each time he denied it, he sounded less convincing.
Besides, what if…
Wouldn't she be perfect?
He would never need to worry about liking her. It’s not like they would ever meet outside of battle.[6] He didn’t need to worry about it preventing him from fighting, because she was already a better fighter than he. Santiago Pax would never know about her.
She was safe. She was safe to idolize from a distance.
But, that didn’t help shut Pax up. Or stop Axel’s face from burning.
“Do you think you breed in litters--?”
“My boys!” The infirmary door slammed open and Jack’s voice boomed into the room.
Axel mouthed, “I’ll rip your fucking ear off,” in Mayan. Jack was not to hear about this.
“But you need a best man with ears. Two ears. To model your future children’s cat knits—oh, but what if one of the demi-kittens only has one ear—aye!”
Axel snatched at Pax’s ear.[7]
Pax ducked out of Axel’s reach, behind Alabaster.
Alabaster hissed in pain. “Broken. Ribs.”
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the boys' last chance at being goofy (in-a-less-traumatized-way)
I've been contemplating doing an AU (yes, an AU of an AU) with Reyna and Axel. I keep going back and forth. Let me know if it is anything you'd be interested in reading!
Footnotes:
[1] Don’t overthink it. It isn’t worth it. I just like to think the Camp Othrys kids don’t pretend they’re not all distant cousins.
You also know Pax will IMMEDIATELY point out that, in most telling, he and Alabaster are not related on the godly side.
[2] I made a whole character for Mei that can’t be jammed in here. She’s in her thirties, is a pediatrician, and is horrified these kids are fighting an adult war. And she’s one of the only people Alabaster won’t give lip to because he respects her and fears her temper. She also keeps her hair in a tight, braided bun.
[3] Leonis Caput, “You could think about that. Or you could think about the hot girl that made us look like a fool.”
[4] Axel, “You literally stalk Reyna.” “Yeah, but that’s my job.” Alabaster, “That’s also too many numbers for a phone number.” (Yes, I made this joke as a footnote, decided to put it in the text, and kept both.)
[5] Pax, “Now, Lou Ellen. It would be immoral to bewitch my brother.” Lou Ellen, staring dreamily after Axel with Medea’s playbook in her hands, “I knoooowwww.”
[6] Lol. I don’t even know if Traitors of Olympus counts as “outside of battle.”
[7] So Pax can model for the one-eared demikitten.
Were the other 7+ ever jealous of Calex for having a godly parent who obviously cared and intervened for him, rules and prophecies be damned? I especially wonder if Euna held resentment for him about that after Demeter didn’t intervene to stop Joey’s death, or his frenemy Pax whose mom made problems for him instead of solved them.
Thank you so much for the ask, anon! And your patience with me responding. ha--ha.... only a few years >>'''
Anyway, I enjoyed getting to do this! Thank you so much for giving me a reason!
Oh, and for the record, Alabaster loves his mother. And she DOES intervene on his behalf. And Calex would never invite him to a birthday surprise from his father.
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Reyna hadn’t cast magic since she left Circe’s. She had never been good at it—she preferred weapons that were solidly there and didn’t need to be imagined into existence.
The Cloven Terror must have been a spawn of Hecate or some kind of sorceress. Not all of the Mist distortions came from it, but Reyna recognized its incantations were thickening the fog.
It needed to be stopped before the monsters could get away.
At Camp Jupiter, you didn’t break formation. You especially didn’t break formation when you were leading it. Especially when you just stopped your peers from quaking in their sandals.
Reyna had to consider what was best for her new home. And, as of right now, it was more the “Arrrg, I’m a pirate” tactics than those of the Romans.
Marching at double speed wasn’t fast enough. Most of her fellow soldiers had already thrown their pila and couldn’t fight at this distance.
The Cloven Terror chanted a spell. If completed, she knew the Mist would thicken; the monsters would vanish, leaving nothing but ghost stories of ephemeral assassins.
She wanted the legion to know these new monsters could bleed.
Reyna threw her pilum and sprinted forward.
She knew Larry would close formation behind her. (He had better. Else, he would be put on Hannibal waste extraction after they survived this.) He and the others would cover her back.
The pilum threw straight at the Cloven Terror, closing distance quicker than her feet could take her.
The distraction worked and bought her precious seconds.
The Cloven Terror altered incantations. Ice shot from its fingertips, intercepting her projectile. The pilum exploded in midair.
But Reyna hadn’t stopped her full sprint.
She raised her scutum shield, and lunged, full-body, into the Cloven Terror.
The monster hadn’t recovered from its casting.
It didn’t expect her to get so close—to willingly rush into the midst of the Triple A Chimera. After all, what idiot would? One who didn’t mind dying for Rome. One making a calculated risk. It paid off.
Crunch.
The shield bash took it by surprise.
The Cloven Terror, as it turned out, broke like a twig (or maybe an inflatable tube) more than a tree trunk. The monster crumbled under the weight of her attack. It may have been prepared for projectiles or fancy swordwork, but it hadn’t been prepared for good ol’ contact sport.
Reyna would be lying if she said the crunch of broken bone didn’t make her smile.
The Cloven Terror toppled into the loose California dirt. The Mist thinned. No easy retreat for these cowards.
Reyna’s fellow legionaries whooped at her success. She could feel their courage strengthen alongside her own. Her tattoo blazed, flickering in and out under her pauldrons and tunic. The legion’s charge quickened.
Which was good. Either Kronos’s beasts would abandon their injured, or she was about to have a dozen pissed-off monsters turn on her.
The Silver-Tongued Snake appeared crouched by the Cloven Terror’s writhing body. Without the concealing Mist, she could clearly see it gathering the Cloven Terror into its arms, muttering, “Shhhhit, shhhhit, shhhit—"
It had the audacity to look scared. For a moment, it had the audacity to look, almost, human.
With a grunt, she lifted her shield to crash fifteen pounds of wood and leather on the serpentine humanoid. She couldn’t think about how they looked. Two out of three of the Chimera? It was a start.
“Rey—”
Reyna never heard Larry’s full warning.
Something slammed her side.
Two hundred pounds of something.
The tackle took her and her assailant off balance, over the pit of Mist and onto the steep slant beyond it. Her scutum shield plunged into the darkness and undergrowth. If she didn’t land this right, she could snap her neck. Her sneakers skid and left her stumbling through thick tree roots.
She scrambled to catch her balance, digging her heels in.
The clash of combat dulled with the distance.
Feet from her, the Leonis Caput landed on all fours: a skeleton dressed in a sagging lion skin. Its helmet had scarlet plumes spilling from the top, uncomfortably close to a Roman-style armor, with feline whiskers etched into the Imperial Gold and the helmet’s opening that of a beast’s yawning mouth. Eyes gleamed inside the feline helmet’s mouth, a reflective, predatory gold.
Was it stupid to wear a lion-shaped helm when you already had fangs? Reyna decided it was stupid.
A turquoise tail flicked out from under its pteruges, glowing dimly. Glyphs shimmered along the tail’s rosettes. Mesoamerican? She didn’t have time to wonder why.
“Centurion,” he rumbled. Reyna wasn’t sure why she clocked this one as “he.”
Maybe he felt too smug.
He lifted Mars’ sword, rising onto his hind legs. He towered over her.
Her sword must have come off during the tumble. It lay by his feet.
All she had was her dagger.
She unsheathed it. When she put pressure onto her left leg, it flared with pain. She refused to look down; the Leonis Caput must have cut her thigh open during their fall.[1]
Which Roman God of Luck did she need to thank for the loss of her sword, shield, and balance all in one move? She snorted at the thought.
He casually checked something on his lion’s fur—Ari’ praetorian badge. Beside Julian’s. “The Silver-Tongued Snake and Cloven Terror are under my protection,” he stated.
Reyna refrained from pointing out that he attacked her Cohort and killed her preator. She would need to teach this monster a lesson in the concept of You Started It (And I’m Going to End It).
“And Rome is under mine,” she growled.
He nodded.
He kicked her sword across the foliage to her feet.
She snorted again. In case this was to test the severity of her injury, she only put pressure onto her good leg when she crouched to pick it up, warily keeping her eyes on him. “Before, you were fighting three against one. And now you want to make sure I’m armed? Why?”
He clutched at the praetorian badge, looking down. “I am not in the habit of slaying the unarmed.” He shrugged and shook his head. “We only came for one.”
The Praetor.
There was no hesitation. Once she was armed and upright, he lunged. Their swords connected. He was quick—focusing more on feigns and speed. Not strength.
She parried. Counter attacked.
They both disengaged.
Mars’ blade hummed. Like it screamed to not be in the hands of a monster. She could imagine it now, glaring at her like, I’m personally haunting your dreams if you don’t rescue me.
With Twilight fading, the majority of light came from the glow of her Imperial Gold sword and his turquoise tail. Reyna suspected the Leonis Caput had better night vision, and would likely fair better with the ferns and roots.
This felt wrong. For how aggressive he had been against Praetor Ari, he waited now, watching her. If he wanted to kill her, he shouldn’t have armed her—she didn’t believe that “unarmed” garbage. If he wanted to retreat, he should have left while she was still getting oriented.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, gritting her teeth.
A throaty huff—a laugh?—rumbled from the monster. He tapped his shoulder in the same location as her tattoo. “You don’t fear me. Or my magic. My troops will have a much easier time regrouping if you aren’t near yours.”
Reyna tensed. Her symbol of Bellona wasn’t glowing. She was too far to lend her legionnaires her strength.
He was stalling so she couldn’t organize the counterattack.
She charged him.
The Leonis Caput blocked her blade with his forearm, lifting the lion pelt like a shield. Her sword dinged off the surface as if it was woven titanium.
He took the opening to strike.
Reyna blocked Mars’ sword with the dagger in her back hand, her dominant arm straining against the fur. The sword was heavy, pressuring her hand down. He was taller, leveraging the advantage.
They were locked close enough that she could smell him: the musk of the fur, the leather of his pteruges, a faint staleness of charcoal—cigarette smoke? The reek of Ari’s blood.
There were few occasions in New Rome where she got to use what the pirates taught her. This was one.
She kicked. Hard.
“Cho!” the Leonis Caput twisted to avoid her foot, voice raising an octave in panic. Her foot connected with his upper thigh, knocking him off balance, instead of between the legs.
He dropped into a roll, ready to avoid her newly freed sword tip. If her own thigh didn’t burn with pain, she might have caught him.
As she lunged again, he pressed his hands into the ground, managing an acrobatic flip up. She just missed slicing between the folds of the lion fur.
He landed on his good leg, hopping twice upon attempting to put weight on the one she had kicked.
That’s when the Leonis Caput…
Started to argue with himself?
“You are a Lieutenant of Kronos. Act like one.”
“You take a kick to the nuts!” that panicked voice snapped, snatching up Mars’ sword from where he’d dropped it.
She pressed him before he could fully regain his footing, stabbing at his chest.
That’s when she saw it.
He wasn’t a skeleton wearing a lion pelt. He was painted like a skeleton. It was more Mist magic.
Her blade sank a quarter inch into his pecs before he parried. The panicked voice hissed in pain as the primary one growled, “Lieutenant, hunt her.”
She had backed him into a tree. Instead of getting pinned, the Leonis Caput kicked off the trunk, using the momentum to slip past her next slash. That secondary tone switched into a different language, “Uh, thanks, I’m a bit busy being hunted.”
Reyna knew Roman monsters were strange, but this was new.[2] She pivoted to follow his movement. If this was an attempt to distract her, it worked. “You speak Spanish?” she demanded, mirroring the language.
He almost stumbled. “You speak Spanish?!”
They stared at one another. His accent was unfamiliar: something Caribbean. She hadn’t heard any monsters on mainland US soil speaking Spanish. Since she spent most of her time in Camp Jupiter, instead of the greater San Francisco area, she mostly heard English and Latin since she parted from the pirates.
“So… Puerto Rician?” he asked slowly, rotating the Mars sword the way one might circle a wrist in thought.
No one needed to know about Puerto Rico, and she did not like that her accent was so obvious. She glared. “No, I learned in high school.” She hadn’t meant for that to drip with sarcasm.
He laughed. “Yeah, and I’m from Canada, eh?” It could have made Reyna laugh: the attempt to mimic the Northern accent while speaking in Caribbean Spanish.
But she just saw this monster plunge his sword through Ari’s throat. That sword, his fur, and his arms were still coated in her blood.
Reyna took a step back towards the slope, where she could hear their soldiers’ movements.
The motion snapped their momentary truce.
“Right… I can’t let you do that, Centurian,” he growled. The Mars sword trained back onto her.
Roman monsters didn’t tend to know geography or make jokes about being Canadian. This creature had once been, or was, a demigod. Was a titan hiding somewhere in the woods, murmuring into a mic to project that sinister growl? Could the titans directly puppet monsters and demigods now?
Reyna shivered at the thought. It didn’t matter. That was a theory, and she doubted the Senate would listen to it after Ari’s open assignation. This would lead to all-out war.
She set her jaw, digging her nails into the hilt of her back dagger. Hunt her,the Titan had commanded. She focused on that and not how the Leonis Caput spoke Caribbean Spanish and had a sense of humor.
Their swords clashed. She had hoped that kick to the thigh would cripple him as much as the blood leaking from her leg, but it just made him move erratically. He used the trees like an extension of the ground, pouncing off them, circling her with each parry, darting about the woods—
Until Reyna caught Mars’ blade between her dagger and sword and wrenched it from his hands.
The Leonis Caput was mid-leap. He had no way to resist. He landed several feet away, crouched. The sword thudded, seeming much happier now, to her feet.
He released another throaty laugh. His golden eyes flicked from Mars’ blade back to her face.
She stepped in front of the blessed weapon. Hopefully, he didn’t notice how badly her injured leg trembled. By now, she was panting.
“You,” Leonis Caput said, “Are the better fighter of the two of us.”
That tone didn’t sound like someone about to accept defeat.
His golden gaze flicked past her, then back.
Reyna felt her stomach drop. She quarter-turned, keeping her sword trained on the Leonis Caput, angling her dagger at whomever—
Pain pricked her arm, above her bracer. It felt closer to a bug sting than a true attack. In the gleam of her armor, she could see the cylindrical shape of a dart sticking from her forearm.
“Always usseee fresssh needlesss,” the Silver-Tongue Snake hissed from behind.
Numbness crept outward from the wound. The forest swayed in her vision. In the distance, she heard Larry shout—the shuffle of armor—
Then everything went black.
Reyna’s last thought, as she slid to the ground, was how she hoped Mars’ sword didn’t intentionally impale her for this failure of a rescue.
Author's Note: Ah, our first Rexel scene. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. I'm hoping to post a commission an amazing artist did of this scene later today.
[1] Imagine how embarrassed Axel would be if it had been environmental. Reyna, “You’ve scored a point on me before.” *points to her scar* Axel, “actually… um… that was a tree…”
[2] I’ve been trying so hard to write him seriously, but when Reyna gets involved, Axel turns into a homicidal goofball. I swear. This is like the time that Euna and I both found out she was bi at the same time. “I didn’t plan for this to go this way, but I’m not mad about it.”
I haven't vanished again! Work/life is just kicking my ass right now. The last Rexel chapter I had to completely rewrite, and I haven't had the ability to work on the next one. BUT! I'm aiming to resume normal schedule next week. (With Pax holding me at weasel point for accountability.)
The monsters broke the Roman line. It was easy. The Second Cohort was unprepared. They panicked.
Reyna had never seen someone cast this kind of magic, but she could sense what happened. The Leonis Caput’s scream had paralyzed everyone. Reyna felt the primal terror clench her chest.
Even Praetor Ari froze.
Then the Triple A Chimera attacked the praetor.
The Cloven Terror shouted in Latin. With it, all the other noise came at once.
Legionnaires screamed. The monsters yelped and whooped with glee.
“Orbem—” Praetor Ari began.
Three things happened in rapid succession: ice flashed from the Cloven Terror’s hands. The clearing between them turned into a flat skating rink. A length of chain flew from the serpent, wrapping around Ari’s arm. The Leonis Caput gripped the other end of that chain, released a gurgled laugh, and yanked.
Praetor Ari skidded further into the midst of the monster forces.
Reyna stabbed an approaching ghoul with her pilum. It didn’t dust or melt away the way some monsters did. She had to wrench the blade out. Around her, the legionnaires scrambled in the chaos.
Out of their allies, Reyna was the closest to the praetor. She fought to decrease the distance, attacking nearby aggressors while tracking the Ari’s location and combatants.
Ari was strong, and a brilliant tactician. But, every time she blocked a blow from the Leonis Caput’s stolen sword, the serpentine creature lashed out from the Mist, blurring back into the fog before Ari could pivot. Each time she went to raise her shield, the ram monster blasted a projectile from where it was circling, staying out of her range. This last Latin incantation left Ari limping.
Reyna knew how good Ari was. She was incredible, but she was about to get overwhelmed.
This was a coordinated ambush. Meant to kill the praetor.
They needed to get the Second Cohort back into formation, and they needed to get Ari behind their lines.
Reyna focused on that sensation of dread, the one making her pilum tremble and her footsteps uncertain. She imagined it as a dense miasma amidst the fog, entangling her fellow Romans. Mentally, she crushed it into a tinier and tinier spot. Pain flared on her forearm, and she knew her sword-and-torch tattoo must have glowed. The terror of her fellow Romans flashed though her senses—how Larry was conflating a crocodilian monster with the alligators that haunted his Floridian home, how Ida saw demons from the Black Forest that made her quiver like a child.
She crushed those fears too, grinding her teeth. Her tattoo burned as did her friends' hopelessness that threatened to break all of them. But they were Romans. As her pain intensified, the Second Cohort focused.
“Ad aciem!” Reyna shouted, “Orbem formate!”
The fear magic shattered.
She would accept potential punishment for stepping out of line later. Getting everyone out alive was more important.
Larry took up position beside her. Other soldiers followed suit, fighting to group. A proper battle circle formed—
Reyna turned their formation on the Triple A Chimera.
Just in time to see the Leonis Caput, arms splattered in blood, plucking the praetorian badge off Ari’s corpse. The monster added the crest of honor to its mantel of fallen Roman badges. He withdrew his sword from her throat. A perfectly aimed lunge. Her body fell awkwardly: from what Reyna could see, one leg stuck to the ground in an ice cluster (likely from the ram) while the other must have been tethered (perhaps from the snake).
Ari hadn’t even screamed.
Reyna stared. Only for a moment.
Reyna wouldn’t allow herself to get scared. No. Not when her courage was keeping the Second Cohort together. She wouldn’t let that be the last they saw of Praetor Ari’s assassins. She wouldn’t let that Triple Ass Monster kill any more Romans.
“Fall back,” rumbled the Leonis Caput.
In response, Reyna snarled, “Percute!”
They charged forward, at double speed.
Reyna wouldn’t let her peers fear monsters. She would make sure monsters knew to fear them.
***
Author's Note: Thank you for your patience with this one! I had to rewrite large chunks of it. I'm still iffy on how it came out? But, gsdi, I'm going to stick on a schedule for release XD
This was supposed to be a standard clean up mission.
In Reyna’s experience, those were the most likely to go wrong. Praetor Ari might as well follow up “standard mission” with “get your wills in order.”
Normally, the Fifth Cohort would deal with pests like drunken centaurs: they were easy to dispatch and good for training (if not a little gross and annoying). However, the Second Cohort was already suited up for a practice skirmish when the scouts reported centaurs partying in the forests nearby.
“Starting a bonfire. In dry season,” Larry growled under his breath. “Bastards.”
All of the pirates aboard the Black Pearl cursed under their breath. Reyna was used to it. The pirates made Camp Jupiter sound like a kindergarten.
Unlike Captain Blackbeard, Praetor Ari tolerated none of it; she had little problem throwing soldiers into a bag of weasels if she caught them more than once.
From what everyone said, Praetor Ari was much harsher than the former Praetor Julian. Few soldiers returned to the military rank after retiring to be a student or worker in New Rome.
Reyna liked her. Adapting to harsh leadership had never been a problem—almost anywhere was better than home. Besides, she imagined being forced out of retirement could make anyone salty.
“Centurion,” Ari snapped.
Centurion Larry, if possible, straightened his posture further. Though, he still murmured, “Fucking centaurs,” which made one of the Second Cohort’s probatio stifle a laugh.
Someone, Reyna suspected, might end up in a weasel bag tonight. Though, Larry’s fear was valid. That burnt scent on the wind filled Reyna with an instinctive unease. She did not want to put out another wild fire.
They needed a fire patrol unit with the recent increase in centaur activity. Maybe Reyna could suggest to Praetor Ari that they could use the eagles for scouting—
The thought faded when her foot sank into loose dirt. Oakland Hills, California was, aptly named, hilly. Ferns covered the forest floor. Moss mounds circled rotted redwood trunks. Mulch and dirt littered areas from previous controlled burns.
But this was different.
Ari and Larry noticed the odd ground at the same time, exchanging a glance.
They were almost to the reported centaur sighting. Ahead, Reyna swore she could hear centaurs clacking their horns together, alongside the scent of burning wood. Probably one hill over. Without needing a verbal order, she and Larry led the Second Cohort into marching lines, ad agmine, their pilums at the ready.
Reyna couldn’t shake a sense of wrongness, pausing.
The woods twisted with twilight fog. The Second Cohort was descending from one hill to approach another, the small valley dipping further to their left and a flat clearing to their right. The sinking sun’s rays barely made it through the trees. With that little light, Reyna didn’t see other marks of a controlled burn elsewhere in the vicinity. This dirt shouldn’t have been loose. And she didn’t like how vulnerable they were to attacks from the hills.
That was what felt so wrong. This felt like a perfect spot for an ambush.
As though the Fates wanted to reward her observation skills, someone shouted, “Now!”
Next time, Reyna would need to ask the Fates to lay off the rewards.
From the left, a monster erupted from the thickened ferns. A motley crew chased after the armored beast: two more telekhines, carcines—several giant crabs—
Before Reyna could see the rest of the threat, the Second Cohort acted as one. They turned to face the encroaching forces. The monsters raced in an undisciplined charge. Chaotic like the pirates, she thought.
Much of the war against Saturn’s forces was like this, skirmishes that ended with few causalities on the Roman side. But Reyna knew over confidence was the quickest way to death.
Similarly, she knew it was a mistake as soon as Praetor Ari gave the order, “Iacite pila!”
Pila flung past her. The spears sped through the air, hailing into the charging crew of monsters, skewering them into the ferns of the forest floor, others littering deeper into the valley’s dip. Reyna didn’t throw hers. It wasn’t necessary—there hadn’t been that many opponents. In fact, there were too few. And they were too small—a handful of telekhines and carcines would never attempt to ambush the entire Second Cohort.
She couldn’t share Larry’s victorious shout. Maybe it was because Circe ambushed men who came onto the island. Maybe it was because the pirates practiced hit-and-run tactics. Whatever instinct it was, her eyes trailed the thickening fog behind them, back to the flat clearing.
The clearing had vanished.
Smoke swirled in its place, billowing out of a pit. Like a direct highway to Tartarus, the blackness pulsed and churned with shadows crawling, slithering, and sliming their way out. These were not Roman monsters: the shambling ghoul didn’t look anything like Lemares, nor did the other beasts resemble anything she had fought.
They were much more organized than Saturn’s typical troops. In the time the Second Cohort had thrown most of their pila, the monsters had fanned out, creeping behind them.
Upon seeing the three leading the ambush, she knew who they were.
Out of the fog pranced the Triple A Chimera. Horns loomed from the sparking form of a ram-headed creature, its arms waving with a dim green glow. Panic clenched her chest; it was casting magic. She sensed the Mist now, dampening the sound of the approaching troops, silencing her shout of warning.
A serpentine creature wove in and out of the fog around the ram-headed creature’s feet. Rumor had that it could turn invisible and spit poison from afar.
Last stalked the skeletal figure of a humanoid feline. A lion pelt stretched and sagged over a lanky, tall frame. It had the audacity to wear a Praetorian badge on its fur. A turquoise flame floated in one of its paws. The other held—
Reyna stiffened. That was a Roman sword. Its insignia matched the Mars tattoos. The Leonis Caput had stolen one of their holy weapons.
Maybe the others couldn’t hear her shout, they would feel her shove them. She rushed to alert their rearguard to turn.
At the same time, the Leonis Caput roared something in a choppy, foreign tongue.
The silence broke.
Mist twisted to the Leonis Caput’s will, intermixing with the expanding flames in its paw.
Dread clutched Reyna’s heart as the monsters descended upon them.
Author's note: I'm so happy I got to write my girl again. 🥹I hope you enjoyed!
(Or, Reprised: We’re only Sworn Enemies. What’s the Worst that Could Happen?)
This was meant to be a suicide mission. Axel knew it. Those loyal to him in the Sabotage Unit knew it. The drunk centaurs probably knew it: they offered to bash heads with everyone before they left to start Stage One of the Operation Ice and Run.
Why else would Luke send him after a praetor with a whole cohort of legionnaires? A praetor that, Pax would add, probably daydreamed about filing her nails with Axel’s femur.[1]
But, Axel was prepared.
As prepared as you could be to get a battering ram to the face.
“You know you have to actually kill her right? Like, you can’t prostrate with a sign that says, ‘Stab Here To Avenge Missed Smoochies,’” Pax’s voice was a dark hiss through the Silver-Tongued Serpent helm. He wore face paint that glittered through the eye sockets, giving his skin a scaly appearance.
He crouched beside Axel in a ditch, in the middle of the Sabotage Unit.
“That won’t be a problem,” the Leonis Caput and Axel growled in harmony. He cracked his neck to the side.
He ran his fingers over Julian’s praetorian badges. Pax had threaded them into the lion pelt’s fur. “To make him look more like Conan the Barbarian. Whoever the fuck that is.” The rosettes painted onto Axel’s exposed forearms and calves glimmered.
All around them, the Sabotage Unit looked similar: painted and masked monsters. Not all of them were Greek. Ailiseu’s mask had the blank features of a dalgyal guishin or egg ghost.[2] Nasir’s shambling ghoul-form was properly disturbing. Twilight rays filtered through the twigs and leaves that hid their (hastily constructed) ditch. The rays muted and dispersed in the thickening fog. The effect was terrifying.
Perfect.
They were almost ready.
Centurion Ari had been promoted to Praetorian Ari in her boyfriend’s absence. The Second Cohort had a new Centurion: a girl, according to Pax’s intelligence, that might know some magic from the great sorceress, Circe. If she could see through the Mist, it would be a problem.
But Luke—Kronos. Not Luke. That monster isn’t my friend. My friend wouldn’t protect Mercedes’ murderer—told the Pax brothers not to come back unless it was with news of Praetor Ari’s death. Just a great big, “I like the Nemisis boy more than you. Also, you’re not even Greek.”
They lost a close friend, the best Spy Master for Camp Jupiter, and had gained Kronos’s ire. Just a regular Tuesday.
“Do you think Luke told Jack we went to the store to get cigarettes and milk?” Pax asked.
Axel snorted. He had no idea what Luke planned to tell Jack and Flynn if they really didn’t come back. [3]
Different words came out than Axel intended, “Is the other unit in place?”
Axel could feel Pax roll his eyes. “Voutia’s Team is a go.”
That unit was in real danger. That’s why Axel only allowed volunteers, and only ones that had a short time to regenerate time in Tartarus.[4] They knew the risk; they were the most likely to be slain.
Pax continued to update him on troop deployment, “The centaurs don’t need orders to party in the woods; they’re already loudly dancing. The Bestest Lil Weasel of All Time is—oh shit.”
Axel looked over.
Baller had silently skittered up Pax’s scaled armor. The tiny head bobbed against the Silver-Tongued Snake helm.
That was their signal.
The Romans were coming.
Others around noticed. A hush descended over the Sabotage Unit, until all they could hear was the murmur of a soft, Latin incantation. Lou Ellen and Alabaster had been prepping the fog and an extra layer of Mist for the false roof that covered their ditch.
The chanting, also, silenced.
Axel felt, more than heard, the approach of the Roman cohort: the rhythmic march thudded into the walls of their ditch. The rustle of armor. Surprisingly, a laugh, cut off by a sharp command.
Axel raised a fist into the air. A sign to hold position.
The Sabotage Unit tensed. The children of Hecate’s fog muffled sound, but Axel could see indications of its absence: hands gripping weapons, boots shuffling to face the approaching troops, one demigod squeezed the arm of another.
Axel had already given a speech before they were close to Camp Jupiter. He wished he could say more now.
All they could do was watch and listen. Footsteps rumbled alongside their ditch as the Romans encroached. All they could do was wait for Voutia’s tiny cry, “Now!”
Some of his troops flinched. But they didn’t move yet. Axel’s raised hand was their signal.
Axel locked his jaw and clenched his fist. He rubbed the lighter in his other hand.
Violence erupted.
Swords, spears, and armor clashed.
The Leonis Caput helm kept Axel calm, Steady. Do not let them fall in vain.
Axel could feel Pax and Alabaster’s eyes on him. Some of the screams would be Alabaster’s family, dying, being cast into Tartarus.
“Iacite pila!” Ari Praetor called. Finally.
Axel snapped the lighter open. He dropped his fist.
The Sabotage Unit exploded out behind the Roman lines.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I'm excited to finally get to one of my favorite canon characters! :D
If you're celebrating, have a lovely celebration! Either way, have a wonderful weekend!
Footnotes:
[1] Axel blamed this idea on Jack. Jack couldn’t find a nail file and had attempted to use one of the hellhounds’ former-demigod-chew-toys. As it turns out, bones do not make good nail files.
[2] Pax, “Omfgs—a—eggs have--?” Ailisue, “I will shoot you in the foot.”
[3] Though, Jack would just be pissed if he heard Axel went to get cigarettes.
[4] Pax, “I promised a kissing booth set up in Tartarus to all the monsters that volunteered.” Axel, glaring, “You’re too young for a kissing booth.” Pax, smirking knowingly, “Oh, I’m not the one manning it.” Axel, rolling up his sleeves, “You know your ear will be vulnerable once that helm is off.” Pax, already running away, “Why do you think Lelly volunteered?"
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Axel stalked twenty feet behind Ethan Nakamura before the screaming started.
Something felt wrong. Nakamura seemed too intent on Axel’s training regimen for the Sabotage Unit, like he wanted to know where Axel would be for the next thirty minutes. Nakamura had pretended to walk off to talk to Luke before doubling back. Each step up the volcano took too much concentration; he didn’t want Mercedes or Pax to see him.
But Axel didn’t expect Nakamura to push them.
Details became too sharp as he watched: his little brother’s look of shock, Mercedes stiffening before tumbling, the way Nakamura’s shoulders shook, from fear-or-pleasure-induced adrenaline, Axel couldn’t tell.
He didn’t care.
Save your brethren.
Axel didn’t need the helm’s encouragement.
If something happened to Pax, Axel assumed he would remember his mother and Uncle Frasco. He thought he would remember that terrifying helplessness of watching them die.
But the helm forsook such weakness. The fear eased away into the metal dangling on his back, alongside the lion pelt.
Axel tasted blood in his mouth. The click of his lighter blurred with his murmurs in Mayan, “Xma’su’tal Xib, Liik’il Xtaabay!” The flame flicked turquoise. He had covered half the ground; the power thrummed through his limbs. He secured the helm over his head, narrowing his vision to his prey.
Nakamura crouched over the edge of the volcano, bringing a rock down.
He didn’t get to do it again.
Axel grabbed the back of his neck and threw him bodily down the outside of the volcano. He didn’t see how far the demigod fell—no time.
Axel dropped to the ground—the lion pelt saving him from a jagged rock edge. His nails dug into Pax’s wrist before his brother could drop into the lava.
Despite Pax’s squeal of pain—the way his skin split and bled—Axel exhaled in relief. He didn’t focus on what was missing. The person who would never be there again.
From what Axel could see, he didn’t even know where she landed. It couldn’t have been on one of the telekhines’ blacksmithing catwalks or platforms. Then her body would be visible. She must have fallen straight into…
Axel reached his other hand down, taking hold of Pax’s. As gently as he could, he pulled Pax over the lip and onto solid ground.
Pax sobbed. He cradled his left hand against his chest as Axel righted them. He kept saying her name over and over. “He—he killed Mercedes! He fucking killed Mercedes! Axel—Axel—”
Tears streamed down Pax’s cheeks. His lips were chapped. He held his fist to his chest. The fingers bent at odd angels. They were blue and indigo with busted blood vessels.
The child of Hermes is gone. Your enemy is not.
Axel rounded on Ethan Nakamura.
Had Ethan been as smart as Luke thought he was, he would have run. He would have left Camp Othrys with no trace Axel could trail.
But he stumbled to his feet, dazed, staring at the Pax brothers. The mountain tumble barely left him scraped and bruised.
Not enough.
At the volcano base, the Sabotage Unit—Axel’s unit—stopped training. They froze in uncertainty and confusion.
“Sh—she was a spy!” Ethan said.
“No SHIT!” Pax screamed back.
“No! She was snooping through Luke’s files before his trip to Tartarus. She—she’s the reason Alabaster’s lab—”
Maybe Nakamura had just realized it: he was between Axel’s unit and the Pax brothers. The volcano was loud. There were no titans here to save him.
Pax’s expression contorted into something Axel had never seen on him. “He killed Mercedes,” he said, quieter, through gritted teeth. “Make him do his best impression of a car sale balloon.”
The only order Axel needed.
Ethan couldn’t have heard Pax. Maybe he just felt the hatred. He drew his sword.
Axel tilted his head back. He roared.
He tore down the side of the volcano.
Ethan flinched. He staggered back. “She was a traitor, Axel! Can’t you see! She was the spy! She’s why—”
Axel wrapped his hand in the Nemean Lion pelt. He grabbed Ethan’s blade, wrenched it from his grasp, and smacked him with the hilt like he was going for a homerun, releasing the blade right after contact, letting it spin off into oblivion.
The demigod’s jaw snapped.
Blood sprayed as he twisted to the side. It strangled his scream. He fell backwards.
Axel lunged. He snatched Ethan’s arm before he could hit the ground. Just like Santiago taught him, he pulled it taught.
Before slamming his palm into the hyperextended elbow.
The bone gave.
More squeals, like a cacophonous symphony.
“I will teach you what happens to those who harm the chimera and those under its protection,” they snarled as one.
But, Axel wanted this traitor to pass out as badly as he wanted to attend one of the monster strip clubs. He grabbed the traitor by the forehead and jammed an ambrosia cube into his mouth.
The demigod squealed as the healing square pressed past the shattered bone.
“I will show you what happens to those who cross the Triple A Chimera,” they assured him as he lifted the demigod by his uninjured arm. Lacing their fingers like he was going to dance.
Axel pressed his thumb to the forefinger.
And pushed until it dislodged.
The demigod reduced to whimpers and shakes.
Next would be the ribs.
“Axel! Axel, my boy—stop! Stop! Axel, please!” someone desperately shrieked.
It didn’t matter. All he could see was the fleshy canvas of pain ready to be made an example. All he could see was someone who almost took away the one thing he still loved.[2] Our brethren. Our allies.
Music faintly filtered through his helm.
His limbs weakened. Sweat broke out on his brow. The hand holding the demigod’s shook violently. Wooziness blurred the training grounds, including the approaching figure of a redhead.
Jack’s song trembled. “Axel….” He whispered, awed.
One last shot. An easy one. Axel tried to snap a rib—just one—
His eyelids felt heavy. He couldn’t raise a hand. The traitor fumbled from his grip, sagging to the ground. As he blinked, Jack’s concerned eyes leveled with him. “Axel, please—Luke is going to be so mad—Axel—”
Luke? So mad?
Fuck Luke. He is not to be trusted.
Axel tried to respond. His throat felt raw. Coughs erupted. The fever brought him to his knees. He scowled from Jack to where Jack pulled Ethan into his lap. Singing to the demigod. Healing him. So much more than he deserved.
Jack’s fragile look returned to Axel’s. “You’re acting like him. You’re acting like your dad.”[3]
That should have hurt. Somehow, Axel knew it would hurt later. For now, it didn’t matter. Axel felt numb. All he could taste was his own blood.
Axel clenched his jaw. The energy sapped completely from him. He swayed, threatening to sink to his side. “Jack… Mercedes is gone,” he rasped, “This fucker tried to kill Pax.”
Jack flinched. It was then that Axel noticed the bruises on his face. Like he’d seen Luke recently. One day, Axel hoped, Flynn would notice.
Axel felt Pax before he saw him. Pax stepped beside Axel, crouching down. He huddled against Axel, like it was for comfort and not to spare Axel the humiliation of collapsing. His little brother shook with fury. He toyed with a dart, scowling at Ethan Nakamura. The demigod had lost consciousness.
Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them. “I think… I think she knew he was after her.” His voice was raw from the screaming and crying. “I think she was trying to escape. I think she was going to take me with her.”
The numbness chilled Axel’s insides. He was certain: everything was about to change here. And he, Alabaster, and Pax had to be ready.
“Luke will fix this. He’ll fix this. He always fixes things,” Jack babbled. His voice rose, singing louder, like his angelic tenor could repaint the violence and loss with the caresses of melody.
Axel slid off his helm at the familiar song. It shattered his calm. These were the words Jack first sang when he found out Mercedes’ name, “L’oiseau que Tu Croyais Surprendre Battit de L’aile et S’envola…”
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! And thank all of you for the support!
[1] “The bird you surprised.”
[2] Lapis, “Well fuck you too, Axel!”
[3] Pax, “Don’t you and Flynn go on torture dates for funsies?” Jack, “That’s different. That’s parent business. Now go back to making deadly traps with Matthias.”
Axel stalked twenty feet behind Ethan Nakamura before the screaming started.
Something felt wrong. Nakamura seemed too intent on Axel’s training regimen for the Sabotage Unit, like he wanted to know where Axel would be for the next thirty minutes. Nakamura had pretended to walk off to talk to Luke before doubling back. Each step up the volcano took too much concentration; he didn’t want Mercedes or Pax to see him.
But Axel didn’t expect Nakamura to push them.
Details became too sharp as he watched: his little brother’s look of shock, Mercedes stiffening before tumbling, the way Nakamura’s shoulders shook, from fear-or-pleasure-induced adrenaline, Axel couldn’t tell.
He didn’t care.
Save your brethren.
Axel didn’t need the helm’s encouragement.
If something happened to Pax, Axel assumed he would remember his mother and Uncle Frasco. He thought he would remember that terrifying helplessness of watching them die.
But the helm forsook such weakness. The fear eased away into the metal dangling on his back, alongside the lion pelt.
Axel tasted blood in his mouth. The click of his lighter blurred with his murmurs in Mayan, “Xma’su’tal Xib, Liik’il Xtaabay!” The flame flicked turquoise. He had covered half the ground; the power thrummed through his limbs. He secured the helm over his head, narrowing his vision to his prey.
Nakamura crouched over the edge of the volcano, bringing a rock down.
He didn’t get to do it again.
Axel grabbed the back of his neck and threw him bodily down the outside of the volcano. He didn’t see how far the demigod fell—no time.
Axel dropped to the ground—the lion pelt saving him from a jagged rock edge. His nails dug into Pax’s wrist before his brother could drop into the lava.
Despite Pax’s squeal of pain—the way his skin split and bled—Axel exhaled in relief. He didn’t focus on what was missing. The person who would never be there again.
From what Axel could see, he didn’t even know where she landed. It couldn’t have been on one of the telekhines’ blacksmithing catwalks or platforms. Then her body would be visible. She must have fallen straight into…
Axel reached his other hand down, taking hold of Pax’s. As gently as he could, he pulled Pax over the lip and onto solid ground.
Pax sobbed. He cradled his left hand against his chest as Axel righted them. He kept saying her name over and over. “He—he killed Mercedes! He fucking killed Mercedes! Axel—Axel—”
Tears streamed down Pax’s cheeks. His lips were chapped. He held his fist to his chest. The fingers bent at odd angels. They were blue and indigo with busted blood vessels.
The child of Hermes is gone. Your enemy is not.
Axel rounded on Ethan Nakamura.
Had Ethan been as smart as Luke thought he was, he would have run. He would have left Camp Othrys with no trace Axel could trail.
But he stumbled to his feet, dazed, staring at the Pax brothers. The mountain tumble barely left him scraped and bruised.
Not enough.
At the volcano base, the Sabotage Unit—Axel’s unit—stopped training. They froze in uncertainty and confusion.
“Sh—she was a spy!” Ethan said.
“No SHIT!” Pax screamed back.
“No! She was snooping through Luke’s files before his trip to Tartarus. She—she’s the reason Alabaster’s lab—”
Maybe Nakamura had just realized it: he was between Axel’s unit and the Pax brothers. The volcano was loud. There were no titans here to save him.
Pax’s expression contorted into something Axel had never seen on him. “He killed Mercedes,” he said, quieter, through gritted teeth. “Make him do his best impression of a car sale balloon.”
The only order Axel needed.
Ethan couldn’t have heard Pax. Maybe he just felt the hatred. He drew his sword.
Axel tilted his head back. He roared.
He tore down the side of the volcano.
Ethan flinched. He staggered back. “She was a traitor, Axel! Can’t you see! She was the spy! She’s why—”
Axel wrapped his hand in the Nemean Lion pelt. He grabbed Ethan’s blade, wrenched it from his grasp, and smacked him with the hilt like he was going for a homerun, releasing the blade right after contact, letting it spin off into oblivion.
The demigod’s jaw snapped.
Blood sprayed as he twisted to the side. It strangled his scream. He fell backwards.
Axel lunged. He snatched Ethan’s arm before he could hit the ground. Just like Santiago taught him, he pulled it taught.
Before slamming his palm into the hyperextended elbow.
The bone gave.
More squeals, like a cacophonous symphony.
“I will teach you what happens to those who harm the chimera and those under its protection,” they snarled as one.
But, Axel wanted this traitor to pass out as badly as he wanted to attend one of the monster strip clubs. He grabbed the traitor by the forehead and jammed an ambrosia cube into his mouth.
The demigod squealed as the healing square pressed past the shattered bone.
“I will show you what happens to those who cross the Triple A Chimera,” they assured him as he lifted the demigod by his uninjured arm. Lacing their fingers like he was going to dance.
Axel pressed his thumb to the forefinger.
And pushed until it dislodged.
The demigod reduced to whimpers and shakes.
Next would be the ribs.
“Axel! Axel, my boy—stop! Stop! Axel, please!” someone desperately shrieked.
It didn’t matter. All he could see was the fleshy canvas of pain ready to be made an example. All he could see was someone who almost took away the one thing he still loved.[2] Our brethren. Our allies.
Music faintly filtered through his helm.
His limbs weakened. Sweat broke out on his brow. The hand holding the demigod’s shook violently. Wooziness blurred the training grounds, including the approaching figure of a redhead.
Jack’s song trembled. “Axel….” He whispered, awed.
One last shot. An easy one. Axel tried to snap a rib—just one—
His eyelids felt heavy. He couldn’t raise a hand. The traitor fumbled from his grip, sagging to the ground. As he blinked, Jack’s concerned eyes leveled with him. “Axel, please—Luke is going to be so mad—Axel—”
Luke? So mad?
Fuck Luke. He is not to be trusted.
Axel tried to respond. His throat felt raw. Coughs erupted. The fever brought him to his knees. He scowled from Jack to where Jack pulled Ethan into his lap. Singing to the demigod. Healing him. So much more than he deserved.
Jack’s fragile look returned to Axel’s. “You’re acting like him. You’re acting like your dad.”[3]
That should have hurt. Somehow, Axel knew it would hurt later. For now, it didn’t matter. Axel felt numb. All he could taste was his own blood.
Axel clenched his jaw. The energy sapped completely from him. He swayed, threatening to sink to his side. “Jack… Mercedes is gone,” he rasped, “This fucker tried to kill Pax.”
Jack flinched. It was then that Axel noticed the bruises on his face. Like he’d seen Luke recently. One day, Axel hoped, Flynn would notice.
Axel felt Pax before he saw him. Pax stepped beside Axel, crouching down. He huddled against Axel, like it was for comfort and not to spare Axel the humiliation of collapsing. His little brother shook with fury. He toyed with a dart, scowling at Ethan Nakamura. The demigod had lost consciousness.
Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them. “I think… I think she knew he was after her.” His voice was raw from the screaming and crying. “I think she was trying to escape. I think she was going to take me with her.”
The numbness chilled Axel’s insides. He was certain: everything was about to change here. And he, Alabaster, and Pax had to be ready.
“Luke will fix this. He’ll fix this. He always fixes things,” Jack babbled. His voice rose, singing louder, like his angelic tenor could repaint the violence and loss with the caresses of melody.
Axel slid off his helm at the familiar song. It shattered his calm. These were the words Jack first sang when he found out Mercedes’ name, “L’oiseau que Tu Croyais Surprendre Battit de L’aile et S’envola…”
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! And thank all of you for the support!
[1] “The bird you surprised.”
[2] Lapis, “Well fuck you too, Axel!”
[3] Pax, “Don’t you and Flynn go on torture dates for funsies?” Jack, “That’s different. That’s parent business. Now go back to making deadly traps with Matthias.”
what do nectar and ambrosia taste like for your 7+?
I believe the flavors do alter over time! But...
Kally: This is hinted at several times in the series! Hers tastes like sweetened cherries or a cherry-flavored soda.
Axel: If he could have some without it killing him? Spicy hot chocolate. but, like, the real kind. With chili peppers and cocoa nibs :]
Pax: A Reese's smoothie with surprise chunks that feel like they're going to be crisps, but end up having a poprock sensation. Sound gross? Pax says your palette isn't refined enough and more ambrosia for meeeeee.
Calex: Apple and Blackcurrent Squash
Merry: Merry's alters based on the temperature outside. If it is cold? Coffee. If it is REALLY hot? Nanari Sherbert. If it is pleasant weather? Sambharam (a spicy buttermilk drink).
Euna: Strawberry Ramune. So Joey has another reason to call Euna a weeaboo.
Joey: When they were little, Euna and Joey would pluck fruits from the garden with Mr. Song and blend them into flavored aloe vera juice. Joey never felt like her mixes came out as well as the ones she did with her sister and father. She would never admit to it, but hers always tastes like some variation of the juice/smoothie her sister and father would make for her when she was too little to use the blender on her own.
Alabaster: The tears of his enemies. And the Earl Grey tea his grandmother used to make him after piano practice. Just a small slice of lemon with the bergamont. (Sh! Of course he can't play piano. Don't you dare tell the Pax brothers he can play an instrument.)
Joey's plot progression from the first book to the 5th was so cool to revisit. Especially because I only reaccounted her arc cause doing the full five would have taken too long. Her story really hammers home the theme of being a pawn in the gods games and the easy exploitation of their children. Apollo, Hera, and even Persephone use her and then "toss her away" when they're done.
Thank you so much for giving love to one of my favorite babies!
Joey is intended to be an "American idealized dream" vs. "Greek mythology." Joey is smart, confident, hardworking, beautiful, and determined. She knows what she wants, she will get it, and is comfortable ignoring naysayers. In typical modern Western media, she should win, or at least have an arc that smooths out some of her edges to make her into a former-mean-girl-has-secret-heart.
But confidence in tandem with competence is punished in Greek mythology. Those in power get to decide who rises and who falls, regardless of their ability.
I'm still hoping to stretch these books out into an original world where I can explore everyone's progression in a little more detail. Merry, in particular, is far too sidelined. 😭
He didn’t know if he did between the screams. His throat felt raw, like he’d given four Orpheus Metal concerts in a row. But, his mouth kept moving. Normally, when his mouth kept moving, it kept him and his family safe. It made people laugh. It made them happy.
“Fucker—you fucker—Axel is going to fucking kill you—you backstabbing—”
Well, those weren’t the kinds of words that kept his family safe.
Tears evaporated off his cheeks. If they hadn’t, they would slip down and hit Mercedes. She dangled just under him, their hands still enlaced. She went ragdoll, swaying. Her headscarf slid, releasing tangled ringlets that looked black in the red glow.
His other fingers crimped the edge of the volcano.
Above them, Ethan Nakamura crouched like a vulture. “There’s something to be said for getting two birds with one stone,” he sneered. He raised a rock above Pax’s fingers.
And fuck him for having a cool villain line!
Xbalanque scurried up Pax’s arm, over the lip, and bolted through Nakamura’s legs. Hopefully in search of help.
In Pax’s mental theater, he launched Mercedes over him, the spymaster zooming at Nakamura’s face and clawing it off like a feral raccoon. Nakamura tumbled down the outside of the volcano, smacking into miraculously placed rakes and spikes while Xbalanque pointed and laughed at him.
But, Pax wasn’t strong enough to throw Mercedes over the lip of the volcano.
Ethan smashed the rock into Pax’s pinkie.
Pain exploded as his finger broke.
Had Pax not already been screaming, he would have choice words for the son of Nemesis. Ones more creative than, “Fuck!” over and over.
The radiating heat instantly soaked Pax. Sweat slicked his fingers. The last three barely had purchase on the volcano lip.
And worse, Mercedes’ hand was sliding.
Instead of plotting a way out of this, he wondered, If you fall into a volcano, do you die by splat or splash? Lord of the Rings taught that volcanoes don’t splash.
“Ajax! Let go!” Mercedes words choked on the dry heat.
Later, Pax would claim he looked down at Mercedes because what the fuck does she mean, let go? And not because he didn’t want to see Ethan break his ring finger. “What!?”
“Please—Ajax—trust me—let go—” she said. She looked desperate. Her eyes flicked to his grip on the volcano edge.
No—no—fuck that—
Pax strained to lift her. There would be no choose between your life or your friend’s going on here. He was an acrobat. This should be easy. If he could just pull Mercedes up enough to grab his waist—if he could use both hands to climb—
The world went white as Ethan crushed his ring finger.
His hands slipped; Mercedes from one, the volcano lip from the other.
***
Author’s Note: I swear I’m still here and posting ^.^’’’’’ Thank you for reading! To get us back on schedule, I’m hoping to have the next chapter posted by this Friday. In the words of Pax, not to leave anybody hanging for too long… though I guess he’s not hanging anymore?
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Mercajax: L’oiseau que Tu Croyais Surprendre Battit de L’aile II[1]
Mercedes did not swear. It would be a foul, unsophisticated use of a divinely-given language, like using a wudu water to bathe your chinchilla: effective, but only when you want righteous wrath dealt to you.
If she did swear, she would say she was peasantly fucked. Peasant, because she is not a royal and because “peasant” both sounds like “present” and “pleasant,” which would make Pax giggle. Fucked, because at least two people at camp, presently and not pleasantly, were going to kill her.
***
Pax didn’t need more reasons to think the titans and gods wouldn’t mind if the campers fell into an active volcano, but the fact that the titans and gods encouraged them to train by an active volcano didn’t help. He heard, in Camp Half-Blood, it was a lava pit.
He grunted, watching Axel run drills for the new Sabotage Unit. They were further down the volcano, where, Pax assumed, the potential noxious gasses and heat would be less reminiscent of Tartarus. Later, he would be sure to mock Axel for doing less masochistic training—an accusation that Axel would surely find offensive.
“The meeting place is a nice touch. A little dramatic, especially for you, but that makes it all the more titillating,” he said, shouldering his pack. Xbalanque braced against his neck, the weasel using his hair like a safety belt.
“You mean tantalizing?” Mercedes didn’t even crack a smile.
Pax gasped, touching a hand to his chest. “That is so rude to say around Tantalus’ friends.”
Pax hadn’t asked why Mercedes told him to pack his most valued possessions. (Well, only the ones that could fit into a rut sack worthy of Oliver Twist. His clay sculpture of Zeus’ dick turning into a viper and attacking the God of the Sky—that would need to stay.)[2] And he didn’t ask why she told him to meet at the precipice of the BackBiter Volcano. Since the telekhines cleaned up Percy’s mess, Luke considered this “prime training ground.” Because he was an asshole like that.
None of that was weird for their Spy Master. It seemed like routine spy practice.
What was weird: the shoulder tension under her own satchel, the dark shadows under her eyes, the way she reached to steady herself on his arm as they scaled the side.
Mercedes, as far as Pax was concerned, could get hit by a dump truck without flinching. She taught him to notice irregularities in people’s behavior. For Mercedes, she was acting as casual as someone with a wasp’s nest in their pants.
Any time she touched him, her hands were shaking. Like now, bracing against his arm. Again.
It was hot—they were on a volcano after all. That was why, he assured himself, her eyes were red-rimmed. Not because the dry air had slurped tears off her acne-scarred cheeks.
They were near the rim. If they looked over, they would be able to see where the telkhines had rebuilt a grid of walkways midway up the caldera. Because who doesn’t want to use lava while smithing weapons of destruction. Nooo, just fire would never do.
One of her black curls had escaped her hijab, floating up gently in the up-gust of heat. Pax desperately wanted to tuck it behind her ear—er, fabric. In a dramatically romantic gesture, while whispering, mi Corazon. Not for any real reason. He just enjoyed pretending to be in a movie, and Alabaster would never let him do that.
“Ajax,” she said.
Pax froze.
Ajax. In that tone?
Well, fuck, something was going on.
“Did you bring me here to kill me?” he squeaked, glancing at her shaky hand.
She rolled her bloodshot eyes. “If I was going to kill you, you’d be found far from me.”
“You’ve thought about that a bit too much haven’t you?”
“I would poison one of Matthias’ whoopy cushions.” Her expression was deadpan.
“Dastardly,” Pax kept his voice light, “Why else this lovely setting? To propose? We could do a summer wedding in Tartarus.”
Mercedes snorted. “To kidnap.”
Pax exhaled at the joke. “Don’t scare me like that!” She really had him thinking she was going to kill him. Or shave off all his hair. Or something equally as evil. Did she know how much trauma he’d been through recently?
But, her expression was, if possible, more deadpan than ever. And why did they call it deadpan anyway? Would more deadpan than deadpan be resurrectedpot?
Pax attempted to focus. This seemed important. This was a different kind of serious for Mercedes.
“If you had ended up in Camp Half-Blood, would you have been happier?” she asked. She hadn’t let go of his arm.
The question threw Pax off mental balance. (Though, fortunately, not literally into the upgust.) “What?” he managed. His brow furrowed. Instead of Camp Othrys? “I wouldn’t have met you.” The thought was heartbreaking. “I wouldn’t have met Alabaster or Lou Ellen.”
Pax tried to envision it: how he would react to Clarisse LaRue had she shoved his head into a toilet, instead of seeing Luke force his brother to kill people in an arena. (Demigods really needed to brainstorm some new hazing rituals.) Watching others getting claimed by their parents as they grew up, knowing his mother would only claim him if it was inconvenient, that she was fighting on the Titan’s side. Fuck, they needed to invest in some supernatural therapists.
The Greeks would never have accepted Axel. They were “incestuous, xenophobic bastards” as Alabaster would diplomatically put it.
Would Luke have recruited Pax from the Hermes cabin anyway? How would Chiron react to someone that openly mocked his “I withhold wisdom because I like child murder” tendencies?
I would have liked Connor and Travis Stol. I would have thought Rachel Elizabeth Dare could be my best friend. I would have thought Nico Di Angelo was insanely hot.
And maybe he would have met Mercedes. But, as an opposing spy.
A fleeting epiphany traced his awareness, gone before he could grasp it.
Mercedes hadn’t let go of him. Her expression was sad.
Pax dropped his fake smile. As quiet as he could with a raging volcano beside them, he said, “Mercedes, you’re scaring me.”
She exhaled. If she looked any sadder or deflated, Pax would ask if she needed a box of emergency kittens: a great idea to cheer up anyone.
“Do you trust me?” her words came out weak.
Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them. “Titans, do you have a magic carpet? Are we going on a magic carpet ride? Is that racist to ask you that? How close is Morocco to Arabia?”
Finally, she cracked a smile. She didn’t get to do that often enough. “Racist,” she confirmed. “But I do want to take you on a magic carpet ride of sorts.”
Pax shivered. Mercedes would never set him up for an innuendo like that.
Her hand dropped to his, taking his fingers. “I need to know you trust me. Ajax, I—”
In a proper story, Pax would find out what she was about to say. That was a lot of dramatic build up, and he never thought you should blueballs a great epiphany.
But, someone shoved Pax. Hard.
Heat blasted the side of his body.
He and Mercedes were falling.
***
Thank you for reading! And your patience with the delay!
Footnotes:
[1] “The bird you thought you surprised beat its wings.”
[2] Some said it was hard to decipher its intended subject. Matthias said it was an interpretative masterpiece made before its time.
Mercedes: L’oiseau que Tu Croyais Surprendre Battit de L’aile et S’envola… I[1]
“She’s a spy!”
“No shit!”
--Overheard between Ethan Nakamura and Luke Castellan
Mercedes stared at the glass and ceramic shards. Several curled upward, like abstract art. This was the perfect representation of her: fragmented. Mangled into so many pieces: Greek, Roman, Spanish, Moroccan, Muslim, Pagan. A mystery to be solved by historians and speculative fiction authors.
Fortunately, when her favorite mug shattered, her first reaction was to frown sternly. This would have worked perfectly on her little brothers if they shattered a jar of coriander seeds or if Pax had jingled a bell during one of their practice drills.
Ethan stood in the remains of her French press and coffee mug. Brown liquid splattered around her murdered mug; the coffee, a bloody, smattered circle, like a taped body outline at a crime scene.
Her frown did nothing to Ethan.
“I know,” he said, lowering his hand from where—with a single swat—he’d trashed what little she cherished from home.
“How ambiguous,” she said.
That was her mother’s French press.
Her mother’s.
All she had left of her.
The powerful can afford the luxury of carelessness.
She resisted the urge to gather the shards, to cut her fingers on the edges and let her tears and blood mix with the coffee’s. To demand, “Why?” To ask if he cherished a sword instead of a coffee mug because one couldn’t be broken by the other.
Instead, she subtly stepped to keep the table between them. He wouldn’t notice. Men rarely noticed when their presence inspired the same calm as a walrus hopping aboard a sailboat.
She wanted him to elaborate on why Ethan, Kronos’ watchdog, had come to raise a leg on her lawn. Could she put a sign out, as so many middle class Americans did, with a slashed circle over Ethan’s picture with the word “NO” emboldened atop? It would likely have the same efficacy as other signs in a county of feigned illiterates.
He’d come during her quiet time. After her sunrise prayer. This was the only time she was known to be alone. Solitude was also a luxury in the barracks of war.
“You’ve been conspiring with the child of Hecate and those Mayan brats,” Ethan spat.
Mercedes wished it were true. And that he was brave enough to bring this up with “the child of Hecate and those Mayan brats.” If she had conspired or he had the courage to accuse them, she might have some easier allies and more options.
She inhaled to respond; he interrupted, “I’ve spoken with Lord Kronos about your treachery.”
Mercedes forced her voice to remain even. “Impressive. You’ve evolved beyond sycophancy to sentience in his presence.” Despite her calm, she knew what his words meant. She struggled not to choke. If Ethan had spoken with her half-brother about potential treachery, this wasn’t idle banter.
The watchdog of Kronos had come to kill her, not just to destroy her past, but also her present. Mercedes wondered if she could race Ethan out.
“Mercedes?” another called from the door.
Ethan turned his eye on Prometheus. The Titan had taken to wearing a tuxedo, claiming one could never be too prepared for a celebration. His hair was back in a neat pony tail. She was certain he kept his face visible to use his scars as a public service announcement: Greek gods. Definitely monsters.
Mercedes held her breath, unsure if he was Ethan’s ally or hers.
“This isn’t over.” Ethan scowled. He pivoted and stormed out.
She exhaled.
Pax would have scolded Ethan to find a more original catch phrase. Her heart ached over her tiny assistant. She couldn’t think about him right now, or how she might have put him into danger by association.
Prometheus frowned. “Are you alright?”
“As calm as a lamb in a slaughterhouse. As Abraham prepping to sacrifice Ishmael,” her words were robotic. And untrue—Abraham kept faith his faith so much truer than she had.
“Mercedes,” Prometheus’s voice was gentle. He was always much gentler with humans. When he reached across the table to touch her shoulder, she flinched.
They both paused.
He withdrew his hand. “You should speak with the Pax brothers and Alabaster. Before you do anything… rash.”
“Rash,” she echoed, “What would be rash to the titan rumored to steal fire from the gods?”
“I can survive having my liver plucked out every day,” he said, tapping two fingers to his scars. Mercedes could hear his wry smile. She couldn’t see it. Her eyes were distantly focused on the mug’s broken remains. “I think that alters the perception of rashness.”
She wanted to ask if he regretted trying to make things better. When every option has already been taken but the rash, what else was one meant to do?
Instead, she murmured, “I fear I’ll be poor company at the moment.” Pax was the only one at camp she wanted to speak to. Keeping her tone even, she added, “I would like to be alone.”
To her surprise, Prometheus nodded. “And anything else I can do to help.”
He left.
It was quiet.
The shatter still rang in her ears alongside Ethan’s threat. Her hands shook. Despite the cool California morning, her shirt was soaked in sweat.
She gathered the glass and ceramic shards like ashes for an urn. (Oh, how far has she strayed to think of cremation.) It felt right to tuck a napkin over it, like a Kafan, and turn the curve of the handle to the east.
Indeed, we belong to Allah, and indeed, to Him we return. Likely blasphemy—doing this for an inanimate object, but she had been commiserating with infidels and the Titans for years.
Besides, it was more than mourning the last physical reminders of her mother; it was a prayer to mourn this life’s death. The death of Mercedes, the Spymaster of Mount Othrys. She doubted anyone else would.
That wasn’t true.
Pax would. So might Alabaster and Lou Ellen. So might Lucille and Axel. Prometheus.
She blinked rapidly. Her eyes burned, and she didn’t have time for mourning or indecision. She needed to get out of here before Ethan returned.
Mercedes liked to keep her few possessions in their places. She could mentally chart a labeled map of what went where. Useful in the event any tiny or devious hands found their way to places they should not.
She gathered her few possessions from the Spy Wing. She threw the rest away. Carefully she set the bells and string for Pax in a box in the corner. After a moment’s hesitation, she wrote, “Keep practicing, Pax Two. I’ll know.”
It made her smile: if she didn’t find Pax, it would be one last way to draw suspicion away from him and make him do that cute pout.
She fled to her quarters with a small bag in hand. Others were just waking: Jack’s angelic vocal warm ups floated down the corridors. Pax and Axel would be doing drills and stretches from their six month stint in a traveling acrobatics group. Alabaster and Lou Ellen would be tending their garden.
The hijab Pax made was the sole item she packed from her room. Once it was carefully folded atop her other belongings, she triple checked the lock on her door.
Now, she just had to fall asleep (quickly) while panicking. Like counting sheep during an earthquake.
This was an art she had been attempting to perfect. It meant she had convinced Pax that she never truly slept, since she could catnap whenever she pleased. By now, she was a sheep-counting pro.
It didn’t take long. As her head hit the pillow, she could smell roses and hear the trickle of water form Gigantones fountain. She didn’t look around her dream rendition of Plaza de Bib-Rambla; she didn’t need more reason to cry. The sensation of being trapped was strong enough without looking at the spike fence surrounding the small garden.
Instead, she squinted into the water’s reflection, where she could see the Garden of Bacchus. It was atop the tallest hill in New Rome, though its location wasn’t obvious in the small sliver she could see. If Mercedes was lucky, she would catch her. If she was unlucky, Mercedes would likely be dead before Dhuhr prayer.
But, a legionnaire leaned over this dream window to New Rome. The braid over her shoulder was long—much longer than Mercedes remembered. The stern chill of her expression remained the same. At least compared to the last time Mercedes had reached out.
After Luke hit her.
Mercedes had needed to know she had an escape from her half-brother and Camp Othrys.
She swallowed. “Is your offer still valid?”
Reyna Ramirez’s expression cracked. If Mercedes didn’t know better, she would say the legionnaire smiled.
Author’s note: We finnnnnnallly get references to a certain (pre) Praetor. Mercedes is so much fun to write; I just hope her p.o.v. makes any sense at all. ^.^’’’’’ She feels like a post-doctoral essayist I’m not quite fluid enough to do justice to. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed! I’m hitting the beginning of the end on the writing side. It is about to get DARK.[2]
Footnotes:
[1] “The bird you thought you had caught beat its wings and flew away …” from Carmen’s Habanera.
